Everyone in the village was curious to know and no one more so than Harry. He knew he was curious simply because he had nothing else to do, his life had suddenly become a complete blank filled with pointless drinking in the pub and doing Jimbo’s accounts while he waited. Waited? For what? For whom? Venetia Mayer, that was what. Another week and he would be gone because he could not wait any longer. He missed her in a way he’d never, in all his life, missed anyone. When he’d been turned out by his family for his thieving ways he’d thought good riddance to his mother, his father, and his two sisters. But Venetia, she was different, he’d found out he needed her. As a last, desperate measure, he’d taken great pains to compose a letter to her, talking of his love for her, how much he missed her, and asking for her to reply. No, begging her to reply would be more accurate, and he’d taken it to Jeremy’s office yesterday to ask him to let her have it. Not having her address, he’d simply written Mrs V. Mayer on the envelope.
He’d forced his way into Jeremy’s office. ‘She hasn’t phoned me, texted me or emailed me and I don’t know why. Is she all right? Have you spoken to her?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please, for the sake of my peace of mind, will you send this letter to her?’
‘You’re only one of a string of men she’s had, you know. I can’t imagine why you think you are any different from the others.’ Jeremy pushed the letter to one side and ignored Harry.
‘But I am, and so is she for me. You just don’t understand how much we love each other. It’s for real, believe me.’
‘How can you stand there and ask me, her husband, for help? Just get out and don’t darken my door again.’ Again, Jeremy ignored Harry and carried on tapping briskly on his computer, making scores of typographical errors which he didn’t bother to correct.
‘Please.’ Getting no response, Harry had suggested that he’d post it himself if Jeremy would give him the address. It was as if Harry had not spoken.
So he leaned across the desk and grabbed Jeremy’s tie in one tight fist and put pressure on his jaw with the other. ‘Answer me! Do as I say. Answer me. Or else …’
Jeremy sat completely still, which enraged Harry. The tight rein he’d had on his temper these last weeks snapped and he landed a solid punch on his victim’s jaw.
Jeremy’s head shot back and then forward again, but he didn’t protest. He did nothing to retaliate, simply sat there, immobile, a heavy sweat gleaming on his ashen face.
‘Send it to her. Please. Even if you don’t care about her, I do. She loves me and I love her, and we want to be together.’ Appalled by his foolish outburst, Harry stood back. He was being an idiot. What did Jeremy care? Not one iota and, what was worse, he was shaken by how pathetic he sounded, like some feeble teenager with his first love. But she was his first love, that was why he felt so deeply about her, why he was so bold.
Jeremy straightened his tie and his jacket. ‘Love? She doesn’t know the meaning of it. I feel nothing but pity for you, loving her. She’s not worth it. Believe me, Harry, I know. She’s not worth your anguish. I’ll send the letter for you, but don’t expect too much from her, she’s more than likely gone to her mother’s to escape you.’
Totally defeated by Jeremy’s intransigence, Harry could see no further point in pleading with him and he’d gone home, his heart shattered, his whole being defeated.
So he didn’t see Jeremy drop Venetia’s envelope in the bin where the words Mrs V. Mayer stuck to the wrapper of the last Mars bar Jeremy had consumed. Harry didn’t see Jeremy wipe the sweat from his face, nor see him drink a whole glass of water because fear had made him desperately thirsty.
Chapter 17
The news of Paddy and Tamsin deciding to get married spread round Turnham Malpas like wildfire. The store, in particular, was the main distributer of the news and Paddy was overwhelmed with calls on his mobile and with people ‘by chance’ popping by the gardens and congratulating him. They’d all known there was something in the wind but they had never imagined it would come to anything. Out of his hearing, more than a few said what a strange marriage it would be, they weren’t a bit suited, but neither Paddy nor Tamsin heard these remarks and remained blissfully unaware.
They were far too busy anyway, organising the wedding, and far too happy at the reception their news got from Peter and Caroline when they went to arrange a date.
‘I am so delighted! What lovely news! Let me go and tell Caroline, she’ll be thrilled.’
