A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘You’re lucky with Marie, she’s a lovely lady.’

  ‘You’re right there. I’m the luckiest man alive, and there’s not many that can say that after thirty years of marriage.’

  ‘Thirty years, that’s a long time.’ Harry sat ruminating on this matter while they waited for the kettle to boil. ‘My parents weren’t even married. It might have been better if they had been, they might have felt more commitment, you know.’

  ‘There’s lots nowadays aren’t married, isn’t there? They seem happy enough, but it’s not quite the same, I always think.’

  ‘Children?’

  ‘One daughter in America, and she’s the spitting image of Marie. Always wished we had more but it didn’t happen. You got brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Two brothers and we fought like hell. Dad encouraged us.’ Harry sighed. ‘He favoured first one, then another. He put us at each other’s throats, to make men of us, he said. The idiot. He drank himself to death, literally. I don’t remember him ever being in work.’

  Zack detected a slight tremor in Harry’s voice and wished he’d never brought the subject up. Poor Harry, what a life. It took a lot of character to overcome a childhood like that and become such a decent man. ‘Here’s your tea. I never thought to ask, is tea OK or would you prefer coffee? Is that enough milk?’

  ‘Tea’s fine.’ They sat, drinking in silence, until Harry eventually said, ‘That’s why I joined the army. To get out of the way, have a roof over my head and some half-decent food.’

  ‘First time I saw you, I thought you might be army. It was the way you walked; upright, shoulders back. You always look as if you’re going somewhere too, not just idling about.’

  The light flooding in from the wide open doors of the shed was unexpectedly blocked by a tall figure. ‘Good morning, Zack.’

  Zack leaped to his feet. ‘Good morning, sir. Another beautiful day. What can I do for you?’

  Harry got a nod from the intruder and Zack introduced him, ‘This is Harry Dickinson. He’s staying with us for a while and he’s been helping with the mowing. Harry, this is our rector, Peter Harris.’

  Harry stood up and shook the hand he’d been offered. ‘Good morning, Rector. A lovely day.’ Harry found himself looking up into a pair of startlingly blue eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul. It took some strength not to feel intimidated by him. This man had the kind of aura that Harry found disturbing, so he sat down again, eager to avoid his thoughtful eyes.

  ‘Just a message, Zack. I had a phone call this morning from the undertaker in Culworth to say that the last of the Gotobed sisters has died in the nursing home. Not unexpected, I must say. I saw her a week ago and her Gotobed sparkle had seriously diminished. We’ve arranged the funeral for next Monday at two o’clock, refreshments afterwards in the church hall. The last of a long line of Gotobeds, I’m afraid. None of the three girls, nor their brother, ever married, you see. A hundred and one she is … Was. I’ll put the details in the book for you. Right? You know which grave, don’t you? The Gotobed one under the apple tree, not the one out by the yew tree.’ Zack nodded. ‘Right you are, sir.’

  ‘Nice to have met you, Harry. See you again sometime.’

  ‘I’m sure you will.’

  ‘Kind of you to help Zack with the mowing.’

  ‘A pleasure … Sir.’

  Harry didn’t speak for a while after Peter had left then, having finished his tea right to the bottom of the mug, he said, ‘Nice man?’

  ‘The day he leaves here, and please God it won’t be for years yet, will be a bad day for this village. He’s seen us through a lot these last years. He’s always there if you need support and whatever you tell him, it’s absolutely confidential. He never breathes a word, even though some of the busybodies round here try to get him to say what he knows. A wonderful rector, couldn’t be bettered.’

  ‘Good-looking man. Is he married?’

  ‘He is. Married to a doctor. She’s a lovely lady who sees the best in everyone and brings out the best in everyone, believe me. You seem very interested.’

  ‘The clergy interest me in general. I just can’t understand why they do it. A fine, upstanding chap like him. He’s obviously intelligent and has a lot going for him, and he becomes a rector. I mean, you know. Clerical collar, and all that. It’s a funny occupation for a real man.’

  ‘Well, he’s a real man and he’s good at his job.’

