‘Oh well, then, we’ll have him! If I remember rightly he’s an excellent batsman.’
‘He is. Score average last season twenty-one.’
‘Excellent!’ Ralph returned silently to considering the list. Barry Jones … yes, Peter … yes, Neville … the slimy toad, Malcolm … the milkman, the Sergeant … Dean Duckett … Kenny and Terry Jones and Rhett Wright. An odd collection but some good may come of them; we’ve got to start somewhere. He flicked the list with the back of his hand and said aloud: ‘Well, Jimbo, I must say you’ve done well. A good start. Right, I’ll be off. Here’s the money for the milk. I’ll let you know how I get on. Strange girl, that Kate.’
‘Rather gorgeous, I thought! Those green eyes … Nice of her to help with the teas.’
‘Hmm.’ Ralph shut the door and went off home looking forward to his coffee just as Muriel was. As he walked round the village green, Ralph admired the houses and the church. Home, Turnham Malpas, that was where he really belonged. His heart was here, where he’d spent his first years. It didn’t matter a damn that he wasn’t in the Big House any more. He could cheerfully leave that to old Fitch, because he, Ralph, had what Fitch hadn’t – a loving passionate wife. Never mind all that hooey that passion belonged only to the young; he and Muriel had proved them wrong. As Ralph crossed Church Lane he said to himself, I just hope my damned ticker holds out and we have many years of fun before us.
‘Muriel, my dear, here’s the milk. I’ve just been introduced to Ms Pascoe from the school. Curious sort of girl – well, woman. Just hope she doesn’t let the village down with newfangled ideas.’
Muriel opened the carton of milk and poured some into the tiny china jug on the tray. She checked that she had everything – Ralph’s sweeteners, the coffee, teaspoons, cups, saucers. She was using the ones she’d brought from her own house when they’d married. She was so glad she had someone to share her nice china with. Dear Ralph!
‘There we are, I’ve got everything. Come and tell me what you think of her.’
‘All black – she’s dressed in black. One thing in her favour, though, she’s willing to lend a hand with the cricket teas.’
‘Oh excellent! She can’t be all bad then.’
‘No, she can’t, can she?’ Ralph chuckled. ‘I’ve that appointment with Fitch tomorrow. They’ll be starting on the pavilion as soon as the weather improves – won’t that be grand? We’ve fifty years of neglect to put right. I can just remember seeing my father batting. It was a hot summer day. My sunhat made my forehead sticky so I pushed it off; Mama wiped my face with cologne and put it back on again. That’s something I remember about her – she always smelt beautifully. God! I’m sounding like a very sentimental old trout. Got to stop.’
‘There’s nothing the matter with memories, Ralph, nothing at all. Especially lovely ones.’
‘No, you’re right. Thank you for the coffee, my dear. I’m going to my study to open the post and to plan my meeting with Fitch. He’ll be handing out money like there’s no tomorrow, so long as it bolsters his campaign.’
‘Campaign?’
‘He’s wanting to be president of the club.’
‘But a Templeton is always president!’ Muriel was scandalised. ‘It’ll have to be you.’
‘I rather hope it might. Tradition and all that … but times have changed and money speaks loudest now.’
‘I shall tell him,’ Muriel said fiercely. ‘If you have any trouble with him, let me know and I shall go up there and put him straight. President of the cricket club … Whatever next!’
Ralph smiled at her. ‘I do believe you would.’
As he pulled up on the gravel at the front of the Big House the following day, Ralph couldn’t help his heart lurching slightly. The place always had that effect on him. It really was time he let the past rest in peace.
To his surprise, Craddock Fitch’s secretary Louise was working.
‘Good afternoon, Louise. I hadn’t expected to find you here on a Saturday.’
‘Good afternoon, Sir Ralph. I’ve been having a few days holiday while Mr Fitch was away so I thought I would catch up while the House was quiet.’
‘Did you go anywhere exciting?’
‘To Paris.’
‘Oh, wonderful! What a coincidence,’ Ralph said suddenly, struck. ‘Gilbert Johns has just been to Paris, too. Did you bump into him, by any chance? We had a chat about a recital he was going to in Notre Dame. He was so looking forward to it. Don’t suppose you went, too?’
