A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘Lunch OK?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I paid my pound.’ ‘Did you get a receipt?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Damn. I shall go down there and play hell.’

  ‘Not on my account.’

  ‘No, on mine. Four-thirty, it’s time you weren’t here. I don’t pay overtime unless it’s agreed beforehand.’

  ‘I won’t ask for extra payment, but I want to finish this batch before I go for my own satisfaction.’

  Jimbo studied Harry’s expression. ‘Very well then, that’s your choice. Bye.’ He liked the chap, he really did. He’d taken a risk with him, but it seemed to be justified. He liked that phrase of his, ‘for my own satisfaction’.

  Before he left, he went into the kitchen to play hell like he’d promised Harry he would. He found a few things he wasn’t exactly pleased with in the kitchen hygiene routine so he was longer than he intended and, when he was leaving, he saw Harry going into the big house through the student entrance. Now what was he up to? Ah! Yes, just what he’d suspected might happen. Oh, Venetia! Oh, Harry!

  But Venetia and Harry were behaving very circumspectly. They were seated on sunloungers after a rigorous fifteen-minute session racing each other up and down the pool. Venetia was fitter by far, and it had been Harry who’d suggested a rest.

  ‘Terribly sorry, I’ve just not had the opportunity to keep fit lately.’

  ‘Why, what have you been doing?’

  ‘That and this, this and that. Very busy doing lots of hours, earning a living wage.’

  ‘Well,’ Venetia patted Harry’s forearm, ‘You’ve a job now. Paying well, I assume, with reasonable hours, so now’s the time to get fit again.’

  ‘I’m certainly well paid for what I’m doing.’

  ‘That’s typical Jimbo. He pays above the odds for the area, so he gets people clamouring to work for him. He never appears to have problems filling vacancies. And what’s more, everyone loves working for him, even if they do complain what a taskmaster he is.’

  Venetia’s eyes strayed to Harry’s chest, then his thighs. Then she found that she was being scrutinised too. She was aware that there was nothing but approval in her eyes and hurriedly veiled them in case he …

  ‘Like what you see?’ Harry asked her.

  Venetia’s excuse quickly sprang to mind. ‘I was just thinking what pale skin you have, as if you’ve not been outside for yonks.’

  ‘I never stay out in the sun because I get sweat rashes if I do, so I always look pale. Obviously you aren’t affected by the sun, you’ve a lovely tan.’

  It occurred to Venetia that Harry was as skilled at finding reasons as she was, but she dashed that idea aside because she liked him and he was the first man she’d properly flirted with since she’d turned over a new leaf after Jeremy’s heart attack. She thought about her Jeremy and how much he loved her, and all the times she’d been wayward in their marriage. Well, she deserved a bit of waywardness now considering how long she’d been faithful to him. Venetia laughed deep down inside herself, and decided: blast it, I’m going for this one, he won’t be staying long. Two weeks of fun, that’s what. Just two weeks.

  Harry had identical thoughts and ran the tip of his tongue around his dry lips. He looked deeply into Venetia’s eyes, a half smile on his face. She was brazen with her flirting, totally brazen. She could make the slightest movement of her body into a promise and he sensed she wouldn’t be hurt by the brevity of a whirlwind relationship.

  ‘Another swim?’

  Harry nodded, ‘Leisurely though, not racing. I’ve got to get myself fitter before I race again. Obviously you’re never out of the pool.’

  ‘That’s my job; teaching swimming, diving and organising leisure time fun for the students. Work hard, play hard is Mr Fitch’s motto.’ She grinned at him, but dropped her glance when he raised his eyebrows. Damn the man, he could read her every thought and it wasn’t on, but at the same time she loved the danger of it.

  ‘Mr Fitch, who’s he?’

  ‘The boss. Fitch Enterprises Europe. He’s wealthy beyond belief. All this,’ she waved an arm around the pool complex, ‘is for staff training. My husband runs the estate and I do the leisure and sports bit.’

  ‘Where do you live then?’

  ‘We have a maisonette on the premises. Our own front door, but it’s part of the big house.’

  ‘Very useful, I should think, your own front door.’ He flicked an amused glance at her.

