Robin's Year 04

As I sat in the taxi on the way back home, I had plenty to think about - not least the state of my panties.

That kiss had sent shivers through to my core. I had opened my lips for Alice: the feel of her wet tongue as she explored my mouth; the sensations as our tongues played; the sense of intimacy conveyed, were all more than enough to arouse me sexually. For a moment the fire had flared, especially when I had felt her hand slide up my skirt to cup my bottom. I had gasped. Had she pressed things at that moment, I should have yielded, but she had pulled back.

"So tempting, Robin, but I think you might regret it, which would make me regret it too; this is worth taking our time over, I think."

I knew she was right, and was grateful for her restraint, if a little frustrated.

"I think so, but goodness knows, maybe we both need our heads testing?"

Offering me a top up with the Chablis, Alice asked what I meant.

"Well here am I, snowed under with my new Centre, and there are you, a rising MP with a heavy ministerial post, when on earth are we going to find time for romance?"

"It is romance I want Robin, and I think you do, so we shall just have to find the time - unless you want to go to bed with me now?"

"Part of me does," I admitted, "but part of me will regret it in the morning. But look, why don't we try to find some time. Your constituency is not far from where I live, and I can always get up here of an evening, so let's see how we can make it work. What do you say?"

Alice had said yes. We'd kissed a little more, and then she had summoned a cab for me. Our goodnight kiss had left me feeling warm and contented. It had also left its trace on my panties. At that moment my phone pinged:

"You're lovely, thank you xxxxx AW"

"So are you, thank YOU, xxx RT"

And we texted silly emojis for the next half hour, finishing off with:

"Home now. Will dream of you, xxx R"

"Good, will suggest dates for dates xxx A"

I slept well, and over breakfast was still glad that we'd stopped. She texted:

"Let's talk later xxx A"

"Yes, xxx R" was my response.

Rhona noticed my cheerful mood.

"How did it go?"

I told her most of it, and said she should watch out for a call or email from Viktor, as the Ambassador wanted to visit us.

"You're very good at this, Robin, no wonder we have already had an appreciative email from the Archbishop. By the way, there was a call for you from an Anya Rostov, she said you'd know who she was."

"I do, thanks Rhona. I can't wait to see what the Archbishop has to say."

Rhona looked at me quizzically, so I told her she was Bishop Jane's PA, which simply brought, as I had feared it would, further enquiries as to what she could want.

"No doubt wanting to thank you on behalf of the Bishop. You're a real start, Robin!"

I smiled at the irony of it all. The Archbishop had agreed to let me do this in order to save trouble, and now he was acting as though the idea was all his - and taking the credit. Whoever said that it is amazing what you can get done provided you don't mind who takes the credit, had a point.

I was, of course, wondering what Anya Rostov wanted. It interested me that in phoning my Executive Assistant, she'd used her own name rather than saying she was Bishop Jane's PA. But much as I wanted to know what she wanted, I needed to catch up with Irina and Ilona to go over how things had gone.

To my pleasure there was universal agreement that it had been a success, but both of them were concerned when I told them about Viktor and the Ambassador.

"Miss Robin, I'd have to say be careful before taking money from my government. It is pretty clear to me that they want to take as many of us back to Hungary as possible as 'good wives and mothers' for Hungarian men."

"Is that so wrong, Ilona?" I asked.

"You don't know these men, Miss Robin. They sound reasonable, but they just want us to go back to being baby-making machines who cook their food and clean their houses."

"I hear you," I said, "but shouldn't we let women decide for themselves?"

"But what alternatives do they have?" Irina asked.

"That," I replied, "is why we are doing what we are, to help them find other options. But if some want that traditional option, what right have we to stop them"

I could see that neither Ilona nor Irina was happy with my answer, but I could not see any other way forward. I did not want to replace the worldview of men like Viktor with mine. It was not about me; it was about the women and opening up options for them.

I had a call from Maddie after that, and I put the dilemma to her.

"You, of all people, Robin, arguing the case for motherhood and apple pie? Really?"

I explained that it was not about trying to impose my view of what the women should do with their lives, but about opening opportunities, but Maddie said that I was a hopeless romantic about such matters. How, she asked, could women who had been trafficked and used be expected to be able to make good judgments about their future? I explained that our whole purpose in creating the Centre had been to give women back their confidence by providing them with therapy and experience, but I could see it was best to switch track, so we shifted to talk about future features, and her burgeoning relationship with her fellow journalist, Rupert Myers.

"He really is a darling, Robin. He's so helpful, and he wants to do another feature on what you are up to out in the boondocks!"

