Village Gossip

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘Of course. I’m sure there would be. I’ll tell Hugo. He’ll be delighted to find things for you to do.’

  ‘I’m a dab hand with a needle and sewing machine if it’s costumes.’

  ‘Right. Well, it takes place in the nineteen twenties so I suppose, yes, we shall need a wardrobe mistress. I’ll ask Hugo if that’s all right, I’m sure he’ll be pleased.’

  ‘Then that’s that.’

  ‘Oh, but I think we should check with …’

  ‘Michelle and me, we’ll be in charge of costumes.’

  ‘If it’s all right with Hugo, yes, that will be lovely.’

  ‘It’s all right, is it, this play? I mean, it’s not disgusting? I wouldn’t want our Michelle to be involved if it was.’

  ‘The Rector’s reading it this very minute.’

  Mrs Jones laughed. ‘Oh, well, if he says yes then it’s OK. My Barry’s been roped in by Mr Fitch to do the scenery, did you know?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. He’ll be excellent for that job, won’t he?’

  ‘Of course. And Mr Charter-P’s put Pat in charge of refreshments, two nights you’re doing it, eh?’

  ‘Friday and Saturday.’

  ‘Right. Well, I’ll get to the library and I’ll get some books out on costume. Charleston and that.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful. We need all the help we can get.’

  ‘If Mr Fitch has his way there’ll be a play done at least once a year. And why not? Time we brightened ourselves up. All the talent we’ve got in this village, we could get famous.’

  Caroline said she thought fame might be a bit too ambitious.

  ‘Just Wait till the press get onto it. The famous Hugo Maude, no less. And he’s lovely, isn’t he? Came in here the other morning and sat perched on that cupboard there chatting away as if we’d known each other all our lives. I told him things I’ve never mentioned to a living soul and he understood, truly understood how hard life can be.’

  ‘He is very understanding.’

  Mrs Jones gave her a piercing look. ‘We’ll have to mind our Ps and Qs, though. We’re all taking a fancy to him, not just …’

  ‘Yes?’

  Rather lamely Mrs Jones said, ‘Not just the young ones.’ She neatly lined up the parcel she’d just sealed alongside the edge of the table, half started to speak again and then changed her mind, cleared her throat, picked up a list and began to study it.

  Caroline wished her good morning and went through to the Store.

  Dottie Foskett was standing, arms folded, propped against the chill counter listening to her cousin Vera Wright. ‘So, just as I was closing the curtains – after all, you have to be careful these days even in a village, come to think of it, even more so in a village – when I sees ’em arriving at the Rectory door step. Believe it or believe it not he kissed her, and I don’t mean a peck on the cheek like we’ve all started doing since we joined the Common Market — I mean, I blame the French for it — right on her lips. Then he stroked her arm and she went in.’

  ‘But it was dark that time o’ night, you couldn’t see.’

  Vera nodded her head. ‘Oh yes I could, ’cos the light comes on when you stand by the door. Lutronic or something, it is. So I saw ’em right enough.’

  Dottie gave her a nudge. ‘You’re only jealous. You wish it was you he was kissing!’

  ‘Make a change from my Don, I must say. He’s lovely though, isn’t he? He’s got a face to die for. That good looking I can understand anyone falling for ’im, I really can. And his voice all sexy and that. I fell for ’im when he was on telly in that saucy serial a while back. Saw ’im almost naked, not his vital parts o’course, but near enough. Strips real well he does.’

  Dottie’s reply was scathing. ‘You’re forgetting how old you are.’

  ‘I can still dream, can’t I?’ She leaned towards Dottie and confidentially whispered, ‘I’m thinking of volunteering me services, behind the scenes and that. Might get a chance for a quick cuddle if I play me cards right.’

  Dottie chortled, and in a loud, scandalised voice she said, ‘Vera! You are a one, you really are. Quick cuddle! It wouldn’t be the likes of you he’d give a quick cuddle to.’ Neither of them had noticed Caroline paying for her shopping at the till. ‘From what you saw, any quick cuddles have already been spoken for!’

  The two of them reeled with laughter. Caroline lifted her carrier from the counter, put her purse away and marched red-faced and embarrassed out of the Store. How dare they speak of her like that! Anyone would think she was some empty-headed teenager. What else could it be but a purely professional partnership? And she’d put her heart and soul into making a real fist of it. She’d show them.