Paddy and Tamsin waited in the study, hoping Caroline would come to see them. They weren’t disappointed. She arrived with a great rush and kissed and hugged them both. ‘I am so delighted. I’d no idea.’
Tamsin disengaged herself from Caroline’s hug. ‘You must be the only one who hadn’t realised then!’
‘I honestly didn’t know. So when’s the date? Have you decided on it yet?’
‘Not yet, but as soon as possible.’
‘Oh! Wonderful! I love summer weddings. I wonder, would you … I don’t want to interfere, or make you feel you’re being organised when you’re both perfectly able to organise yourselves, but would you let me, well, Peter and I, pay for your wedding cake? As our present to you both? Please?’
Tamsin hesitated and Caroline encouraged her compliance by adding, ‘Of course Jimbo and Harriet would make it to your design, not ours. Mmm?’
Paddy said, ‘We didn’t expect … We thought …’ He glanced at Tamsin. ‘It is most kind of you both, we didn’t expect people would be so pleased for us.’
‘Of course we are! All of us will be. You belong, didn’t you know that? You try and stop us being interested.’
Tamsin’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘Thank you so much. We both of us sincerely appreciate …’ Then she cried and Paddy hugged her, then Caroline hugged her. Finally, she stopped crying and they fixed the date and time and Peter took down the details for reading the banns. Then the pair of them fled, hand in hand, back to Tamsin’s house and revived themselves with a gin and tonic, and then another, before Paddy left for home, only to find that Vince and Greta had been making plans too.
Vince sat Paddy down in the sitting room and said a little nervously, ‘Now, Paddy. Tamsin has no one to give her a hand getting things sorted, having no mother and father, so we wondered if Greta could help in some way. Not to tell her what to do, but to give her a hand with making lists of things to do and that. Especially with the reception after.’
‘Reception? I never gave it a thought. Should we have one?’
Greta stepped in almost before the words were out of his mouth. ‘Have one? Of course you must have one! We all want to enjoy you getting married.’
‘But Tamsin and me want a country wedding, nothing fancy, just happy and jolly and everyone enjoying themselves. Not big and posh.’
‘Of course not, you’re not those kind of people, are you?’ Vince embarrassed himself with this remark. ‘I didn’t mean you weren’t good enough for a big posh wedding. Of course you are! I meant …’
‘I know you didn’t, Vince. Tamsin wants it lovely and comfortable and surrounded by friends.’
‘You know, Paddy, I wish you’d been able to say friends and family. I know you’ve not seen your family for years, but you should ask your mother, if no one else. You only get married once and she’s still your mother, whatever it was she allowed to happen between you and your Dad. Remember, Tamsin unfortunately can’t ask hers, but you can.’
Paddy looked embarrassed. ‘Tamsin wants me to.’
‘In that case, write and ask her,’ said Vince, full of enthusiasm for the idea. ‘Send a photo of yourself and Tamsin and say you want her to come. Tamsin’s such a beauty your mother will be delighted for you. We could put her up, couldn’t we? No problem there. Put your address on the back of the envelope in case she’s moved. Then, if it comes back, you’ll know you’ve done your best.’ It wasn’t often Vince smiled out of kindness, at a bawdy joke maybe, not kindness, but now he did and it convinced Paddy he s
hould write.
‘All right then, I will.’
‘Good lad. Greta’s got some nice writing paper so you could do it tonight and post it on your way to the garden tomorrow morning. It would be best to give her plenty of time to arrange things.’
So Paddy wrote that very night. It took him a long time, longer than it should have done because of the memories that flooded his mind and made his pen falter, but finally it was in the envelope and the stamp stuck on it. Now all he had to do was post it. Paddy lay in bed for a long time before he got to sleep, mulling over old memories, wondering about the rightness of marrying Tamsin and thinking about whether his mother would come and what he’d say to her. Perhaps he shouldn’t post it. Or maybe he should make one last attempt to heal the breach. After all, it was his father to blame for making his young life hell, not his mother; all she’d ever done was attempt, admittedly unsuccessfully, to mitigate the horrors their father heaped on them.
