‘Harriet! Is this right for Fran to …’
‘For goodness sake, Jimbo, she’s almost fifteen …’
‘Still.’
‘Oh, Dad! Grow up. I know what life’s about.’
Harriet had hardly dared ask who found them, but she did.
‘Well, you’ll never guess, so I’ll tell you.’ Fran paused for effect. ‘Peter.’
This statement left Harriet and Jimbo stunned.
‘We missed all the fun then?’ commented Harriet, unable to take in the almighty explosion there must have been when this piece of news got out.
‘Absolutely. Grandmama said she wasn’t surprised, considering what was going on in Jimmy’s Cottage. She’s got the sign up, by the way. Jimmy’s Cottage it is, for eternity.’
‘Has Harry paid his rent, do you know?’ Jimbo enquired.
‘Each Friday morning in cash in an envelope through her letterbox.’
This greatly stilled Jimbo’s alarm at what he’d heard from Greta. Obviously jet lag was making him unreasonable and the sooner he got to bed and got over it, the better it would be for him. But he still had this niggling feeling deep inside and he almost wished they’d never gone away. But then he looked at Harriet and how glowing with health she was. He thought about the wonderful evenings they’d had sitting out on the palm-fringed shores sipping their drinks and languidly chatting and he changed his mind.
‘So … Apparently Peter stalked away and never spoke to either of them, but he turned up at the Old Barn office the following day and spoke to Harry. Now what was said is all speculation, but …’
‘Well?’ asked Jimbo, a little too eagerly.
‘There are those who say that Harry gave him a “none of your business” reply. But I find that hard to believe. Anyone who can say that to Peter … Well … takes their life in their hands, I would have thought. He’s so compelling and brilliant at making you feel a complete worm for not matching up to his standards.’
‘Agreed.’ Jimbo helped himself to another portion of date and rhubarb crumble and pondered on what had happened between Peter and Harry up there in that lovely office. Would Harry be completely honest about other people’s money when he was behaving like that with Venetia?
That night in bed, desperate for sleep and with no time for really talking, Harriet said, ‘Are you very bothered about what you’ve heard? About Harry’s fundamental honesty?’
‘Yes, but I’m too tired to think about it. I’ll keep it till morning.’ Jimbo then fell asleep.
But it was his first thought the moment he woke.
He was not expected to be in the store first thing that morning, but he was. He told Tom what he was doing and Tom, too busy to talk, nodded to him and carried on serving his early morning customers. Jimbo took out all the banking slips filled in while he was away, the box with the cash rolls from the till, downloaded the current bank statements, and sat down in his office behind the store with the door firmly shut.
He emerged, two hours later, grey-faced, and immediately disappeared home.
‘Harriet!’
‘In the utility room, Jimbo.’
She appeared to be running a Chinese laundry because the entire floor of the utility room was piled with washing. ‘My God! Have you started taking in washing?’
‘No. It’s washing we left behind, washing we brought home, and Fran’s washing as I forbade her to let your mother do it for her and Fran doesn’t know one end of the washing machine from the other. Now?’ It was only when she looked him full in the face that she saw how upset he was. ‘Darling!’
‘Something has gone terribly wrong while we’ve been away.’
Harriet propped herself against the washing machine, arms folded, waiting to hear the worst.
‘We’ve taken over three thousand pounds less than we would have expected to. Some days it’s so bad it would have been cheaper to keep the shop closed because the takings didn’t cover the wages.’
‘Now, look here. You’ve still got jet lag, you’ve feared the worst, and now you think it’s happened. I’m sure there’s a simple explanation.’
‘Such as a new supermarket having opened in Culworth? All our food has gone off and no one wants to buy it? They let the customers help themselves? In the dim and distant past, I qualified as a chartered accountant, as you know, and I haven’t forgotten all I learned. It’s true. When I say three thousand pounds, I mean it.’ Jimbo stood absolutely still, staring at Harriet, not knowing what to say next.
‘What the blazes?’
‘How do I say to Tom, “where’s the money?” Mmm? Or Bel? Or the part-timers, eh? Or Greta?’
