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wandered over to the mantelpiece, picked up a large photograph of a substantial and cheerful woman and showed it to the baroness. ‘Cornelia?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘David’s tastes clearly tend towards the Amazonian.’
    ‘But with brains.’
    ‘And bossy to boot.’
    ‘But benignly so.’
    She took a healthy swig and sighed gustily. ‘I feel quite nostalgic for my sporty youth.’
    ‘You are speaking of David?’
    ‘There was more to my youth than sex, I’ll have you know. You didn’t know I was a rowing champion, did you?’
    ‘I certainly did. How could I forget that you were one of the foursome who won the Winifred Wristbardge Ladies Rowing Challenge Cup? I remember poor Dame Maud speaking of it.’
    ‘Um, not bad, young Robert. Do you know aught else of my exploits?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘Clearly I haven’t been bragging enough. That year I also pulled off the Hortense Tottman-Hocker Cup for individual sculling, and took seven wickets in the Oxford-Cambridge ladies’ match.’
    ‘I didn’t realize you were a cricketer, but had I known, I’d certainly have guessed you’d be a demon bowler.’
    ‘I was no mean batsman either, I’ll have you know. Five sixes in that match and I’d have been top scorer if I hadn’t absent-mindedly hooked a googly to long leg.’
    ‘You’re so predictable, Jack.’
    ‘I will admit, however, that my achievements were as nothing to David’s: there wasn’t much female competition in cricket, or even in rowing, in which David got his blue. And we weren’t allowed to play rugger, in which he got another.’
    ‘So you shared more interests than nooky.’
    ‘Don’t be coarse. The trouble with you is—’ She broke off as the bishop entered with the coffee.
     
    ‘You can’t put it off any longer, David. Tell us all about what’s worrying you.’
    The bishop tugged his hair energetically. ‘Oh, Jack, if only I could. I know hardly anything. I was never very good at reading character or understanding politics. I relied on Cornelia for all that. I’ve only ever really related to people through games or teaching.’
    ‘H’m.’ The baroness sighed. ‘That ruled out a lot of the human race, didn’t it? Especially women.’
    The bishop went pink. ‘I don’t know if you remember, Jack, but we actually met on the river.’
    ‘I remember very well.’
    Amiss broke the silence. ‘Why don’t you start with the bare facts? A who’s who in the cathedral. The dean, for instance?’
    Relieved, the bishop leaped up and took a book from a shelf beside his desk. ‘They’ll all be in Crockford’s . Let’s see. Norman Cooper was born in 1944, educated Queen’s University, Belfast, College of the Resurrection Theological College in Yorkshire, curate in Lancashire and then London, vicar in Grimsby and then for the last four years in Battersea.’
    ‘Doesn’t sound like the kind of chap who gets made a dean.’
    ‘You’re absolutely right, my dear Ida.’ He caught her eye. ‘Sorry, my dear Jack. But Cornelia had heard that he had tremendous success in both his parishes in increasing attendance and straightening out finances, which, I suppose, helped him to become a member of the General Synod’s Board of Mission and later the Decade of Evangelism Steering Group. I suppose he was thought to be a good administrator and just right to wake Westonbury up a bit.’
    ‘What’s he like to speak to?’
    ‘I haven’t seen enough of him to say. As you saw, he’s rather large and rough looking. A bit like Ian Paisley, in fact.’
    ‘Face like a tombstone, a voice like an angry corncrake with laryngitis and an accent like a hacksaw, you mean.’
    ‘Really, Jack. That’s a little unkind. We must never judge by appearances. I will admit his accent is a little rasping, but he’s been perfectly civil to me so far. But you must understand we’ve only met a couple of times and that on business.’
    ‘What’s the gossip?’
    ‘I don’t hear gossip. I’ve never been a