So finally he fell asleep with a lovely picture of Tamsin in his head. She was standing by his favourite vine, touching a bunch of grapes with her long sensitive fingers and smiling at him because she loved him. That memory was Tamsin, the real Tamsin, without a doubt. What a lucky man he was.
Chapter 18
Jimbo had learned from Tom that the procedure for banking the money had been changed while he was away sunning himself. At the time, it hadn’t registered because there was so much to do on his return and it had been such a shock when he found the takings were down so much. So there was a lot to catch up on, but one day when he was adding up the takings, an idea crept quietly into his mind and wouldn’t go away. What was it Tom had said about being incredibly busy? That was it! He’d said that Harry had to go to the store each morning, remove the takings from the safe, count up the money, the cheques and the credit card slips in Jimbo’s little office, then enter it on the banking slips and take it to the bank simply because Tom had no time to spare.
He couldn’t blame Tom. Realistically, he’d left him with far too much to do. The store was open for six days a week and there was no one to let him take a day off. There were the rounds to do, collecting the produce for the mail order business and for the store, keeping the shelves well stocked, ordering the stock and, on top of all that, being responsible for the post office too. Tom, being Tom, had not complained and had found the only possible way to lighten his load.
But it had meant that the one person Jimbo didn’t really know, the one person for whom he had no references and the one person who wasn’t supposed to actually handle the cash had been left to do it. Harry Dickinson! As soon as he said his name out loud Jimbo felt ashamed of himself. He was an OK chap. Nothing wrong with him. Look how he’d been accepted so easily by everyone in the village. A good drinking companion, a good friend, a nice chap. Look how he’d taken on old Sykes, and Sykes definitely liked him.
Jimbo pulled himself up with a jerk. Had he lost his marbles? Fancy Jimbo, that long-time hot-shot in the City thinking that if a dog took to you you were a good bloke. He needed his brains examining. That was it. That blasted Harry Dickinson had stolen his money. The owner away, Tom under pressure and Harry seized his opportunity. But staying on after he’d done it? That took some style!
Jimbo leaped up, got out the till rolls for every day he and Harriet had been away, took out the appropriate bank statements from their file and sat down to a long session of comparing till rolls to money paid into the bank, matching cheques, though there weren’t many of those nowadays, and checking the credit card payments, and there were lots of those. This was what he hadn’t done in the rush of catching up on his return. So he painstakingly did it now.
Two hours later, he had found several discrepancies. Jimbo realised that Harry had removed the till rolls, presumably hoping that Jimbo wouldn’t find time to match them up to the daily cash payments into the bank.
He’d kill him! Stealing from Jimbo Charter-Plackett! It was bare-faced robbery! Jimbo rang Harriet at the Old Barn and told her what he’d discovered.
‘I don’t believe it! Harry? That can’t be right!’
‘Come to the store and see for yourself. Right away. I’m absolutely incensed!’
‘I don’t believe it! You must have got it wrong.’
‘See for yourself. Don’t say a word to anyone though, I don’t want him doing a runner.’
‘I’m coming.’
But when she saw the evidence with her own eyes, Harriet knew Jimbo was right.
They looked at one another in horror.
‘How do we tackle it?’
Harriet suggested speaking to Harry in front of witnesses.
‘Call in the Fraud Squad?’ said Jimbo.
‘If it was millions, yes, but not two thousand eight hundred and one pounds and forty-five pence.’
‘Get Sergeant Mac?’
‘That would be a start.’ Harriet ran her fingers through her hair, a sure sign she was upset. ‘But it’ll be round the village in an instant if Mac’s seen coming here. Harry’ll get the wind up and do a bunk.’
‘Get Mac to meet me at the Old Barn office. The two of us could then confront him?’
‘Wait till morning, it’ll give us time to think about what we should do without him getting an inkling. We’d look ridiculous if we’re wrong.’
‘Harriet! How can we be wrong? It’s there for all to see.’