  ‘Didn’t say he wasn’t.’

  ‘And, what’s more, he means every word he says. He prays for half an hour every morning in church from six thirty to seven, then he does a three-mile run, home for his breakfast and then on with his work.’

  ‘He has a pretty penetrating stare.’

  Zack grinned. ‘You’ve noticed. Nobody can hide things from him. He knows you inside out, so you’d better watch out!’ Zack nudged Harry and laughed out loud, ‘Come on then, let’s get cracking.’

  ‘Let’s go to the pub after and you can introduce me to some of the others. Right?’

  ‘Great.’ Zack glanced at his watch. ‘Half an hour should see us finished. Come on then.’

  Harry went back to finish his mowing and started raking up the grass, thinking hard. The less he saw of that rector, the better it would be for him. He hated it when he met people who wanted to find out too much about him. He liked to keep his life private, after all, his life was his life and no one else’s, and that’s how it should be. He’d never been close to anyone in his life. In fact …

  ‘I’m done, are you? I’ll rake this bit here up for you and that’ll be it, won’t it?’

  ‘OK, Zack. Thanks.’

  They each had a ploughmans. The cheese was wonderful, the salad fresh and the pickle homemade. A glass of Dicky’s home-brew topped it all off wonderfully well. Harry enjoyed meeting Dicky properly. He was a ‘hail fellow well met’ kind of person, there didn’t seem to be any unknown depths to him, nor his wife Georgie, who was bright, blonde and jolly. Just the kind of wife he would …

  ‘Hi there!’ It was Jimbo from the store, delivering a side of cooked ham for the dining room. ‘Mind if I join you? I just fancy a glass of ale. I’ll see Georgie first.’

  Jimbo exchanged the side of ham for a fistful of notes from the till and ordered his ale. ‘On the house, Jimbo, you dear boy. We’ve run out of ham and I never thought you’d deliver today. You’re special, you are.’

  Jimbo came across to sit with Zack and Harry and a general conversation ensued, in which they told Harry all about the advantages of living in Turnham Malpas. Some things they thought were good, Harry knew for sure he wouldn’t like, but others he could see the advantage of, and wondered why he’d never chosen to live in a village before. Jimbo downed the last of his ale and, after wiping his moustache in case of froth lingering on it, said, ‘I don’t suppose you’re a bell-ringer, are you?’

  ‘A bell-ringer?’ Harry almost choked on the last of his pickle. ‘Me, a bell-ringer?’

  ‘I only meant it if you intend staying in the village. Do you?’

  ‘Well, not really. I’m just here for a week or so to get my bearings and such, but no intention of staying for a lifetime. No, no. I’m terribly sorry.’

  ‘Have you any experience in that field?’

  Harry laughed. ‘Absolutely none, sorry. I can’t help you with that.’

  ‘Ah! We’re desperately short of volunteers, you see. I saw you helping Zack and thought that perhaps you were thinking of staying.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I was just at a bit of a loose end this morning, so I thought I’d give him a hand, that’s all. Thanks for thinking I might be a suitable candidate, though.’

  ‘What is your forte?’

  ‘Accounts, mainly.’

  Jimbo came alive. ‘Accounts! I could give you two weeks’ work, immediately. My accounts person is just out of hospital after an operation, and I’d be grateful for you to take over the basic running of the accounts for me. He’ll be back at work two weeks from now
, he says, though I doubt it.’

  ‘I haven’t any references with me.’

  ‘Not to worry, you won’t be handling money. I always do that side. It’s entering the data that’s the bit that bores me and takes up too much of my time. Overheads, wages, writing cheques for me to sign to pay my suppliers etc. Would you? You could start tomorrow. I’d be ever so grateful. You’d be working up in the office at the Old Barn. Lovely working conditions.’

  ‘Well, I am computer literate. But … You’re taking a risk … No, maybe I’d better not.’ Harry shook his head, a grave expression on his face.

  ‘Really? My daughter Fran helps out sometimes with the data-entering, but she’s busy at school at the moment. GCSEs and all that. Come on, how about it? I pay good workers, good money. I’m not a penny pincher, honest.’

