Caroline had to laugh but, at the same time, she was worried that Peter was in danger of overstepping the mark with his congregation and undoing all his years of patient, loving work.
Word of Peter’s tentative plans reached the big house and Mr Fitch’s secretary thought he would have an apoplectic fit when he heard, so she secretly looked up details of how to deal with it in her First Aid manual, just in case. He stormed round his office and at one stage, swept a pile of papers awaiting his attention clean off the desk. She wanted to go and pick them up immediately, before he walked on them, but decided that would not be politic at the moment.
Instead she escaped to her office and brewed a pot of coffee for him, waiting until he’d finished fuming over by the window before she entered with the silver tray and all the accoutrements he so loved. She crept towards him, cup in hand, served just how he liked it, and tentatively mentioned the word coffee.
‘Thanks. Find out if the rector is home at the moment.’
She hesitated, thinking about his first appointment in fifteen minutes.
‘Now. If you please.’
‘You have that appoin—’
‘That can wait. Phone them and delay them till later in the day.’
She still didn’t move.
But Mr Fitch swung round and confronted her, his temper rising again. ‘I said now.’
Accepting defeat, she replied, ‘Very well, Mr Fitch.’
*
‘He’s in,’ was the answer.
‘Back in an hour.’
‘Very well, Mr Fitch.’
Craddock Fitch roared up to the rectory in his Rolls, braked harshly, leaped out, and forgot to trigger the remote control lock, a very real sign of how angry he was.
Peter answered the door saying, ‘I could have come up to see you, I know how busy you are. Coffee?’
‘No, thank you.’ He marched into Peter’s study without waiting for an invitation, dropped down onto the sofa, and held back from speaking until Peter had closed the door.
‘I am angry.’
‘Yes.’
‘Very angry. In fact, so angry I could punch you right on the nose for this stupidity.’
‘Right, I see. About … ?’
‘You know full well what about.’
‘Ah! The silver, you mean.’
‘The proposed selling of the silver. I won’t have it.’
‘Something like fifteen years ago, could be more, you were more than willing to sell it to your own advantage. I’m thinking of selling it for the benefit of the church, a very different matter.’
Mr Fitch looked momentarily contrite, but the jibe at the end of Peter’s speech really got to him. ‘I’ve … I’ve had a change of mind since then. That silver belongs to the church and the people of the three villages, and I’m defending their rights. Not mine.’
Peter fiddled about with his desk, straightening the pens and tidying his papers while he waited for Mr Fitch to dig deep for some more reasons to not sell the silver.
‘Have you heard me?’
‘I have.’
‘Well?’
‘We get the silver out for display only on high days and holy days, perhaps four times in a year. The rest of the time it is out of sight in the safe. Surely it would be more useful to sell it and use the money wisely. Let’s face it, Craddock, how many times this year have you actually seen the silver? Mmmm?’
A long silence fell. Eventually, Mr Fitch muttered, ‘Not once.’
‘There we are then. There’s your answer. It hardly counts that you have decided that you have a right to dictate to me what I do with the silver, because fifty-two Sundays in the year you don’t give a damn about it.’ Peter snapped his middle finger against his thumb and the sharp click made Mr Fitch jump. Peter turned as though he was about to continue what he had been doing before he was interrupted.
Mr Fitch, sitting silently on the sofa, wondered how he’d arrived at this insurmountable situation. On three counts really. One, it was so unlike Peter to be so hard, so confrontational; two, Peter was absolutely right, he didn’t give the silver a single thought from one year to the next; and three, why did he feel so strongly about it when what Peter had said was absolutely right?
But he did feel strongly about it. He didn’t want it sold. He remembered the thrill of handling the plates and the candlesticks and that magnificent floor-standing candlestick, especially.
‘Very well then. I hear what you’re saying, but I will oppose you selling it if I never do another thing. I’m deeply upset by the idea of it leaving the village, I don’t know why, but I am. But let’s part friends. I can’t be at odds with you, not after all these years. I’ve always had respect for you, Peter. A man of the cloth and all that.’ He held out his hand in friendship and of course Peter shook it. ‘Still friends then, Peter?’
