“Of course,” Cormac once confided, “it’s a little sad to think that when my obituaries come to be written, they will concentrate on the abuse affair.”

The cardinal and I met once a week for half a year or so to work on his memoir, An English Spring. He would stretch out his legs and tip his shoes on to the rug and I would switch on my little recorder. For the next few hours I would be transported to that unique Cormac terrain somewhere between the interior of a confessional and the members’