A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘So?’

  ‘Jeremy’s gone on a business trip with Craddock Fitch so here I am.’

  She took hold of his hand and gripped it tightly. ‘They decided tonight at about five o’clock to go to Heathrow and catch a plane to Ireland. They’re gone for three whole days. I gladly packed a case for him and thought about you. Are you glad?’

  ‘You walked?’

  ‘Yes, I thought the exercise might do me good.’ Venetia giggled and snuggled up to him, and he sensed her perfume was having its usual effect on him. She certainly knew how to tempt a man. ‘So, is there a drink going? It’s like an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at the big house at the moment. Fitch has still forbidden drink. There’ll soon be a mass migration to the Royal Oak. I wonder if it’s legal to ban it, something to do with contravening their human rights perhaps? Anyway, damn him. Drink? Darling? Please?’ Getting no response, Venetia grew irritable. ‘Have I done something wrong? What is it?’ She nudged him. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘To me you’re such a lovely person, and I’m so glad I met you, so very glad.’ Harry kissed her on her temple. ‘But everyone I see warns me about you. Why?’

  ‘Jealous, that’s what. Sheer jealousy. Nothing more. Believe me. Because I dress well, I’m well groomed, and men can’t take their eyes off me. I have masses of sex appeal and I don’t belong in the village. I haven’t changed in order to try to belong either, because I don’t care a fig for what they say and neither should you. We’re as free as air, you and I.’ She looked appealingly into his eyes. ‘OK?’

  Harry was so relieved by Venetia’s reply that he pulled her to him and showered her with kisses. He brushed aside the fact that he didn’t completely believe her.

  ‘Can I stay the night? I’ll leave very early. Promise.’

  ‘I could drive you up there when I go to the office? I start work at eight-thirty, so we’ll leave at eight? Would that be OK?’

  ‘Wonderful! Let’s have that drink.’

  By the next morning, Harry didn’t care what people thought or said about him and Venetia. It was his business and no one else’s and they could say what they liked. With Jeremy away, he felt rather more comfortable about being with her and he’d decided to enjoy the next couple of days as best he could. Having some agreeable female company meant a lot to him because he’d been without it for far too long so he’d do all he could to keep it that way. He was tempted to suggest that she came to live with him while Jeremy was away, but decided against that. It would be going much too far, especially with the old dragon living in the next house but one. Then there really would be a scandal, and he didn’t want the bother of that.

  So Venetia sneaked into his car at eight and he dropped her off down the side of the big house so that she could dash into the maisonette without anyone seeing her. Then he took his car round to his alloted parking space, got Sykes out, and left him to wander about for a while, with strict instructions not to go back to the church if he got bored. Then he pulled himself up sharply: what was he doing thinking a dog would understand what he said? But there was something in the angle of Sykes’s head and the alert expression in his sharp terrier eyes as he listened that convinced Harry that maybe Sykes did understand. Coming to the village had definitely softened his brain; falling so seriously for Venetia, someone who in his right mind he would never have fancied, and now talking to a dog! And what was much worse, being convinced the dog understood.

  But their attempt to keep their love life secret was in vain. Grandmama Charter-Plackett had witnessed the whole episode and hastened round to Harriet’s for advice.

  ‘Harriet! There you are! I’m furious! Absolutely furious! I’ve never had a tenant before, and never will again. I know we don’t worry about these things like we would have done fifty years ago, but there is a limit. I suspected things weren’t right but then I saw them with my own eyes. I hasten to add that I was bringing the milk in, not just peeking. I saw Venetia jump in his car, he’d pulled it right up to the front door, but they didn’t escape me! And Sykes having to put up with it! He’s not used to it. Jimmy might have been a widower for years but there was none of that going on. What should I do, Harriet?’ Grandmama flung herself down in Jimbo’s chair and waited for sympathy from her one and only daughter-in-law.

  ‘My advice would be to ignore it. At least you can’t hear them at it through the wall.’

  ‘That really is vulgar of you, Harriet. But he’s such a nice young man. I just can’t believe it. He’s so polite and so caring about Sykes. I’ve half a mind to take him back.’