Ralph noticed that Louise was blushing. ‘We didn’t bump into each other. Mr Fitch is ready for you.’
‘Thank you.’ Ralph headed towards the library.
‘Er … excuse me, Sir Ralph, Mr Fitch isn’t in his office, he’s in his private flat. Do you know where that is?’
‘Oh yes, I do.’ This was the hardest bit, walking up the stairs and along the corridors. Memories flooded his mind, but he mustn’t let himself be disarmed by them; he needed to be on his mettle. The thought entered his head that old Fitch had decided to have the meeting in the flat deliberately, to disconcert him.
The door of the flat was open so Ralph tapped with his signet ring on one of the carved panels and called out, ‘Craddock? Ralph Templeton.’
He heard quick positive footsteps. ‘Ralph! Do come in.’ Ralph wryly noted that Mr Fitch’s country tweeds were so entirely co-ordinated that he looked as though he’d stepped straight out of the window of a Savile Row tailor, then grimly recollected the man himself was no tailor’s dummy.
‘Craddock! Good afternoon.’
‘I’ve had tea organised for us. Is that satisfactory, or would you prefer something stronger?’
‘Tea will be fine.’ Ralph seated himself in a huge armchair, a patriarchal kind of chair; its twin was the other side of the fireplace and Mr Fitch went to sit in it.
Sadie Beauchamp carried in the tea tray. Ralph and, belatedly, Mr Fitch, stood up.
‘Good afternoon, Sadie. How nice to see you.’
‘Hello, Ralph. You’re back. Had a good holiday? I’ll catch up on your news with Muriel next week. Must dash. Everything’s there, Craddock, I’ll be off now.’ She put down the tray on the big round coffee table standing in front of the fire between their chairs, and beamed at them both. She and Mr Fitch kissed each other’s cheeks and she left.
Mr Fitch explained she’d been having lunch with him and had volunteered to make the tea before she left. Ralph replied, ‘I see. Lovely woman, Sadie. Sharp mind, even sharper tongue!’ Mr Fitch smiled his agreement.
They talked idly about this and that, and in particular about the international situation, and each in their turn prophesied the outcome, and then Mr Fitch put down his cup, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, and fired his opening shot.
‘If I’m putting money into this cricket team I shall expect to be president.’
‘Ah! I see. I thought perhaps you might.’
‘Oh yes. There’s no point in beating about the bush. I’m allowing the use of Rector’s Meadow, paying for the renovations – or more accurately, the complete rebuilding of the pavilion – buying and supplying the equipment, too, and that’s what I want in return.’
‘It’s completely against tradition.’
‘Is it?’
‘Templetons have been presidents since the cricket club was first started by my great-great-grandfather.’
‘Well, it’s more than fifty years since the last Templeton, your late lamented father, was president, plus no cricket team for fifty years, so I think we could safely say there’s been a break with tradition, don’t you?’
‘The village won’t like it.’
‘Come off it, Ralph. God! There’s hardly a soul living who remembers all that stuff. No, move with the times, I say. Money counts. Where else would you get it from if not from me?’
Bitingly Ralph replied, ‘It would be pleasant if you could be a little more gracious about it.’
‘Gracious? What’s there to be graci
ous about? Facts are facts.’
‘The village won’t like it,’ Ralph said again.
‘They’ll have to take a deep breath and swallow hard then.’
‘Don’t forget you’ve come up against their wrath once before.’
Mr Fitch gave Ralph a piercing look. ‘About the church silver, you mean?’ He flicked some ash from his cigar into the flames and paused for a moment. ‘It was only the effigy they made, hanging from the tree.’
‘And all the things going wrong here. The hearing being off for three days in the dead of winter, your tyres let down, the strike of the kitchen staff and the—’
‘You mean all that was engineered?’
‘Of course. Hadn’t you realised that?’
Unwilling to admit in front of Ralph that it had never occurred to him that the opposition from the village could be so vicious, he paused before replying. ‘Well, it had crossed my mind, naturally; it all did seem rather odd, but I didn’t take it seriously.’ He sat silently watching the flames leaping up his chimney. The devil they did.
