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Leary. “He’s just away for a period of spiritual refreshment.”
    A suppressed snigger greeted that, and then Donna said, “Anyway, his stand-in’s hopeless. A real wally. Something from another planet. There won’t be anyone there.”
    â€œWill you be going, Mark?”
    Mark had spooned into his mouth the last helping of a calorie-rich cereal, and was standing up.
    â€œNo way. I’ve got a history essay to write.”
    Mark was the traditional one in the family. He was going to do well at sports, well in exams, well at university. That was the male role, expected of him as the next generation in a traditional family. Whether Donna was going to be satisfied with the traditional female role was another matter. She was just beginning to look at how the family was run, how her father clung obstinately to the patriarchal role, how Mark was in training to carry it on—very conscious it was to his advantage—and she was just starting to say, if only to herself, “No way,” and “That is not for me.”
    When Conal Leary came down ten minutes later in a dark gray suit and claret-colored tie, ready to drive off to the electrical-goods firm he had inherited and expanded, his wife was washing up. He kissed her on the neck, murmured, “Bye, Mary,” but then lingered.
    â€œSeems like the children know all about Father Pardoe,” he said.
    â€œThen they know a great deal more than I do,” said Mary firmly. “Because I know practically nothing.”
    â€œI mean that he’s suspected and under investigation.”
    Mary’s mouth set firm.
    â€œThe children liked Father Pardoe, and thought he did a goodjob,” she said. “I hope they keep an open mind when they hear talk.”
    â€œOh, we’re all keeping an open mind. Still, there’s—”
    Mary’s voice became higher and sharper.
    â€œIf you’re about to say, ‘There’s no smoke without fire,’ then save your breath, Con, because there frequently is. Rumors start in the silliest ways—because people have got the wrong end of the stick, or misheard something, or are just spreading malicious lies. As far as I’m concerned, Father Pardoe is an honorable man and a good priest, and I’ll be very surprised if I have to revise that opinion.”
    â€œDerek says—”
    â€œI don’t give tuppence for what Derek Jessel says!”
    â€œWell,” said Conal, turning away, “if Pardoe wants a defending counsel in front of the investigating committee, he’ll know where to come.”
    â€œI’m rather afraid he won’t be given the chance of having one,” said Mary Leary sadly.
    Conal went off to the office feeling vaguely dissatisfied. Ten years ago Mary would not have spoken out like that. Then she had acquiesced in all his decisions, including his use of birth control after the difficult birth of Donna. Often she must have had her doubts, but she had gone along with whatever he decided and had kept her feelings to herself. By and large she still did, but there came a point when she—the word “rebelled” came to his mind, but he substituted the phrase “stood her ground.” If she disagreed in certain vital areas, she made it plain. And Conal didn’t like it.
    Mary, starting on the usual rounds of household tasks, wondered if her husband had noticed how she had tensed up when he kissed her neck. It wasn’t often thus, but she knew the topic of Father Pardoe was going to come up, and it made her bloodboil how Con had appointed himself judge and jury in that matter, and now to boot he had been spreading the word about what he was accused of among his pals in the parish. The hypocrisy of it was glaring. He had convinced her often enough in the past that—as far as he, Conal, was concerned—there was smoke without fire. That the ladies whose names were mentioned in tandem with his