Over cooked .......?

Alec and Andy McManus routinely met and sat at the same table for their Sunday lunch. The elder brother Alec was a sheep farmer whose wife had left him seven years previously and who had long since delegated the arduous hill work, the shearing, and the spring dip to his two sons, Bob, and Colin. His personal role had matured to one of constant review and direction, which he combined with regular and conscientious libation by choosing The Hen and Chickens or The Bottle and Glass as the venue for his daily meetings with his boys.

Now forty-five Andy had worked hard to establish himself as a sympathetic and hard-working solicitor. Due to the lack of crime in the area, he was forced to concentrate his income generating efforts on the conveyance of property. For that reason, his earnings were moderate. Significantly, as far as he was concerned, local women frequently pointed him out to one another as ‘the man who is married to the owner of Margaret’s’, a lady’s fashion house. The store was reputed throughout the length and breadth of Lancashire and for that reason the name Margaret’s was breathed with a mixture of awe and envy. His marital claim to fame, together with his gentlemanly good looks, assured him of a continuous and steady supply of better off female clients. He was less well known for being the unsuccessful Conservative candidate in the previous General Election. However, his political aspirations were the principal reason why he had never succumbed to the seductive invitations that his lady clientele often made.

“How’s Bob and Colin?” Andy put down the menu having decided that he would have the beef.

His brother wiped the beer froth from around his mouth with the back of his hand. He knew the menu well and had already decided that he would have the roast lamb; “They’re doing well. Twelve hundred lambs and only twenty-six lost.”

“It was a bad weekend.”

“There were ten-foot drifts on the bottoms. Thank God it’s all gone.”

“I heard.”

“How’s Maggie?”

“Don’t let her hear you calling her that. She’s in London for the weekend at some fashion parade or other.”

“Humph! You should keep a tighter rein on her.”

“Like you did on Dorothy?”

A young, blond-haired, and buxom waitress sidled up to the table brandishing her order pad.

“Are you ready to order?” She tried to smile through the nervousness and blushed, as she became the focus of their attention.

“You’re new!” Alec told her and looked her up and down as though he was appraising a piece of furniture. “What’s your name?”

“Anne!” She avoided his eyes and sought refuge from her embarrassment in the order pad.

“Don’t embarrass the girl, Alec. I’ll have the leek and onion soup and the beef please; medium rare.”

“I’ll have…..” Alec looked up and waited till she had finished writing. “I’ll have the soup and the lamb; well done! I don’t know how you can eat it still bloody.”

Without waiting for a response from his brother he lifted his glass to his lips and in four healthy gulps, finished off the pint of bitter. He then held out the empty glass to the waitress; “I’ll have another pint of best please love.”

It was at that point that Phyllis Muscroft, the landlady and Elizabeth Taylor look-alike conducted Fathers Villiers and Downey to an adjacent table. Anne reached over for Alec’s glass just as Michael Villiers pulled his chair out from the table and turned to seat himself. He inadvertently nudged Anne who stumbled forward and missed the glass, which fell and shattered on the table. A second later, blood was pouring from a cut in Alec’s hand and from what appeared to be a deep gash in his face. His reaction was spontaneous; “You silly cow!”

“I was pushed! I’m sorry, I was pushed....” Anne was the fourth child in a family of four boys and one girl and she was used to defending herself.

“It was my fault I’m sorry.” The deep bass voice of Father Villiers brought a hush to the otherwise fraught scene.

It took Alec a moment before he realises what had happened and his words came out without thinking; “You clumsy black bastard!”

Michael Villiers’ instant reaction was to jump up and to move menacingly toward Alec. His teeth were bared, and the whites of his eyes shone those of a giant Black Panther about to pounce on his prey.

Phyllis was outraged and without any thought of the danger to herself, she moved between Alec and the towering figure of Father Villiers; “Mr McManus! You will apologise for that outburst.”

“I’m bleeding to death and you want me to apologise. Do not be stupid woman. He caused it.”

“Don’t worry Mrs Muscroft. Do you have bandages?” Father Downey eased himself between the parties to act as peacemaker. A hand movement in the direction of Father Villiers was all that was needed to persuade away the immediate predatory threat. The Irish priest took hold of Alec’s hand and examined the wound. Then, he touched Alec’s chin as a sign that he wanted him to lean his face towards the light.

“I’ll be alright, it’s only a scratch.”

Father Downey ignored the a-typical manifestation of British stoicism; “Do you have a car?” The enquiry was addressed at Andy who had sat through the entire sequence as if he had been dumbstruck. The question brought him back to reality; “Yes! It’s in the car park.”

