Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  At the end of a busy morning arranging plates, cups, glasses, cutlery, napkins, tea urns and soft drinks, in came Jimbo with some of his staff, all laden with trays and shiny catering plates holding a wide variety of pastries, both savoury and sweet. Flick and Fran followed, each carrying a huge gateau carefully screened from the air by a clear plastic dome.

  ‘Where would you like these, Mrs Jones?’ asked Flick.

  ‘End table. Leave the domes on, please. Sweet stuff on the end table, savoury here at the start by the piles of plates.’ Everyone then disappeared outside to bring in the rest of the supplies. Pat cast a critical eye over the first consignment and decided Jimbo had lived up to his reputation. The individual quiches looked so tempting she could have eaten one there and then. As for the desserts! They were breathtaking. There was still more to come and she had to get Willie to put tables up behind the main buffet table to hold replacement supplies.

  For a moment Pat wondered if he’d over-provided, but she was to find out by six o’clock that some swift thawing in the microwaves of more pastries would only just save the day.

  Mr Fitch had opened up Rector’s Meadow for car parking only to find that Home Park had to be opened up too as the cars were overflowing on to Church Lane and Stocks Row. He was beside himself with nerves. Kate had spent a very restless night worrying over just about everything to do with the smooth running of the day. She even had notepaper and pen by her bedside to jot down her last-minute thoughts. So come seven o’ clock in the morning, they were both feeling not only exhausted, but frantic with anxiety.

  The selling of the souvenir programmes was in the hands of Ralph and Muriel. They’d recruited Sir Ronald and Lady Bissett, and Tom and Evie Nicholls to assist as Ralph was determined to sell every single one. To his consternation, Ralph found some of the photographs brought back memories he would rather have forgotten. There was one of his father presenting the end-of-year prizes at the school, and, judging by the date, it must have been his very last official engagement before he was killed in Malaysia. Ralph had already opened the church safe several times to store the money they’d taken and was altogether feeling very pleased with their efforts.

  But Muriel couldn’t concentrate easily on her brochure-selling. She had the Maypole dancing to play for later on. She just knew her fingers would be all thumbs and her nerves would get the better of her. Chaos, she knew for certain, would reign and the ribbons would get all tangled up and her days of playing for the school would come to an abrupt end. Her head ached at the prospect and she knew she’d have to pull herself together.

  Trundling the piano out from the school hall and round on to the Green was a marathon task and several members of the victorious Turnham Malpas cricket team, which despite Colin Turner’s gargantuan efforts had beaten the Old Boys by nineteen runs, were called in to help. A useful wooden trolley on four large rubber wheels had been constructed to help with this very problem and the piano arrived in Stocks Row to cheers from the crowd. Muriel placed her unsold brochures and her money bag in Ralph’s guardianship and marched over to it.

  Half past four Mrs Fitch had said and it was. But the piano stool, with her music safely placed by her inside the lid the previous day, had not arrived. She signalled frantically to Jimmy Glover, who waved nonchalantly back to her and gave her a thumbs-up. She waved her arms even more frantically and sensing there was something afoot he walked over to her. Muriel hissed, ‘The piano stool. They’ve forgotten it!’ She grew even more desperate when out of the corner of her eye she saw the children marching out in pairs ready to begin dancing. Then she realized the Maypole wasn’t in place either. She called out, ‘The Maypole!’ But no one appeared to understand what she was saying. The children got closer and closer and it was Miss Booth shepherding them out who saw the problem. She halted the children, grabbed Rhett Wright and Dean Jones by their arms and said firmly, ‘The Maypole. Now!’

  The crowed began to laugh and mutter and Muriel could tell it was all going to be a fiasco. Poor Kate. She’d be devastated.

  But Rhett and Dean had no need to run to the school because around the corner into Stocks Row came Mr Fitch, staggering along at one end of the pole with Sir Ronald at the other, both of them panting fit to burst. A cheer went up when they placed it at the right spot on the Green. The piano stool arrived and Muriel whipped her sheet music out from under the lid. She sat down hastily only to find that the stool was far too low for her to reach the keyboard comfortably. She said ‘giddy godfathers’ to herself, twiddled the appropriate knobs at each side of the stool, sat down again, played a wonderful, given the circumstances, peal of chords and notes from one end of the keyboard to the other, gave a nod to Miss Booth, and the dancing began.