  ‘Well, don’t. He’s too much for you. In any case, dogs don’t have morals so he won’t care.’

  ‘You may be right.’

  ‘Coffee, or would brandy be more appropriate?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I would offer to look after the business while you’re away instead of that Harry but I won’t.’

  ‘Absolutely not, but thanks all the same, Katherine.’

  ‘I do think I should, maybe.’

  ‘Just because Harry fancies Venetia that doesn’t mean that he’s dishonest. In any case, Jimbo has the finance side so well structured that Harry’d have to be a genius to steal from him. Don’t worry. I’ll get the coffee.’

  So Harriet managed to soothe her mother-in-law’s ruffled feathers and they spent a good half an hour discussing Jimbo’s plans for the long-awaited holiday.

  ‘My dear, I must be going. You’ve better things to do without spending hours calming me down. How are all my grandchildren doing? We really don’t see enough of them, do we?’

  ‘No, but that’s what children are supposed to do; go away to lead their own lives. They are all doing brilliantly and don’t cause me a moment’s anxiety, thank goodness. But you can enjoy Fran’s company when she stays with you. Now, off you go and don’t say a word about what’s going on in Jimmy’s cottage.’

  ‘I’ve made up my mind I won’t, it’s easier that way. I’ll see you before you go. Take care, you’re my favourite daughter-in-law you know.’

  They grinned at each other and Harriet gave her a peck on the cheek before watching her march away across the green, but not without misgivings. Should they really be taking this holiday? Were they being selfish? Was she doing a prima donna act by demanding they went? Of course they should, and they’d deal with everything when they got back. Whatever it was. Possibly there’d be nothing to deal with. She fervently hoped that there wouldn’t.

  That evening in the bar, everyone forgot about Venetia and Harry because it faded into insignificance compared to the devastating news they heard that night.

  It was a normal evening, and Dicky was with Alan Crimble, helping him behind the bar. The usual table with the settle was full with at least five people of assorted relationships, but all from old village families. The windows were wide open, letting out the heat that had built up during the day, and pleasant conversations were going on, interspersed with bursts of laughter. There was a couple of solitary drinkers standing by the bar conversing with Dicky, and two or three others from Little Derehams were at a table beside the open fireplace, its massive logs replaced with a flower arrangement put together by Georgie. They no longer had a pub of their own in Little Derehams village and had adopted the Royal Oak rather than the Jug and Bottle in Penny Fawcett. That, everyone acknowledged, was too rough for gentle folk like themselves.

  It was Zack who burst in through the door, went straight to the bar, and demanded a double whisky in breathless tones. This was so contrary to his usual drinking patterns that everyone noticed.

  ‘Double whisky coming up,’ replied Dicky. ‘You’re looking a bit flushed, Zack, everything all right?’

  ‘No, and it never will be ever again.’ He drank the double in big gulps and it hit his stomach at such a pace that he had to steady himself by clinging to the bar top.

  Before another word was said, Marie rushed in, also breathless. ‘You silly fool, going up the hill at th
at speed. It’s a wonder you haven’t had a heart attack.’

  ‘Another double whisky please, Dicky.’

  Marie protested. ‘Serve him if you dare, and you’ll have me to reckon with. He’s not having another.’

  ‘Oh yes I am.’

  ‘Oh no you’re not.’

  Willie called, ‘What’s up, Marie?’

  ‘He can tell you when he gets his breath back, the idiot that he is. He ran up Shepherd’s Hill and here he is, drinking whisky like a mad man.’

  ‘Come and sit with us, Zack, there’s a good chap. Whatever it is.’ Don patted the seat next to him.

  They were all bursting to know, even the people from Little Derehams, but Zack’s breathlessness, his deep-red face and the sweat on his forehead warned them not to press matters too far. They didn’t fancy another fatality in the pub so soon after the last one or it’d be getting a bad name.

  Marie ordered her lemonade and lime, being of an abstemious nature, and a pint of Dicky’s famed home-brew for Zack.