Ralph said, ‘You’d have to be here fifty years at least before they accepted you, and unfortunately you’ve not got that much time left.’
Mr Fitch’s head came up with a jerk. ‘Neither have you.’
‘True, true, but then I’m one step ahead. I’m already accepted and have been for centuries.’
‘So they’ll take my money but not me?’
‘In a nutshell.’
‘Damn them!!’
‘That’s just it.’
‘What is?’
‘Your attitude.’
Craddock Fitch strode about the room, puffing furiously on his cigar, his brown gleaming shoes rapping sharply on the polished floor. He came to a halt on the huge round rug in front of the fire. As he stubbed out his cigar in the ash-tray on the coffee table he said, ‘You’re saying if I insist on being president I shall lose what little kudos I might have already gained?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Who are these people who think they can dictate to me?’
‘It is their village, their cricket team, not yours, not mine.’
‘At this rate there’ll be no progress.’
‘Not much.’
‘Well, I’m damned.’ Mr Fitch stabbed his well manicured hand in Ralph’s direction. ‘All right then, you be president, but my name goes above the pavilion door. The Henry Craddock Fitch Pavilion – that’ll sort ’em. No doubt who’s paid for it then, eh? And my company logo on the gear I buy – you know, “sponsored by et cetera”. Right?’
‘Done!’ They shook hands on the deal. Ralph glanced up at Mr Fitch, taking care to veil the twinkle in his eyes. ‘And you can donate a cup, if you like.’
‘Two! One to the batsman with the highest score in the season, and one to the bowler with the best average.’
‘Done! I’ll have another cup of tea, if I may. Now let’s get down to business. Finance first. Shall you want rent for me pavilion? I rather hope not, for the first year at least.’
Mr Fitch raised his eyebrows at Ralph’s outspokenness. ‘I don’t know how you got so high in the Diplomatic Service. There’s not much diplomacy about your dealings!’
Chapter 5
‘Kiss, kiss, my darling children. Mummy’s off to make poorly people better, isn’t she? Now Beth, Mummy won’t be long. Sylvia’s going to take you and stay for a while aren’t you, Sylvia?’
‘Of course. Will you show me where the sand is, Beth? I love playing in the sand.’
Alex said, ‘Me will, Sylvie, me will. Me knows where the sand is. Beth doesn’t.’
Beth stamped her foot. ‘Beth does.’
‘Beth doesn’t ’cos you won’t play.’
‘I will.’
‘You won’t.’
‘That will do, children. Please. Now I’m going. Be good, and Mummy will have a present for you when she comes back.’
‘Beth not going.’ She sat down on the hall floor.
‘Sylvia! I really must go or I shall be late.’ Caroline kissed the two of them on the tops of their heads, and fled with her medical bag to her car.
Sylvia cheerfully went to get the children’s coats from the hall cupboard. ‘Now Alex, aren’t you going to have a lovely time in playgroup today? I wonder if they’ll have the sand out today for your Sylvie to play in. Or shall I play with the water? Do they have water to play with, Beth?’
Beth ignored her. She looked up when she saw her father’s feet appear beside her. He bent down and stood her up. ‘Coat on, Beth.’ She allowed him to dress her, then she took hold of Sylvia’s hand and set off without another word. Sylvia was greatly relieved. But the relief was short-lived. Within five minutes of arriving, Beth had disappeared. The playgroup door had been open for only a moment as another of the children arrived and Beth had slipped out. The moment she realised what had happened, Sylvia ran out of school but there was no sign of Beth.
Jimbo found her sitting on the same chair, sucking her thumb and rubbing her nose ‘with her lover, but this time there were no tears, only deep sadness.
‘Well now, Beth. Hello. Come to see Uncle Bimbo again? You left your Smarties last time. Shall we go get them?’ Beth ignored him. ‘Come with Uncle Bimbo, eh?’ It was as if he hadn’t spoken. He looked round the Store and asked a customer to keep an eye on her while he phoned Peter and the school.
Peter took her back to the classroom. Sylvia was out searching the playground, Liz Neal was distraught and Kate Pascoe was seething.