  Unfortunately, in her panic, she’d played the introduction of the second dance, ‘Barber’s Pole’, not the first. Some of the children realized what she’d done and began the movements of the second dance but others didn’t and they started to dance the first one. Mayhem reigned. Ribbons were knotted, children were tumbling about, and not a few hefty pushes were exchanged.

  Miss Booth clapped her hands to bring everyone to a standstill while she unknotted the ribbons. She glanced across at Muriel who by now was redder than the geraniums below the dais. Muriel found the right music, gave another nod to Miss Booth, and the children began again. But they hadn’t bargained on a sudden gust of wind, which made an errant sheet of music blow away. Hetty Hardaker had to burst into a run to retrieve it. Finally, with Hetty anchoring the music with one hand and turning the pages with the other, they began again, for all the world as though there hadn’t been a single hiccup.

  Muriel played merrily throughout the performance, loving the dances, ‘Gypsy’s Tent’, ‘Barber’s Pole’ and ‘Three in Hand’. At the end, when she’d played ‘Chrysanthemum’ as the finale to the performance, they were clapped and clapped, and the children bowed and curtsied as instructed. Miss Booth waved a hand in Muriel’s direction and she got an extra clap. All told, the dancing went off well, but Muriel was left feeling shattered. She vowed that was it. Never again, not even for a practice. This was truly her swan song.

  Beth and Alex had been in the crowd clapping the dancing. ‘They did it much better than we ever did,’ Beth said.

  Alex agreed. ‘Just glad I’m too old to do it. Imagine dancing like that. Kids’ stuff.’

  ‘I liked it when I was there.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t.’

  ‘You did. You were quite upset one year when you didn’t get chosen.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  ‘You were.’

  Alex saw his dad but couldn’t see who he was talking to so earnestly because his father was shielding the person and the sun was in his eyes. There was something very tense about the way his dad stood and a dreadful suspicion came over Alex. He watched him move to let someone pass by and Alex’s heart sank to his socks. He nudged Beth but she was tucking her T-shirt into her trousers and didn’t bother to look up.

  ‘What? What’s the matter?’

  Alex turned his back to his father and said, ‘Look who’s speaking to Dad.’

  The Scout band struck up to announce the beginning of their performance. Beth’s heart bounded in her chest. So it was to the sound of ‘March of the British Grenadiers’ that Beth saw her mother for the first time. The stirring music added drama to the event. After all, thought Beth, it’s not every day you meet your mother. She studied her body language, saw how tense she was, trying to laugh naturally but at the same time . . . she was wearing a dress Beth could admire, so that was a plus, but she was shorter than she’d imagined. She’d always thought that only tall women would be attracted to her very tall father. He looked uncomfortable . . . then someone stood in front of her and she couldn’t see any longer.

  Alex surreptitiously put a hand on Beth’s shoulder, gripping her as though trying to ease the moment. ‘She’s like you, Beth.’

  ‘Same colour hair.’

  ‘Chubby cheeks
.’

  ‘Mine are not chubby, just rounded.’

  ‘It is her though, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Look the other way. I don’t want her to see us.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Alex turned away from the band performance and hastened Beth away towards the church hall and food. ‘They’ll have begun serving, let’s go in there.’

  They carefully skirted the Green to avoid contact with their father and Suzy. While they were choosing what they would like to eat from the laden buffet table, Beth spotted Caroline, sitting by herself at a table in the far corner, sipping a cup of tea, looking for all the world as though she were hiding herself away.

  ‘Let’s sit with Mummy. You pay this time.’

  ‘OK.’ Alex carried the tray across to Caroline’s table. ‘Hello, Mum.’

  He saw Caroline visibly make the effort to speak naturally. ‘Hello, darlings. I really did begin to think the Maypole dancing had flopped, but they did very well in the circumstances, didn’t they?’

  Hearing the tension in her voice, Beth encouraged her by saying, ‘Well, I just wished I were still at the school and then I might have been chosen to dance. I loved it.’

  Her mummy placed a warm hand on hers. ‘I know you did.’