Phyllis Muscroft interrupted them with a towel and some bandages. As if he had been trained professionally Father Downey took them from her and used them to tidy up the patient before he re-examined the wounds. His judgement was accepted as calmly as it was given; “He will need stitches. He will have to be taken into the hospital.”

“Sure! Alec, come on! I’m taking you to the hospital.” Andy walked round the table and helped his elder brother up. The two men were then processed through the eyes and open mouths of the other diners. The group walked through the bar and out of the hotel to the car park. Father Downey led the way and Father Villiers, Phyllis Muscroft and Anne the waitress followed closely behind. They were accompanied by a blanket of quiet and were followed by a clamour of animated discussion that grew in their wake.

“Please call me when you get back from the hospital to let me know that everything is okay.” Father Downey addressed himself at Andy who was walking round the pickup to get to the driver’s side.

“I am terribly sorry...” Father Villiers added but Andy was focused on the task in hand and did not hear the apology. He could see that the towel around his brother’s wound was turning red from the flow of blood, and he knew that he had no time to waste.

The group turned back towards the hotel after watching Alec’s Toyota squeal out of the car park. Only then did Phyllis and the two priests take notice of Anne. The young waitress looked pathetic. She was stood facing them in her black and white waitress uniform, with hair out of place, blotches discolouring her long neck and with tears dragging lines of black mascara down her normally pretty face. No one noticed the grim and angry look that distorted the face of Michael Villiers.

“Albert! Good day!” As Father Downey returned to the table followed by Michael Villiers, he was gratified to see the thinning hair and bald head of Albert Keller at the table that had been vacated by the McManus brothers. The church organist’s familiar appearance brought a sense of normality into the situation and allowed thoughts of the unpleasant interlude that he and Father Michael had experienced to be temporarily shelved.

The sound of Father Downey’s voice caused Albert to start with surprise. He jumped up and as he did so, the back of his thighs pushed into his chair, which then fell back against the pompous looking lady on the table behind him. She in turn slopped tomato soup down the front of her new blue dress.

“What the...!”

Albert had been rehearsing the coming confrontation with Father Downey in his mind so at that moment he felt like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; “Hello Father.” He did not even notice the consternation he had caused at the table behind him.

The woman’s anger was instantly quelled as she turned and found Father Michael’s solemn physiognomy looming over her. She edged back in her chair and watched with her mouth open as the immense black man retrieved and repositioned Albert’s chair. “Ma’am!”

The woman quickly turned away to spend the rest of the meal mouthing tight-lipped profanities at her inconsequential husband who was sitting opposite her.

“It’s okay, Albert. Enjoy your lunch!” Father Downey gestured to the slightly older man that he should sit down. “Have you met Father Michael?”

“No! Hello father. Thank you. Err ..., nice to meet you...” The sinews of Albert’s slender right hand rippled as they were extended and then engulfed inside the giant grip of the visiting priest.

“Albert is our organist.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Albert.”

“Thank you, father.”

“Will we see you at the discussion this afternoon?”

Albert tried to withdraw his hand and turned a pleading look at Father Downey; “There are some things I want to discuss with Father Downey before your discussion starts.”

The interruption provided by Albert Keller helped Michael Villiers to re-focus. He was intrigued by the yellow-orange aura that he perceived to be shining around this otherwise inconsequential little man; “Why don’t you come and share our table. Is it alright if Albert shares our table father?”

“To be sure! I should have thought of it myself, how ungracious of me. Forgive me Albert.” Father Downey moved to the table and pulled one of the chairs back as a sign that Albert should move and join them. The whites of Albert’s eyes had turned yellow long ago. They looked for the entire world as if they had been stained by pipe tobacco. Those sad eyes looked up at Father Downey. “I don’t……”

“We insist! Don’t we father?”

“Come on with you Albert!

Albert turned round to look for the waitress who had seated him and was made to feel at ease when Phyllis Muscroft smiled at him and nodded that it was permissible for him to move.

“There now! That’s it!”

“Thank you, father!”

The two priests opened the menus that had been placed on the table earlier. While they examined the inviting choices, Albert Keller looked from one priest to the other. He addressed his attempt at conversation to Father Downey; “I haven’t seen you in here before father.”

Father Downey glanced up; “Mrs Halsall told me that Sunday lunch here is very good value. Do you come here regularly?”