  Chapter 5

  Vera, having collected some cigarettes for an old gentleman at the nursing home, went to wait outside the Store for the bus to Penny Fawcett for her afternoon cleaning shift. She couldn’t believe her good luck when only a minute after she’d arrived she saw Hugo heading up Stocks Row towards the Store. This could be her moment. Though her knees went to jelly and her tongue appeared to have stuck to her teeth she said, ‘Good afternoon, Mr Maude.’ She ran her tongue round her teeth to wet them again while she waited for him to reach her.

  ‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’ She found her hand clasped in his and as through a thick fog heard him say, ‘Please, call me Hugo.’

  ‘It’s Vera Wright. I live opposite the Rectory with me husband Don and me grandson Rhett. He’s a gardener up at the Big House.’

  ‘Indeed. He works for Mr Fitch, then?’

  ‘He does, and a harder taskmaster you couldn’t hope to find.’

  ‘A very generous benefactor though.’

  ‘Oh yes. He is. He’s footing the bill for your play, isn’t he?’

  ‘Not my play, my dear Vera … may I call you Vera?’ Vera nodded. ‘Not my play, our play.’

  Melting before his charm Vera pulled herself together sufficiently to say, ‘I was wondering about helping. Behind the scenes, o’ course. Not on the stage. Amongst all my other jobs I’m in charge of the sewing where I work. I could help with anything like that.’

  ‘We shall be needing help with the wardrobe. Look, we’re having a meeting, just for half an hour, for people willing to help behind the scenes immediately before the first rehearsal on Friday. How about coming along to that? I’ll listen to your ideas and we can …’

  ‘My ideas? What ideas?’

  Hugo explained about the play and it needing nineteen twenties’ costumes.

  ‘All straight up and down and no … yer know.’ She shaped her hands over her ample bosom and instantly wished she’d hadn’t drawn attention to it.

  ‘Well, yes, that kind of thing.’

  The bus ground to a halt in front of them.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘What time?’

  ‘Seven o’clock. Church Hall. Friday.’

  ‘Yer on.’ Vera climbed aboard and showed her weekly season ticket to the woman driver, who, as she stamped on the accelerator, asked her who her new boyfriend was.

  ‘Jealous, are yer? I’ve just been taken on as his wardrobe mistress.’

  Someone guffawed at the back of the bus. ‘Bed mistress’d be a sight more comfortable, Vera.’ The bus was in uproar. Vera felt like crawling under the seat not sitting on it. Honestly, you couldn’t have a decent friendship with anyone round here without they all thought you were going to bed together. That was the last thing she had in mind. Then she recollected the warmth of his hands as he’d held her own, the tenderness of his eyes and the way his hair grew in a widow’s peak and the width of his proud forehead. A tremor ran down her spine. He really was gorgeous. Vera stared out at the passing countryside and pulled herself together. All those bloody sheets to put through the ironer today. And if that old bat in number seven did it in her bed again today she’d give her notice in. Well, perhaps not. She’d have a few days off sick instead. Anyhow, she’d got what she wanted, a chance to work beh
ind the scenes.

  At a quarter to seven on Friday evening Vera came downstairs ready for off. Don, who was finishing his tea and contemplating a good read of the paper before he went off to work, looked in amazement when he answered her remark that she was ready for off and could he clear the table when he’d finished.

  ‘I thought you said you were going to a meeting at the Church Hall.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘The last time you wore that suit was at our Brenda’s wedding.’

  ‘There’s no point in it hanging in the wardrobe year after year. I might as well get me wear out of it.’

  She went to stand in front of the living-room mirror.

  ‘Yer ’air! Yer’ve had it done.’

  ‘I know. Surprise surprise! He’s looked at me!! I swear if I walked about naked yer wouldn’t notice, because you never look at me. Not really look.’

  She admired her hair, that mobile hairdresser who came twice a week to the village had done a good job, though she didn’t expect it would stay like this for long, knowing her hair. This pink suit still looked smart. Well, if yer were wardrobe mistress yer had to let people know yer knew what yer were talking about. She’d show ’em. They’d all have a surprise.

