Fran cried until she couldn’t cry any more. At last only deep searing sobs that tore her apart came out, and she wished they didn’t because they made her chest feel raw. She wished Harriet would knock on her door, and say, ‘All right, darling?’ Then her mum would give her an almighty big hug to help heal the pain. Would the pain ever heal? Or would she have this pain in the middle of her chest for ever? The common-sense part of Fran came to the fore then, and she almost laughed at herself. One unscrupulous man who thought only of himself couldn’t be allowed to harm her for the rest of her life. One thing for certain was that she’d be much more cautious a second time round.
There came the longed-for knock at her door, and Fran heard the words she’d wanted: ‘All right, darling?’ She rapidly dried her eyes, wiped her nose, leapt off the bathroom stool, shot out into her bedroom and straight into her mother’s welcoming arms. ‘Hug me tight.’
‘I am hugging you tightly.’
‘Just what I need.’ Fran knew she was safe for ever in this pair of arms.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Absolutely sure. Is there any hot chocolate going?’
‘There soon could be. Shall we make some? The two of us?’
Fran nodded.
‘Good idea.’ Mother and daughter went down the stairs together. Harriet hoped Fran, in the close familiarity of their homely kitchen, would be able to talk about what was troubling her, because she was obviously very upset. But apparently the pain lay too deep for Fran to talk about yet. Fran and her parents watched the ten o’clock news, drinking their hot chocolates, munching biscuits and making general comments about the news. Fran was the first to go to bed, and it wasn’t until Harriet and Jimbo had turned off their bedroom light that Jimbo told his wife what he knew about Chris.
‘I already knew he was thinking of going back very soon.’
‘You did? When did you find out?’
‘In the pub the night of the meeting. It was just something he said. He said he dislikes the idea of being in England in winter. Too wet, too cold, he claims, for him. So perhaps he’s told her tonight.’
‘A big relief all round. She’s obviously not going with him then.’
‘Thank God.’
‘The question is, Jimbo,’ pondered Harriet, ‘has he asked her and she’s refused to go, or has he not asked her and that’s why she’s so upset?’
‘Either way, she’s obviously not going, and if she’s so upset then I think he hasn’t asked her. We’ll have to treat her with kid gloves for a few weeks, poor Fran. Anyway, it’s all turned out for the best, hasn’t it? Certainly to my satisfaction anyway. Why don’t you and Fran go on a week’s holiday, two girls together, somewhere warm? It would give her something else to think about. You’d enjoy it too, wouldn’t you?’ Jimbo turned over as he settled himself for sleep, and remarked again how relieved he was that Fran wouldn’t be disappearing off to Brazil with Chris. ‘And good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.’
‘He’s not as likeable as Johnny, is he?’
‘No, he isn’t. And Fran is worth more than being someone to make use of. Which is what he’s done. Only don’t tell her I said that. It’s true, just the same though. Goodnight, darling.’
‘Goodnight, Jimbo. Love you. She’ll get over it, and if she doesn’t know now that’s what he’s done, she soon will when she’s had time to think, after the hurt begins to lessen. But you’re right; a holiday might help.’
Chapter 10
In his role as verger at the church, the first thing Zack did every Monday morning was to walk all the way round the outside doing what he called ‘inspecting the fabric’. He ran a caring eye over every inch of the outside for any signs of vandalism, and not a single inch of the outer fabric escaped the scrutiny of his experienced eyes. No, it all appeared to be OK. Then for some reason he took another look at the roof. He inspected it on both sides, all the way along the ridge of the roof from the gable end to where the roof joined the spire. There was something not right. What was it? He shaded his eyes and took another look. No, it couldn’t be. But he wasn’t wrong, was he? No, he was right. The lead was missing! During the night some thieving, cheating rogues had climbed up and removed it, inch by inch.