The mention of the new housekeeper’s name caused Albert to grimace. He thought for a moment but decided that this was not the best time to voice his disapproval of the woman; “Off and on father...... I recommend the lamb.”

Father Downey closed the menu and laid it down; “Very well! The lamb it shall be.”

His guest followed suit; “Yes! The lamb for me too … My mouth is watering already.”

“What was it you wanted to talk with me about, Albert?”

Both priests looked directly at him. Their gaze seemed so intense that Albert felt under pressure and looked down at the table. His palms sweated, his mouth went dry and then unexpectedly and incongruously, his stomach rolled noisily.

“I think that we had better get you something to eat!” All three men laughed. As they did so, Anne arrived with her order pad. She had tidied her hair, but her eyes were still red and puffy from the tears. Father Downey took the initiative and transmitted their selections. He rounded off his enunciation of their choices by ordering a bottle of Mouton Cadet and thoughtfully, he made it easy for Anne by giving her the bin number from the wine list.

When Anne had left the table, Father Downey explained to Albert why she looked teary eyed and gave a résumé of the events that had preceded their return. He was just completing the story when Anne arrived with her serving trolley and served them fresh bread rolls and soup.

“You were going to tell me what you wanted to discuss.” Father Downey sat back and looked at Albert. Father Michael sat forward. His deep furrowed brow and slightly narrowed eyes were signs that he was inappropriately curious.

“It’s the organ father.” Albert’s heart was beating more quickly.

“I know.” Father Downey looked relieved but spoke wistfully and nodded his head. “I wish that we could do something.”

Father Michael picked up his soupspoon with a look of disappointment on his face.

“I have obtained a quotation for a complete overhaul” Albert Keller took the envelope from his breast pocket and placed it beside Father Downey’s soup bowl.

“You have obtained a quotation? Someone came to the church to examine the organ?” The Irish accent became more pronounced as it betrayed surprise.

“I organised it on a Tuesday when you were at the hospital.”

Father Downey opened the flap of the envelope and he pulled out and unfolded the papers that were inside. Michael Villiers slurped his soup as he watched.

“What is it Albert?” Father Downey frowned as he looked down at the quotation and the cheque.

“What is this?” He waved the cheque in Albert’s direction. Michael Villiers sat frozen in position, with the soupspoon an inch away from his mouth and his big wide eyes focused on the piece of paper in Father Downey’s hand.

Arthur answered quietly; “We now only need find the other thirty percent and you will get the bulk of that as a refund from the Inland Revenue. I want you to take it.”

Father Downey shook his head in disbelief. When he spoke, his voice squeaked his incredulity; “Thirteen thousand! It’s thirteen thousand pounds.”

“Do you mean that you are giving the church thirteen thousand towards the repair of the old organ?” Father Villiers sounded incredulous; “In South London, the parish collected six thousand and purchased a brand-new electronic organ. You could have a new electronic organ with everything on it and use the balance for other good works. If the money were added to my missionary fund, it would help build a school, provide books for the children and fund medicines for the missionary hospital.” The black mountainous lips had moved closer to Albert, and they pushed the words at him basso forte.

Albert Keeler’s sallow complexion went whiter with each additional word. His reaction was instinctive and defiant; “Who do you think you are pushing around? Keep your big black nose out of it. Self-righteous busybody! The cheque is made out to Chapman Barnes & Walker and that’s the way it is going to stay.” As he spat out the words, he eased himself out of his chair. He glared at them both then threw his napkin down on top of the still full soup bowl, scowled and walked away.

“Albert! Albert, come back here!” Father Downey half stood as he called out but his plea had no effect. When he eventually turned back to the table, he was red in the face. He looked at his colleague who had once more donned the look of someone enraged by unsolicited and malicious invective, a look that only increased the sense of embarrassment Father Downey felt. His apology was whispered across the table; “I am sorry father. It seems that the good Lord has decided to test our patience today.”

In contrast, Father Michael responded in full voice so that his anger resonated around the walls of the dining room.

           “Arise, black vengeance, from the hollow hell!

Yield up, O love, thy crown and hearted throne

To tyrannous hate! swell, bosom, with thy fraught,

 For tis of aspics’ tongues.”

For the second time in less than an hour, the noise level in the dining room reduced to a hush and the eyes of the diners focused on the two Catholic priests. Father Downey looked down at his plate and said a short prayer, requesting God to give him the fortitude to stay and to finish his lunch. Even though he did not look round he was conscious of the staring eyes, and he wondered if he would ever be able to show his face in the Hare & Hounds again.