  ‘I look all right, then?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got to say you do. A bit of all right, you are. Definitely.’

  Her delight at Don showing some interest in her braced her for the forthcoming challenge. She picked up her navy handbag which she’d already filled with notebook and pencil as well as her purse and the pink lipstick that matched her suit, slipped her feet into those excruciating shoes which had killed her all the way through Brenda’s reception, and set off for the Church Hall.

  Expecting that there would only be a small select band volunteering their help Vera had a shock when she opened the door to the Church Hall. At first sight it appeared that the entire village and then some had come to volunteer their services. The Jones family had arrived in its entirety, three generations of them, and it looked as though Mrs Jones meant business because she had some big books in a carrier bag and was about to put them on a table at the side. Then she spotted her Rhett. The cheeky little monkey! He’d said he was going out but never a word about coming to the meeting. Wait till she got a chance for a word. And there was Miss Parkin from Glebe Cottages, and Mrs Peel, well she needn’t think Hugo would be wanting her to trill about on the church organ ’cos he wouldn’t. Just behind her Rhett she spotted Kate from the school and Dottie too, heaven alone knew what contribution Dottie thought she’d be able to make. She had to stop counting. This was ridiculous. Anyhow, Hugo had said she was wardrobe mistress and that was exactly what she was going to be.

  Despite the pinching of her shoes she strode masterfully across to where Mrs Jones and Hugo were looking at the books. One glance over their shoulders and she realised that things were being taken out of her hands.

  ‘What’s this?’

  Hugo turned to speak to her. ‘Vera! You’ve come. Look at these ideas Mrs Jones has for the costumes. Aren’t they brilliant? It’s the colours we shall have to be careful with you know, Mrs Jones. Remember that black and white Ascot scene in My Fair Lady? That was so effective. Utterly divine!’

  ‘Black and white, is that what you want me to do?’

  Vera bristled. ‘I don’t understand this. I thought I was in charge of the costumes? Wasn’t that what you said?’

  Hugo, recognising that someone who came armed with illustrations of just the styles he was after was a much surer bet than someone who’d come with nothing, drew upon his considerable diplomatic skills.

  ‘No, no. I merely used that to illustrate how important the contribution of the wardrobe mistress is. Mrs Jones, these designs are wonderful, now can I rely upon you and Vera here to source some materials, bring me snippets and we’ll have a serious discussion next week about colours, et cetera? How about that, Vera?’

  Disappointment flooded Vera’s very bones and she could scarcely hold back her tears. One look from Mrs Jones’ gimlet eyes, one glance at her triumphant posture, was enough. She drew back her handbag and swung it in Mrs Jones’ direction. It missed, but caught Hugo on the shoulder. With the additional weight of the notepad inside it and rather a lot of loose change in her purse, it caused Hugo to stagger. He clutched at the table to save himself, and made one of the costume books slide off onto the floor and land noisily at Vera’s feet.

  Vera was devastated. ‘Oh, Hugo! I’m so sorry. Look what you’ve done now, Mrs Jones. Look what you’ve made me do. It’s all your fault, muscling in on my job.’

  ‘It’s not your job. It’s not my job. I just brought these …’

  ‘Well, you can stuff the job right where it hurts. I’m not working with you, not at any price. It’s either me or you, not both. You’re a bossy interfering old bag, that’s what you are. Think you’re something special, don’t yer? Well yer not. You’re like the rest of us … ordinary. I wanted this job and I bet you knew I did so you got them books on purpose to impress. You’re a bitch.’ She tapped Mrs Jones on her collar bone to emphasise her point.

  ‘Well, really! All I’ve done is …’

  ‘Ladies, please. Please. Let’s come to some amicable arrangement, shall we? I think …’

  But Vera wouldn’t stay to listen to his pleas. She’d been made a fool of, and her distress was too much to bear. She kicked the book, twice, for good measure and then marched out with Mrs Jones’ protests ringing in her ears.

  ‘Well, Hugo, did you say she could be wardrobe mistress?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. I said she could come along to the meeting and give a hand, I never said she was it. That was her mistake. Somehow or other we’ve got to heal the breach, don’t you know?’ He put his head to one side and smiled at her, and Mrs Jones’ heart melted. ‘I’ll sort something out. Don’t you fret.’ She rather boldly patted his arm. ‘She can help me, be my chief assistant.’

