Sidney Chambers and the Perils of the Night by James Runcie Read Free Book Online

it been a few seconds later, Sidney would have been knocked down.
    This sudden awareness pulled him up short. It would take only one lapse of concentration and he could have died. He really did have to try to pay more attention: unless the driver had meant to hit him. Was someone monitoring his investigation into the death of Valentine Lyall? He wondered, once again, if he was being followed and if he should alert Inspector Keating to his suspicions. Or perhaps, he consoled himself, all of this anxiety was merely nervousness at the prospect of seeing Amanda?
    His friend was known for her directness and Sidney had not thought too carefully about how open he was going to be with her; either about recent events or, indeed, his last German visit. Amanda liked clear answers to her questions. She was not that interested in either ambiguity or uncertainty despite the fact that their friendship still had its areas of unease. Sidney had been immensely attracted to her when he was younger but, since his ordination, Amanda had stated that any romantic potential had evaporated with his decision ‘to put God first’, and he, in turn, had concentrated on her Roman nose and a snaggle tooth on the top right-hand side of her mouth in order to avoid infatuation.
    There remained, however, an immense, and often exclusive, affection between the two friends. They had met shortly after the war, when Sidney had become an interim replacement for Amanda’s favourite cousin, Charles, who had been killed at El Alamein. They had a shared sense of the ridiculous, loved ‘pastime with good company’, and hated any abbreviation of their Christian names (she was no more of a ‘Mandy’ than he was a ‘Sid’). Although she hated jazz, could not understand the rules of cricket, and thought that the clergy should work much harder to make their sermons entertaining, she was irresistibly attracted to Sidney’s charm and loyalty. She was also, particularly, grateful for his petty vanities and how he tolerated being teased because of them. He had, she thought, an openly vulnerable humanity and, unlike other clergy, whom she cruelly referred to as ‘theatrical cast-offs’, Sidney could preach a decent sermon. His mixture of decency and optimism reminded her of the actor Kenneth More in Genevieve. She also recognised that Sidney was, perhaps, the only man she knew who properly appreciated her intelligence (St Hilda’s Oxford, the Courtauld Institute, research into Holbein and the history of British portraiture), her love of music (she played the oboe and sang in the Bach Choir), and the complexity of her social situation (a large inheritance and the resulting hazard of fortune-seeking suitors).
    Despite the horrors of a ‘freezing train and a frightful journey’, Amanda was on feisty form on her arrival, regaling Sidney with news of his sister Jennifer and a New Year house party that was full of ‘handsome men who had never bothered to learn how to be interesting’. It was a relief to get back to her work at the National Gallery, she said, and she was glad to be helping her old tutor Anthony Blunt with some research into the later paintings of Nicolas Poussin.
    Sidney unfolded his napkin. ‘It is strange you should mention Blunt. He dined at the college a few nights ago.’
    ‘He’s not a Corpus man, is he?’
    ‘I think he was a guest of the Master.’
    ‘You didn’t talk to him? You know he’s the son of a vicar?’
    ‘I was a little distracted, Amanda.’
    ‘By anything in particular?’
    ‘Nothing too alarming.’
    Amanda paused while the waitress finished pouring out her glass of wine. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Sidney. I have seen that look of yours before and it troubles me.’
    ‘One of our junior fellows has died. It’s been a sad business.’
    ‘By “junior” do you mean that he was young?’
    ‘It was an accident,’ Sidney answered.
    ‘I assume, by your tone, that it was nothing of the kind.’
    ‘It’s quite