  ‘You’re flirting with me!’ Venetia leaped up, braced herself on the edge of the pool and dived gracefully into the water, making scarcely a splash but a big impression on Harry as he watched her body curve down towards the water. His eyes scanned the pool until, almost halfway down the length of the pool, her head bobbed up and she rolled over onto her back. My God, she was fit. He guessed she was older than she would like to be, but what the heck! So was he; they made a pair. Harry dropped into the pool and, doing his clumsy front crawl, caught up with her. They both burst into laughter as he caught hold of her round her waist.

  Neither of them noticed Jeremy who, having finished his day’s work, had come to look for her. He turned away, silently closing the door behind him, not able to face what he recognised would inevitably happen between the two of them. His heart lay heavy in his chest. This time he couldn’t possibly ignore it, not like he’d done all the other times. Love was the very devil.

  Chapter 4

  Harry might have imagined that no one knew about his assignation with Venetia, but then he’d never lived in a village before. Jimbo knew, and thus Harriet had been informed. Maggie Dobbs, who kept the school clean and sparkling, also knew because she had, quite by chance, met Harry walking back to Laburnum Cottage as she left the school and walked down Shepherd’s Hill with him on her way to Dottie Foskitt’s.

  Maggie greeted him by introducing herself and good manners dictated that he should tell her his name. ‘Oh! You’re the gentleman who’s started working for Jimbo Charter-Plackett?’

  ‘That’s right. First day today.’

  ‘It’s good working for him. I look after the school during the day but I help Jimbo on the catering side with the events at the Old Barn in the evenings and weekends. It’s a lovely job, it keeps me busy and the money’s very welcome.’

  She could smell the chlorine on him and noted his damp hair and backpack. ‘Been swimming?’

  ‘Yes. I got invited. It’s a lovely pool.’

  ‘You’d have seen Venetia then?’

  ‘That’s right. I did.’

  Maggie had to laugh. When she did a quick glance sideways, it told her Harry looked a mite embarrassed. She’d guessed, and yes she’d guessed right. There was something going on there. She must be wrong though. He seemed to be a gentleman and Venetia had been behaving herself for years.

  Harry, always on the qui vive where his private life was concerned, diverted her attention by asking her how far down the hill she was going.

  ‘Right to the bottom, to that very old cottage. Well, three years ago it was improved a bit. Dottie rents it. She wishes she owned it, after all, it’ll be worth a fortune now with the new kitchen and bathroom and the garden made lovely.’ She sounded envious.

  ‘Like gardening, do you?’ Harry asked.

  Maggie stumbled and Harry caught hold of her elbow as her ankle twisted in a hole in the tarmac. ‘Whoops! Thanks. This road is always the very last on the council’s repair list. That hole’s been there for months. You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?’ Maggie rather liked the firm grip of Harry’s hand on her arm, it was the kind of grip that made you feel the owner of it was reliable.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  Harry released his grip saying, ‘Well, this is me. Laburnum Cottage.’

  ‘You’re lucky. They’re a very nice couple.’

  ‘You’re right, they are. Be seeing you around, no doubt.’

  ‘I’m in the Royal Oak in the evenings sometimes. Might see yo
u there?’

  ‘Very likely. Bye, Maggie. Nice to have met you.’

  ‘And you. Bye.’ Maggie strode on down the hill to Dottie’s. So that was the Harry Dickinson they were all talking about. Well, she liked him. There was something very pleasant about him, there really was. Gentlemanlike, he was. Consequently, she made a point of being in the Royal Oak that very night. Not to see him, of course, but to relay the information she’d gleaned.

  She found herself to be the very first of the group who regularly sat together on the old table with the oak settle down one side of it. She carefully avoided sitting in the chair that had always been Jimmy’s; no one did, you see. His chair was always felt to be his and no one else’s. Georgie came across to have a word. ‘Hello, Maggie. All alone tonight?’

  ‘The others will be in before long, I expect.’

  ‘It’d feel funny if they weren’t.’

  ‘Has the new chap, Harry Dickinson, been in?’

  Georgie nodded. ‘He’s been in a few times. He’s got a job now, I understand.’

  ‘Accounts for Jimbo, till his accounts person gets over his op. He’s a nice man.’

  ‘I thought so too. Very polite, almost shy.’

  ‘Not that shy!’ Maggie laughed.

  With raised eyebrows and a grin on her face Georgie said, ‘What do you mean, Maggie Dobbs?’