Zack boiled with anger. He marched around looking for signs of a ladder being used and he found the imprints of the two feet of a ladder in the mud and trampled grass where they’d struggled with the lead. But where had the vehicle been parked? They’d have needed a vehicle, as lead was far too heavy to have been carried away in someone’s hands. After a while Zack found heavy tyre marks of what might have been a lorry in front of the church hall. So they’d driven up the drive to the hall and then, yes, there were the footmarks, two sets of heavy prints going from the church to the church hall drive. Had no one heard them? Seen them? Had it rained during the night? No, it hadn’t. At least then the church wasn’t flooded. He had to tell someone. Sacrilege, that’s what it was. Sacrilege.
He rattled the knocker on the rectory door and to his relief the rector answered his knock. Zack found he’d lost his voice he was so upset. So he signalled urgently for Peter to follow him.
‘Zack! Are you all right? What’s happened?’
Zack still hadn’t spoken, but now they were standing on the path just beyond the lych gate and Zack was pointing upwards. At first Peter couldn’t see what he was supposed to be looking at. Then he realised. ‘The lead. No! Right the way along!’
‘Can’t believe it. Can’t believe it.’
‘Neither can I!’
‘Our lovely old church. Desecrated. They need hanging. I’m so sorry.’ Zack looked haggard.
‘See here, Zack, you’re not to blame. It is not your fault. You understand?’
‘But I’m in charge, aren’t I? What Willie Biggs will say I don’t know.’
‘Willie might be getting old but even he will know it’s not your fault. Phone. Phone.’ Peter tapped his pockets searching for his mobile. ‘I’ve left it on my desk. I’m going into the house to ring the police. Why don’t you make yourself a cup of tea in your shed? You can drink it while we wait for the police to arrive. And make one for me too, please. I won’t be long.’
So they sat together in Zack’s shed drinking tea, with Peter finding all sorts of excuses for why people stole lead, and Zack berating himself for what had happened. ‘I’ll have to sleep in the church every night. It’s the only answer to this.’
‘You will not, Zack. For heaven’s sakes, man, even if you did sleep in the church you couldn’t tackle men strong enough to climb on the roof to heave lead off and carry it down to a lorry. These are fit men, believe me, really fit. No, it’s not possible.’
‘We’ll have to have men doing night duty then, like air-raid wardens during the war. They could use this shed. Or we could get Grandmama Charter-Plackett to do night duty. One word from her and they’d crawl away and never come back. By Jove, she’s a strong woman and not half. I admire that, they don’t make women like her nowadays.’
The police car took over an hour to arrive, by which time Zack had reached boiling point again. ‘Where have you been? Keeping the rector waiting. An hour we’ve been waiting. A whole hour.’
The police officer looked up at the roof and tutted. ‘Lead you say. It’s the third church we’ve been to this morning. Every single one stripped.’
Peter stepped forward and shook hands with them both. ‘Good morning. Thank you for coming. I don’t feel too bad if we’re the third you’ve been to.’
‘Same tyre marks, sarge. Look.’ The second officer pointed to the church hall drive.
‘New to us is this. We get every crime you can think of in this area but never stealing lead before, and here we are now with three in one night. It’s like a blinking epidemic. Someone’s moved into the area and they’ve decided to make a clean sweep.’
Zack sprang to life. ‘Moved into the area? Well, we all know—’
Peter rapidly cut short Zack’s revela
tion. ‘We’ll have to get it repaired quickly, won’t we, Zack? In case of rain.’
‘Yes, sir, we will, but we know—’
‘Zack! Why not make a start on your Monday-morning jobs, otherwise you’ll get behind. I know you’re more comfortable if you’re ahead of yourself.’ There was a forceful note to Peter’s voice and Zack saw the truth of his statement; he would get behind, and he hated that. Never mind, he’d tell Peter later when the police had gone. On the other hand, the police ought to be told, and so he turned back. But Peter, standing behind the police officers, gently shook his head at Zack.
So Zack swept and polished inside the church, all the time fuming and cursing about the heathens who’d stolen the lead. That Ford Barclay had only been back about two months and it looked as if he was already up to his old tricks. After that fuss they all made when he first came back, and how delighted Ford and Merc said they both were to be back.
Zack even rang Marie on her mobile and told her who the police said it was. ‘Are you sure, Zack? Did they say his name?’