‘Very difficult.’
‘Exactly. Having their honesty put under the microscope, they’ll leave en masse.’
‘Jimbo! I hate to say this, but your mother did query with me about …’
‘Who? As if I need to ask. Harry Dickinson.’
Harriet nodded.
‘But everyone has trusted him right from him first coming. He comes across as being so honest and straightforward. He even told me to think about it overnight when I asked him about taking the money to the bank for me while we were away. “Sleep on it,” he said. “I’d feel happier if you did.” So I did. What if it isn’t simply a downturn in trade due to the extreme weather? What if it’s the start of the business going downhill because people can’t afford us? What if that damned cheapo place on the bypass has persuaded everyone to buy there? We’re done for.’
‘Look! We’ve had crises before and weathered them. We’ll weather this one too, believe me. We’ll have to have order quality food at budget prices. You know, essential food but slightly less good quality.’
‘That’s my ideals down the pan. You know how I like to rely on quality.’
‘Hard times make for hard decisions. Anyway, it may not be as bad as you think.’
‘No?’
Having put the wind up Harriet, Jimbo then decided to face a few unpleasant facts and went to the Old Barn to see Harry Dickinson. Since he’d known him, he’d always been Harry, but somehow he’d changed into Harry Dickinson today, in a kind of withdrawal of friendship until Jimbo had made sense of his predicament.
At the Old Barn, Jimbo drew a blank. No Harry. No sign of Harry having been to the office at all. So he drove, post-haste, round to Jimmy’s Cottage. Maybe the chap was too ill to get to work or … There was no reply to Jimbo’s loud knocking at his front door. But Jimbo’s mother heard the banging and came out to see what the matter was.
‘Can’t help there, I haven’t seen him since the day before yesterday when I saw him leaving for work. I’ll see if Maggie’s in, she might have seen him.’
But Maggie hadn’t. But what about Sykes? If he’d gone, had he taken him with him?
‘I have the spare key. We’ll go in and see for ourselves. I’ll kill that Harry Dickinson if he’s abandoned him.’
So together, followed by a very curious Maggie Dobbs, they went inside. No dog. No Harry, and everywhere clean and tidy. Grandmama went upstairs. The bed was made, and the drawers and wardrobe still had a few clothes in them. Out of the bathroom window, she saw there was no car on the hard standing at the bottom of the garden. He’d gone! Sykes’ water bowl and food! They were downstairs, where they stood forlornly side by side in the living room where they’d always been when the cottage was Jimmy’s. The fridge had food in it, and milk. Even today’s milk was still standing by the front door.
He’d cleared off. Jimbo and Grandmama stood, staring at one another. The dreadful truth was written on both their faces. Maggie put it into words, ‘He’s gone then. Too good to be true Harry.’
Jimbo swung round and asked her pointedly, ‘What do you mean “too good to be true”?’
‘Well, he was. In a village like this, new people aren’t usually accepted with open arms, we take the time to assess them, find out what they’re like, and if they’ll fit in. He was in and accepted straight off. Funny, don’t you think?’
The three of them stood together, their minds racing, unable to think what to do next. Then Maggie added, ‘Venetia, she might know.’
‘Of course. Of course. That’ll be my next port of call.’ Jimbo raced off, leaving Grandmama to lock up.
Maggie, always rather wary of Grandmama’s sharp tongue said rather tentatively, ‘Jimbo seems very worried.’
‘Indeed he does.’ But nothing more was said between them. Grandmama went home to await Jimbo’s news and Maggie went to start her school dinner obligations, her head filling by the minute with yet more reasons for Harry’s disappearance.
There was no reply at the maisonette. Even though he knocked hard enough to wake the dead, Jimbo could hear no response.
Jeremy! Of course. He raced round to the front door of the big house where he found the receptionist sitting in the hall on the telephone with obviously no intention of interrupting her phone call to find out what he wanted. So he set out to find him. First he tried Mr Fitch’s office.