  Maggie tapped the side of her nose, ‘Been swimming up at the big house.’

  ‘Not …’ Georgie glanced round to make sure she wasn’t overheard, ‘Venetia?’

  ‘Now, did I say that?’

  ‘No, you didn’t, but you might as well ’ave. Oh! Here they come.’ She patted the chair that had been Jimmy Glover’s. ‘I miss him. I expect you do, too.’

  Pat Jones had arrived, along with Sylvia and Willie Biggs and, trailing a long way behind, Don Wright, but no Vera.

  ‘No Vera tonight, Don?’

  ‘No. My turn for the first round. No, there’s been a crisis at the nursing home, all hands on deck job.’

  ‘Somebody taken poorly?’

  ‘You’re right there, Maggie. Lovely old chap. My Vera’s right upset, she really took a shine to him she did. Always the gentleman. Lancelot Lewis-Figges is his name. Lewis-Figges with a hyphen. From a posh family, he is and …’

  ‘Don! Are you getting the drinks in then, or not? I’m parched.’ Willie was impatient, he could see this conversation might go on for an hour or more. Once Don got going, he didn’t know when to stop. He hadn’t been quite the same since his accident, it had addled his brain, for sure.

  ‘All right, all right.’

  As Don headed for the bar counter, in came Harry. He stood looking around as though hoping he’d see someone he knew. Georgie waved to him and called, ‘Good evening!’ and Maggie called out, ‘Come and sit with us, we’re just getting the drinks in.’

  Harry gave her a thumbs up and went to the bar to order his own drink.

  Maggie leaned forward and whispered, ‘He’s been swimming with Venetia!’

  ‘No!’ said Pat Jones, ‘Oh, my word! I thought she’d stopped all that? Perhaps there’s nothing in it, maybe it happened by chance?’

  Maggie raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

  Harry came to their table, and seeing Jimmy’s chair empty, sat down in it. ‘Good evening!’ He raised his glass in greeting and drank a good half of his pint all in one go, wiped his mouth, and looked at Maggie. ‘I don’t know anyone. Maggie, will you introduce me? I’m Harry Dickinson, by the way.’ He smiled at everyone in turn.

  His smile was met by frozen faces. Someone had to tell him and, finally, it was Sylvia who plucked up the courage to explain, ‘I’m Sylvia, Harry. Married to Willie here,’ she said, tapping Willie’s arm. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but we’re careful not to sit in that chair at the moment. A dear friend of ours died rather unexpectedly sitting in it only three weeks ago so we’re a bit touchy about using his chair. We’re not being unfriendly, just a bit touchy.’

  Harry shot to his feet, white-faced and apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, I’d no idea.’

  ‘Of course you hadn’t. Here look, sit next to Don. Anywhere but there!’ said Sylvia sympathetically, moved by Harry’s obvious distress.

  ‘I am indeed very sorry. A dear friend, you say?’ Harry pushed his glass of home-brew further along and slipped into the chair next to Don.

  Don said, ‘That’s my Vera’s chair.’

  Harry shot to his feet again. ‘I’d better sit at another table, I’m so sorry. Has she died too?’

  ‘My Vera? No, of course not! She’s just having to work late at the nursing home as someone’s not turned in, so she won’t be coming. But it is.’

  Willie, unable to cope any longer with the confusion they were causing between them said, ‘Look, Harry, stay where you are. Vera usually sits there, but she’s not coming so it’s fine. He’s being difficult on purpose. You’re very welcome. We’re all friends round this table, believe me. Go on, sit down.’

  Don, in a huff, complained, ‘I didn’t mean nothing at all, just mentioned it, that’s what.’ Those who knew him could sense he was brewing for a serious row, sometimes it happened all over nothing with Don.

  ‘You should engage your brain before you speak, Don.’ Willie reminded him.

  ‘That’s not very kind saying that. Poor Don.’ said Pat Jones.

  ‘Are you claiming I’m not right in the head no more? Because I am all right, our Vera says. Ask her,’ Don said with a belligerent tone to his voice.

  ‘No, I wasn’t, but you should,’ replied Willie.

  ‘I know I’m not all that good after my accident, but I’m not rude.’

  ‘I never said you were.’

