A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)
Page 1
Also by Rebecca Shaw
Barleybridge Novels
A Country Affair
Country Wives
Country Lovers
Country Passions
One Hot Country Summer
Love in the Country
Turnham Malpas Novels
The New Rector
Talk of the Village
Village Matters
The Village Show
Village Secrets
Scandal in the Village
Village Gossip
Trouble in the Village
Village Dilemma
Intrigue in the Village
Whispers in the Village
A Village Feud
The Village Green Affair
The Village Newcomers
INHABITANTS OF TURNHAM MALPAS
Willie Biggs Retired verger
Sylvia Biggs His wife
James (Jimbo) Charter-Plackett Owner of the village store
Harriet Charter-Plackett His wife
Fergus, Finlay, Flick & Fran Their children
Katherine Charter-Plackett Jimbo’s mother
Paddy Cleary Gardener
Alan Crimble Barman at the Royal Oak
Linda Crimble His wife
Lewis Crimble Their son
Maggie Dobbs School caretaker
H. Craddock Fitch Owner of Turnham House
Kate Fitch Village school headteacher
Tamsin Goodenough Organist
Zack Hooper Verger
Marie Hooper His wife
Gilbert Johns Church choirmaster
Louise Johns His wife
Greta Jones A village gossip
Vince Jones Her husband
Barry Jones Her son and estate carpenter
Pat Jones Barry’s wife
Dean & Michelle Barry and Pat’s children
Revd Peter Harris MA (Oxon) Rector of the parish
Dr Caroline Harris His wife
Alex & Beth Their children
Jeremy Mayer Manager at Turnham House
Venetia Mayer His wife
Tom Nicholls Assistant in the Store
Evie Nicholls His wife
Dicky & Georgie Tutt Licensees at the Royal Oak
Bel Tutt Assistant in the village store
Don Wright Maintenance engineer (now retired)
Vera Wright His wife and cleaner at the nursing home in Penny Fawcett
Rhett Wright Their grandson
THE VILLAGE OF TURNHAM MALPAS
Contents
Also by Rebecca Shaw
INHABITANTS OF TURNHAM MALPAS
THE VILLAGE OF TURNHAM MALPAS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Copyright
Chapter 1
By nine o’clock, Zack Hooper, well pleased with his attempts at getting the Church of St Thomas à Becket thoroughly organised for the wedding later that morning, decided to have a brew up in his new shed in the churchyard. It had a window along one side so he had a good view of the flowerbeds he’d planted and the ancient trees. Halfway through his mug of tea he became aware of a man studying the inscriptions on the gravestones. Not someone he knew, though. He must have come early for the wedding, he thought. His tea finished, he tossed the tea leaves out on the grass with a practised aim and suddenly the man was beside him.
‘Morning, sir, here for the wedding?’
‘Er, yes. Yes, I am. Yes, got here a mite early. Is it all right if I walk around for a bit?’
‘Of course, the main door’s open when you’re ready to go in.’
‘Lovely morning for a wedding, if it’s ever a good morning for one.’
‘Ah! Well, the two of them have found love for the first time very late in life, as you will know, so it’s a very happy occasion.’
‘Of course. Yes, you’re right.’ The man nodded his head in agreement.
‘Relatives of yours, are they?’
‘Distant. Come for my mother’s sake, really, she can’t manage to get here herself. She’s confined to a wheelchair, you see.’ Zack’s eyes followed the man as he wandered about.
Good-looking chap. Well dressed too, though the suit might just have seen better days. Tall, held himself well, might be an army man, fifties? No, perhaps late forties. Nice thought that, coming for his mother’s sake. Showed respect, like.
There were only six guests at the service, not including the man who’d spoken to him, who sat at the back, kind of half there and half not.
Zack tidied up after the service, checked the flowers had plenty of water, turned out the lights, and decided he’d done for the day. But the tall chap was still around.
‘Anywhere I could get lunch later on?’
‘The Royal Oak has a dining room. Very nice food.’
‘Do they have bedrooms?’
Zack shook his head. ‘No. Are you wanting somewhere for tonight?’
‘Well, yes, I could be.’
‘The only place in this village is my wife’s B&B. Down Shepherd’s Hill, go left at the shop. Or else it means going into Culworth, there’re hotels there.’
‘I like the idea of staying in this village. Has she a room for tonight?’
‘By chance, yes, she has.’
‘I’d like to take it. My name’s Harry Dickinson.’ He held out his hand and Zack found it a no-nonsense handshake, strong, firm and reassuring.
‘I’m Zack Hooper. My wife’s Marie Hooper, and the house is on the left-hand side going down the hill, Shepherd’s Hill that is, and it’s called Laburnum Cottage. It’s bigger than it looks.’
‘Thanks, I’ll go down there shortly. I’ll have a look round the village first though.’
‘Tell her Zack recommended you.’
‘I will. Certainly. Thanks.’
‘I’m off into Culworth now. Perhaps I’ll see you later.’
‘Indeed.’
