Dulcie and DeliaChapter 3
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Delia slept well and rather longer than she had been the last week or so. She thought she felt odd, but wide awake ... she couldn't put her finger on what was different. Dressing carefully but casually, she made her way downstairs, started some coffee, put cereal and milk in a bowl and poured herself some orange juice. She heard footsteps on the stairs as she was almost finished and Dulcie come into the kitchen as she was putting the last spoonful into her mouth.
"Morning, Delia."
She swallowed the mouthful hastily in order to reply. "Good morning, Dulcie."
"How're you feeling today?"
Delia opened her mouth to say something conventional, but closed it again as she thought about the question. Somehow she felt it wasn't just social noise – that Dulcie was really interested, and had some reason for asking, too.
"I ... er ... I feel..." she stopped, running an inventory of her body and mind. "I feel ... well. When I woke, I couldn't put a finger on what was different today, but I don't feel ... bad ... today. I slept well..."
"That's good," Dulcie said with a slight smile, walking over to put two slices of granary bread in the toaster and fill a mug with coffee. "Thanks for making the coffee. Can I pass you some?"
"Yes, please." Delia frowned slightly as she watched Dulcie pour coffee into a mug bearing pictures of cartoon rabbits.
"Milk?"
"Please."
She accepted the mug and sipped at the contents as Dulcie waited for her toast. Had she been asked, say six months previously, what religion she was, she'd probably have glibly replied 'C of E'. If asked if she was a Christian, she'd probably have said, 'yes', likewise if asked if she believed in God. But God, to Delia was a dubious possibility, if anything a remote figure with little or no relevance to her life. But the evening before, Dulcie, this unusual woman wearing a clerical collar, had prayed a few words and her life had changed. In fact, her life had begun to change when she turned up on the Rectory doorstep.
"You go to take a service at the church every morning and evening, don't you?" Delia spoke thoughtfully.
Dulcie looked at her, equally thoughtfully. "Either Peter or I, sometimes both, yes. Occasionally there's something critical that needs both of us, together or separately. There are several members of the congregation that can take a short service if we're not there."
"I was thinking..." Delia said slowly, "that I might come along. If that's alright."
Dulcie smiled. "Of course. You'd be very welcome."
There are places where those who are open to such things are closer to the spiritual realm. Some, not all, churches have it. Many, perhaps all, stone circles and henges have it. Some places are that for an individual or a small number of people – what one writer called 'a trysting place with God' – others are that for anyone who is aware. Perhaps, as some think, there is something mystical about a particular place, and that's why the stone circle, henge or church was constructed there. Perhaps it is just that many people have prayed and meditated there over centuries or millennia ... perhaps something of all those things. St. Mary the Virgin, Maldon, is such a place. An ancient church, (parts dating from the twelfth century) quiet and serene. Delia, newly sensitised to such matters was struck by the atmosphere as soon as she entered and moved slowly to a place near the sanctuary.
Looking around, there were not many worshippers at that time in the morning; several elderly ladies, two older men, one of them clearly older than the other. Peter, in cassock and surplice, Dulcie in her usual semi-casual clothes and clerical collar. The 'Offices' as they are known, morning and evening prayer, date from the sixteenth century; though many churches use modern adaptations of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. Peter, from time to time, liked to use the 1662 book, as he had the day Dulcie and he met. This was one of those occasions; popular with the older members of the congregation who had grown up with Archbishop Cranmer's masterpiece.
As the service proceeded, Delia was aware of several things; there was clearly something very intense and very deep going on between Dulcie and Peter, with frequent eye contact and, she thought, some sadness. The words, archaic, dignified and elegant, seemed to flow round her without much conscious meaning, but most of all, she was conscious of a Presence; warm, welcoming, loving, that brought a sense of peace, security and ... what? Not happiness, exactly ... completion? Satisfaction? Whatever it was, she was content to just soak it up. She sat in her place long after the service ended and Peter had removed his robes and left. When she did pay attention to her surroundings once more, she looked around for Dulcie who was no longer beside her.
Dulcie was sitting with the older of the two men, her hand resting on his shoulder as they talked quietly; his posture radiating dejection. Delia decided not to interrupt and quietly began to explore the building. She didn't understand the significance of much of what she saw, of course, but that didn't stop her becoming absorbed; Dulcie's soft voice startled her out of her reverie.
"Had you any plans for the rest of the day?"
"Not really. I suppose I ought to look into going to see my husband. I wouldn't be able to go today, of course, but I ought to find out about visiting and so on." Delia thought for a moment and added, "I suppose it's possible they might not want me visiting him, as I was an accessory..."
"I'll see what I can do about that..." Dulcie trailed off, thoughtfully, looking at Delia speculatively. Then, "Let's get back to the Rectory and have a cup of coffee..."
It was not a long walk, but Delia was very quiet and frowning. Dulcie thought Delia was wanting to ask something possibly private but not sure how to go about it. Once they were settled with coffee, Dulcie opened the conversation herself.
"Delia, I get the feeling you want to ask something but don't know how to go about it."
Delia looked at her. "You're right."
"Well, the best way is to just ask ... but I have to be free to not answer."
"Okay ... that man you were talking to..."
"Hubert Westwood."
"I thought he looked unhappy. It's none of my business..."
"No ... although..." Dulcie fixed Delia with a penetrating stare. It made her uncomfortable. "Give me a minute, Delia..." and left the room.
Delia sat, holding her coffee, lifting it to her lips without actually tasting it, wondering what was going on. Dulcie returned after a few minutes.
"Right, Delia. I've got Bert's permission to tell you about him. He's a retired soldier. Was a Company Sergeant Major. His wife died ... ten years ago, I think ... and since then his life has been the church. In fact, both of them were involved in the church before she died. Now Bert ... I don't know if you know anything about soldiers, but they tend to be very neat and organised. They have to be, and it gets to be a habit. So Bert's kept his house spick and span ... at least he had until recently ... and much the same with the church. He's been church-warden, or sidesman or on the church council at least for as long as anyone else can remember. But ... he's getting so he just can't keep it up. Recently he's had a few falls and he's upset because he thinks he's going to have to go into residential care, which means his house will have to be sold to pay for his care and his grandson won't get it, or the money. He's proud of his grandson, despite his joining the Royal Marines and being an officer. His son died in the Falklands. Mind you, Gerry doesn't get to visit very often." Dulcie looked at her guest speculatively; Delia was frowning.
Her expression clearing, Delia said, "If someone was willing to live with him ... do some cooking, cleaning..." then after a pause, "do you think the court would go for it? I know I'm supposed to live with you, but wouldn't that work?"
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