‘Er . . . er . . . no I will not, thank you very much. Mr Neal in a strop is not a pretty sight.’
‘Exactly.’ Liz glanced at the clock. Time she disappeared upstairs to get ready.
Hugh and Guy were loafing about in their old bedrooms.
‘Hi, Mum. OK?’
‘Yes, thanks, Hugh darling. I do appreciate you both deciding to come after all. Your dad’s delighted.’
Guy said quietly, ‘We’ve come for you, not Dad.’
Hugh closed the bedroom door. ‘Tomorrow we’re telling him about our decision to leave the company.’
Liz knew this was coming but had hoped it wouldn’t. ‘I see. He’s built the business for the two of you; he’ll be devastated.’
‘We’re devastated at the way he runs the business. There’s far too much ducking and diving, and we don’t like it. It’s not the way we want to run a business.’
Hugh put his arm around Liz’s shoulders. ‘The two of us can go into business together, we’re capable of doing that, and he’ll have to find new partners, ones who think like he does. It’ll take months to sort out the partnership situation, by which time he might have got used to it. But we can’t carry on as we are, knowing Dad’s fiddling all the time. It’s just not right.’
‘I know, I know.’ She reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘I just wish you hadn’t chosen this weekend. Could it wait another month or so?’
Guy, less sympathetic than Hugh, said emphatically, ‘No. We want to be out of the way before the balloon goes up. Which it will. It’s inevitable.’
Tears welled in Liz’s eyes. ‘I know what you mean. If the two of you get tainted with his fiddling you’ll never be able to set up in business.’
‘Exactly. It’s his fault, you know. We tried talking to him about it but to no avail. He has been warned.’
Liz opened the bedroom door, raised her hand to acknowledge she understood, and went into her bathroom to shower before the party. But everything went wrong. The bra she wanted to wear had lost a hook in the wash; she put her thumb through the new tights she’d bought specially for this evening, thought she’d wear them - after all, no one would see the big hole - decided she knew about it and that would spoil things for her, so took them off; smeared her lipstick because her hands were shaking; and finally, Liz laid on the bed and cried in exasperation.
Neville came in to hurry her up. ‘They’re arriving already. For God’s sake, Liz, pull yourself together. Is that the dress you’re wearing tonight? Gone a bit over the top, haven’t you?’
Between gritted teeth she shouted, ‘Get out! Just get out!’
‘OK. OK. I’ll go and hold the fort.’
Loathing the prospect of the evening, Liz at last left their bedroom. She paused by the banister and looked down into the hall. Hell’s bells. Oh, no. Standing there talking to Jimbo was Titus Bellamy. She hadn’t thought of Neville inviting him. Now what should she do? He wouldn’t like her dress. He would find it monstrous given the event. Briefly she studied him talking to Jimbo and liked what she saw. He was wearing an impeccable dark suit, not a dinner jacket like Neville and Jimbo. He was no ordinary man. He had poise and confidence, talking to Jimbo without a trace of awkwardness. He appeared . . . so relaxed, not an inch out of place. But for him this dress would be a no-no. He’d hate it. She was already dragging it off as she crossed the landing into the bedroom, then she stepped out of it and kicked it across the carpet.
From her wardrobe she chose a simple full-length turquoise gown she’d worn to a party in London, straightened her hair, found the necklace that matched the dress and clipped it on, checked her lipstick, engulfed herself in her newest perfume and walked down the stairs with a welcoming smile on her face.
Both Jimbo and Titus watched her coming down towards them. Jimbo was smiling and Titus was too, but his smile was more than a welcome, it was a recognition of something. Liz felt suddenly so confused she scarcely knew what she was saying. Her mind was spinning, her eyes drinking in Titus.
As an old friend, Jimbo drew her to him and kissed her cheek, whispering, ‘Why, you look wonderful!’
Titus leant forward as though he too would kiss her, but changed his mind. She was grateful he did. He took her hand instead and held it tight. ‘Good evening, Liz. May I call you Liz?’
