‘At least it brought it all to a head, didn’t it? Her sorry little affair came to an end, as it had to do, of course. And she got over it in time.’
The situation to which Gilbert was referring had happened some eight years ago when they – Gilbert and Norma and their children, and Glenda and her then-husband, Clive – had lived in Sheffield and attended a parish church there. Glenda and Clive had been married for several years but no children had arrived on the scene, much to their disappointment, Glenda’s in particular. One of her good points was that she was very fond of children. She had worked as a nursery assistant and eventually had charge of a day nursery.
But Glenda liked men. She enjoyed their company and became quite a different person – flirtatious and, indeed, quite bold at times if one should take particular notice of her. She had sung in the church choir and, somewhat bored with her marriage and the status quo, had turned her attention to the organist and choirmaster, a man called Basil Jones. She had a good voice; she was one of the leading sopranos and sometimes she was asked to sing a solo at a special service or a church concert. This led to private rehearsals with Basil; and so the two of them became friendly, rather too friendly. It was not entirely Glenda’s fault, although it was clear that she had encouraged him. Probably the man had just wanted a fling, but Glenda had wanted more than that. She had believed herself to be in love with him – and he with her, or so she thought – and she tried to persuade him to leave his wife and family.
It was at this point that Norma had stepped in and warned her that she was heading for serious trouble. It had to stop or she, Norma, would tell the vicar about the relationship. The sisters quarrelled bitterly. Norma was determined to carry out her threat although a part of her was loath to betray her sister.
As it happened, though, it was Basil’s wife, Helen, who became aware of the goings-on, and she it was who told the vicar. He was an unworldly man, as ‘men of the cloth’ should be, of course; but he was a genuinely virtuous man who always tried to believe the best of people rather than condemn them. He was shocked and disturbed at the revelations. He had not noticed anything of the developing friendship, but he knew it was his duty to have a quiet word with his organist.
Basil Jones had admitted readily, and with a sense of relief, to his affair with Glenda Forbes. He was realizing what a fool he had been to get friendly with her in the first place. He explained how ‘one thing had led to another’ and now he was more deeply involved than he had intended. The vicar wanted to make as little of the matter as was possible. A less tolerant vicar would have asked Basil to resign from his post, but the clergyman decided it was only fair to give him a second chance. Besides, he was a very good organist. Basil promised to bring the affair to an end right away. He told Glenda that it was all over between them. And his loving wife, seeing it for what it was – a sort of mid-life crisis – forgave him.
Glenda believed, and continued to do so, that it was Norma who had betrayed her. She left the church and she and her husband moved to another part of town. Their marriage, though, had been damaged, and the affection and trust they had once shared had gone. A year later Clive left her and went to live with a young secretary from the council office where they both worked.
Glenda had got over it all in time. She had concentrated on her work as a nursery assistant; she was well thought of by the mothers, and the children loved her. She had had a couple of gentlemen friends but neither had lasted. The sisters had become friendly again; and so it was that Norma, believing that Glenda had changed for the better, had invited her to come to Aberthwaite.
‘Very well then; I will have a word with Simon,’ Gilbert said eventually, relenting from his previous insistence that it was up to his wife to act. ‘He may not realize that people are talking. Then it will be up to him to tell her to keep her distance. I’ll go and see him at the rectory tomorrow morning. We’ll have a man to man chat. I don’t want to detain him after the evening service. I know he likes to get home to his family. Yes … that’s what I’ll do. I’ll pay a visit to the rectory in the morning.’
On that same Sunday, after the evening service, Joan Tweedale was surprised when Ethel Bayliss stopped her as she was leaving the church.
‘Could I have a quiet word with you, Joan?’ she asked. She was glancing round to make sure that no one else on the church path was near enough to hear.
‘Of course,’ said Joan, agreeably. She had not always seen eye to eye with Ethel Bayliss; she was the woman in charge of the Mothers’ Union, officially known as the ‘enrolling member’, a position she was determined not to let go. When the rector’s new wife, Fiona, had arrived on the scene Ethel had been fearful for her position – one that was traditionally held by the vicar’s, or rector’s, wife – but Fiona had had no such aspirations.