  Zack stormed across to the table with the old settle and sat in Jimmy’s favourite chair. No one dared object. Marie squeezed on the settle and sipped her lemonade and lime in silence.

  Eventually Zack mumbled, ‘I love it you know. I polish it with tender, loving care, I do. I can’t bear the thought.’

  Sylvia whispered, ‘Is he talking about that special copper kettle of yours, Marie? The one that was your great-grandma’s?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh! What then?’

  But Marie didn’t get a chance to answer her because Zack said, loudly gasping between the words, ‘The church silver, that’s what.’ Zack fell silent while they all waited for his explanation. But it wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘He’s very upset,’ said Marie gently. ‘It’s come as a terrible blow.’

  Willie was scandalised, thinking he might be landed with the job of verger all over again if Zack went. ‘The rector hasn’t sacked’im, ’as he?’

  ‘He might as well have. In fact, I could give my notice in right now.’

  Sylvia, anxious to know the truth, said, ‘A clear explanation of what we’re talking about would be helpful. If he hasn’t been sacked, what is it that’s happened?’

  With his index finger tapping the old table at every syllable to emphasise his point Zack said, ‘The rector informed me, tonight, sitting bold as brass in our house in that chair of my dad’s that he likes that …’ Zack stopped to blow his nose. Tension mounted significantly while they waited for him to speak again. ‘He is proposing to the bishop that he gets permission to sell the … church’ … he gulped. ‘Silver.’

  If he had said the Third World War had broken out and a nuclear bomb was about to be dropped on Culworth, they couldn’t have been more shocked.

  Chapter 10

  It was fully a minute before anyone managed to get a word out.

  ‘The church silver?’

  ‘What’s the matter with ’im?’

  ‘Has he lost his mind?’

  ‘He must have. It’s sheer madness.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  This last question Zack could answer. ‘Money to pay for the roof repairs and decorate the inside. He also wants a bit of a clear out of the pews at the back to make a space for small group meetings. That’s what. I don’t know what he thinks the church hall is for. That’s what he said, true as I’m sitting here in this pub with a pint of home-brew in my hand. Honest. Ask Marie.’

  Marie nodded. ‘Oh, it’s true all right. I was there. He meant every word. He knows there’ll be opposition. Imagine if Sir Ralph was still here.’

  ‘Well,’ said Vera, ‘I guess if he was, the rector would never dare to suggest it.’

  ‘My very words,’ said Marie. ‘He loved that church, did Sir Ralph. I bet he’s spinning in his grave at the very thought. It’s just dreadful.’

  Willie, shaken to the core by this news, said, ‘We’ll have to get a petition up. No, better still, a demonstration.’

  There was not much enthusiasm for that because they all remembered him organising a mass turnout in opposition to the market on the village green and what a fiasco that had been. No, they didn’t want to be connected with a disappointing flop like last time.

  ‘I think …’ said Don, very slowly, as though his brain processes were being severely tested, ‘that we should select someone to go to the rectory and talk about it. It’ll be more subtle, like, than a big shouting match. He’s like that. Subtle and educated, and he’ll respond better. Give him a reasonable argument, you know. See what I mean?’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘Just one person, not a crowd.’

  Sylvia thought Don’s idea was a good one, but when she made a stab at who would best fit the bill, the only one she could come up with was Sir Ralph, and what good was that? Him being dead and all.

  Very commendable, thought Maggie, but who exactly fitted the bill for this subtle approach? ‘Mr Fitch?’

  Don shook his head. ‘No, not ’im. Never. Remember they hid the silver in that room at the big house and boarded it up so that the Germans couldn’t find it when they thought we’d be invaded in 1940? Old Fitch found it hidden in 1997 when he was doing some alterations after he’d bought it, and he said it belonged to him. My, what a fight we had to keep it. Don’t you remember? He was for sending it all off to London to sell at one of them big auction houses. He said it belonged to him because he’d bought the house as it stood. It all came about because …’

  Willie interrupted Don when he realised that they were in for one of his long ramblings and, still very disgruntled at his idea for a demonstration being dismissed without even the smallest comment, said sharply, ‘Jimbo’s best.’

