Robin's Year 01

I stood on the footbridge across the Thames, just by the Lock. There were one oe two joggers doing their rounds, a couple of people walking their dogs, a canoeist in the nether distance - and me on the bridge. The world whirled on around me. I said a silent prayer.

It was Friday morning. Advent was a few weeks away. The flat was all done, and the office was set up and working. But I needed a few moments to myself after the hectic few weeks that had preceded this moment of calm.

There had been moments of pure joy. The farewell party organised by Mac and Anna had been attended by the Ukrainians, but also by many of those they had been helping. Maddie, from the "Church Times" came with a photographer, and Rupert Myers mentioned it in his follow-up piece about Dimitri and the Russian mob. The continued publicity helped push things through at the London end. The fact that the Archbishop had approved of what I had said on the "Sunday" programme, also helped. His Press Office reported that the favourable publicity was such that the Church ought to capitalise on it; so they did.

There had been moments of doubt. What, if anything, should I say to Jane about her PA, Anya Rostov? Now I knew that they were lovers, it felt impossible to say anything. At least, with my move to the jurisdiction of the Bishop of London, I was no longer at danger of being spied on by Anya.

Bishop Sarah had been most welcoming. She had no agenda other than to welcome the new initiative, and made it clear to me that I would have her full support. I must have been giving off signals of nervousness as she added:

"Don't worry, Robin, I do not care about your sexuality. The Church will catch up, and from what I can gather, you are, and have been celibate, so only the most narrow-minded could object. Alas, we have some of those, but fewer in London than in Suffolk. Do not worry, please, Robin. I have your back, and that support is not going to vanish if we hit choppy waters. I ask only one thing, always tell me what's going on, I am contactable twenty-four-seven."

That was another moment of joy. Bishop Sarah had no need to be so supportive, it was not, after all, as though she had asked for me, and after the equivocation of Bishop Jane and the Archbishop, it was good to feel that my immediate boss was on my side.

Was there a sadness?

Yes. As I stood on the bridge looking at the Thames as it rushed over the Lock, I missed East Anglia. I missed the seaside and the coast. I loved the sea, and part of me longed to be back, just doing silly little things like buying a paper from Roly, the newsagent, and sitting reading it at the café on the promenade, watching the world go by.

And yet, here I was, watching a very different world go by. Things in London moved at a greater speed. The people were different. This was a cosmopolitan community. There were two universities within easy reach, and so one saw many students. It felt large. It felt somehow remote. How did I do what I had tried to in Felixstowe?

One way in was to talk with one of the two universities, which had a Centre for the Study of Modern Slavery. The two academics I met seemed delighted that I was there, asked intelligent questions about what I was going to do, and offered their help. They had good networks through the Catholic Church, and academics who were expert on the "modern slavery" industry, as well as psychologists and social work professionals who wanted to work with us. They asked if I'd mind them using the new Centre as a Case Study in their Research submissions, and when I said I'd be delighted, that sealed the deal. They also put in a bid to for fifty thousand pounds to help create a local network to provide our refugees with opportunities to work in the community. That was a great weight off my back. The Church loved the fact that I was bringing in outside money.

The university also helped by offering the services of some of its own students, who worked with the refugees, and used them as the basis for a study of how such women could be helped and reintegrated and empowered. That produced another outside grant. So, from the start, the sort of institutional support I had never had before was there. They also, to my delight, made me a visiting lecturer. Academia had been my other choice of career, so it was a delight to be able to combine my church vocation with lecturing to the students.

Maddie Stone ran an appeal in the "Church Times," which brought more publicity and some donations. I even got a letter from the Archbishop thanking me for my "initiative" and "help." He had strong views, but they were easily changed. Maddie offered to be on the little Board I set up to help oversee the Rahab Centre.

"Do you think they know why you have called it that?" She asked.

"Some will, but for me she is the ideal patron - she helped Joshua's men in Jericho and embraced God, who embraced her despite her being a whore. Seems well-suited to us."

"I agree. Are we going to have the grand opening you mentioned?"

"I think we probably ought to," I had said.

And that was one reason I was standing on the bridge. I knew that, given the patrons we had and would need, that we should have such a launch, but heavens, the whole idea filled me with dismay. Fortunately, that was where Irina came in.

Irina was a details woman. We gelled well, having complementary skill sets. She was not fond of dealing with people and liked detail; I was the opposite. She relished administration and was extremely good at dealing with our suppliers; I was the opposite. It was thanks, in large part to her, and to our finance guy, Richard, that things were up and running so quickly. But when I thanked her, she said:

"Robin, darling, this is your achievement, we are the stars around your sun!"