"Oh, darling, you are both so helpful," I said, with genuine delight. I liked Maddie, and Rupert, and their efforts on behalf of the Centre were a real help in terms of publicity and money.

Afterwards I reflected. Irina, Ilona, and Maddie all thought that taking money from the Hungarians would compromise what we were doing. I would, I thought, have to take that to the Board. I hated bureaucracy, but the fact was that I was not carrying those closest with me, and I was not a dictator. I asked Rhona to put it on the agenda for the next meeting of the Board.

Having run out of excuses to postpone the call to Anya Rostov, I phoned her. She answered straight away.

"Ah Miss Topham. Thank you for ringing back. Jane has told you about us. Are you going to ruin her career by reporting her to the Archbishop?"

She was nothing if not direct. Her Russian accent added to sense of oddness I was suddenly feeling. Did she mean that Jane had told her everything, as in including that I wanted her to work for us undercover? I guessed, from her tone, that she was only talking about the pictures in the club.

"Why would I want to do that?"

"To keep in with the Archbishop."

"I am not like that."

"Well then, because you are a good girl who wishes to report behaviour unbecoming in a Bishop."

The question presenting itself to me with urgency was just what had Jane told her? I took the chance that she had not mentioned that I had asked her to spy on Anya and her Russian bosses, and sticking to the point she had raised, replied that:

"I am fond of Jane. I would not do that."

"Ah, so, you too are one of those nice repressed English girls who gets off on the idea of being submissive to another woman. Is that it?"

I felt a shiver run to my core. There was more truth in that than I cared to admit, or indeed, was prepared to admit to this Russian temptress.

"If you are worried about Jane, don't be. I am not going to report her."

"You did not answer my question."

"I have precisely no intention of doing so," I said, sounding a little prissy even to myself.

"That's a shame. I'd like to meet you. I would not like you to think the worse of Jane. I can see you don't want to answer the question as to whether you are like Jane, which tells me all I need to know. I am sure you will not report her. Thank you. I am pleased and will tell her you are being a good girl."

And with that, she ended the call.

I was relieved. It felt as though I had been plucked back from the edge of a dangerous place. My stomach had become full of butterflies, and I had to take deep breaths to calm myself. Those last two words had struck a resonance somewhere deep inside me. Her calling me a "good girl," had stirred feelings from the vasty deep - that place where my sexual fantasies were firmly place in a lead-lined box and put away. Back to work, I decided.

I had a meeting that afternoon with the academics from St Hilda's, who were both delighted with the progress they were making. They were, they said, convinced that the model we were pioneering was capable of wider use, and the responses from the people who were being helped by our teams was universally positive, as, indeed, was the feedback from the women themselves.

I took a walk after lunch, strolling down to the Lock, which had become my favourite place of reflection. There were times I needed to get away from it all; this was one of them. I said my usual Rosary as I walked in silence down the Thames path, knowing that I could not go as far as I wanted, as work would intervene. I got as far as seeing Pope's Grotto on the opposite side of the Thames before my phone went. It was Rhona, reminding me I had a meeting with our finance director, Richard, at three.

Reluctantly, I set my face back up the way I had come. It would soon be Advent, and I wanted to do something to mark the season. The Centre was working, but what, I wondered, set it apart from any other worthy enterprise? Was I simply baptising secular work with a Christian veneer? The very thought set my mind working, seeking an answer. Then there was Alice. That I was attracted to her was clear, but what did that mean? As a Romantic, for me love had about it a quality of innocence as well as a capacity for illusion; to summarise the whole of one's sexual desire in one person was, for some, simply folly. I recalled arguments at university with several keen feminist friends who had maintained that women could only be truly emancipated when we were able to be as promiscuous as men. I had argued that they traduced men, not all of whom were, I suspected, as free with their passions as some might pretend, but also that they were throwing out the baby with the bathwater. Was sexual desire an end in itself, or a means of deeper union with a loved one? We had agreed to disagree. I wondered whether their sexual vagrancy had enriched or impoverished their lives?

I was still mulling all of this over when I came back to the bridge over the Thames, and spotted the familiar figure of Mother Beth, the vicar of St Edward's.

"Gosh, Robin, you do walk a pace? Are you in a hurry, or do you have time for a coffee?"

"A quick one," I said, glancing at the phone, "I have a meeting at three with my Director of Finance."

"You need something to cheer you up first," she grinned, "let's pop into the pub and get a coffee and watch the Thames drift by,"

So we did.

Beth was full of her plans for the Advent Season, so I mentioned that I had been wondering about what we should do.

"Why not join in with us? I am sure that there are some wonderful Ukrainian Christmas carols, and it would be a delight to welcome you to our events. We have a market planned for the Saturday after next, perhaps your ladies would like to help out?"