  Harry hesitated. He could do with the money … He’d get a reference out of it too, he supposed. ‘Shall I? OK then, I will. As long as I’m not outstaying my welcome at Marie’s.’

  Zack emphatically declared he would not be, privately thinking of the £150 a week Harry would pay for the privilege.

  ‘Tomorrow morning. Eight-thirty start, four-thirty finish. I’ll be up there and I’ll explain everything. I’ll be so glad to have someone reliable.’

  ‘You don’t know if I’m reliable. Not yet, anyway.’

  ‘If you’re not, then I shall give you the elbow. I’m not in the business of paying people to play when I’m paying them to work. I’m a tough but fair employer.’

  ‘I like the sound of that. You’re up front and that pleases me. I like to know where I stand. I like that kind of honesty. Right, you’re on. Eight-thirty tomorrow morning, for two weeks.’

  Harry watched Jimbo leaving, lost in thought. Suddenly he said, ‘That all right with Marie, Zack? I don’t want to upset her plans in any way.’

  ‘There’re two guests coming this Friday for the weekend, that’s all at the moment. Things don’t hot up until the summer, you see. June, July, August time. We’ll both be glad of your company until then.’

  Harry left the Royal Oak delighted by the prospect of working for Jimbo. He’d been at a loss for things to do these last few days, there was a limit to the sightseeing one could do without travelling miles, and petrol wasn’t cheap. Two weeks’ work. First thing tomorrow, he’d ask what the pay was.

  That same afternoon he walked up to Turnham House for a swim.

  Chapter 3

  So the next morning, as promised, Harry arrived at the Old Barn at eight twenty-five to find Jimbo ahead of him, opening up the staff door.

  ‘Good morning. You’ve walked up.’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t know the parking arrangements and thought that, as I would be sitting down most of the day, the walk would do me good. First of all, I would like to thank you for the opportunity to help you out. I’m used to being busy so I’m not very good at hanging around. I just hope you’ll be satisfied with my work.’

  ‘We’re doing each other a good turn. Here we are, this is your office.’

  Jimbo flung the door wide open and Harry thought: Could there be an office anywhere in the world better placed? The room was ablaze with the early morning sun streaming in through a vast window that overlooked the parkland and, in the distance, a lake fringed by trees newly burst into life. Someone was riding a rather splendid horse down to the lake and, unwittingly, brought the whole breathtaking scene to life. The beauty of it all illuminated Harry’s very soul.

  ‘My word! Isn’t that wonderful? And, by the looks of it, waterfowl too. Not black swans, surely? Yes, they are! Marvellous!’

  Jimbo, accustomed to the beauty through familiarity, nodded his agreement. ‘This is your desk.’ It was one of two bright, up-to-the-minute desks with the latest computers. Beside the one he would be using was a pile of paperwork and Harry longed to get his teeth into it and do something worthwhile at last.

  Jimbo sat with him for a valuable half an hour, pointing out the mistakes people tended to make and the ease with which the computer gave out figures with the simple pressing of keys in the right order. ‘Well, how do you feel about it? Is it within your capabilities?’

  ‘I shall be slow to begin with, but it appears to be a very smooth system, well put together. I’m keen on everything being correct, you see. I hate mess with figures, figures have a right to be accurate, that’s what they’re for.’

  ‘That sounds like the kind of person I need. Too many people claim to be computer literate and scarcely know how to switch the damn things on, never mind put in data correctly. I shan’t be hovering all morning, but I will come back in an hour just to check you’ve got the hang of it. Facilities through that door over there. There’s a small kitchen so if you fancy a drink help yourself. Lunch is one till two. You’re free to have food in the kitchen on the ground floor, I don’t like the smell of food in the office, you see. A pound for lunch. The girls are very helpful. OK?’

  Jimbo swung away out of the car park, well satisfied with his newest member of staff. If he made a success of it, he might just offer him a permanent job to take some of the pressure off himself. Perhaps then he might have more free time.