"Thank you, darling, Irina, but we both know it is a team effort. I make a good front woman, but I need you and Richard and the others. When does the first cohort of women come?"

"That will be at the start of next week, so we have the weekend to get everything ready. You need a breather; you have not stopped since Suffolk."

She was right. That, too, was why I was standing on the bridge.

It felt comforting to know that Mama was not too far away, and now we were reconciled, I was trying to see her at least once a month.

On the middle horizon were the clouds of the trials of Elena and Dimitri, at which I would have to give evidence. That would mean reliving it all over again, no doubt with the usual pictures in the papers. I still found it hard to believe that Elena had been willing to betray me.

But the cloud which was closest came from Lambeth.

Bishop Jane and I had not talked since that Saturday. I no longer knew what to say. I had seen those pictures of her and Anya Rostov, and wished, in so many ways that I hadn't. I should, I felt, tell someone that Jane's PA was working for the Russians, but who? And how could I do that without damaging, probably fatally, Jane's career? That thought kept coming back to bug me.

Then, of course, there was the sense of absence. Whatever I had hoped for, there could be no relationship with Jane, and there were times when I felt as though time was passing me by. Silly when you are approaching twenty-nine, but as the next landmark would be thirty, not altogether surprising. Single, celibate women priests were not anywhere as common as one might have imagined. Few of us had a calling to be a nun; I certainly didn't have it.

I walked back to Mary Mags (as we called the old St Mary Magdalen Church) to see how things were going - and to take Morning Prayer.

My new PA, Rhona, was the very model of efficiency. In her mid-fifties, she had been a PA at one of the local universities, which turned out to be quite a plus, as she knew her way around the whole area. A short woman with an old-fashioned blonde bob, going slightly grey, Rhona was, as she put it, "a sort of practising Catholic," from an Irish background. Her husband, `George, worked at Heathrow, and their only daughter, Marie, was a little younger than me and blessed with a delightful young daughter called Alice. Rhona was a wonderfully motherly presence to the whole team. Calm, imperturbable, she dispensed tea and maternal wisdom wherever she went.

"Robin!" She exclaimed as I opened the door. We had discussed the "Mother Robin," issue, as she had asked if she should call me that and I had said on no account, and I'd fire her if she ever did. She smiled.

"Fair enough. Just so you know, despite being a Catholic - of sorts - I am fine with women priests and the other thing, you know, the gay thing."

There was something charming about the way she phrased that: "the gay thing." I had smiled and taken it for what it turned out to be, which was an entirely non-judgemental attitude towards my private life.

"I was wondering what had become of you. Maddie wants a word when you are free. Irina is dealing with the electricians in the residences, reading them the riot act she was when I left them. Richard has the accounts for you to look at and approve, and I have made a few plans for the reception you mentioned."

I smiled as I looked at her.

"I am so lucky to have you, Rhona, shall we look at the plans first? I can call Maddie after. How are you with accounts?"

"Me, Robin, I am good with them, ask my George."

"Well, just between us, I am pretty useless with them. Could you give them a good look and then alert me to anything which does not make sense?"

"I could, Robin. Don't you think that is more the sort of thing an Executive Assistant does?"

I smiled. This, it transpired, was Rhona's Achilles' heel. She was very status conscious, titles mattered to her. She was, she had reminded me more than once, a graduate herself. I pretended to give the matter some thought.

"Rhona, can you get me the job descriptions and salary scales for the two things, EAs and PAs?"

"I can Robin, but it isn't the money."

"I know, but let's make sure that if there is an overlap, we put you on the top of it."

"I have the details here, Robin, and as you can see, there is an overlap at the top of one scale and...."

And so on and so forth. Bless her. Of course, she got what she wanted. It was a reminder to me that it was not just people in the church who cared about hierarchies and status.

It turned out that Rhona's "few plans" consisted of a detailed plan of action, complete with suggested caterers budgets and possible dates.

"I have checked with the EAs of the Archbishop and Bishop Sarah, and they can both do 15 November, which is a Friday night. Maddie and your journalist friend can make it, as can the Mayors and the two Vice-Chancellors."

"Rhona, when did you start checking?"

"Well, let me think, I have been here a week, so it must have been last Thursday."

She had also contacted others whom it would be useful to have there, including the Home Secretary, who could not make it, but who was sending his deputy.

"We can do it all within the Budget, Robin, and if, after the ladies arrive, any of them would like to help, that will cut costs further."

