Free Fandango in the Apse! by Jane Taylor Page B

at him.
    He showed me into the lounge and offered tea.
    ‘Father Gus sends his apologies, but he is unavoidably detained and has
asked me to see you instead,’ he said, smiling.
    Oh, my word, it was obvious he had no idea of the power of that smile, or
he’d stop doing it.
    ‘That’s no problem,’ I replied, while silently cheering on my good
fortune.
    I really did try to concentrate on our conversation, but my brain turned
into a puddle between my ears and his words kept sinking to the bottom like
pebbles.  I kept thinking the priesthood was definitely short-changing the
female population with this waste of a perfectly good specimen to celibacy. It
was unfair…so, so unfair.  I know, I know, I was digging myself a hole so deep,
I’d soon be meeting Lucifer.  Either that, or God would smite me down for my
unholy thoughts.
    Nevertheless, I couldn’t help it. As I already said, I had just watched The
Thorn Birds on telly – he was Richard – only better, much, much better.  As
you already know what eventually happened with Father Daly and me… I’ll skip
the next part.  Only kidding!
    My now oft mentioned “bluebell romp” happened a few weeks after the
baptisms.  I engineered a meeting.  How you may ask?  Well… it was simple
really. 
    During my conversations with Father Michael (we were on first name terms
by then), I happened to mention the problems I was having in my marriage.  If
any of you dare suggest there was an ulterior motive to that, I shall
strenuously deny it.  He, as I knew he would, asked if he could be of help.  The
stage was set.  
    Are you thinking that was a little devious?   You’re right of course; especially
as I had always thought it incredibly funny that we Catholics are expected to
seek marriage guidance from priests, who had no idea of what it was like to be
married in the first place.  However, at this stage, my only plan was to get to
know the tasty theologian a little better.  It wasn’t until during one of our
meetings, which we were conducting in the garden due to the two other priests
wanting to watch Manchester United play Liverpool, (far more important than a
parishioner), that I had an inkling all may not be what it seemed. 
    ‘So how has it been, Katie, any improvement?’
    ‘No, not really Father, I try very hard to be a good wife…’ Bullshit! 
‘but at times I think we’re getting further apart.’
    All the time I was speaking Father Daly was looking at my mouth, then as
I finished speaking his gaze slid to my eyes and stayed there a fraction of a
second too long.  At first, I thought I’d imagined it.  But then…
    ‘And the boys, how are they?’
    ‘They’re a little too young to pick up…’There it was again, I
hadn’t imagined it.  Jesus, a priest was making eyes at me. I dragged my
attention back to what I was saying, ‘on the atmosphere, and …um…we try not to
argue in front of them.’
    Father Michael smiled his devilishly handsome smile and his, ‘Well,
that’s good,’ was lost on me.  My God, I kept thinking, a priest was making
eyes at me.  This revelation of mutual attraction was quite unbelievable, but also
sexy, and powerful.  I know that later, Father Michael’s doctrinal beliefs
suffered a major setback in my irreverent hands, but you must agree; he was
definitely the instigator.  I have to say though, my courage deserted me and I
cut the meeting short and rushed home. 
    The fact that I was kicking myself for my hasty retreat the following morning
did nothing to settle my chaotically scrambled mind.  A dalliance with a man of
the cloth was out of the question, I kept telling myself.  I was still telling
myself this, when I bumped into him a week later.   Honestly, there was no
contrivance involved in this meeting, I promise you.  Eddie had taken the
children to his mother’s house for Sunday tea, something I now avoided whenever
possible. 
    It was an unusually warm late March evening and the woods