  Upstairs, alone in the office, Harry stood looking out of the window, indulging himself with the view. He imagined what it would be like to own it all himself, to ride that magnificent horse across his own park, across his own field. What would it be like to live in the wonderful house he could just glimpse through the trees? When he’d been up there the other day for his swim, he’d had no idea of the extent of the estate. Money. That was it. Money. Just paying the wages of the people working there would need a stack of it. Up the narrow lane came a battered red van with planks of wood sticking out of the back door. The driver pulled up outside the Old Barn and leaped out, leaving the engine running. Harry could hear him racing up the stairs to his office.

  ‘She’s not here then?’

  ‘Only me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Harriet, I mean. They said she’d be here.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘I’m Barry, the estate carpenter. If she comes, will you tell her I’ve got the planks and I’ll start on that job for her tomorrow. She’ll know what I mean.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You are?’

  ‘Harry Dickinson. I’m inputting data for Jimbo, temporarily.’

  ‘Better get cracking then. He doesn’t pay for people to be idle. When he comes back, he’ll expect three days’ work done in half a morning, believe me.’ Barry laughed as though he’d been caught out more than once.

  ‘He’s a right to expect it when he’s paying.’

  Barry nodded. ‘I’ll be off then. Tell her I’ve left the planks round the back.’

  ‘OK. Be seeing you.’

  ‘I expect so.’ Barry wagged a finger at Harry and then pointed it at the computer. He left, his laughter curling back up the stairs as he went back to his van.

  Harry sat down to begin work, somehow more cheered than for a long time.

  He had his swim gear in his backpack so, if he finished at four-thirty like Jimbo had said, he’d go for a swim. After all, Venetia was well worth pursuing. Though he couldn’t decide if it was him doing the pursuing or Venetia … Whatever, she held a lot of promise and it had been a long time.

  *

  Later that morning, Harriet arrived, introducing herself immediately as Jimbo’s other half. She held out her hand. ‘You must be Harry. How do you do? I’m Harriet, Jimbo’s wife.’

  Harry got to his feet and found himself looking into a pair of kindly brown eyes. He warmed to her immediately. She was wearing a kitchen uniform, it was snow white and flattering and her brown hair peeped out round the edges of her black-and-white checked hat.

  ‘That’s right. Harry Dickinson.’

  ‘Jimbo was coming to see you at ten, but he’s been inundated with reps this morning and hasn’t been able to escape. Is everything OK, he says.’

  ‘Absolutely. The system is unbelievably
simple and does the trick marvellously. Whoever wrote the program must be a genius.’

  Harriet smiled. ‘I’ll tell him, he’ll be flattered.’

  ‘Jimbo did it then?’

  ‘He did. Hours of sweat and toil ironing out the gremlins, but got there in the end. Must go. Busy, busy. He told you about lunch?’

  ‘He did.’

  After Harriet left, Harry sat down to contemplate his good luck. Never in the whole of his life had he fallen on his feet to such an extent as now, and how he relished it. Such trusting people, that was what surprised him. They’d never met him before and they hadn’t even asked for references before entrusting all this to him. He looked round the office at the thoroughly pleasant surroundings, the thick carpet, the marvellously contoured chairs provided; he wasn’t going to get backache sitting in one of these all day. Oh no! Top of the range, they were. And that wonderful view from the window, now that he really did enjoy. Back to work.

  *

  Jimbo came to see him towards the end of the afternoon, apologising for having neglected him.

  ‘Please don’t worry. I haven’t felt neglected, and I’ve processed three quarters of the pile.’

  ‘You have! That’s terrific! I thought you said you would be slow to begin with?’

  ‘I did say that, but I only meant the first hour and since then I’ve been rattling away. I rang Mrs Jones in Mail Order with a query which she was able to sort out for me. Other than that …’

  ‘She’s usually right. Not always, of course, but more often than not. Works like a slave, does Greta, and well worth her money. Ten pounds an hour, is that all right?’ Jimbo’s eyebrows arched a little as he waited for his answer.

  ‘That’s absolutely fine. Yes, absolutely fine.’

  ‘Feels fair?’

  ‘Of course.’