Her enthusiasm cheered me up, so I asked her whether we could work with some of the children from the Church School in the parish.

"Yes, what did you have in mind?"

"My women are all refugees from an oppressive regime - and Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus were also refugees - maybe we could do something with that?"

"Great idea!"

The talk put me back in a positive mood for my meeting with Richard, which, in itself, was hugely positive.

"We are bringing in a lot of money, Robin, and our sponsors are happy. On this Hungarian proposal, I'm just a finance man, but I can tell you we don't need the money, so don't feel obliged on that count."

"I'm divided on it Richard," I admitted.

"I'd have thought you feminists would be pretty clear that what the Hungarians want is not acceptable."

There was something in the tenor of his voice which made me want to know what he meant.

"My worry is this, Richard, that I will end up pushing these women onto paths they don't want, but which we think are suitable for them. We will do it with the best of motives, but in our own way, are we not subjecting them to our will, just as the Russians did?"

He looked thoughtful. His fingers played with his beard (a habit I had noticed, when he was pondering things), and eventually he said:

"You are a funny one Robin. `You really do care about them, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, Richard. What if some of them want to go to Hungary, find a man and start a family? Who am I to tell them that is not an option?"

He smiled at me.

"Well, I get a vote at the Board, and I will speak up for it, and vote with you, how does that sound?"

The look on his face cheered me.

"Thank you. You always look like a particularly benign sprite when you are doing the right thing."

"Too true!" He said cheerfully, "and why not? It's why I am working for you and the Church rather than earning a fortune in the City. Not that I need to, having been there done that, and got several gold lamé tee-shirts in the process. Now, let me treat you to a coffee, and we can discuss tactics."

And so we did. I had not heard him open up before about his time in "the City," but it transpired he was in confessional mode, so I listened. He had worked for the Royal Bank of Scotland after the financial crash of 2008 had wrecked it, and nearly wrecked the economy. Having done the work there, he had decided to get out:

"It's all casino capitalism, Robin. I didn't think I could work in that environment anymore. Besides, having made my pile made it easier. So I went to work for the Church, at least the money I help make here goes to a good cause. After all, what could the Good Samaritan have accomplished without money?"

That was very Richard. He liked to provoke, to make you think. He really did not think it was choice between God and Mammon.

"Is what I hear about you and the Minister accurate? I don't want to pry, so tell me to shut up, but there is gossip."

"If what you hear is that Alice and I are an item, then it is accurate gossip, anything beyond that is embellishment."

"I wish you well, Robin, but make sure you both create some time and space; if you don't, you will never manage to create a relationship. Now then, Christmas, I have plans, let me run them past you. What did you have in mind?"

I liked the tactful way he had first raised the issue of myself and Alice, and then managed to slide away from it gracefully. We discussed a Christmas market, working with shops in the area, and how to ensure that the coming season would indeed be one of goodwill and cheer.

In the end, the Board meeting went off well. Richard's presentation of the finances set a positive tone, and when it came to the issue of the Hungarian money, no one pressed too hard against it. I had been worrying about it, not only because of that issue, but also because Bishop Jane was a Board member. I had hoped to catch her before it started, but as she was slightly late, I had to wait.

At the end, as we had a drink and some nibbles, I managed to find time for a word.

"I had a word with Anya."

"She said. You know I did not say anything about helping you, but I have to be careful, those photographs hang over me like the sword of Damocles."

"Thank you," I said, "you know she tried to draw me into it."

"It?" Jane's brows furrowed.

"She asked whether my tastes were similar to yours?"

Jane coloured.

"What did you say?"

"Not wanting to lie, I said nothing, but I wanted you to know."

"I am sorry, Robin. Maybe it would just be better for me to resign?"

"No!" I said in a voice high enough to attract attention. Reverting to a lower volume, I added:

"You give us a way into the network Anya works for."

"Okay," Jane sighed, "I have no one to blame but myself. I am told that the Hungarians are taking a great interest in the Rahab Centre?"

"Yes, do you think that has anything to do with Anya's paymasters?"

"I shall try to find out, but I think it has more to do with Orban's 'family friendly' policies of encouraging marriage and larger families. I was expecting some resistance to taking their money."

I explained to Jane what I had said to Richard.

"You're a good woman, Robin. I am sorry I let you down. But whatever you do, don't get yourself ensnared as I did."

"I shall try not to, now, let's go and talk to the Vice Chancellor of St Hilda's."

As we talked, I looked at Jane.

She was beautiful. There was a part of me that still hankered after what might have been. Was there, I began to wonder, any way of extracting her from the mess she was in?