A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘I will. You’re right. Yes.’ Jimbo fled for his office desk, his mind working out how best to approach the matter without making Tom and Bel think they were being accused. It must have happened while they were distracted or away from the till. There was no way that someone could have pinched it if either Tom or Bel had been standing there, using it.

  By nine o’clock, the two of them had been round with their lists. Obviously the lists overlapped each other, because Jimbo hadn’t asked them who they’d served, just who’d been in. After reassuring the two of them again that they were definitely not on the suspect list, Jimbo suggested that they went home with a photocopy of their own list just in case, on reflection, they remembered someone they’d not put down. Jimbo and Harriet went through them after they’d left.

  ‘They were busy, weren’t they?’ Harriet observed. ‘This boy here is from the foster home on the Culworth Road, isn’t he? Mustn’t jump to conclusions though, must we? It’s not fair.’

  ‘Put a faint cross beside his name. Anyone else, do you think?’

  ‘Not a single one, they’re all honest.’

  ‘In that case, someone has been in then and they’re not on the list. Someone’s been in, drawn either Tom or Bel away from the till with a query, and they’ve not bought anything … or … No, that wouldn’t matter because I asked them who’d been in. God, I’m getting all mixed up. They’d have to have been at the till to get hold of the tin.’

  Fran had been reading so she was only half listening all the time they’d been talking. ‘It could be someone who came in for a special order and either Tom or Bel would need to go in the back to get it for them. Mightn’t it?’

  ‘Of course. That could be it. Good thinking, Fran.’ Harriet got up to give her a kiss. ‘That might very well be it. I’m getting a drink. Whisky, Jimbo?’

  He nodded, lost in thought.

  ‘Fran? What would you like to drink?’

  ‘That elderflower thing, please.’

  Jimbo rang both Tom and Bel and asked if someone had come in for a special order, but he got no further with that line of enquiry and had to go to bed with the problem unsolved.

  In the middle of the night, Jimbo had a flash of insight and said out loud, ‘It must have been last thing before we closed, otherwise Tom or Bel would have realised that the money had gone the moment they opened the tin when they sold a ticket. That’s the mistake we made, thinking it could have been anyone, right from me leaving to going back in at locking-up time. The net is closing in.’

  Jimbo grinned and promptly fell asleep.

  But as the days passed the thief was never found, despite Jimbo’s herculean efforts with his subtle enquiries and keeping a careful eye out for someone spending more money than normal, or someone coming in and looking shifty. It was all to no avail though, and Jimbo had to stump up for the missing money. The whole episode left a bitter taste in his mouth and his hitherto untainted belief in the basic honesty of everyone who came in his store was left decidedly dented. But life goes on, he thought, and made himself look forward to the recital.

  Fortunately, it was a beautiful evening and because every ticket had been sold, it meant one hundred bottoms on seats, much to Jimbo’s delight. A programme had been given to them all as they arrived, and no one gave it more attention than Paddy Cleary. He’d got there in good time and was sitting in the front pew, alive with excitement, oblivious to the people filling up the seats. So much so that he hadn’t even noticed Caroline and Peter sharing his pew.

  Tamsin came in looking utterly superb, wearing her degree gown over a full-length emerald green dress. Tamsin’s dress and her flaming red hair made Paddy’s heart leap. His face lit up and he longed to catch her eye but knew he musn’t, in case he disturbed her concentration.

  When her first magical notes flared triumphantly round the church, Paddy trembled with passion. Caroline felt the trembling and, glancing carefully sideways, she saw his face aglow with love. Oh! Poor Paddy, he had got it bad. Did Tamsin know? Maybe not.

  Jimbo’s pleasure was ruined by the thought of the thief perhaps sitting close by him, possibly even next to him, unless they’d had enough decency to stay away, given the circumtances. By the time he’d sorted the refreshments out in the church hall, the only seat left for him was right at the back, perched on the font steps, but he could see virtually everyone who’d turned up. In his head, instead of listening to the music, he was going through the names he could remember from Tom and Bel’s list. Blast it! He musn’t let the theft spoil his enjoyment so he concentrated as hard as he could on the music and wished he had that kind of talent. Brilliant! What a treasure!