Zack gave Marie a brief blast on his mobile to warn her the chap might be coming, then went into Culworth for lunch and a pint at the Cricketers Inn and a visit to the betting shop. He missed his weekly racing tip from Barclay Ford, such a pity he’d had to do a moonlight flit. Altogether, he’d made about £500 from his tips and his luck hadn’t really been in since.
While Zack was lunching in Culworth, the man from the wedding, having bought some chocolate in the village shop, had a coffee in the bar of the Royal Oak, then sat on the seat on the green and watched the geese, was now walking down Shepherd’s Hill.
Harry Dickinson liked the look of Laburnum Cottage. A house rather than a cottage, and very smart in a country way. The front had no garden, nor pavement to separate it from the road, and its age showed in the old sash windows and the slightly bulging walls, which were painted yellow as befitted a cottage with the name of laburnum. The door was a gleaming, spotless black with an unusual knocker in the shape of a tree, polished to within an inch of its life. Looking at the upstairs windows he noted the immaculate lace curtains neatly draped and the flowers, real or fake, in each window. Yes, Harry thought, jus
t the place for me.
He gave three loud, positive bangs with the brass knocker and waited. He must be living in country time because there was a long delay before the door was opened. When it did, he was confronted by a small, round woman looking remarkably like a rosy red apple just plucked from the tree; not a blemish on it and ripe and ready for eating.
‘Good afternoon. My name’s Harry Dickinson. You must be the verger’s wife? He said you might have a room available?’
Marie saw a tall, well-dressed man with a charming smile and something about him made her heart skip a beat. ‘That’s right. I’m Marie. I do have a room with a lovely view of the garden and Sykes Wood at the back. Would you like to see it?’
Harry nodded. ‘Yes, please. It’s just for a couple of nights.’ He followed her into the house, remembering to wipe his feet on the doormat to make a good impression. The stairs led straight up from the tiny hall and he followed her up the shallow stairs, liking the pictures which scaled the wall as they went upwards. Not a speck of dust was lurking anywhere and the upstairs showed great promise.
She turned to the first door on the left and opened it, inviting him to go in ahead of her. The bedroom glowed with light, the duvet cover and the curtains matched, the carpet was rose coloured, and there was another door which Harry hoped would be an en suite, for he hated sharing bathrooms with strangers. He’d had enough of that.
Harry asked, ‘En suite, is it?’ Pointing to the door.
‘Oh! Yes, my rooms are all en suite. Everyone expects it now, don’t they? Gone are the days of nipping down the landing in your shimmy.’ She grinned at him and her rosy cheeks became more rounded. He liked her very much indeed.
‘I might stay a week, would you have room?’
‘At the moment, yes I have. If it’s a week, then it’s seven nights for the price of six.’
‘Which is?’
‘Twenty-five pounds a night with full English, access to your room twenty-four-seven and use of the sitting room.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be in your way.’
‘You wouldn’t be. Zack and I have ample space in the attic rooms, so you have the guest area to yourself.’
‘I see.’
Caution, born of experience, prompted Marie to say, ‘Your luggage?’
‘In my car. I parked in the village. If I may, I’ll go and get it now.’
Marie beamed at him. She pointed to the hospitality tray. ‘I keep it well stocked.’
‘Thank you, I can see I shall want for nothing. We’ll shake hands on the deal.’
And they did and somehow he held her hand a little longer than he should have done, but she didn’t mind, he had such a lovely smile.
‘You can park round the back. It’s better than in the road, sometimes they come charging down the hill as if they were in a Grand Prix race.’
‘And parking too. Wonderful. Won’t be long.’
Marie then remembered that she’d omitted to take his credit card number as a surety. Well, she’d ask him when he came back.
Harry Dickinson kept himself to himself at first, he had a key so he came and went at will. Once Zack met him in the bar and they had a drink and walked home together but really that was all. He always ate a hearty breakfast, having something of everything and a pile of toast, but then he had paid for it so that didn’t matter.
He said he was thinking about staying on and, naturally, Marie agreed because he was no trouble at all. In fact, they’d settled down to a very comfortable going on. She’d already invited him to have Sunday lunch with the two of them and they’d had a nice chat about politics and present-day country life and how it had changed, then he’d gone out for the rest of the day so that was that. He used his car a great deal for going here and there, he’d bought a map from Jimbo’s store, and popped into the Royal Oak. One day, when Zack couldn’t get the mower to work, Harry had gone to the church and given him a hand and solved the problem almost immediately, so that night he and Marie had gone to the bar and bought him a couple of whiskies as a gesture of thanks. He was so appreciative it was almost embarrassing. ‘I don’t drink very much, you see. I like to be on the abstemious side, it’s all too easy to slip into being dependent on it and that’s not my style.’
‘Nor mine,’ said Zack, ‘too many lives ruined by drinking too much.’
‘Exactly,’ said Harry, staring into his whisky glass. He looked up as though he was about to add some intimate revelation, but closed his mouth and looked bleakly out of the window.