Nevertheless, Ethel Bayliss, a determined and dogmatic lady – who was now well into her seventies – had taken a dislike to the newcomer, considering her to be most unsuitable to be the wife of a clergyman, with her short skirts and make-up and her generally modern outlook. When it had become known that little Stella was not Fiona’s first child – and that the first one had been born out of wedlock! – Ethel and her minions had tried to make trouble for the young wife of the rector. But it was all to no avail. Simon had stepped in and ‘read the riot act’, in a tactful, though forceful, way, and the gossip had come to an end.
Over the intervening years the once indomitable Mrs Bayliss had, seemingly, undergone a personality change – to some degree, at least – and Fiona, now could do no wrong in her eyes. Ethel admired the way she cared for her children, and was always ready to spring to her defence. Joan, at one time, had regarded her as … not quite an enemy, but certainly as an adversary. But she smiled at her pleasantly now.
‘What is it, Mrs Bayliss?’ she asked. She had never got round to calling the much older woman by her first name.
‘It’s that Glenda Forbes,’ replied Ethel. ‘Didn’t you see her? She’s gone into the vestry – again! – to talk to Simon. She did the same thing this morning. Arthur has noticed, of course, but he says it’s not really up to him to say anything to the rector; he thinks it would be interfering.’ Arthur Bayliss was Ethel’s husband and one of the two churchwardens. ‘He says that Simon surely must be aware of it, and that he would say something to her if he thought she was getting too friendly. But that’s typical of Arthur, always wanting to take the line of least resistance! So I’ve decided that I must do something myself.’ Ethel’s mouth was set in a grim line like an angry bulldog.
‘You know what men are like, and maybe Simon’s not much different. Can’t help themselves if a pretty woman takes notice of ’em. It’s Fiona I’m bothered about, the poor lass! He couldn’t have a nicer wife or a better mother to those kiddies. She looks real unhappy sometimes. Well, you must know; you’re a good friend of hers, aren’t you?’
‘Yes … I am,’ agreed Joan. ‘And I must admit I’m rather worried about the situation.’ Unwilling though she was to gossip with Mrs Bayliss, she knew that what the woman was saying was not just gossip but the plain truth. And maybe they had all been somewhat dilatory having noticed what was happening and not doing anything about it.
‘Fiona is unhappy about it,’ she went on, ‘but she won’t say anything to Simon. She keeps trying to tell herself that Glenda’s just being friendly and that she’s imagining things. She’s never really got on with Glenda, right from the start, although she can’t say why. So she thinks she might be prejudiced without any real reason. I don’t think there’s any impropriety about their behaviour,’ Joan hastened to add. ‘Simon wouldn’t. We all know that … don’t we?’
‘I’m sure she would, though,’ said Ethel, grimly, ‘and I’m not taking any chances. I’m going to strike while the iron’s hot. She’s coming now so let’s tackle her; there’s no time like the present … Come along, Joan; I need your support.’
Glenda Forbes was coming towards them on the church path, a contented smi
le on her face. She looked attractive, as she always did, in a bright blue coat with a fur collar and a little black fur hat perched on top of her dark curls. Ethel stepped forward to stop her in her tracks. ‘Could we have a word with you, Mrs Forbes?’
‘Yes … I suppose so,’ the woman answered, the smile disappearing from her face at the sight of Ethel’s formidable countenance. ‘What do you want?’
‘We want you to leave our rector alone,’ said Ethel Bayliss. Joan felt that she could have approached the subject more tactfully, but that was not Ethel’s way of doing things.
‘I beg your pardon?’ said Glenda, although she had, of course, heard the remark perfectly well. She looked haughtily at the pair of them. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Anyway, what business is it of yours if I talk to Simon? I’m looking after his children, and he’s very glad of my help. So would you kindly mind your own business!’
‘It is our business when you’re causing trouble between a man and his wife,’ said Ethel. ‘Fiona is very unhappy. You are supposed to be looking after the children, not flirting with our rector.’
