Stealing God Read Free Page B

appeared, Brigadoon-like, from nowhere. Once brought back to life it consisted of a temporary office, a temporary phone line, some headed notepaper, the student, and a rector who served on a part-time basis until training was finished at which point Duns College and its rector once again disappeared.
    The post, though honorary, was not regarded as an honour, it was the “black spot” of Catholic academic life in Rome and when rumours of a Duns student circulated senior staff lived uneasily until the blow had fallen elsewhere. In the case of Professor McBride it was widely assumed that she would resent more deeply than most what had been done to her. After all, strictly speaking she should never even have been considered for the post. She was not a senior staff member of one of the many educational and training institutions run by the Catholic Church. She was, when not having her time wasted by Duns business, a senior member on the faculty of the Collegio Principe, founded in 1519 by Cesare Borgia to study of the relationship between Religion, Politics, and Power. The Collegio Principe, as a secular institute, had never been on the traditional rota from which Duns rectors were drawn. The consensus as to why she had allowed herself to be “persuaded” was that she had become a new and useful statistic. The Vatican had taken the opportunity, when it arose, to rectify an increasingly awkward point of political correctness. It could now point to a black, female seminary college rector on its official list of senior appointments. Progress in racial equality and gender justice with the minimum of nuisance. The Vatican way.
    The rector’s office was a small room on a narrow, badly lit, top-floor corridor. Most of its limited space was occupied by a large, ugly desk. The bulb hanging from the ceiling had no shade and glowed weakly, shedding as much despondency as light. The single window was grimy and closed. There was no carpet on the floorboards and the walls and ceiling had been painted a slightly bilious green. In the glory-glory days of this imposing building the whole top floor would have been where the most lowly servants slept.
    Despite everything, however, the rector liked the room, it suited her mood when she had to come and make use of it.
    Professor McBride had an open laptop on the desk when Jimmy entered on which she continued working, ignoring him. He was glad to be able to stand for a few minutes, the wait would let him get his breath back from climbing the several flights of stairs which took you from the grandeur of the downstairs rooms to these garrets in the roof. The rector finally closed the laptop and nodded to the chair on the other side of the desk.
    â€˜Sit down, please.’
    From their very first meeting she had reminded Jimmy of the headmistress of his primary school whom he remembered as a thoroughly unpleasant woman, though a nun. The resemblance seemed particularly pronounced today. Jimmy sat down on the hard, upright, chair while the rector busied herself slipping her computer into a carrying case which she then pushed to one side of the desk. She smiled a palpably false greeting.
    â€˜It is bad enough that each month I must be dragged away from important and relevant work to waste my time discussing with you your supposed progress. I do not blame you, you understand, I merely point it out. I always think honesty by far the best policy in relationships, be they personal, political, or whatever.’ The accent was American; so was the air of superiority. For some reason Jimmy had never liked Americans; he didn’t know why. He just didn’t. ‘Do you know what this meeting is about?’
    Jimmy shook his head. How was he supposed to know? He had just been given a message to be here.
    â€˜No idea.’
    â€˜Really?’
    Jimmy had the distinct impression that she didn’t believe him. They both sat in silence. Professor McBride stared at him as if she were