‘Yes, of course. Everyone else does.’
‘You look charming, doesn’t she, Jimbo?’
There was something going on here Jimbo couldn’t quite understand, but he agreed she did, then quietly drifted off thinking they were best left alone. Maybe he’d imagined the bonding that felt to be between the two of them. He glanced back before he entered the sitting room and saw Titus still had a tight hold on Liz’s hand. My God! What was he witnessing? Surely they hadn’t had time to start an affair already? Had Neville seen the two of them? He searched for Neville and spotted him talking to Kevin by the temporary bar in the dining room.
That blasted Kevin. Was there anyone alive not beholden to him for past favours? Neville and he appeared to be in close cahoots about something. Kevin had that very white skin that sometimes goes with vivid red hair, his made more obvious by the fact that his hair was very frizzy and thick, his lashes long and red, encircling small and, well, let’s face it, piggy eyes. He was fat, too. In fact, in Jimbo’s eyes, he very much resembled a Tamworth pig.
Liz swam into view. Maybe she didn’t know it but she was dazzling tonight, positively lit up. She went straight to Neville, who looked slightly surprised at her appearance, and even more surprised when she kissed his cheek, and then positively startled when Liz made a fuss of Kevin.
From where he stood, and above the babble of the guests, Jimbo could hear her. ‘Good evening, Kevin, I’m delighted you were able to come. And your gift, we opened it last night when Neville brought it home. I adore crystal, and your glasses are absolutely beautiful, so elegant.’
Kevin positively simpered. ‘Why, thank you, thank you very much. I’m delighted you approve. You have such good taste, it’s an accolade for me to hear you say that.’
Jimbo, who knew how much Liz loathed the man, decided she must have been drinking before she came down. Were she sober she would never say any such thing.
The meal was to be in the marquee on the back lawn and was announced shortly afterwards.
The layout for dining was seven large round tables with ten place settings at each of them. Guests were carefully placed according to their standing in Neville’s view. Therefore Jimbo and Harriet, Peter and Caroline, and Sir Ralph and Lady Muriel were on the next table to his. On his own table there was himself, Liz, Kevin, two councillors and their wives, the chairman of planning and his partner, and, to Neville’s amazement, Titus Bellamy. In the confusion he couldn’t remember whom he had placed in that seat, but it certainly wasn’t Titus. He squinted a look at the place card and, yes, it definitely said Titus Bellamy. Damn and blast, how had that come about? Then he guessed exactly how it had happened, because when the wine was served Titus raised his glass to him and smiled boldly right into his eyes. Then he toasted Liz.
Neville looked at Liz as she lifted her glass and saw someone very different from the wife he’d looked at earlier. She’d changed her dress, all because, he supposed, he’d made an adverse comment about it. So she did care what he said about things. Becoming aware of his scrutiny, she looked up at him and her face was glowing with life. Shaken to the core by the embarrassment he felt at Liz’s blatant passion in full view of his guests, Neville was speechless.
Peter, waiting for Neville’s signal to say Grace before the food was served, stood up and said it without his instruction.
Neville didn’t hear a word of Peter’s brief Grace, not a single one. After all he’d said about being married twenty-five years, that naturally there was an end to passion, now he couldn’t work out what had happened. Perhaps that look was because of her gratitude for the exquisite diamond necklace he’d bought her. Yes, that was it. The most expensive piece of jewellery he�
��d ever bought. Neville remembered her expression when he’d given it her. Liz had recognized it for what it was: an astoundingly eye-catching piece of jewellery, with diamonds so clear and sparkling, so magnificent. But no, it couldn’t be that. She wasn’t even wearing it. So . . .
Titus asked him a question but Neville was hardly listening. Instead he leant towards Liz and whispered abruptly, ‘Where’s the diamond necklace?’
‘In the safe.’
‘Why aren’t you wearing it?’