‘I’ve done no such thing!’ retorted Glenda. ‘I admit I get on well with Simon,’ she added, although she was clearly determined not to back down. ‘He likes to talk to me … about the children. And Fiona hasn’t complained. Anyway, from what I’ve heard she’s no better than she ought to be, is she?’ Her eyes blazed with anger, and defiance, too, as she made the remark, one that Joan had always thought to be a silly meaningless one.
‘How dare you speak like that about our lovely Fiona!’ said Ethel, her face turning red with fury. Joan smiled to herself. Ethel had certainly done a complete ‘volte-face’ about Fiona since her early days as the rector’s wife. ‘She made a mistake when she was a young girl,’ Ethel continued. ‘Have you never made any mistakes? We all know about it and think no worse of her. Her daughter, Debbie, is a grand girl … Anyway, that’s not what we’re on about. I’m warning you, Mrs Forbes, just you leave our rector alone, or I shall make it my business to take this matter further. My husband is the churchwarden, and he could take steps to have you removed from here.’
Joan knew that Ethel Bayliss was bluffing. Arthur was a mild sort of man who would not want any trouble. But there was a flicker of unease, now, in Glenda’s eyes. She turned to Joan.
‘You’re very quiet, Mrs Tweedale,’ she said. ‘Have you nothing to say about all this … nonsense?’
‘I agree with Mrs Bayliss that people have noticed your friendship with the rector,’ answered Joan. ‘Maybe you meant no harm,’ she added. ‘Simon is a very charming man, and friendly with everyone. We all know that. And Fiona is a loving and loyal wife; we’ve always regarded them as an ideal couple. They’ve done so much good together in the parish. But Fiona is far from happy at the moment. She hasn’t been well; she has never really got her strength back since the triplets were born, and she certainly doesn’t need all this added worry, even if there is no real cause for it, which is what you are telling us.’ Joan looked steadily and unsmilingly at Glenda, hoping that the woman would take heed of the warning in her glance.
Glenda shook her head. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ she said, giving a nervous little laugh. ‘I admit we’re friendly, Simon and me, but I wouldn’t dream of …’ She didn’t complete the remark, and there was a hint of wariness, almost guilt, in her eyes. She turned abruptly and marched away down the path to the gate.
‘Well, I think she’s got the message all right,’ said Ethel. ‘There was guilt written all over her face, though she tried to deny it. Thank you for supporting me, Joan. Let’s hope she realizes that we won’t put up with her philandering any longer. It would be best for all of us if she decided to clear off … Ah, here’s my husband, at last. You’ve been a long time,’ she said, turning to Arthur as he joined them on the path.
‘Sorry, my dear,’ he said. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve just been having a word with Gilbert about … er, well … about that little matter that you mentioned to me. He says he’d already decided to go round to the rectory in the morning to have a quiet word with Simon, and he’s asked me to go with him.’
‘Well now, fancy that!’ said Ethel, with a triumphant smile. ‘You’ve seen sense at last, Arthur. And I’ve got news for you an’ all. Just wait till I tell you!’ She turned to Joan. ‘Goodnight, Mrs Tweedale. ‘We’ll just wait and see now, won’t we?’
‘Yes … so we will. Goodnight, Mrs Bayliss; goodnight, Arthur,’ said Joan. Her own husband, Henry, was just leaving the church; he was always one of the last to leave after tidying up the music and putting the organ ‘to bed’. She smiled at him. ‘Yes, I’m still here. I’ve been chatting.’ She was usually home by now to make him a cup of tea. ‘Come along; let’s go and get the kettle on.’
When Simon answered the knock on his door at ten o’clock on Monday morning he found his curate and one of the churchwardens standing there.
‘Ah, a deputation, is it?’ he commented, smiling enquiringly at them. ‘Come along in, Gilbert, Arthur … we’ll go into the study. Actually, it’s pandemonium here this morning. Our helper, Glenda Forbes, hasn’t turned up, and she hasn’t sent any message either. I’ve been looking after the triplets whilst Fiona took Stella to nursery school. And now she’s got all three of them in the sitting room, playing a game, and I expect they’ll be watching something on the TV soon.’