‘Could Tom have done it?’
‘Tom? He wouldn’t. Believe me, he’s completely honest.’
‘You’re right. He’s an ex-policeman and he just wouldn’t, would he?’
‘No. We’ll keep it to ourselves and sleep on it. We’ll decide what to do tomorrow. If he doesn’t know we’re on to him, he won’t just disappear, will he? He’s got no reason to.’
‘I’ve got to get back to the kitchens. I won’t be late.’ Harriet hesitated at the door. ‘I’m so disappointed, he seems like such a nice man.’
‘It just goes to show.’
Harriet didn’t know what it showed but, when she got back to the Old Barn, she took it upon herself to go and see Harry.
He was busy as usual, typing in the data from the previous day’s business. He looked up and smiled when she walked in. The lovely, welcoming smile they’d all come to like.
‘Hello, Harriet, how nice to see you.’
‘Nice to see you, too. I’ve been so busy since we got back that I thought I’d pop in and see how you were.’
‘That’s nice of you. Enjoyed your holiday?’
‘It seems light years ago since we got back. But yes, we did. It’s been a long time since we had a holiday together. I’ve been wondering, is Venetia back yet?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘She’s gone to see her mother, I understand.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she ill?’
‘Her mother? Yes, she is.’
‘Is she getting better?’
‘Yes. Venetia says she is.’
‘Oh, good, you’ve heard from her then?’
‘She’s not much good at letter writing but yes I have. Another week, she says.’
‘Oh, good, Jeremy will be glad.’
‘He said that the other day. Nice chap.’
‘Indeed he is. Must press on. Bye!’
Totally confused now, Harriet retired to think about what Harry had said. Everyone who was anyone in the village knew for a fact that Harry had not heard from her, but now he was saying he had. But letter-writing in this day and age? Using her mobile, emails or texting were much more Venetia’s scene. And calling Jeremy a ‘nice chap’ when he, Harry Dickinson, was having it off with his wife? It didn’t add up. A deep, bottomless pit of distrust seemed to open up inside her. The man was a twister. He wouldn’t know the truth if he met it in the street. Jimbo was right, she was sure of it.
So where the blazes was Venetia? Had their passionate love affair ended in a flash? He hadn’t done away with her, had he? Now she was being totally idiotic. But they all knew Venet
ia was a million miles away from being loyal. Had she told him it was all over and he’d finished her off? On the other hand, surely to goodness Jeremy would be panicking by now if he hadn’t heard from her? He’d be ringing the hospitals and reporting her disappearance to the police. Wouldn’t he? Had she gone to her mother’s as Jeremy said she had?
Sykes came trotting past, heading for Harry’s office, and it did occur to Harriet to wonder what secrets old Sykes had in his head. Did he have the answer? Because she certainly didn’t. Harriet tried to remember the sequence of events and what had happened first. Venetia had disappeared, Harry had gone away to that funeral, well, he said a funeral but was it really? She now didn’t believe a word he said, and she hated it when people she knew couldn’t be trusted to speak the truth. Well, she and Jimbo would talk it over tonight when they’d had a chance to absorb the horror of it all, and tomorrow they would act.
Fran had no homework to do that night so she had decided to take a night off. She was sitting on the floor, her back resting against the sofa Harriet was sitting on and Jimbo was in his favourite leather chair watching TV with them.
Fran reminded the world at large that she was watching Crimewatch at nine and not to let her forget.
‘I think you’re going to be a policewoman, you always want to watch police programmes.’
‘Mum! I find them so intriguing, you know the way they go about investigating and things, the ghastly things they see. They must have very suspicious minds, never wholly accepting anyone at face value but wondering all the time what’s going on behind their pleasant exterior.’
To Harriet her comment seemed remarkably apt for today’s revelations. ‘Mmm. Right, we’ll watch it then.’
So they did.
Harriet had made a drink for the three of them before Crime-watch began and she also provided some delicious biscuits she’d made during the day in the Old Barn kitchens, having brought home the misshapen ones she had no use for.
A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) Page 17
