Page 63 of The Armor of Light
‘You’re starting a Socratic Society.’ He was trying to hide how astonished he was, she could see.
‘And I’ve been told to ask if you would give the opening lecture.’
‘Really.’ He was still on the back foot in this conversation, which amused Sal. ‘Lecture,’ he said, evidently gathering his thoughts. ‘Yes, well.’
‘We thought you might speak about Isaac Newton.’
‘Did you?’
‘But actually you could pick any scientific subject.’
‘Well...at Oxford I studied the solar system.’
She had no idea what the solar system was.
He sensed her perplexity and said: ‘The sun and the moon and the planets, you know, and how they go round and round.’
That did not sound very interesting. But, she thought, what do I know?
He added: ‘I’ve made a little model showing the way they all move in relation to one another. I did it just for pleasure, but it could help people understand.’
That sounded good. And Roger was coming around to the idea quickly. She might succeed.
‘It’s called an orrery,’ he said. ‘The model. Other people have made them.’
‘I think you should show it to everyone, Mr Riddick. It sounds marvellous.’
‘Perhaps I will.’
She tried not to grin with triumph.
Amos Barrowfield appeared. ‘You’ve stopped the women working, Roger,’ he said.
Roger said: ‘They’re starting a Socratic Society.’
‘Not during working hours, I hope.’ Amos put his arm around Roger’s shoulders. ‘Come and see the scribbling machine working. It’s a wonder.’ They walked away.
Then Roger stopped at the head of the stairs. ‘Let me know the date,’ he called to Sal. ‘Send me a note.’
‘I will,’ she replied.
The two men disappeared.
One of the women said: ‘You can’t send him a note, Sal. You can hardly write.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ said Sal.
*
Arabella spoke to Spade as if nothing had happened. When their paths crossed, in the market square or at his sister’s shop or in the cathedral, she smiled at him coolly, spoke a few polite words, then passed on; as if she had never given him a red rose, they had not been alone together in the vestry, and she had never kissed him with hungry lips or pressed his hands to her breasts.
What was he supposed to think? He needed advice, unusually for him, but he could not speak of this to anyone. The little they had done – a kiss, fully clothed, lasting a minute – was dangerous to Arabella and him, but mainly to Arabella, for the woman always got the blame.
Perhaps there would be no repeat. Perhaps she wanted the kiss never to be spoken of, a secret that would be buried with them and forgotten until the Day of Judgement. If so he would be disappointed, but he would do as she wished. However, his instinct told him she would not stick to such a plan. The kiss had not been casual, flirty, playful, a trifle. It had expressed an emotion, something deeply felt.
He tried to imagine what her life was like. The bishop was not just older: that might have been all right if he had been a lively, energetic old man fervently in love with her. But he was heavy, slow-moving, self-important and humourless. Perhaps there was nothing left of the desire that had given them Elsie. Spade had never been upstairs in the bishop’s palace but he felt sure they had separate bedrooms.
And this had probably been going on for a long time, long enough for a normal woman of middle age to feel disillusioned and angry, and to start entertaining fantasies about other men.
