Angela wasn't even allowed to call herself a sister - not technically speaking. At eighteen she was only in her second year of the novitiate, a trainee nun who had to bob her head to the full-fledged sisters when she met them in the corridors of the convent or when they entered the classroom at the start of a lesson.
If she thought of herself as Sister Angela, it was because her vocation to the order was so strong and certain within her, and she was so completely sure that when she finished her novitiate she would take full vows and become a bride of Christ.
In the meantime, she led a life of strict chastity, self-denial and obedience, in competition with the other novices but more importantly with herself to be as blameless, selfless and spiritually spotless as she possibly could.
Angela was beautiful, but she didn't know that she was beautiful. The sheltered life she led, surrounded entirely by women, gave her no opportunity to learn from others' reactions how attractive the contrast was between her slim figure and her large breasts, or how gorgeous her child-like face. The only hint she might have noticed was that she was allowed to wear her beautiful, fine blonde hair down over her shoulders. Rather than cut it to neck-length like the other novices.
Of course most of the time it was bound up anyway, so the difference was less obvious - but it was a concession made precisely because the older nuns couldn't bear to spoil Angela's perfect beauty, poised as it was between the innocence of the child and the voluptuous curves of womanhood.
It was the innocence that troubled Sister Bridget the most. She was aware that despite the seclusion of convent life, it took a tough soul to stick to it year after year. Life in a closed order was sometimes bleak and hard, and it pained her to think of such an untried, naive girl as Angela entering that world without having any experience of anything else. In a way it seemed to negate the essence of her choice if she chose on the basis of ignorance of the wider world.
It was because Angela was a church orphan. She had been raised in convent schools all her life, never seeing the world except through the bars of a convent gate. Surely that was wrong, Sister Bridget thought. Surely the child should at least have a taste of freedom before opting for a life of seclusion - a glimpse of earthly beauty before choosing to devote herself to the perfection of her soul.
After pondering this conundrum over most of a year, Sister Bridget summoned Angela to her study one fine Spring morning. The gorgeous young girl made a perfect courtesy, then greeted the older woman with real affection.
"Angela," Sister Bridget began, "I've had a request from our sister house in London. They've received a grant to refurbish the older parts of the building, and they're hoping to set up an additional dormitory there so that they can take in intending novices on day release from the schools nearby. But they need some help in painting and decorating. Would you like to give them a hand?"
"Oh yes, Sister!" said Angela, all eagerness. This sounded like a real adventure. Bridget sincerely hoped that it would be - and that Angela would enjoy the trip to London on the train as well as the experience of working with other young nuns and novices on a shared task of such importance. She would experience camaraderie, and the joy of a job well done - and she would see a little of the world along the way.
So three days later, Father Connell drove Angela to the Oxford railway station and put her on a train to London, clutching her ticket, a letter of introduction to Mother Andreas at the London house, and a small purse with a twenty pound note in it in case of emergencies.
Father Connell stayed until the train left, waving goodbye to Angela until the train turned a bend and she was out of sight. Then he drove back to the convent to meet a flustered Sister Bridget. "They've just phoned from London!" she said.
"They said they've been delayed and they won't be able to meet Angela's train. She's to wait at the inquiries desk for half an hour until they arrive - but she won't know that! What are we to do?"
Father Connell quieted Sister Bridget's fears. He said he'd phone ahead to King's Cross and ask for a message to be read out over the tannoy. Angela would hear it and would know what to do.
But the best laid plans don't always work out as they're meant to. Angela's train was delayed for five minutes, and though Father Connell's message was read out in due course, she walked out onto the station concourse just in time to miss it completely.
It worried the young girl at first that there was nobody there to meet her. But she knew that the London convent was busy and short-staffed, and she reasoned that something important must have come up to prevent them from sending someone. So she would use her emergency money and take a taxi.
Carrying her single suitcase, which wasn't very heavy, she walked out of the station building into the street. It was very busy and full of traffic. She looked around for a black cab, knowing what they were meant to look like, but there were none in sight. There were several mini-cabs, however, and she approached the first of these.
The two men in the front seat watched her approach with evident interest. Her beauty was enough to make her stand out in a crowd - and the contrast between her lovely face and body and her austere black novice's gown made an even stronger impression.
"Hello," she said to the two men. "I need to get to the convent at Highgate. Could you take me there?"
There was a pause that lasted long enough for Angela to be sure she'd made a mistake. Blushing, she opened her mouth to apologise and move on, but then both men spoke at once.
"Sorry, love," said the driver. "We're not here to..."
But the man in the passenger seat interrupted him.
"It's no problem, though, Jimmy, is it? You hop in, love.
We'll get you there inside of ten minutes."
The man addressed as Jimmy stared at his friend in astonishment, meeting a very intense and meaningful stare in return.
"Oh. Yeah," he said at last. "No problem, of course. Yeah. We can do that."
The other man - not Jimmy - got out of the car and opened the rear door for Angela. He took her suitcase from her, and she climbed in with a smile of thanks. Then he did something to the lock mechanism in the door. "Case you fall out," he said with a bright smile, and slammed it closed.
Then he got back into the car and Jimmy pulled away from the curb.
Angela settled into her seat and looked all around, excited that her London adventure was beginning. Then to her horror she saw in the car's rear view mirror her suitcase left on the pavement behind them, already receding into the distance.
"My case!" she blurted. "It's got all my clothes in it!"
"Er... the next car will take that, love," said Jimmy hurriedly. "We work in twos, like. One car for the passenger, one for the luggage."
Even to someone as untutored in the ways of the world as Angela, this sounded unusual. But she supposed that the driver must know his own business, and she made no further protest. She just gazed out in happy curiosity at the bustling city as it unrolled itself past her window.