‘Of course.’
As Mr Fitch closed the heavy rectory door behind him, he muttered, ‘But it will be me who wins.’
Chapter 12
The summer turned very hot indeed, and some of the enthusiasm for action drained away. Lethargic clapping at the cricket matches on Saturday afternoons was about the most energetic activity any of them could muster. Ninety degrees some days, made most people disinclined to take any positive action until Jimbo returned.
Tom couldn’t wait for Jimbo’s return, but only from the point of view that control of the business was just beginning to slip away from his grasp. Harry seemed to be taking charge, and that wasn’t what had been intended. Tom didn’t like it. Greta found herself stewing in the Mail Order office because the very necessary air-conditioning seemed to be overcome by the excessive temperature. Everyone, customers as well as staff, were inclined to be edgy. Sharp exchanges of temper occurred all too regularly in the store and Tom was beginning to grow weary of keeping his temper when he felt like turning everyone out and locking the door.
But only five more days to go and Jimbo would be back. Several emails had come through to the store and it appeared that Jimbo and Harriet were the only ones enjoying this brilliant weather, allowing for two notable exceptions. Namely Harry and Venetia.
Harry was loving the heat. His office was cool as the sun didn’t creep in through the vast window until late in the afternoon, by which time he was on his way to his swim. Well, more accurately, on his way to his beloved. His fascination for Venetia had not waned; if anything, it had increased. He looked at the office clock only to count how many minutes it would be before she was in his arms. Frankly he felt her to be the most delightfully tempting woman he had ever met, and he couldn’t get enough of her. The feeling appeared to be mutual and the two of them had cast aside almost all attempts at keeping their affair secret. So long as Jeremy didn’t know, and he never gave a hint that he did, they simply didn’t worry who saw them, who raised a questioning eyebrow, who looked disapprovingly in their direction. Well, until the evening in Home Park. That sweltering evening when they escaped outside to lie underneath the trees enjoying the shade and somehow they’d been embracing and progressing towards the inevitability of the outcome of their actions when Peter, of all people, had come walking by. He never spoke a word of recrimination, simply paused for a moment, and then walked on. Harry recollected the anger Venetia had felt, and expressed, in loud terms once Peter was out of hearing. She’d slipped her bra straps back in place, tidied her skirt and stormed off home in a blazing temper.
Occasionally Harry’s conscience switched on and he had uncomfortable moments about the whole matter, but one second in Venetia’s arms and all the pricks of conscience in the world bothered him no longer. All that mattered was their passion for each other. Harry had even been planning to stay on in Turnham Malpas and not disappear over the horizon as soon as Jimbo came back. In fact, not seeing Venetia every day brought him out in a cold sweat and he had to get a grip on himself. They couldn’t stay as they were, because Jeremy wasn’t going to just disappear into thin air, not now that he and Mr Fitch seemed to hav
e come to an understanding and got on tolerably well. In any case, Jeremy was reaching that point in his career when, agewise, applying for another job would not be a good move. So if he wanted to keep Venetia, then he and Venetia would be leaving together. Harry’s fingers were poised over the computer keyboard but he was gazing out of the window seeing nothing but Venetia’s lithe figure coming towards him, arms outstretched in an all-encompassing, loving welcome. He questioned whether it was love or lust that kept him by her side, but seeing as he’d never known the kind of passion poets wrote about, he didn’t know. Whatever it was, he wanted to keep it. But how long could it last?