If ever I felt utterly redundant it was then, listening to Rhona; but it was a delight to hand it all over to her. Of course, I took a great interest, that was the least she expected of me, but she was clearly pleased that I approved. I soon learned that this was how to get the best from her. She was capable of far more than she had ever been allowed to do elsewhere, and the Centre became what it did, at least in part thanks to her.

When I told Irina, she grinned.

"Our job is to help you make this a success. And you and I know that the women who are coming here need all the help they can get. Are you free for dinner later?"

I was, so we arranged somewhere on the river. Even though it would be dark, the lights made it look like a fairyland scene.

One of the advantages of living on the job, was that there was no commute. As I was off duty, I decided to go with a mid-length dark green dress, thinking it would set my red hair off well.

To judge by the glances as I entered, that was a successful gambit. I smiled when I saw Irina, who had gone for the simple little black dress. She looked stunning, and I told her so.

The restaurant was part of a popular pub, and Irina said she had booked early to get us a couple of seats. I ordered a bottle of Chablis, and we settled back to study the menu. I noticed Irina checking out the rather pretty blonde waitress.

"Is she your sort, darling?"

"She is, I have bumped into her a few times, she is studying at the university. This is an ideal spot for our new enterprise."

We both avoided starters and went straight to the main course. I had been told by Rhona that the fish and chips were to die for, so ordered those; Irina went for the roast chicken.

Over supper she told me that her bosses back home were delighted with her new placement, and we would have their full backing when it came to tracking down those who had trafficked the women.

"I am glad you are here," I told her, "we make a good team."

"We do, but I am sorry about you and Jane. Have you done anything about that PA of hers?"

"Not yet, and to be honest, I am not sure what to do. If she has a hold on Jane, is there anything?"

"It is a hard one, Robin, but maybe you should see Jane?"

"After those pictures, I am not sure I could."

"They had an effect on you?"

I felt my cheeks flush.

"Yes, I could not believe it."

"Was that the only effect?" Irina asked, arching her eyebrows, and smiling.

"What do you mean?"

Our eyes locked.

"I think you know what I mean, Robin."

The tingling between my thighs and the hint of dampness told me that Irina had read my mind, so there was no use lying to her.

"I do, yes."

"You know it is okay to be aroused by such things Robin? It is not my preference to submit, as you know, but thinking back to our weekend, I did wonder about you in that respect."

"Irina! Really. Keep your voice down."

"Are you telling me that if I told you to go to the ladies and bring your panties back to me, I'd find them dry?"

That made me blush furiously.

"You wouldn't!"

"One time I might, but I think that Shawna and I will be meeting up later. That, by the way is the name of the waitress. Bet the idea turned you on though?"

There would have been no point denying it, so I didn't.

"You are a lovely woman, Robin, and I can't work out why you are not with someone?"

"Apart from God, you mean?"

She grinned.

"How could I have forgotten? Must be the absence of the collar."

"I have not met the right person, and I am not that keen on casual sex. There needs to be an emotional connection."

"Don't knock casual sex, Robin, I am rather hoping it will be fun later."

Why, I wondered later, did I feel a sense of disappointment? Irina and I had enjoyed a weekend fling, and I had no reason to suppose that she would want to continue it, though I think that somewhere in my subconscious was the thought that she might. It seemed almost a mite hypocritical of me, given that I was not in favour of casual sex. But then, perhaps I had been hoping it would not be casual?

The evening was, however, a good one. I relaxed, and, once I had realised that Irina was flirting with her intended date, I watched with interest. There were just enough little touches as Shawna served us, to tell me that they were going to have fun later.

I told Irina that if it was okay with her, I'd walk back home and leave her to her date. She smiled:

"Ever tactful, Robin. We shall probably go back to hers, so don't wait up!"

As it was Irina's turn to pay, I kissed her on the cheek, passed Shawna, and said:

"Have fun!"

She smiled back shyly:

"You don't mind?"

"Oh," I said, "we're just good friends."

She grinned.

"Good to know. Hey, aren't you that vicar who has been in the papers?"

"I am," I admitted.

"Cool," she said, "I hope to see you about."

I grabbed my coat and turned left down the high street back to my flat. The night was not too cold, and the lights of the shops created seemed somehow to denote calm and normality. That was, I reflected, something I needed.

Back in my flat I undressed, put my nightie on and tried to sleep. But it proved an elusive jade. Those pictures of Jane kept coming into my head, and I knew that I had been wrong to judge her. To be honest with myself, and if I could not be, who could, I imagined myself in Jane's position. How would that feel? What was she looking for? The only thing to do, I decided, was to talk to her.