  The recital lasted an hour and a quarter, and the audience were satiated with the sensuous pleasure of Tamsin’s music. There were calls of ‘Bravo!’, ‘Encore!’, ‘More, please!’, but Tamsin looked drained and Paddy longed to take her in his arms to give her some of his own strength. He clapped the loudest and didn’t care if someone noticed.

  Peter stood up and waited for the applause to exhaust itself. ‘On behalf of everyone here this evening, I wish to thank Tamsin, our church organist, for the wonderful music she has played for us tonight. We are massively privileged to have, living in our very own village, someone with the superb talent that Tamsin has. Truly privileged. Shall we give Tamsin another sign of our delighted approval before we move across to the church hall for our refreshments?’ Peter then raised his hands above his head and began clapping all over again, and everyone willingly followed suit.

  The conversation in the church hall was positively bubbling with excitement. As the audience sipped their wine and chose their nibbles, they joyfully discussed the music. Tamsin wasn’t there, however. Paddy had helped her collect her music and the two of them had gone to Tamsin’s house because she was too exhausted to speak to anyone.

  But all the others were there, including Harry with Marie and Zack. To Harry’s horror, just as he was halfway down his first glass of wine, Peter came across to speak to him. His bright blue eyes looked down at him, questioning and alert. ‘How about that then, Harry? Absolutely splendid, wasn’t it?’

  Harry accepted Peter’s deep gaze as best he could, but it was unnerving him yet again. ‘It certainly was, sir. More than good enough for the Albert Hall.’

  ‘We’re very lucky to have her. She prefers the quiet ebb and flow of village life, you see. She believes it to be better for her musicality than the cut and thrust of … say … London.’

  ‘I can well believe that. She prefers quality of life to adulation, I expect.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re absolutely right there. How are you finding village life?’

  Harry braved Peter’s gaze again. ‘The ebb and flow suits me well, thanks.’

  ‘I hear you’ve landed a temporary job with Jimbo?’

  Harry smiled. ‘I have, inputting his data. You’ve heard, have you, about Ken Allardyce?’

  Peter shook his head.

  ‘He was taken back into hospital and he died. Jimbo’s very cut up about it.’

  ‘I had no idea. He lives, or should I say lived, in Culworth, you see, so he’s not a man I know very well.’

  ‘Neither do I. I’m more sad for Jimbo, he’s taken it very badly.’

  ‘That’s Jimbo. Tough on the outside, but kindly inside.’ Peter smiled. ‘I suppose one downside of village life is that everyone knows what one is up to. Everyone knows what everyone’s doing, good and bad.’ Peter waited for Harry’s response but didn’t get one so he continued, ‘Sometimes it can be very annoying, but at least if you have problems, there’s always someone willing to listen and advise you. Many people living lonely lives in a big city would be grateful for that, even if we aren’t. Must press on. Can I get you another glass of wine?’

  ‘Thanks, Rector, but no. I’m very abstemious where the vices are concerned.’

  ‘I see.’ But Peter’s eyebrows were raised in a way that made him look disbelieving and Harry almost shuddered.

&n
bsp; ‘Nice to have had the chance to talk,’ Harry forced out in reply.

  ‘Be seeing you, no doubt.’ And Peter, much to Harry’s relief, walked away. What the hell was he talking about? Fishing? Using an innocent remark, hoping for some kind of revelation? Some nasty revelation which he’d use at some future date? Well, Reverend Peter Harris, I’ve got your number. I’m not a simple soul like so many of your parishioners, definitely not. Harry decided that he’d avoid him like the plague in future, he could well do without Peter’s particular kind of gentle probing. Damn every nosy busybody in Turnham Malpas, he’d do as he liked. And doing as he liked meant seeing Venetia whenever and wherever he wanted. Ah! There she was, accompanied by … presumably Jeremy. Harry threaded his way through the crowd. They certainly knew how to party, judging by the level of conversation and excited laughter. Venetia and Jeremy were talking to Jimbo, so he had a good excuse for joining them.