At the very same time, Venetia was planning a visit for the students to a massive building project seventy-five miles away that Craddock Fitch was also involved with. She also sat gazing out of the window, the end of her pen tapping against her front teeth while she pondered exactly the same question as Harry. There was no doubt in her mind that her feelings for Harry could be for life. He never left her mind and any hours spent not in his company were wasted ones. Ten times a day she decided that going to live with Harry would be the most wonderful thing to happen to her. And why not, she’d spent years chained to Jeremy and for what? He neither charmed her, nor excited her. Nothing at all, he was a void … someone who slept in her bed, someone who aggravated her beyond all reason every day of his life. But Jeremy’s job kept her housed in the big house, which she loved. It gave her the chance to flirt with the students, organise their free time, and give parties, which she loved doing. Being surrounded as she was by all these young, smart, go-getting students, female as well as male, gave her a fillip no other job could ever do. And seeing as Jeremy didn’t appear to know about Harry, why should she worry? Enjoy it while she could, was her motto.
But the third person in the triangle was totally aware of the situation and sometimes he writhed with the agony of it all. Despite everything she had done he still loved her. Someone less loving than himself would have demanded divorce at the very least, but he still loved her. He tried not to, but he always took her back as though nothing had happened. He never discussed the whys and wherefores with her. She’d been unfaithful to him more times than he could remember, and still she reinstalled herself and carried on as though nothing was wrong between them. Jeremy couldn’t understand why he was so tolerant and the idea that this time would be the last time he’d tolerate her bad behaviour filled him with dread. She was so wonderfully full of life and shining with a love that she was incapable of hiding that he had reached the point where he might have to, for once in his life, stand tall and put an end to her dilly-dallying once and for all. Quite how he’d do that, he’d no idea.
Chapter 13
At last! Jimbo and Harriet were back! No one greeted them with more enthusiasm than Tom. They got back about half past eight in the morning, just as the pre-school rush was beginning, and he could have handed the business over to them then and there; the keys, the till, the post office, the whole blessed lot, he was so exhausted.
Glad though he was to see them, he couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm to show them his delight and so both Jimbo and Harriet independently thought that things must have gone terribly wrong while they’d been away.
Jimbo nodded his head towards the stock room and Tom followed him. ‘Well. How’s things been? Mmm?’
‘Absolutely fine, but I’m exhausted to be honest. When you go away together next time we’ll have to organise more help, it’s too much for one person to handle.’
‘Look here, Tom. Hand me the keys and you go home. You look shattered. Come back tomorrow rested and recharged.’
‘I can’t do that, it’s not fair. You must have jet lag, and you can’t possibly do a full—’
‘We spent the night at an airport hotel and drove here this morning. Believe me, I shall be glad to get back into harness. You’ve obviously done a brilliant job and I insist, on threat of dismissal, that you go home. At once.’
‘The greetings cards need revitalising, I haven’t done those for days, and I was going to—’
Jimbo took Tom by the shoulders and propelled him towards the door. ‘Out! This minute!’ Then he gave him a final push through the open door.
‘Well, I must say I shall …’
‘Out!’ Jimbo then turned, smiling, towards the customers waiting at the till. ‘Now, who’s first?’ He rubbed his hands together in anticipation and got down to work.
His customers were delighted to see him too and for the next hour Jimbo immersed himself in the day-to-day nitty-gritty of running a village store. It was only when Zack came in for a snack lunch for himself in his shed in the churchyard that Jimbo cleared his head for a moment and asked him the state of play on the church silver.
Zack leaned his forearms on the counter. ‘Well, now. Nothing has happened while you’ve been away. The weather’s been that extreme we’ve none of us given it a thought, except …’ Zack glanced round to make sure he wasn’t being overheard, then continued, ‘I have heard that Gilbert has sent a letter to Bishop whatever his name is, to say that the whole village and the two other villages are dead against selling the silver. Now that’s all I know. Whether or not he’s had a reply, I do not know.’
‘Gilbert? Eh! My word. I’m surprised by that. I thought maybe lots of people wouldn’t care a button.’
‘He’s written without asking anyone their opinion. He’s said in his letter that they think like he does, without asking ’em, but I can tell you that there’s them who wouldn’t mind it being sold. They’re thinking along the lines of if the church falls down, then where would they be when they want burying or something similar.’