‘Really, Rector, again!’
‘Yes – again. I might add that my daughter is here under your protection. I can hardly be pleased with the way you’re carrying out your duties.’
‘I didn’t qualify in containing Houdinis – what teacher has? The only way to keep Beth in is to lock all the doors – which I resolutely refuse to do. This is not a prison. In any case, the playgroup is not strictly under my authority. Although I do everything I can to help, the actual responsibility is Mrs Neal’s. But the responsibility for your daughter’s personal safety is getting too much.’
Liz apologised. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Peter. I’ve never had this before. How about if we give her a break? Perhaps Alex going home and saying how much he enjoys himself might have a beneficial effect on her attitude. Or else it is that she’s just not quite ready. Not all children take to it as easily as Alex has.’
‘I think maybe you could be right. We’ll keep her at home this week and try to find out what the problem is. Thank you. I’m sorry for all the trouble.’
‘That’s all right. We can’t expect to run a playgroup without some hiccoughs.’
Kate returned to her class. Peter and Sylvia took Beth home. She ran through the door shouting, ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ When she couldn’t find Caroline she went to Sylvia, clutched hold of her skirt and never left her side all morning.
‘Beth is staying at home for the rest of the week.’
Caroline swallowed her last drop of coffee and said, ‘You’ve decided to keep her at home this week? Without consulting me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Peter!’
‘Her heart – her tender, loving heart is broken.’
‘She’ll soon get over it. Children can be like that – they don’t like change.’
‘I said her heart is broken.’
‘I heard.’
‘The pain is unbearable for her.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘I won’t have my decision altered. She is not going on either Wednesday or Friday.’
‘Just a moment. We are both of us her parents; decisions are joint ones.’
‘In this case, I’m sorry, but my decision is final. I cannot remember when I felt the need to assert my authority so positively, but that is what I’m doing now. She is not going this week. She is putting her life at risk to tell us she is unhappy. Do you realise that? Her life at risk. She has twice crossed Jacks Lane on her own, when she is far too young and far too dis
traught to have any road sense. It only needs Barry Jones to come hurtling round the corner like he frequently does and … and it will all be too late.’
‘This is arrogant interference in my domain.’
‘Broken hearts are my business.’
‘You’re being very dramatic.’
‘You didn’t see her face when she couldn’t find you when we got home.’
‘This is ridiculous. She loves Sylvia, she’ll be all right with her.’
‘It was I who made her go this morning, and I shouldn’t have done so. Look, Caroline, I don’t wish to discuss it any further. I shall be in my study if I’m needed.’ Peter stood up and pushed his chair under the table.
‘That’s right, hide in your study – you’ve had your say, trespassed where you shouldn’t, so off you go to avoid any further discussion.’ Peter looked down at her. It was her eyes which eventually avoided his. He turned on his heel and left the dining room.
Caroline began clearing the table. She caught the sound of Beth screaming as she crossed the hall. By the time she’d reached the bedroom, Beth was hysterical. Caroline hugged her tight, talking to her and trying to calm her fears. ‘Have you had a nasty dream? Never mind then, Mummy’s here, hush, hush, darling. There, there.’ Caroline rocked her back and forth, back and forth and gradually the cries subsided. When she’d wiped her tears away for her, Caroline asked what the matter was. ‘Can you tell Mummy what frightened you? Tell me, darling, please?’
‘Mrs Neal, it was Mrs Neal.’
‘She’s a lovely lady, a friend of Mummy’s.’
‘Mrs Neal gave me a present.’
‘Oh, how nice! That was a lovely dream, not a nasty one, surely.’
‘She gave me lots of …’ Beth sobbed. ‘She gave me lots of worms, wiggly worms, all wiggly in my ha-a-n-n-nd.’
‘Oh darling, I’m so sorry. But it was only a dream, you know. There aren’t any worms here really, are there? Look, see, open your eyes. No worms. Just a dream. Mummy will lie down on the bed and wait till you go back to sleep. How’s that?’ Beth clutched hold of her and closed her eyes. ‘No worms, Mummy?’
Village Secrets Page 4