‘Because . . .’ Why wasn’t she wearing it? Liz didn’t know why she’d taken it off along with that dress. ‘Because it shouts money and it’s not right here. Ralph would think it vulgar.’
‘Vulgar! Is it vulgar? Tell me.’
‘In London circles I would wear it gladly, but not here.’
‘Is it vulgar?’
‘As I’ve said.’ Liz turned to speak to the chairman of planning and, as there was no way Neville would be guilty of a social gaffe in front of him, the matter was dropped.
The band tuned up in the dining room, where the parquet flooring lent itself to dancing, and provided background music to the meal, so after the speeches, most people either went into the floodlit garden or to the temporary bar and dancing. The first one to claim Liz was Neville, with his strict adherence to matters of etiquette. He could have been forgiven, because of the occasion, for holding her close, but he held her almost at arm’s length and it made dancing difficult. She tried getting close to him but he wouldn’t have it.
‘Hold me closer, please,’ she said, ‘we look ridiculous like this.’ But he wouldn’t. It was something to do with the panic he felt after catching Titus clearly gazing at Liz across the table with something rather more than common politeness. What was the matter with the man? But when he’d looked at Liz she was returning his gaze in spades.
As he and Liz broke apart at the end of the dance, Titus spoke close to his ear. ‘May I have the next dance with you, Liz?’
She held out her hand to him, he took possession of it, and they moved away, allowing Neville no time to reply. He was left alone in the midst of the couples gathering for the next dance.
That was the moment when the gossip about Liz and Titus began.
They were scrutinized by scandalized eyes for the whole of the dance. He held her close and they talked animatedly the whole time, laughing, totally absorbed in each other and spinning about to the exaggerated rhythm of the samba till they were quite dizzy. When the music ended Titus bowed deeply, kissed the back of her hand, and they stood close together talking, the centre of everyone’s attention until the next dance began.
Under pressure from Harriet, Jimbo claimed Liz for the next dance, manoeuvring her into the garden at the very first opportunity he could. Luckily he found Ralph and Muriel sitting on a bench and he plumped Liz beside them.
‘I’m going to get Liz a drink. Can I get something for the two of you?’
Muriel looked up and vaguely remarked, ‘It’s time for my cocoa, Ronnie dear, please.’
Ralph smoothly asked Jimbo for a whiskey for himself and a juice for Muriel.
Ralph took Muriel’s hand to prevent her wandering off, which she had a habit of doing. What he hadn’t bargained for was Muriel asking Liz who it was she’d been dancing with.
‘I was dancing with Jimbo.’
‘No, dear, not Jimbo, I know Jimbo. I meant the one before that. Who is he?’
A little shaken by how lucid Muriel had momentarily become, Liz answered, ‘Titus Bellamy. He’s the one who’s started the market.’
Muriel didn’t reply so Ralph and Liz filled in the time waiting for Jimbo and the drinks by discussing the market.
Sir Ralph approved. ‘I can’t see but it will do anything but good. Muriel and I walked round and thought the produce was excellent.’
Liz replied, ‘That’s very true. I’d thought they’d be selling rubbish but they’re not. Jimbo isn’t exactly pleased, though, as you can imagine.’
Ralph gave her a slow wink to warn her Jimbo was on his way back.
Muriel, having lost all sense of the need for tact, said loudly, ‘That Titus Bellamy, my dear, do be careful. He’s very taken with you, I can see, and you’ve got Neville to think of. These things begin with the smallest happening, and before you know it you’re swept off your feet.’ She patted Liz’s knee and then took her hand. ‘You know I’m right. He’s a very attractive man, and tonight so are you, very attractive.’
Jimbo, setting the drinks down on the small garden table in front of the bench, must have heard most of what Muriel had said. Liz blushed and longed to crawl away, but Jimbo was handing her a G&T.
‘Thank you, Jimbo,’ she said. ‘When I’ve drunk this I must get back to my guests.’