‘Well, not exactly. But then police wouldn’t, would they? They said it was someone who’d recently moved into the area. Well, who is there but ’im? Scrap-metal merchant by profession.’
‘Well, now look here, just be careful what you say and to whom you say it. We don’t want any bother, do we?’
‘No.’
‘So not another word about it being Ford. Promise?’
‘All right.’ But Zack decided to go to the Royal Oak that night to find out what everyone else thought. He waited until most of the regulars had taken their seats before he began. When he’d questioned everyone he could, Zack found that most of them were in the same mind as himself: Ford Barclay was at the bottom of the whole scheme. He may not have climbed on the roof and done the stealing, but he’d found someone to do the dirty deed, and he was the one selling it on. They were all outraged.
‘We’ve been duped into thinking he was innocent, but all the time he wasn’t. He was as guilty as hell,’ Willie declared.
Zack nodded. ‘Let out of prison because there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him. Oh yes!’
‘Well, I must admit it does seem a very odd coincidence. No lead stolen in this area ever, and he hasn’t been back more than about eight weeks, and wham! Three churches in one night, the police say. And each one had the whole lot taken. The whole lot! Not a scrap of lead left,’ said Marie.
‘It does seem strange, but it could be a coincidence,’ Barry offered with Pat’s encouragement.
‘Coincidence! Yes, an almighty coincidence, I must say. Have the police been round there yet? Questioning him? Do we know?’ asked Vera.
Zack had to admit to himself that he was offended by Peter being so determined that Ford’s name was not to be mentioned to the police when it was as plain as the nose on your face. ‘Well, I never mentioned him to the police because the rector wouldn’t have wanted me to.’
‘I can’t imagine Ford would be that daft as to come here and encourage no good thieves to steal lead and take it to him to sell. He hasn’t got a yard where he could store it, has he?’ said Pat, who liked Ford and Merc very much and was glad to have them back in their lives. To say nothing of the racing tips he passed round to the embroidery group each Monday. Not that Pat went to the group as embroidery wasn’t her kind of thing; but Dottie was good at passing on his tips when they worked together on one of Jimbo’s events, and Pat had added up the other day and knew for certain, that though she didn’t win every week, she did win a lot more than she lost. Eighty-five pounds the week before last, for a start. It would come in handy with Christmas looming.
Barry offered to get the next round of drinks in and he went off with his order to the bar. Resting his foot on the brass rail, Barry detailed the order to Alan Crimble, who introduced him to Mary-Lee, the new barmaid. Barry decided she was a good addition to the bar. American, she said she was, and she flirted with him for a moment. He could tell she liked people. Barry, feeling he should talk to Alan in a civil manner for once in his life, said, ‘Tried to work out the other day just how long you’ve worked for Georgie, Alan. It must be twenty years at least.’
‘Nineteen actually at Christmas.’
‘Don’t you ever feel like a change?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Alan replied with a question. ‘How long have you worked up at the Big House?’
‘Well, actually almost twenty years too come to think about it. Same as you.’ Barry grinned at Alan, and was rewarded with one of Alan’s rare smiles.
‘So that’s sixteen pounds fifty-five. No sorry, seventeen pounds fifty-five.’ Alan leaned over the counter a little and confided to Barry, ‘Don’t offer too often to buy the drinks because that lot’ll carry on drinking as long as you’re willing.’
Barry acknowledged the truth of what Alan had said with a nod and a grin, and he went back to their table to hand out their drinks. They were still, except for Pat, agreeing that Ford was at the bottom of the thefts of church lead, when to their surprise Ford and Merc arrived, right there in their midst before they’d had a chance to change their subject of conversation.
Willie was speaking about Ford as they materialised beside him. ‘This village is no place for a chap like him. It stands to reason it isn’t.’
Jovially Ford asked, ‘What stands to reason?’
With refreshing swiftness of mind Marie said, ‘Chris going back to Brazil. Chris Templeton, that is.’
An almost audible sigh of relief went round the table. ‘Oh, right,’ said Ford. ‘We never actually got a chance to meet him. All right, was he?’