Marie touched his hand gently. ‘You look sad.’
He gave her an apologetic half smile and said, ‘You don’t want to hear my troubles.’
‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved.’
But he refused to reply and somehow the pleasure went out of the evening and, before long, Harry asked to be excused and disappeared out of the door with only the briefest of thank yous.
‘The poor chap, he’s very upset.’
Zack looked at Marie, wondering what was going through her mind, but before he could ask, Paddy Cleary came across.
‘Evening, Zack. Marie, how’re things? That one of your B&B guests?’
‘Yes he is, actually. He’s booked to stay a week but he’s fancying staying a fortnight.’
‘He’s a nice chap,’ said Paddy.
‘Sit down, Paddy, we’re about to have another drink. You’ve met him then?’
‘Yes. He came up to the big house thinking it was open for viewing like a stately home is, and I met him in the garden. He gave me a hand loading some new paving stones on to my truck. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Insisted, he did.’
Marie smiled. ‘That’s typical of him, he gave Zack a hand getting the church mower going when he couldn’t fathom what was wrong with it. Such a nice man, so well mannered and no trouble at all. I wish all our guests were as good as him. Two new ones came yesterday and they are a pest.’
‘Picky, are they?’
Marie nodded her head emphatically. ‘You can say that again. They turn their noses up at my cooked breakfast and want yoghurt and fresh fruit and brown toast and something funny called organic something or other, can’t even pronounce it, which I haven’t got. If they think they’ll get money knocked off for not having cooked, they’ve got another think coming.’
‘Well, if that’s the agreed price they can’t ask for a discount, can they?’
‘Can’t they? We’ll wait and see.’ Marie studied Paddy’s face and decided to take the plunge. ‘You know, Paddy, I’ve been thinking, why is it a charming chap like you, in a good, steady job and with this new horticultural qualification Mr Fitch has paid for you to get, why aren’t you married?’
Paddy took a long drink of his home-brew before he answered. Those Irish blue eyes of his with their dark lashes twinkled as he said, ‘To be honest, Marie, if you were free, I’d …’
Zack laughed like a drain. ‘Too late, Paddy. I found her first, and it’s staying that way.’
‘You’re greedy, Zack, keeping her all to yourself.’
Marie blushed. ‘I’m too old for you anyway.’
‘I like older women, they know how to look after a chap.’ Paddy raised his eyebrows at her and then winked.
‘Well, really! You’ve all the blarney of the Irish and then some, Paddy Cleary.’
Tamsin Goodenough came by, glass in hand. Glad of something to divert Paddy’s attention from her, Marie said, ‘Oh! There’s Tamsin. Come and join us, Tamsin, it’s been ages since we saw you. What have you been getting up to lately?’
Tamsin wandered over, Martini and lemonade in hand. ‘Hi, Marie. Good evening, Zack.’ She nodded to Paddy, who moved his chair a little to make room for her. ‘Busy, busy as usual, you know how it is.’
Marie was eager to know, for she was envious of Tamsin’s musical success. ‘Well, tell us then.’
‘Gave an organ recital in the abbey last week, and I’ve another one in London on Friday evening. Keeps me going.’
‘No, never. I don’t go to church.’
‘You can always go to a recital, even if you aren’t a churchgoer. I’m not, but I go to her recitals when I can.’ Marie smiled at Tamsin, thinking as she did so that maybe a bit of matchmaking with these two might be a good idea. Paddy, being lightly built, appeared smaller than he actually was when he stood up, and Tamsin, well, she was just the right size for a woman; not too big and not too small. ‘The rector is one of your biggest fans, isn’t he, Tamsin?’
‘He is, but he plays the organ well too, you know, with no training whatsoever. You’ve heard him, haven’t you, Zack?’
‘I have, it can be tear-jerking when he plays sometimes. On the other hand, it can be very jolly. Yes, jolly, that’s right and it can lift your spirits. You’ll have to go to one of Tamsin’s recitals, Paddy, see what you think. Her playing isn’t all solemn, it can be funny too and make you laugh.’
‘Another drink, anyone?’ Paddy wasn’t going to let himself get involved with anything at all to do with the church. The further he stayed away from it, the better, in his opinion.
Things got quite lively later on. Dicky Tutt came out from behind the bar to give one of his comic performances, complete with new jokes, and Vince Jones was turned out by Georgie Tutt for becoming truculent, having drunk too much as he celebrated a win on the lottery. Someone also brought in a dog that threatened to clamp its jaws round Paddy’s ankle when he trod on its tail as he passed it on his way to the bar again. Altogether, Marie wished Harry had stayed and witnessed a typical night in the Royal Oak saloon bar.
They’d decided to walk to the pub as the evening was fair but, when it came time to go home, Marie wished they’d brought the car. It seemed a long way home, even though it was downhill all the way. Then, as luck would have it, Harry came past in his car and stopped to give them a lift.
‘You should have stayed, Harry. We had a right laugh after you’d gone.’