  ‘Evening, Jimbo. Wonderful recital, wasn’t it? Well worth the five pounds.’

  Jimbo finished what he was saying to Jeremy and turned to let Harry join their conversation. ‘It certainly was. We’ve made £500 tonight. And a straight profit because Tamsin gave us her services. So, just another £500, and we’ll have raised enough for the full overhaul of the organ. I sometimes wish we had an electronic one, then these overhaul jobbies wouldn’t be so expensive.’

  ‘But there’s something very special about the sound of a genuine organ, isn’t there?’

  ‘I agree. There’s a quality that the electronic varieties miss out on. I think next time we’ll charge ten pounds a ticket.’

  ‘Perhaps seven pounds fifty? In these hard times, ten pounds might be too much for some people.’ Harry shifted his foot a little to touch Venetia’s sparkling gold sandal. ‘What do you think, Jimbo?’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right. Venetia here is suggesting that we have a really big do in the abbey in Culworth and charge even more, attract a wider audience.’

  ‘I think you’re on to something there, Venetia.’ Harry had to get her to talk to him otherwise, in this cloistered community, someone might think it odd.

  ‘Be a big undertaking, though,’ Venetia replied, her face deadpan.

  Harry looked directly at Jeremy saying, ‘You must be Venetia’s husband. We haven’t met, how do you do?’ He reached out to shake Jeremy’s hand. ‘Harry, Harry Dickinson.’

  Jeremy, driven by demons over which he no longer had control, couldn’t bear to touch the man who was clearly giving his wife so much pleasure. He ignored the outstretched hand and briefly nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  Venetia, for once in her life, was appalled. What did Harry think he was doing? This was not what she wanted. Secret? Yes, that was part of the attraction. Up front and in the open, no. ‘Anyone want another glass of wine?’ she asked, seeking an exit. Jeremy was apparently frozen to the spot, Jimbo had turned away to speak to someone else, and thus it was only her and Harry capable of speech and movement. ‘Harry? I’ll get you one.’

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t drink much. One’s enough.’

  So Venetia escaped, leaving Jeremy and Harry to face each other. But Jeremy wasn’t having that, he gave another brief nod in the vague direction of Harry, turned on his heel, and clumsily stalked the length of the hall to stand looking out of the window at the night sky. Knowing he’d made a fool of himself, knowing they just might guess he knew what he wasn’t suppposed to know, Jeremy stood, incapable of making a decision. Damn it to hell. He decided to drive home right there and then and leave Venetia to struggle home in those ridiculous high-heeled, glittering strappy things she called shoes.

  Venetia avoided Harry once she’d got her second glass and chatted to anyone willing to listen. Then she decided that as the crowd was beginning to disperse, she’d find Jeremy and they’d go home. But he had gone. Without her? Alarm bells began to ring. That was most unlike him. No matter what, he always behaved as a gentleman should. Harry spotted her scanning the crowd and quietly made his way towards her. She saw him coming and headed for the main door to escape.

  Harry caught up with her as she went through the little wicket gate at the back of the churchyard with the intention of taking the short cut back to the big house. ‘Not so fast, Venetia.’

  She swung round to confront him. ‘You idiot! In public! That’s not part of the game.’

  ‘Game?’

  ‘Well, not game, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that if Jeremy doesn’t know, I like it better that way. In public we are two very separate people. Right? No connection whatsoever. Right?’

  ‘I like it either way. But I do see your point. For a start, I wouldn’t like that rector to be in the know.’

  Venetia shuddered. ‘No. And neither would I. So, in future, in public we don’t know each other. Right?’

  ‘Right. This your secret way home to avoid the crowds?’

  In the darkness Venetia smiled. ‘No one uses it any more, but the dark doesn’t bother me. After all, who’s likely to be wandering across Home Park at this time of night? No one.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Ah! Well, you’re my lover, that’s different.’

  ‘I’m glad you don’t think of me as your bit on the side.’

  Venetia pretended to be shocked. ‘Now that really is a very vulgar expression.’

  Harry gripped hold of her hand. ‘Is it just a game?’

  ‘Not with you. There’s more to it than that. This time.’