Briefly Jimbo hesitated while he thought about what on earth could be ‘similar’ to being buried. Half-buried? Three-quarters buried? Or burned on a pyre on the village green? He shook his head to clear it and said, ‘I’ll go and see him as soon as I have a minute.’
‘That won’t be easy.’
‘What won’t?’
‘He’s in York, you see. He’s been called in as a specialist on an excavation problem at the minster. He could be there for weeks.’
‘Right. Must press on. One sausage roll, one prawn cocktail crisps, one bottle of orange and one Chelsea bun. Right?’
Zack nodded. ‘Glad you’re back, things just don’t seem right when you and your Harriet aren’t here in the village. There’s nobody to take charge, except for the rector, and he’s not flavour of the month, believe me.’ He beamed at Jimbo as he handed him his change and bounded out of the door, but returned to shout, ‘Harry’s dead set up with Jimmy’s Cottage and old Sykes is as happy as a sandboy, off to work every morning with him. They make a right pair. See you.’
However, Greta, who’d finally emerged from the Mail Order office, had a different slant on village life from Zack. ‘Glad you’re back, and Harriet. Did you have a good time?’
‘Excellent. Thank you, Greta. I’m longing to get back in the groove.’
‘Mmm?’
‘And what does “Mmm” mean?’
Greta leaned against the counter, glad for a moment’s peace in the store so she could tell him. ‘Mail order is doing well. I’m glad Harriet’ll be doing her round again. I’ve almost run out of stuff to complete my orders ’cos Tom was so busy. But the big thing is Harry and Venetia. Everyone knows, they can’t help but know.’
‘What?
‘Don’t tell me you don’t know, because you do.’
Jimbo spread his hands as though he had no knowledge of what she was talking about. ‘How can I? I’ve been away two whole weeks.’
‘You know what I mean. They don’t care who knows. They even go in the pub together, holding hands and kissing. Georgie told them off one night. She said they shouldn’t kiss and cuddle like that in public, not in her pub anyway.’
‘I see. Has he been working? You know, doing his job?’
‘Oh, yes. Cashing up for Tom each morning and then off to the bank, regular as clockwork.’
>
‘I see. Poor Tom, I’ll see he gets extra help the next time we go away. I didn’t realise how much there is to do once I’m not here, nor Harriet. What you’re saying is that they’re having a love affair?’
Greta nodded her head. ‘Absolutely, no doubt about it. What Jeremy must think, I do not know. Poor chap, I never really liked him, but you can’t ’elp but feel sorry for him. All that going on in such a brazen fashion. Must press on, you do keep me talking when you shouldn’t.’ But she smiled and patted his arm saying, ‘So glad you’re back, it’s not been the same without you.’
Greta shot back to the Mail Order office, leaving Jimbo feeling slightly worried about Harry. It was when Greta said ‘cashing up for Tom’ that he felt alarm bells begin to ring. He had not intended for Harry to actually cash up and make out the banking slips. Tom, yes. Harry, or anyone else for that matter, definitely not. In particular, he remembered his mother’s doubts about Harry not giving references and he wondered … but he had to rush into the post office ‘cage’ to deal with some parcels so he didn’t do anything about it. Nor did he give it another thought until he finally closed the store at seven and staggered home to find out what Harriet had been up to and to give Fran a good welcome back after her sojourn at his mother’s.
She was full of what had happened while they’d been away. ‘The talk is all about Venetia and Harry. They’re out and about together all the time.’
‘In working hours?’
‘Oh no! They all say that they are both diligent about their work, it’s their extra-curricular activities that are fascinating everyone.’ Fran leaned forward confidentially, as though making sure they heard every word of her spectacular news. ‘They got caught one night in Home Park. It was a very hot night. By the way, we’ve had brilliantly hot weather while you’ve been away. In flagrante delicto is what they’re all saying. Well, not those exact words, but we all know …’ She rolled her eyes and Jimbo looked appalled.
A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) Page 13