  ‘Would you like some of my pastry, Mum?’ Alex cut his Danish pastry in half.

  ‘Just a corner, darling, please. That’ll be enough, I have to think of my figure.’

  Alex reassured her. ‘Daddy thinks your figure is lovely.’

  ‘He does? He might not if I got fat.’

  ‘He would because he loves you like I do.’ Beth entwined her fingers with Caroline’s and smiled at her, but there were memories of her real mother in her eyes.

  With dread deep in her heart, Caroline asked, ‘You’ve met her?’

  There was a short silence before either of them answered her.

  Alex spoke first. ‘In the distance. We haven’t spoken.’

  ‘Was she with her husband? Mr Palmer?’

  Beth and Alex exchanged a swift glance.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, was she? Yes or no.’

  ‘No. We didn’t know to whom she was speaking.’ Alex glared at Beth to shut her up.

  Caroline finished her tea, put down the cup and said, ‘Things to do. Things to do.’ Then she hurried off like the Red Queen in Alice in Wonderland or was it the White Queen in Through the Looking Glass? Alex couldn’t remember. Whichever it was, his mother was distinctly harassed.

  The tables were rapidly filling up now as the band had paused for an interval, and to his absolute horror, Alex spotted the Suzy Meadows person in the queue with a man he recognized from the school photos as Mr Palmer. He gave Beth’s foot a slight tap with his and nodded towards the queue.

  Beth saw the two of them and her heart gave that great bound it had done earlier. It was no good, she couldn’t face them. But it was too late to escape; Suzy was coming directly towards them, a tentative smile on her face. As she got nearer, the two of them realized Beth was not entirely like her, similar but not the same.

  Alex got to his feet. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said, sounding more like a frog croaking.

  ‘Good afternoon. Would you mind if I sit with you for a moment?’

  ‘Not at all. There’s really nowhere else to sit.’ Alex pulled out a chair for her, and then sat down again.

  Beth was staring into her teacup. Now the moment had come she couldn’t find any words to say. She just wanted her to go away and stay away and not upset her mother or any of them any more.

  ‘My husband, Michael Palmer, is paying for our tea. I see Jimbo Charter-Plackett’s catering is still coming up to scratch. His cakes look lovely.’

  ‘They are,’ Alex agreed.

  ‘I’ve chosen a cream puff. Have you tried one?’

  ‘No.’

  Almost pleadingly she asked, ‘Am I right? You’re Alex and Beth Harris?’

  Neither of them answered her.

  ‘You won’t know me.’

  ‘No,’ Alex replied. He wasn’t going to make it easy for her. How he wished his dad was there to help. He’d have known what to say.

  ‘You’re like your father, Alex.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Oh yes. The absolute image. Which school do you go to now?’

  ‘Prince Henry’s.’

  ‘Then you must be clever.’

  ‘Mediocre.’

  ‘No. Much better than mediocre I think.’ The Suzy person turned to Beth and asked, ‘And which school are you at, Beth?’

  Beth didn’t reply. The excitement that had been in her ever since she’d realized she might meet the Suzy person had quite melted away. Now all she felt was a terrific let-down, and stubbornness too. So Alex answered for her. ‘She’s at Lady Wortley’s.’

  ‘Another clever person then. Your mum and dad must be very proud.’

  ‘They are.’ And then the words tripped off his tongue before he could stop them. ‘Are you?’

  He shouldn’t have said that, it was too grown-up for someone his age. But who did she think she was kidding, behaving as though they had no connection? Beth wasn’t helping with her stubborn silence. A mist came down over his eyes and all he could see was the Suzy person’s face. Then he heard the thump of a tray and a rattle of teacups. Someone was pushing his cup aside, and mentioning how tempting the cakes were. ‘Jimbo hasn’t lost his touch, has he? Should I know you two young people?’

  ‘Michael! This is Beth and Alex Harris. From the Rectory.’ The emphasis she put on their names and where they came from was very obvious, she might as well have said ‘you know who I mean, be careful what you say’.

  ‘I see. Lovely day for such a lovely event. When I’ve drunk my tea I’m going to see the exhibition in the school hall. I used to teach here, before your time, of course.’

  Alex answered, ‘You will be interested then.’

