Page 7 of Pyg

SERENDIPITY

1953

“E leanor! The door!” Sylvia’s screech from the drawing room pulled Ella from her trance, mesmerised as she was by the late afternoon sunlight dappling through the sycamore, its leaves aflame with a glorious display of reds and yellows before winter stripped it bare.

With a sigh, Ella pulled her hands from the soapy water in the sink and dried them on her apron, which she whipped over her head and hung on the hook in the pantry.

“Eleanor!”

“Yes, Mother,” Ella called out as she made her way to the front door, tilting her head at the patterned glass panels which distorted the figure waiting beyond — it looked like a real-life Picasso if she squinted hard enough. The person waiting outside stood tall and looked entirely unlike the squat, frumpy outline of Father Harries, whom they’d been expecting.

The door creaked as Ella swung it open, and she raised her arm to shield her eyes from the low sun, blinking into the face of a young man who blinked back at her.

No, nothing at all like Father Harries.

“Hello?”

“Hello,” he said with a smile that pushed deep dimples into his cheeks. Ella couldn’t help but smile back at this handsome stranger.

“Can I help you?”

“Right, yes. I’m from St. Mary’s.” The smooth, rich timbre of his voice was at odds with his cherubic looks. He extended a hand toward her, and Ella shook it limply, her face no doubt the picture of puzzlement.

“Miss Shaw, is it?”

Ella nodded.

“I’ve been sent to visit you and your mother?—”

“Where’s Father Harries?”

“I’m sorry, I should’ve started with that. I’m afraid he’s taken ill, poor soul.”

“Oh, is he alright?”

“A suspected stroke.” He drew in a sharp breath. “He’s stable and they’ve moved him to the clergy house in Warwick for convalescence, so I’ll be taking over his duties at St. Mary’s, for the time being, at least.”

“But you’re…” Ella frowned as her eyes roved over the man’s face.

“I’m what?”

“So young.” Thankfully, she didn’t say and handsome, but the implication hung in the air between them.

“Yes, I suppose I am, at least compared to some of my colleagues. I can assure you, though, I’m fully qualified.” He pulled down the neckline of his knitted grey jumper to reveal a dog collar. “See? Bona fide priest. They don’t hand these out to just anyone, you know?”

“Right. Well, in that case, we’d better start again. Eleanor, or Ella, if you’d rather.” She held out her hand to shake his with a much firmer grip this time.

“Father Higgins, or Henry, if you’d rather.”

“Henry Higgins?” Ella giggled, stepping aside to allow him in.

“That’s right.”

“Like the professor in Pygmalion .”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“You know, the play Pygmalion by George Bernard Shaw?”

The young priest shook his head.

“Never mind. I just thought it a funny coincidence. I’m a Shaw, and you have the same name as the professor, Henry Higgins.”

“Ha, yes. Well, I suppose that is a coincidence. Alas, I’m not a professor, just a priest.”

Alas. They locked eyes and something unspoken passed between them. Colour filled the priest’s dimpled cheeks, and he looked away.

“This er, play, Pig...?”

“ Pygmalion .”

“Yes. What’s it about?”

Ella inhaled a big breath. “I’d say it’s about a transformation. A young woman realising her self-worth in a flawed social class system.”

“I see… And this Professor Higgins, is he a good sort?”

Ella grinned. “He’s a pompous twit.”

Laughter brimmed in the young priest’s vibrant blue eyes. “Oh, right. Well, hopefully you don’t think that of me.”

“We’ll see,” Ella giggled and added, “I’ll lend you my copy of the play if you like. It’s a bit battered, and there’s a lot of scrawl in the margins, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Thank you, Eleanor — Ella. I shall look forward to that.” He smiled and his impossible dimples deepened. “It’s really quite something, serendipity. It bolsters one’s faith in a bigger plot. The grand designer colliding us together in a magnificent plan.”

He pointed an index finger towards the ceiling, and Ella’s eyes followed the motion before realising what he was referring to. Her own faith had been shaken; you could say that her relationship with God was going through a bit of a rough patch. They hadn’t spoken since her father died, and she was still rather cross about all that, but perhaps here stood the answer.

“Sorry, I’m told I can get a little carried away with my theologising…”

“No, I like it,” she said, and realised she meant it. So rare was good company that she didn’t want to burst this bubble by handing him over, but her mother would be growing impatient so Ella should spare him the wrath. She gestured for the priest to follow her. “Shall we?”

The priest visibly gulped. “Your mother, I’ve heard she can be a bit… how do I put it politely?”

“Caustic?” Ella smirked.

“Yes, I suppose that’s not too impolite.”

“You needn’t worry. She admires a man of the cloth.” Ella chuckled. “Once she’s got over the shock of you not being Father Harries, I think she’ll be quite taken with you.”

The priest’s long lashes flickered as if batting away the compliment.

“Papa seemed to soften her sharp edges. When he didn’t return after the war, Mother’s ferocity took root. She allowed her world to close in, and now struggles with company, mine being no exception.”

The priest frowned. “But you, Ella, you’re so…” He breathed heavily through his nose, as if trying to puff out the right words to describe her, “...upbeat,” he eventually offered.

Ella laughed. “I won’t lie. It’s a struggle, but I try to hang onto my positivity and sanity as best I can.”

“I don’t mean to pry, but is there no one else to support you?”

Ella shook her head. “I’m all she has left. Just me and her faith.”

“What more could she possibly want?” The priest’s smile stretched to his eyes, and he reached out and touched her forearm.

She glanced at his hand as he held it there, his heat emanating through her skin, into her flesh; somehow warming through to her bones.

Sylvia’s voice shrieked, “Eleanor! What’s keeping you?”

“Right, we’d better…”

“Yes.”

The look between them lingered longer than it should have.

“Coming, Mother!” Ella pitched her voice to carry into the drawing room. “Father Harries has taken ill. St. Mary’s have sent us Father Higgins instead.” With a small smile, Ella motioned for the priest to enter the room.

“Tea, Father?”