‘Not as nice as Johnny, but just as good-looking,’ said Pat. ‘Here, let’s move the chairs round a bit, and then you can join us.’ She was glad to have an end to the supposition about Ford’s involvement. Sometimes this lot were like gramophone records, on and on and on about the same subject. Pat wondered if it would be a good idea if she and Barry didn’t sit with them, and when she saw the tray of drinks, and roughly added up what the cost must have been, she decided she was right.
Ford and Merc had been to the races that afternoon. ‘That’s why we’re a bit later coming in,’ Ford said. ‘Lovely day for being on a racecourse: brilliant sunshine, blue skies. Here’s your apple juice, Merc. And now I can have the best ale in the world, Dicky’s home brew. The beer at the races wasn’t a patch on this.’ Ford took a deep pull on his pint and as he put down his glass, Pat burst out with, ‘Did you win?’
‘I didn’t,’ said Merc, ‘but Ford did.’
They turned to Ford in the hope he’d tell them how much he won, but he just winked and didn’t answer, so they knew he’d done rather well. ‘I was at the youth club committee meeting last night, by the way,’ he said. ‘They are a grand set of young people, you know. They deserve treats.’
Marie asked what he’d planned for them. ‘I know they’ve missed your outings while you’ve been away.’
‘Well, before we went away I’d promised them we’d hire a canal boat and have a week somewhere, but of course . . .’ He cleared his throat and then continued, ‘Anyway, I couldn’t at the time, but we can now. I’ve booked a fourteen-berth boat for a week next summer on the Kennet and Avon canal and cleared it with the appropriate authorities.’
‘That’ll cost a lot, a fourteen-berth boat.’ There was a hint of interest in Vera’s voice which Ford didn’t miss.
‘You wishing you could go, are you, Vera? You can if you like, then Merc can stay at home, and you could do the cooking instead. We shall need someone to organise the food and you’ll take up a lot less room on a boat than my Merc.’ Ford had a big grin on his face, and Vera had to laugh.
‘No, thank you,’ Vera replied. ‘Couldn’t stand it. Who else is going to be in charge with you? Now there’s no Venetia?’
‘Merc and me, and Kate Fitch of course from the school. Anyone else like to offer because we need one more? Preferably a man good with
ideas and a real commitment to teenagers; they’re a lively lot.’
The silence that followed that request told Ford volumes. But suddenly out of the blue Barry spoke up, ‘I could spare a week in August, if I’d be any help.’ Barry displayed his strength by flexing his muscles and everyone was very impressed. ‘For winding the locks, and that.’
Ford Barclay was delighted. ‘My word, Barry, you’re just the sort of chap I’d be thrilled to have on board. Do you mean it?’
‘Oh yes. Pat won’t mind. Would you have me?’
‘I certainly would. You’d be excellent at keeping the boys up to scratch. Thank you very much indeed.’ Ford leaned across to shake Barry’s hand. ‘You’d better come to the next committee meeting. I’ll be in touch. My word, I’m so pleased. Thank you.’
In an aside to Sylvia, Dottie whispered, ‘More likely he’ll need ’im to drag the boys out of the girls’ bedrooms. Or is it cabins on a narrow-boat?’
The two of them had a quiet giggle, which irritated Ford because he took his work with the youth club very seriously.
Ford’s mention of Kate had turned the conversation towards what had happened to Craddock Fitch. ‘He disappeared off up north, Kate said, doing research of some sort. Then he came back for a week or two and now’s he’s off again. Anyone know what he’s up to?’ asked Sylvia.
There was a chorus of ‘don’t knows’ from all round the table, except Zack, who did say he thought Mr Fitch was trying to find his two sons. ‘I overheard a conversation he was having with the rector in the church one day, and it sounded as though he was asking how he could get access to marriage records and the rector told him how to do it using that internet thing all the young ones go on about now. The rector wrote some things down on a piece of paper and Mr Fitch took possession of it as though it was pure gold.’
‘Really?
‘I never knew he had family.’
Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) Page 9