  ‘Of course. This lady used to teach in the playgroup, didn’t you, Suzy?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  A silence began, which grew longer and longer. Mr Palmer was taking huge bites of his cream puff, the cream oozing out on to his lips. The Suzy person was nibbling hers and Alex could see she was at a loss to know what to say next and not really knowing if the children realized just exactly who she was.

  But Alex knew all right. ‘We’ve got to go. We told our mum we wouldn’t be long. Nice to have met you.’ He did what his dad would have done and offered to shake hands with the two of them. The Suzy person gripped his tightly as though she would never let go. As for Mr Palmer, well, using a phrase he’d heard his mother use once, it was like shaking hands with a piece of wet fish. Beth got up and followed him. The moment they got outside she burst into tears. Alex took her down the side wall of the church hall and stood in front of her so no one could see. He normally hadn’t much patience with her when she cried but he felt like crying himself so he protected her while she did his crying for him.

  ‘I want to find Mummy.’

  ‘Not while you’re crying.’

  Beth gave several huge sniffs, rubbed vigorously at her cheeks to rid herself of tears, stored her hankie away in her trouser pocket and stood tall. ‘There, I’m not crying now. Let’s go find her.’

  ‘We’ll go home and you can wash your face, otherwise she’ll see you’ve been crying.’

  ‘I didn’t like him, did you? I’m glad he’s not my daddy.’

  Alex put his key in the door and opened it, pushing Beth in the direction of the kitchen. He followed her in to find Beth hugging her mother.

  ‘There, there, darling. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. I couldn’t find you.’

  ‘I’m only getting some more tea towels for the church kitchen, they’re beginning to run out.’

  But Alex knew differently. She might be getting the tea towels but she was also using it as an excuse to hide. And no wonder. The hurt she must feel. ‘Mum, do we have to go back?’
>
  Caroline hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘I think we must. Better face everything and get it over and done with.’

  Beth tightened her grip. ‘I don’t want to see her again.’

  ‘You’ve met, then?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘In that case, let’s be off. Alex, will you take the tea towels for me? It could be urgent by now. I promised Lady Bissett I would take a look at her flowers in the church, I’m told they’re spectacular.’

  ‘OK. Come on, Beth. Let’s go to the fair. I’ve still got some money left.’

  Beth released her mother reluctantly. ‘Have you seen this Suzy person?’

  ‘In the distance.’

  ‘We spoke.’

  Caroline didn’t ask what she said.

  ‘She didn’t say much really. I’m like her but not quite.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘She knew us when she saw us.’

  Alex urged Beth to leave.

  ‘OK. Where are you going when you’ve seen the flowers, Mummy?’

  ‘Don’t know. I’ll be around.’

  Beth vigorously threw water on her face and then dried it on the kitchen hand towel. ‘There. I’m ready.’

  The three of them went as far as the lychgate together and Caroline went up the path to the church. She stopped to greet several old pupils who remembered her and then was free to make her way in. Sheila Bissett had said something about school pupils being all over the world by now, thinking of our Kenny and Terry Jones, so she’d introduced an international flavour to her flowers.

  Caroline gasped when she went in. The air was heady with the perfume of the blooms and her eyes were dazzled by their magnificence. Sheila must have spent at least a whole day arranging them. The church was filled with vivid displays. She paused to inspect the one by the font. It was made entirely of white flowers, Sheila’s favourite colour, and began in the font, trailing right down to the floor and down two steps in an unbroken stream of white flowers and green and silver foliage. Caroline crouched down to find out how she’d achieved it and didn’t hear someone’s footstep on the stone flags of the church aisle.

  The person who’d come in didn’t notice her and wandered down to stand in front of the altar. Then she turned to face the body of the church, looking up into the rafters and remembering, oh yes, remembering, studying the old banners hanging wispily threadbare. She turned to look at the old memorial chapel and recollected the last time she’d stood here, in this very spot. She’d been at a loss for words when Peter had surprised her by coming from behind the screen that shielded it; she remembered the touch of his hand, his glorious presence, his endearing vulnerability, but most of all his spiritual strength. Such was her love for him that day, if he’d even only half suggested it, she’d have gone to the ends of the earth with him.