Father Peter Clifford stood before the altar and prayed. He didn't pray for forgiveness or help. He simply asked his Lord for a little guidance.
"Ah, there you are father." His superior announced, walking towards the young curate.
"How are you Father MacAnally?" Peter asked, feeling the blood rush to his cheeks.
"Fine thank you father, how did you cope while I was away?"
"Well, everybody seems happy, after a couple of weeks I got the hang of juggling it all," he laughed nervously.
"Everybody seems happy but you. What's troubling you Father Clifford?" The parish priest asked raising a heavy eyebrow.
"How do you mean?" The younger of the men stammered.
"Don't worry I think I can guess, how is Mrs McGarvey?" He asked disapprovingly?
"Assumpta- Ms Fitzgerald is fine, I believe," quipped Peter in his lover's defence.
"Ah. I wondered how my little test would go."
"A 'Little test?' So you mean you set me up to see if anything would happen between Assumpta and I?" Peter was livid.
"That wasn't my sole reason for going away, don't think too highly of yourself Father," MacAnally warned.
"Did you have someone spy on me, is that it?" He snapped.
"No, I know how you work. If anything had happened between you and the girl, you would be the first to confess to me. So I will ask you now; is there anything going onbetween you and Assumpta Fitzgerald?"