Masquerade

4

“You’re not going to wear that, are you?”

The Reverend and Mrs. David Benbow were dressing for dinner. She, in slip, seated at the vanity, was applying light makeup.

“What’s the matter with it?” Benbow studied himself in the mirror.

Tall, with a suggestion of a natural wave in his blond hair, David Benbow had nearly maintained his athletic figure of earlier days. The beginning of a paunch was about all that hinted at his mid-forties age. There was not a mature line in his face.

“The tie,” Martha said.

“What’s the matter with the tie? It goes with this suit, doesn’t it?”

“Well, now that you mention it, not really. But that’s not the point.”

“Well, then. .”

“The point,” Martha stopped brushing her eyelashes, “is that the participants in this workshop are clergymen or religious. I should think you’d be expected to wear your clerical collar.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely.”

“It’s a bit uncomfortable for that, you know. Unless you think it’s really necessary.”

“I think so. You wouldn’t want to pop into dinner to find you’re the only one not in uniform.”

“Oh. . I suppose.” Benbow removed the tie and shirt, rummaged through a drawer and came up with a black, collarless shirt. He slipped into the shirt and affixed the plain white clerical collar that was peculiar to, but not exclusive to, the Episcopal and Anglican priesthood. When, eventually, he would don a jacket, he would be wearing a black worsted suit with a red pinstripe and a clerical collar. Proper.

Martha resumed her adornment process. In her early forties, she betrayed her age to a far greater extent than her husband. She did not find this sporting or even fair, but there was little she could do about it. The lines that were absent from David’s face could be found abundantly in hers. Her once svelte figure now was more relaxed. However, she had earned every wrinkle, every pound.

They had met when he was a senior, she a freshman, at Northwestern University. They married after his graduation. During his three years in the seminary, she left the university and worked as a realtor.

He was ordained and found a position as an associate in a Chicago parish. His $12,000 salary was barely enough for them. She, in real estate, was earning considerably more than he. They agreed they needed the second income, which, in reality, was his. So they decided against having children, at least for then.

As their individual incomes increased so did their standard of living. No longer was there even talk of children. She had become a broker, he a pastor and, over the past seven years, the author of three mystery novels. By almost anyone’s measure, they were a successful couple.

Neither would have given consideration to asking the other to give up anything the other was doing. By this time, they had relinquished most of the perks of rectory life: the rectory itself, a car allowance, utilities, and the housekeeper (whom they now employed personally), instead of having the parish provide all these goods and services.

In their situation it made sense to them. They were building equity in their own home. And they were beholden to no one in the parish.

David busied himself with the contents of a small black carrying case. When he turned he was holding two cocktail glasses filled to the brim with a clear liquid.

Martha smiled at his reflection in the mirror. “What have we there?”

“May I interest you in a martini, love?” He walked toward her with great care, intent on not spilling a drop. No mean feat with glasses so full.

Martha shook her head. “Aren’t hors d’oeuvres and drinks on the schedule before dinner tonight?” But even as she spoke, she accepted one of the glasses. She turned back to the mirror and placed the glass on the vanity. Neither spilled a drop. If either had an anxious nerve, it was not discernible.

He sipped from his glass, thus raising the odds against spillage. “Look at it this way, love: maybe yes, maybe no. The young lady who showed us to this room did not appear to have both oars in the water. There very well may not be any hors d’oeuvres, let alone drinks. And wouldn’t it be frightful to have to face this group cold sober?”

Martha frowned. “You’d think the one in charge of this conference would have been here to greet us. What’s her name-Sister Janet or something?”

“Indeed. Off somewhere, leaving a child to do the job!”

The Benbows had no way of knowing that Janet and Marie were at this moment extending their walk through the grounds, catching up with each other’s history, and either solving or shelving most of the Church’s problems.

“All I have to say,” Martha said, “is, This is not a good beginning. It augurs a long week.”

“Five days, actually, love. Sorry you came? Miss the business?”

“Not really. You and I were long overdue to spend some time together. We haven’t had a vacation in God knows how long.”

“We’re busy people.” He held his drink to the light as if examining its contents. “Just like Nick and Nora.”

“Who?”

“Charles-Nick and Nora Charles. The Thin Man series. Bill Powell and Myrna Loy. . you remember.”

“I remember, all right. I remember a time when you’d be quoting Scripture instead of alluding to murder mystery movies.”

“Can’t help it, love; Nick and Nora appreciated their martinis. We are following in prestigious footsteps.”

Martha dove into a light blue dress with lace at the high neck and sleeves. David smirked as he watched her wiggle into the dress. “How very modest of you. I believe the Romans refer to that as a ‘Marylike’ outfit.”

She giggled. “The least I could do. After all, if memory serves, I’ll be the only spouse here, won’t I?”

“Uh-huh. Of course the nun is single and presumably a virgin to boot. The Roman priests remain celibate.”

“Priests? I thought there was only one Roman-the monk. Father. . uh. . Augustine.”

“They brought in another one, at the last hour as it were. A Father Koesler.”

“Koesler? Never heard of him. What did he write?”

“Nothing that I know of. He’s somewhat of an amateur detective on the local scene, I take it.”

“Extraordinary.”

“Yes. Then there’s the rabbi. Although he’s married, his wife isn’t accompanying him. He’s here by himself.”

“Leaving Krieg.”

“Leaving Krieg.” An unmistakably bitter tone crept into David’s voice.

“Dear, dear. .” Martha finished applying lipstick. “What is there about Krieg that upsets you so?”

“He’s corrupt.”

“So are lots of people. No, there’s something specific about Klaus Krieg, isn’t there? I can tell; I can read you like a book.”

“Really!” He smiled sardonically. “Well, as a priest one comes to tolerate a vast array of personalities. Saints are nice. I don’t even mind sinners at all. But hypocrites are quite another thing. It’s just that Krieg gives hypocrisy a bad name. In Krieg’s pantheon, Jesus Christ is a nice guy, but the messiah is Klaus Krieg. And the pitiful part is that millions of trusting souls have bought him. And in buying him, they are paying for him.”

Martha smoothed her skirt and sat down across from her husband. She sipped her drink. “There’s something more. I sense it.”

“What more is necessary?” There was a tinge of anger in his voice.

“No matter. In any case, he’s not bringing his wife?”

“No. As I understand it, at no time did he have any intention of bringing her.” David grew thoughtful. “It is as if he came deliberately unencumbered. As if he wants to have something settled once and for all,” he added, almost as if to himself. His face hardened. “If so, I’m sure he’ll get his wish.”

What a strange thing for David to say, thought Martha.

She shrugged and finished her drink. David was distancing himself from her. It was by no means the first time he had kept his real feelings from her. They were not as close as they once had been.

Yet she was confident that, in time, she would understand.

In those early days when they were relatively poor, terribly dependent on each other, things had seemed better. Odd; she would have expected that things would improve as their lives became more comfortable and free of financial worry. She wondered if things went that way with all couples. Maybe it was youth, common problems, and shared concerns that drew married couples close. Maybe it was unrealistic to expect things to remain unchanged let alone get better.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

She hoped no drinks would be served before dinner. That martini had been quite enough.