  ‘You did.’ Don fidgeted with his glass, straightened the beer mat, ran his fingers through his snow-white hair and, before anyone managed to say something to calm his ruffled feathers, he leaped to his feet, well, as fast as he was able nowadays, reached across the table and landed a punch on Willie’s nose. Blood immediately streamed from it. Sylvia screamed, Maggie began laughing, Pat Jones searched in her bag for a tissue or two for Willie, and uproar ensued. Georgie came across with a tea towel to catch the flow of blood, except initially it had spurted into Willie’s half-full glass of home-brew. Sylvia then began to cry, she was so upset. Altogether, mayhem had erupted.

  ‘You can apologise for that, Don, that was unnecessary in the extreme.’ This came from Georgie, who’d had a heavy day brought on by the good weather, which meant that the bar had been extremely busy right from first thing.

  ‘Not my fault. It was Willie, that’s what.’

  ‘Now, see here …’

  But Harry interrupted Sylvia by saying, calmly, ‘It was no one’s fault. I was to blame, through ignorance of whose chair I’d sat in, so let me sort things out. Willie, I’m buying you a fresh glass, home-brew, was it? Don, of course you didn’t mean anything by what you said, and I haven’t taken offence. Next round on me. Can Willie have another glass, Georgie, right now?’

  ‘Of course. Thanks for taking it so kindly. Lovely manners you have indeed. I’ll bring it straight across. All right now, Willie?’

  Willie’s nose was still running a little but the flow caused by the initial impact had definitely lessened. ‘Much better.’

  Harry spoke again, even more calmly than before, ‘Tell me something about this dear friend of yours who so unexpectedly went to heaven sitting in that empty chair. You must have valued him to feel like you do.’

  Harry’s softly spoken request drove them to reminisce about Jimmy Glover and his escapades, which kept them occupied right through the drinks Harry bought for them, and through the next round bought by Willie. Good humour was finally restored when they remembered the story about Jimmy’s dog, Sykes. It took some telling, but Harry appeared to be enjoying it so they carried on. ‘But you see this dog that turned up after the first Sykes had died, looked identical to Sykes number one and, what’s more, it adopted Jimmy. It even knew where
Jimmy had always put the water bowl and where it was supposed to sleep. It gave us all the shivers cos it seemed as though it was the old Sykes come back from the dead. It even liked going to church, just like the old Sykes did.’

  ‘I can see why you felt it was creepy. Bit unnerving, wasn’t it?’ Harry declared.

  ‘It certainly was,’ said Sylvia.

  ‘Where’s Sykes two now then? Since, you know …’

  ‘Well, Grandmama Charter-Plackett from next door’s taken him in but, to be frank, dogs aren’t her thing and she’d be glad for it to have a home somewhere else. She only took the animal in because of her fond memories of Jimmy. He was her longtime neighbour …’

  ‘I see. Poor Sykes.’

  ‘Yes, poor Sykes.’

  Harry had been taken into their circle of friends in the space of an evening and they all went home delighted about him being so friendly and interested in the village.

  ‘What a grand chap he is,’ said Willie to Sylvia.

  ‘He’s such a nice man,’ said Maggie to herself, having no one to listen to her.

  Don told Vera when he got home what a lovely evening they’d had talking to Harry.

  Harry went home almost feeling as if he belonged, which was an emotion he was totally unaccustomed to and he felt pleased … but, at the same time, he knew it couldn’t last. The job with Jimbo would only last two weeks and then he’d be off on his travels. Where though?

  But fate took a hand and Harry got a shock the next morning when he found Jimbo waiting for him in the office, his face drawn and anxious, his eyes glazed by distress and his attitude thoroughly downbeat.

  ‘Why, Jimbo, whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Well … There’s no easy way to say this, but my accounts person, Ken Allardyce, died last night.’ Jimbo took a deep breath to get his voice under control.

  ‘Oh! I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Heart, you see. They rushed him back to hospital, but they couldn’t revive him. It’s a terrible shame, he was such a grand chap and a pleasure to work with. He was only thirty-nine. Dodgy, unpredictable things, hearts. He was the apple of his mother’s eye. Lovely chap, straight as a die, and a real friend to me. Thirty minutes with Ken, and you’d be laughing for twenty-nine of ’em. Great chap.’ He went to gaze out of the window.