None of them had caught sight of Neville standing perfectly still behind one of his ornamental spiralled evergreens listening attentively to their conversation. He’d seen Jimbo and Liz disappear and thought they’d be together in the garden talking about him, but instead he’d overheard that daft old bat Muriel telling Liz to be wary of Titus Bellamy. He hoped Muriel didn’t think she was right in this ridiculous assumption, because she wasn’t, Liz would never . . . A cold chill ran down his spine and made him shudder. He remembered that look Titus gave Liz when he toasted her . . . Hang his investment! He’d strangle the man for his boldness. Liz was his wife! He’d damn well teach him a lesson.
Neville crept away before anyone on the bench spotted him, only to find himself hiding behind yet another of his ornamental bushes when he saw Titus outlined by the lights of the open French windows, stepping out onto the terrace with a look of pleasurable anticipation on his face. It was Liz he was greeting. By the looks of it there was nothing other than long-standing friendship in their attitude, thank goodness. But, he reminded himself, they’d only really met once before tonight, so how could that be? Neville felt his insides shrivel and he became helplessly rooted to his expensive paving. That dance . . . a stranger would have assumed by the closeness of their bodies that they were the anniversary couple. What had he done? He’d danced as though he were her brother or her father.
That would have to be rectified. Keeping tight control of his voice, Neville called out, ‘Liz! Liz! Have the next dance with me!’
There was a pause and then Liz called out, ‘Go in then, I’m just coming.’
But Neville felt defeated when he got inside because he realized that the band had moved on from the tunes where dancing close was the norm and were now playing a tune he didn’t know. That wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to be able to hold her close and show his guests he wasn’t altogether a cold fish.
Liz went inside to dance with Neville. Their guests had to see with their own eyes that she and Neville were as one. So she went through the procedure of dancing the rock and roll number, glancing at him and smiling as often as she could bear. She convinced herself that the strange emotions she was experiencing for Titus Bellamy were a dream and that tomorrow she would wake up and things would be as they were. Normality was what she wanted: real, sensible, everyday, twenty-five-year ordinariness.
Liz made sure she wasn’t anywhere near Titus when the party broke up. She hid amongst the usual Turnham Malpas people, even tolerating Sheila Bissett and her Ron.
Sheila gushed her thanks. ‘Wonderful party, Liz, just wonderful. Thank you so much for asking us. We do appreciate being on the guest list. Goodnight.’
Liz got a kiss on both cheeks from Sheila and, over Sheila’s shoulder, she saw Titus saying goodnight to Neville. As though he had personal radar Titus found her and gave a long, slow wink. Her insides simply melted.
‘It’s been a pleasure, Sheila, a real pleasure.’
Liz couldn’t avoid saying goodnight to Titus any longer, but she manoeuvred it so she was outside the front door when he caught up with her. She knew she wanted him to kiss her right there and then, but still she was caught unawares when he bent his head and kissed her lips, so gently they b
arely touched hers. This, then, was how it felt, this electric feeling, this bursting with joy.
‘Be seeing you,’ he said softly before he left.
Be seeing you. Oh, yes, he would, definitely.
She walked back inside, blinded by the intensity of her response.
Hugh and Guy were staying over and had disappeared upstairs leaving Neville and Liz alone amidst the after-party clutter. Neville had offered the waitresses extra money to clear up for them, so all they had to do was stack up the presents in a corner of the dining room - though they’d asked not to have them people couldn’t resist - and discuss the success of the evening.
‘It went well, don’t you think?’ Neville slipped an arm round her waist and kissed her temple.
Liz wriggled free. ‘It did. And so it should considering how much it cost us. We almost topped Old Fitch, didn’t we?’
‘No, we didn’t. He’s lavish with his social events. We got it just right. Yes, it was highly successful. Glad we had a fine evening, so that people could spread out into the garden. I thought Muriel was on good form.’
The Village Green Affair Page 8