‘He’s not here,’ his secretary replied. ‘Mr Fitch and Jeremy have gone this very morning to Ireland and won’t be back for about three days. Sorry. Can I help at all?’
‘I’m looking for Mr Harry Dickinson, he—’
‘Ah! The infamous Mr Dickinson.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘Now, we haven’t seen him at all since … Let’s see, this is Thursday … So, the last time he was round here was Tuesday evening. He’d come for his usual swim with … Well, we all know, don’t we?’ She grinned at him.
‘So no one has seen him for certain since Tuesday evening. Right. And Venetia?’
‘Nowhere to be seen.’
‘Not since Tuesday?’
‘She was supposed to be organising a race meeting for the students on Wednesday evening and it had to be cancelled. Not a vestige of her could be found. Her car has gone and so has she. We all assumed she and Harry had gone walkabout.’
‘In two cars? But what about Jeremy? Surely he’s said something?’
‘Nothing at all. He went off this morning with Mr Fitch to the airport and we’re not expecting to see him till Sunday at the earliest. Sorry.’
‘What do you think has happened?’
‘I can leave that to your inagination, surely. Good luck to them, I say.’
Jimbo found her attitude disquieting. By her manner, he could tell that the staff liked neither Venetia nor Harry.
But the dog? What had happened to Sykes? Had they taken him with them?
Then Jimbo had the inspiration to go and see Kate Fitch. He glanced at his watch. Yes, he’d try her. She might have an inkling.
The joyful sound of children happily playing together greeted Jimbo as he pulled up outside the school. The playground was buzzing with activity and there was the very person he needed to see. She was wearing a sun hat, supervising the break.
‘Mrs Fitch!’
She turned to see who had called her name and beamed with delight when she saw it was Jimbo.
‘Mr Charter-Plackett! What a pleasure. How can I help?’
‘I won’t keep you a minute. I’m looking for Harry Dickinson. I’m just back from my holiday and I was expecting to find him in the office at the Old Barn doing my accounts, but he isn’t.’
‘Jeremy hasn’t mentioned anything. Craddock nothing whatsoever as far as I am aware. They must have gone off together. There’s no other explanation for it. I doubt Craddock would be prepared to ask Jeremy. After all, it is shaming for the chap if that’s what has happened. My dear husband understandably tries not to get involved in the private life of his staff. Apart from that, I’m afraid I can’t help at all.’
‘Right. Maybe Craddock might know something more when he gets back from Ireland.’
‘Maybe. Sorry I can’t help, but they were having a rather frantic, very public, affair, you know. It must have made Jeremy very upset. I don’t like the man, but somehow you can’t help feeling sorry for him in the circumstances.’
‘Exactly, I think we all do. I can’t understand why he’s put up with her all these years.’
‘It’s time I rang the bell. I caught a look on Jeremy’s face once and I saw how much he loves her. It must have been hard-going for him all these years. Bye!’ She rang the bell so close to his ear that Jimbo wondered if he’d be deaf for life and hastily fled.
So Harry’s whereabouts remained a mystery until early Monday morning, when he arrived most unexpectedly in the store.
Greta crept away to make a quiet phone call to Jimbo, who was working at home that day, and he came bounding in, hoping he wasn’t too late to catch Harry.
‘Harry! You’ve had us all worried to death. You should have said you were going away for a few days.’
Harry looked wound up and tense, not quite the upright military man he’d always appeared to be. ‘Sorry. Like the Resistance woman in that TV show, ’Alio ’Alio, I shall say this only once. I’ve been to a family funeral and now I’m back. I don’t wish to discuss it right now. Sorry to have made you worried.’
Jimbo felt a heel. After all his suspicions! ‘Sorry to hear that. We’re glad you’re back.’
‘I’ll catch up, don’t worry. Have a good holiday? You look well. Very sun-tanned.’
‘Yes. Thanks, Harry. I’m fully restored to abundant health and ready for anything.’
Jimbo still didn’t feel that he’d gauged Harry’s mood correctly, but the chap appeared genuine enough. ‘You’re in the office today?’
‘That’s right. I might see you?’
‘Very probably.’
