Page 12 of Pyg

“So young.” Thankfully, she didn’t sayand 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 inPygmalion.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“You know, the playPygmalionby 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.

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