Such Men Are Dangerous Read Online Free Page A

deprived, of a victory bound to develop self-respect. “Christ, I beat the fucking vicar!” he heard Earl Davis bragging afterwards, in whispered awe.
    Yet, whatever Simon’s form of self-reproach, almost nothing but the game itself had mattered whilst in progress and his absorption in it had been both merciful and marvellous. At seven-fifty, when he went into the empty, darkened church and spent several minutes kneeling by the altar, his gratitude for the tournament was the one uncomplicated thing he felt travelling between himself and God.
    The youth centre not only abutted on the church, it was an extension of it. St Matthew’s itself dated from the twenties. Other additions included a new main entrance—made chiefly of glass—a vestibule and an office. Because the office was one of the easier parts of the building to warm, most of the church committees chose to meet in it. Simon left the altar rail shortly before eight.
    Education and Mission had only five members on it, all of them women. They began light-heartedly: a few holiday reminiscences; hilarity at his and the youth leader’s rashness in allowing wet sponges to be thrown at them during a recent fête. More aggression had been unleashed than had been bargained for—“Some of it mine!” laughed Simon, who had slightly lost his temper. “And all for just tuppence a throw!”
    “But talking of aggression, have you seen our Reginald’s latest in tonight’s edition?” Alison was about forty, shortish, dark-haired, lively. “My husband thinks the pair of you must be doubling the paper’s circulation.”
    “Well, Reg certainly isn’t doing it with his syntax,” answered Simon. “So it must be with his sarcasm.”
    “Let’s hope it isn’t with his prejudice!”
    “What sweet new fascist principles is he flaunting for us now?”
    Before Alison could reply, however, one of the others spoke. This was Paula, who was in charge of St Matthew’s Sunday school— Pious Paula , closely related to Devotional Dawn in every way excepting that of actual family tie and the fact that she was single and evidently ‘stuck’ on him: his mother’s terrible expression when teasing him with her own macabre vision of what the future might be offering, unless he took strong action to avert it. Pious was roughly his own age and rather dumpy. She wore a pancake makeup over a coarse complexion but she had a pleasant smile and she always smelled nicely of Bluebell. (She had told him recently, with a violent blush, that that was what it was—“Do you really like it?”)
    “Oh, Simon, I just don’t know how he can be so rude to you! He should respect you. Not only because you’re a vicar and write much better letters than he does but also because you’re the vice-chairman of the Community Relations Council and really ought to know what you’re talking about. That’s what I say, anyhow.”
    He took compassion on her flustered countenance. “Thank you, Paula. That’s what I say, too. But now I honestly feel we’d better do some work.”
    Tonight there were four main topics they wanted to discuss: problems to do with house groups; the forthcoming visit to Nigeria of a missionary who was going to keep a link with St Matthew’s during his time out there; the possibility of some Franciscans coming to work in Scunthorpe; and what improvements could be made to the parish magazine. Throughout all this Simon did his best to concentrate and it turned out to be a satisfactory meeting, with some practical decisions reached.
    When his concentration did lapse, furthermore, the direct cause was less Dawn Heath than a newspaper which the church secretary, who came in every Wednesday, happened to have left behind. This was folded in four but still revealed a couple of typically disquieting headlines: more provocative comment from Reagan at the expense of Russia and the death of yet another soldier in Belfast. There was also something about the government making further drastic