Harry left. He’d parked his car outside and Jimbo noticed Sykes peering from the back window on the lookout for Harry returning. He was glad to see him there. The place wouldn’t feel the same without Sykes. It was only then that it struck him that Harry’s return didn’t in any way solve the mystery of the takings being three thousand pounds short.
Chapter 14
Harry kept an eye on the clock all day, waiting for the magical half past four. Jimbo hadn’t put in an appearance, but that didn’t matter because he was struggling to catch up with his work. He didn’t even go downstairs for his lunch. His only company was Sykes, who popped in and out occasionally to make sure that Harry was still there. He was such a comfortable dog to be around that Harry felt quite sad at the thought of leaving him behind. He knew that Sykes belonged to the village though, rather than to a particular person, and it would be wrong to remove him from his familiar surroundings.
Four-thirty! Just finished. Everything was done. Venetia would have received his messages and would be expecting him. He’d missed her almost beyond endurance.
Sykes walked across with him to the big house. From habit, he’d learned to remember where Harry would be, and now he entertained himself hunting for rabbits in the huge warren that ran along the edge of the wood on the slope going down to the lake. He always seemed to know exactly when Harry would be leaving.
But Venetia didn’t appear. Harry waited for half an hour, fully clothed, sitting on a lounger thinking about her lithe figure and the beauty of her vibrant body as she dived into the pool. Today its surface lay undisturbed, still as still, blue as blue, with no mistress to ruffle its calm. He wouldn’t swim by himself. He’d ring her on his mobile. Her number was at the very top of his list. But though the phone rang and rang, there was no reply. He left a message for her, put his mobile away, and went home disconsolate. Should he ask Jeremy? No, he mustn’t. Mr Fitch? No, because the blasted man angered him with his arrogance and his wealth, and he suspected that Venetia had been one of his ‘women’ at some time, an idea he gleaned from half a sentence she had said once and then quickly abandoned. Why he should feel jealous about that, he didn’t know, but he did. Basically he’d stayed in the village not because he had a regular job, but because of her. If he went, would she want to go with him? He was sure she would, because one night they’d both admitted that what they felt for each other went deeper than they’d ever felt for anyone else. But why hadn
’t she left him a note or a message on his mobile? Where was she? He’d told her he’d be away for a few days, back by the weekend, he’d said. So she knew. She definitely knew.
Harry had no appetite for his supper and eventually he went to bed, hoping against hope that he’d hear from her before he went to sleep. But sleep eluded him. He could hear Sykes shuffling about in his basket downstairs, heard him stand up and shake himself a couple of times, then silence, so at least someone was getting some sleep. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t. Who could he ask about her without feeling a fool? Then the thought struck him that she’d been taken ill. His insides seized up and he felt sick. He longed for morning so he could figure out her whereabouts.
So he called in at the store before going to his office and asked Greta Jones. She was already working away on her mail order parcels and really had no time for visitors but, when he asked her if she knew anything at all about Venetia, she instantly put down her sticky tape and turned to face him.
‘Why are you asking me? We all assumed she was with you.’
‘With me?’ Harry was astounded. ‘Well, no. I’ve been … to a family funeral.’
‘Oh! I see, we’ve got it all wrong then. No, I don’t know where she is. Gone off in her car she has. Somewhere. No car. No Venetia.’ Greta was rather moved by the horror showing on Harry’s face. ‘Tried her mobile?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ask Jeremy. He’ll know, won’t he. But you might not …’
But Harry didn’t stay to hear what she had to say, he went in a flash, leaving Greta to contemplate what might take place between husband and lover.
The receptionist tried to stop him from speaking to Jeremy, but Harry would have none of it. He found a door with Estate Manager written on it and opened it to find Jeremy reading his post.
‘Got a minute?’
‘No. Get out.’
‘Where is Venetia?’
‘None of your business.’
Harry rested both his hands on the edge of Jeremy’s desk, leaned forward and, with his face less than a metre away from Jeremy’s and looking menacing to boot, asked, ‘Where’s Venetia? I need an answer.’
A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) Page 14