  There was a wholehearted, ‘Yes! Yes!’ from everyone at the table and everyone else within hearing.

  ‘Well? Has he gone on his holidays yet?’ asked Willie, his confidence remarkably restored by their enthusiasm.

  ‘No he hasn’t. He goes Wednesday, ever so early.’

  ‘Then we’ve got time, haven’t we?’

  They all nodded. Willie glanced at his watch. ‘They’ll have finished eating now. So who’s going across to broach the subject? We can’t let the grass grow under our feet, it’s essential to make the first move. Now.’ He finished the last dregs of his home-brew and got to his feet. ‘Well? Are you coming?’ And he set off for the door.

  Jimbo was not best pleased when he found a crowd standing on his doorstep. With his mind racing through what to pack … and had he told Tom about … and … had he left that list for Greta … and did Harry need any more final instructions … had he actually done the staff rotas for the fortnight he was away … he found it hard to smile and look welcoming. ‘Yes, how can I help?’

  ‘Can we come in? Just for a minute?’

  Jimbo opened the door wider and said, ‘Of course.’ While under his breath he was cursing them for coming. Consequently, he was not in the best of moods when they burst out with their request.

  ‘What? I don’t believe this. Are you sure you’re right?’

  Zack spoke, telling him the tale word for word as it had happened and Jimbo felt the shockwaves. ‘Has he taken leave of his senses? How can he be so thoughtless? This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. I’ll go straight across there this very minute. Are you coming?’

  ‘Well, no. We thought a more reasoned person on their own might make more of an impression. Not a crowd, all shouting.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’ll be one man shouting then. Do we know if he’s in?’

  ‘No,’ said Zack. ‘There’re no meetings in the church hall though, apart from Scouts. We just hoped he’d be in.’

  Jimbo pushed his way through the crowd. ‘Out of my way. See you in the Royal Oak when I’ve finished with him. Harriet! Won’t be long.’

  They trailed after him, anxious and afraid that their idea might go badly wrong. What had happened to ‘subtle and educated’? It appeared that Jimbo was going to the rectory more like a mad
bull than anything. So they all scuttled back to their table in the bar and nervously toyed with their drinks, hoping against hope that Jimbo would calm down once he got into Peter’s study.

  Conversation was desultory for a while and more than one of them was considering other approaches than Jimbo going headlong into a row. Peter could be remarkably stubborn when he chose and, what was worse, make you feel like a worm for suggesting whatever it was that had brought about his ire. Even so, they had to stand firm on this.

  Beth answered the door. ‘Hello, Uncle Jimbo. Have you come to see Dad?’

  ‘Is he in?’

  ‘He’s in his study on the telephone.’

  ‘I’ll wait here in the hall. You get on with whatever you’re doing, I’ll be OK.’

  Beth couldn’t understand why she appeared to be in trouble and was relieved when she recognised the sound of Peter’s receiver being put down. ‘Oh! He’s just finished, I’ll tell him you’re here.’

  ‘No need to bother. Thanks.’ And Jimbo marched in and shut the door behind him with a bang. The temptation for Beth to put her ear to the study door was almost overwhelming, but it had been drummed into her as a small child that what went on in the study was sacrosanct, so she didn’t listen. She could hear her Uncle Jimbo raising his voice though and she wondered what on earth could have happened.

  ‘I’ve just had a deputation at my door and I’m not best pleased.’

  Peter looked up at Jimbo and gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa.

  ‘No thanks. I’m too angry. What is all this about selling the church silver? Is it true?’

  ‘It is true that I have broached the idea of selling it. The church needs the money.’

  ‘Have you gone out of your mind?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you a good reason for doing so? Though what on earth it could be, I have not the faintest idea. I do know that I’m very angry.’

  ‘To pay for the pointing, the new arrangement of the pews at the back near the font, and to paint the walls of the church. Even you must know they need it.’