He saw the two men exchange a knowing sort of glance as he ushered them into his study. ‘Why? Do you know anything about Glenda?’ he asked. She was living with Gilbert and Norma, so surely his curate would know something about her unexplained absence.
‘No … I don’t know where she is,’ replied Gilbert, looking mystified. ‘She left the house at the usual time, as though she was coming here. As a matter of fact, Simon, that’s the reason that we’ve come here, Arthur and I, to talk to you about Glenda.’
Simon sat down, not behind his desk, which he felt would look too formal, but in one of the extra chairs that were there for visitors. Arthur sat in the only armchair, the other two men regarding it as his privilege as the senior one.
‘Glenda … yes; I think I can guess what you’re going to say,’ Simon began, steepling his fingers and looking down at them thoughtfully. ‘I’ve been concerned myself but I didn’t really know what to do about it.’
‘You mean about her overfriendliness?’ Gilbert ventured. ‘Arthur and I, we thought it was time we said something about the way she tries to monopolize you; because people are starting to notice and talk about it.’
‘Quite so,’ replied Simon. ‘It’s getting embarrassing to me, and it’s causing friction with Fiona, although she’s never broached the subject with me. And I haven’t mentioned it to her – to Fiona, I mean – because I didn’t want to make an issue of it. I try to tell myself that it is an occupational hazard.’ He smiled. ‘You know how some women like to fuss around those of us who wear our collars back to front. It happened to me before, when my first wife died. Then I met Fiona …’ He looked steadily at the other two men.
‘Fiona is a wonderful woman, and I love her just as much now as I ever did. She means all the world to me, and I would never look at anyone else. Actually, it was getting to the stage when I knew I would have to say something to Glenda, but I had no idea how to go about it.’
‘She hasn’t … er … propositioned you, Simon, has she?’ asked Arthur Bayliss, a little tentatively.
Simon smiled. ‘No, she hasn’t, not directly. She’s commented on how well we get on together, and how nice it is to have someone to talk to. That’s all. So, where do you think she is now? Could it have something to do with … all this?’
‘More than likely,’ said Gilbert. ‘You see, Simon, Norma and I had decided it was time to do something. I told Norma at first that it was up to her – Glenda’s her sister – but she didn’t want an out and out row with her. Glenda has a fearsome temper when she’s roused. To be honest with you, she has done this sort of thing before. At th
e church we all attended in Sheffield, she took a fancy to the organist; in fact they were having an affair until his wife found out.’
‘And you have waited till now to tell me?’ Simon was more bewildered than annoyed. ‘It might have helped if I had known about her fondness for men! To be forewarned is to be forearmed, so to speak.’
‘Yes, I know. I’m really sorry now, Simon. But Norma and I really thought she had changed and learnt her lesson. There was a dreadful row, and the organist went back to his wife. Well, he’d never left her; he was just led astray, I suppose. We never dreamt she’d try the same thing here. Anyway, I told Norma I’d come and see you myself. I asked Arthur last night if he would come with me.’
‘And I said that I would.’ Arthur took up the story now. ‘Then, when we came out of church we found that my wife and Joan Tweedale had been having a confab together,’ he chuckled. ‘And it turned out that Ethel had already tackled Glenda and given her a piece of her mind.’
‘As only your good lady can do,’ observed Simon with a chuckle.
‘Aye, my missus can pack a mighty punch,’ said Arthur, ‘metaphorically speaking, of course. So maybe Glenda’s got the message. Ethel said she was all hoity-toity about it, denying it all; but maybe she’s thought better about it and decided to call it a day.’
‘But we don’t know where she is, do we?’ said Gilbert. ‘She didn’t say anything to Norma and me. Like I said, she left the house at the same time. I’d better get back and see if Norma has heard anything from her.’
‘Yes, and I’ll get along as well,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m sorry about all this trouble. It must have been a real nightmare for you, Simon. Of course we know that you’re not to be blamed at all … except, perhaps, that you’re too kindly disposed towards people, always trying to see their good side and not the worst. But that’s what you’re supposed to do, isn’t it? To set an example to us all.’
Old Friends, New Friends Page 15