  ‘Good idea. Right, I’ll start the meeting.’ Shattered by the unexpected violence his project had brought about he strode more purposefully than he felt to the stage, sprang up on to it, and stood in front of the curtains with his arms raised.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you. Thank you.’ They all stopped talking and turned to listen to him. ‘I’m amazed and delighted at the number of people who have turned up to volunteer their services. I have a list here of the backstage people we shall need. As I’m producing as well as acting I shall need really reliable people as back-up. Hands up anyone at all who has experience of theatre work, either amateur or professional.’

  Hugo rather suspected there would be no hands put up and he was right. In that case then, here goes, he thought.

  ‘Scenery. Barry Jones. Any ideas for an assistant, Barry?’

  ‘I wondered about Sir Ronald, he’s a very practical chap.’

  ‘Is he here?’

  ‘No, but you could have a word tomorrow, he’s at home at the moment.’

  ‘Right.’ Hugo made a note on the list on his clip board. ‘Lighting?’

  With one voice they all said, ‘Willie.’

  ‘Willie it is. Are you here, Willie?’

  ‘I am, and yes I’m willing. Long time since them lights was given a proper airing, but I’ll do my best.’

  Barry Jones gave Willie a verbal reference. ‘You did wonders when we had that Flower Festival a few years back. Very subtle the lighting was. He’ll do a good job, Hugo.’

  ‘Willie. Lighting. Now, props. That means someone who knows every piece of furniture, every flower, every ornament, et cetera, needed for each and every scene, someone who can find all we need by begging borrowing or stealing – well, not literally, but you know what I mean. Any ideas?’

  There was a silence and then a voice from the back piped up. ‘I’ll do that. I’ve finished my exams, be glad of something to do.’ Dean Jones, Dean Duckett that was, waved a hand to everyone. ‘If you’ll tell me what you need.’

  ‘Of course. You’re
…?’

  ‘Dean Jones.’

  ‘Excellent. You’re stage manager, then.’ Hugo jotted down Dean’s name and continued on down his list. ‘Now, publicity. This means programmes, posters, tickets, advertising. Who have we got? Any offers?’

  There was a brief silence and then Anne Parkin spoke. ‘I’m quite good at lists and things. I’m not creative, but I could do publicity and printing and such. If that’s all right.’

  ‘Wonderful. Your name?’ He leant towards her in the most endearing manner and cupped his hand to his ear.

  ‘Anne Parkin.’

  ‘Anne Parkin it is. Now. Next. Costume is Mrs Jones and Vera Wright.’

  A voice at the back said, ‘You’ope!’

  ‘I can assure you it will be. A small contretemps, soon be ironed out. Now.’

  ‘You’ll have your work cut out sorting that little problem, believe me. How about it, Mrs Jones? Willing to let bygones be bygones?’

  ‘You mind your own business, Jimmy Glover.’

  ‘Mr Maude! I’m Sylvia Biggs. You’ll need someone to make coffee and that when you have a break from rehearsing. How about me? Might not manage it every night, ’cos I may be needed at the Rectory. But I’d be glad to be involved, and I’d find a substitute when I couldn’t.’

  ‘You can have no idea what music that is to my ears. The cast rely deeply,’ there was a lot of emphasis on the word ‘deeply’ and they all felt it in their bones, ‘on cups of coffee to revive them. Absolutely essential. In fact the success of the play could be said to relate directly to the quality of the drinks provided during rehearsal! Wonderful, Sylvia.’ He bunched his fingers and kissed them in Sylvia’s direction. ‘I’ll put your name down.’

  Willie nudged Sylvia and mouthed, ‘Why?’

  Out of the corner of her mouth Sylvia said, ‘To keep my eye on what’s going on, of course.’

  ‘He’s embarrassed you.’

  ‘No, he hasn’t.’

  ‘He has. I’ll come every night as well. Keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You daft thing, Willie Biggs.’

  ‘He’s got a sight too much charm ’as Mr Hugo Maude. Just ’ope he doesn’t turn out to be Mr Hugo Fraud.’