  They faced each other and, even though it was almost pitch black, they could sense, without seeing, their mutual need. They were standing so close that they could feel each other’s breath before they kissed and Venetia knew at that moment that this was different from any other time. Before, it had always been fun, but with this man it was more serious. Then she remembered he could be gone next week, so she clung to him fiercely.

  Inside they were both tearing themselves apart. Harry because he was afraid of his feelings, Venetia because she didn’t want to get too involved when it was to be so short-lived. She stumbled off in the darkness, shoes in her hand and her bare feet feeling the dampness on the grass left behind by an earlier rainstorm, leaving Harry to find his own way back. He endeavoured to find what he called the country way back to Laburnum Cottage, but got hopelessly lost through unfamiliarity, and ended up being guided by the floodlights of the big house. Then he walked down the drive, down Jack’s Lane, and then Shepherd’s Hill.

  It was a good thing he had a key. But getting in quietly so as not to disturb Marie and Zack was impossible as they were both in the kitchen having a bedtime drink.

  ‘Harry! Want a drink before you go to bed?’

  Harry put his head round the door to say no thanks, he was going straight up. And he did, to spend the next two hours fretting about the situation he’d found himself in. He had to pull himself together. Falling in love? Absolutely not. It made life far too complicated and, in any case, he would be leaving in the middle of the week. He’d only promised to work until then. After all, Jimbo would want someone permanent, and permanent was not his scene. He wouldn’t go for a swim tomorrow, he’d stay away, let things cool.

  Chapter 6

  Harry might not have had a very satisfactory evening, but there were those who had, those for whom love’s path ran sweet. Tamsin Goodenough, exhausted by the intensity of her concentration during the recital, was glad to have someone to put the kettle on, get out the cups, those delicate china ones that had belonged to her mother, pull forward a side table to put the tray on, and pour her a life-giving cup of Earl Grey.

  Paddy served the tea in such a gentle, considerate manner that Tamsin almost felt revived just watching him. His attention was heaven-sent and yet the man seated beside her on the sofa was not the kind of man she should have been attracted to. She’d grown up in a house where music was prized above rubies. All of them, which included her parents and two sisters, had been more than proficient in at least two instruments, and their greatest joy was t
o get together to play. They played till the moon shone through the windows, till the clock struck midnight. Passing music exams with distinction was the norm and she’d revelled in it.

  Until tragedy struck one bright summer’s day. Tamsin was nineteen when her parents and one of her sisters were killed in a horrifying train crash. Happiness fled from her life, for ever, it seemed. Tamsin had won a place at the Manchester School of Music, to begin in the autumn. It gave her a sense of purpose, but her sister, Penny, eighteen months older than her, dug out a rucksack from the loft, filled it with everything she needed for a long adventure, and disappeared to South America. Occasionally, over the next fifteen years, Tamsin got a postcard from her, each place appearing more remote than the last. She kept every one of them in a drawer in her bedroom. About three years ago, a postcard came that gave her an email address and since then it had been emails, not cards, that outlined the latest venture Penny had decided to take up. As for herself …

  ‘More tea, Tamsin?’

  Paddy brought her back to now and, all things considered, she preferred now. ‘I don’t know why it is I can practise for hours when I’m by myself, but as soon as I have people listening to me, I’m exhausted after an hour.’

  ‘It’s because you want to do your best for them, which you do. Your playing is perfect.’ Paddy’s eyes glistened with approval.

  ‘Thank you. You’re a very restful person to be with, you know, and yet they tell me that in the pub you’re full of jokes and laughter.’

  ‘It must be you who makes me restful.’ Paddy smiled at her and those Irish eyes of his, almost midnight blue with their black lashes, stopped her in her tracks. In all her thirty-four years, Tamsin had never met a man who’d touched her emotions so quickly. One smile, one laugh, and she was captivated. But it wouldn’t do. She wasn’t the marrying type and neither, she felt sure, was Paddy. Maybe they could be friends and give marriage a kick into touch?

  Paddy put down his empty cup. He hated Earl Grey; he only drank it for Tamsin’s sake. He said, ‘Can I tell you something?’