Hidden Treasures

by Fern Britton

  The main box office was Queenie’s shop. No one, not even passing strangers who popped in to ask directions, could get out of the shop without buying tickets. A photograph of Queenie perched behind her till in a gay chiffon hat appeared on the front page of the Trevay Times, the local free newspaper, under the headline RIGHT ROYAL VARIETY SHOW. ‘Queenie of the box office’ read the caption. Helen got a copy laminated and Blu-tacked it on to the shop door.

  ‘’Ere, duck …’ Queenie beckoned Helen over once they’d admired her work. ‘Do ya fink that naughty boy Simon Cowell could send us a photo and a few words of luck for the programme?’

  ‘Brilliant idea! I’ll see if Penny knows somebody who knows somebody. Don’t hold your breath though. It’s a long shot.’

  But to everyone’s surprise a photo and message from Simon Cowell arrived within the week. The photo wasn’t signed, much to Queenie’s disappointment, but the message read: Good luck with your talent show. Send me the winner. Yours, Simon Cowell. It was duly Blu-tacked to the shop door alongside Queenie’s photo.

  In the end there were ten acts. The Trevay Lifeboat Choir, the Women’s Institute Folk Singers, an all-girl pop band called The Ravers, Don doing his Elvis in Vegas act, a magician, Polly reading Alfred Noyes’ ‘The Highwayman’, Pete giving a demonstration of CPR, the Brownies performing a Christmas dance, a muscle man, and Tony singing ‘Walking in the Air’.

  *

  As the big day drew nearer, Helen sat at her desk one night and scratched her head. It wasn’t easy, deciding the running order. Where, for instance could you put the CPR demo? She toyed with the idea of putting it second to last before the interval. Maybe after the muscle man and before the Brownies. But who to give the opening spot to? And the closing spot? Helen sighed. Why on earth had she ever agreed to get involved? She must have been mad.

  18

  ‘Queenie, meet my oldest friend, Penny. Penny, this is the wonderful Queenie.’

  November had passed quickly and before Helen knew it, December had come around and Penny had arrived with her team to prepare for filming.

  Now Helen watched as Penny’s face absorbed the wondrous innards of the village shop. Queenie put down her copy of Gossip mag and turned her beady eyes at the newcomer.

  ‘You’re the one what’s working on the telly, are you? Let me ’ave a proper look at ya.’

  Penny gave a little twirl, rather pleased with her new Ugg leather biker boots, black mini dress, opaque tights and Alexander McQueen black-and-white skull motif scarf. This was her ‘country’ look.

  ‘Oh my gawd, yes. I can see as you’re in the telly. No doubt.’

  ‘Penny is here with her team to decide where the filming will happen.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘About four weeks I think,’ said Penny, who was now browsing the shelves.

  ‘I didn’t say ’ow long, I said ’ow much? What will I get if you use my shop for filming?’

  Penny turned to Helen. ‘You were right, Helen. She’s not a sweet old lady at all!’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m glad we’ve got that sorted out. ’Ow was Simon Cowell when you spoke to him?’

  ‘I didn’t actually get to speak to him. He’s in America, but an old mate of mine works for his company, which is how I got the photo and message. I saw it on the door. Has it boosted ticket sales?’

  ‘I’ve just got the last twenty or so to go and then it’ll be standing-room only.’ Another thought crossed Queenie’s mind. ‘’Oo’s goin to be on this telly programme then? Could you get one of them to ’elp out?’

  ‘It’s all top secret at the moment, so I can’t say. But we do have our fingers crossed for a very big name.’

  ‘Do you?’ asked Helen. ‘You haven’t told me!’

  ‘Well, she’s got a big movie lined up and is just trying to see if she can squeeze us in. We’ll know next week.’

  ‘You’re talking about Dame Judi Dench.’ Queenie folded her magazine and put it back in the rack.

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Penny, shocked.

  ‘I read the magazines. There was a rumour in the Scoundrel column. She can’t make it ’cos of previous commitments.’

  ‘When did you find this out?’

  ‘This morning. Take a look.’ She passed the magazine to Penny.

  ‘Bloody hell! How did this get out without me being told first?’ Penny dug in her bag for her BlackBerry. ‘No bloody signal.’

  Queenie gave one of her crackly laughs with a bit of a cough at the end, and then said, ‘So, ladies, ready to talk business?’

  *

  It was agreed that Jonathan the location manager and Marie, the production designer, would meet Queenie that afternoon and discuss terms for using her shop in the filming.

  Slipping her a twenty-pound note, Penny said, ‘Maybe you’d be kind enough to tell everybody who comes in here what we’re doing, Queenie. It’ll save us having to keep explaining.’

  Queenie tapped the side of her nose, ‘Right you are.’ And the twenty-pound note disappeared into her cleavage.

  *

  Jonathan and Marie were ambling about on the green when the two women came out of the shop.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Penny called as she approached them.

  ‘Lovely spot. Pity about the post-war council houses, but that could be to our advantage.’ Jonathan shaded his eyes with his hand and looked at the row of neat houses. ‘Marie has an idea.’

  ‘Yes. I think we could screen them out with a false wall, and make that the main St Brewey High Street. Our scenic artists will draw up life-size paintings of the bank, Mr Timm’s house next door, and anything else we need. By the time my team have got flowers and trees growing up outside, curtains at the windows, knockers at the doors and rolled out a rubber pavement to walk on, you’d never know it was a complete fabrication. It will be like stepping back in time.’ Marie had won umpteen awards, including two BAFTAs and an Oscar nomination, so she knew what she was talking about.

  ‘Brilliant.’ Penny turned to Jonathan. ‘How are all our filming permits and permissions coming along? Have we got the go-ahead for using Pendruggan and Trevay?’

  ‘So far so good. The local council are being very helpful.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’ll leave you to it. Helen and I have to pay a visit to a friend. Come on, Helen.’

  She took Helen’s arm and steered her over the green towards the vicarage. ‘I must make my apologies to Simon before I turn his village into a living hell.’

  *

  Simon’s beaming smile as he saw Helen at the door dropped the moment he saw Penny. But he ushered them both in and, remembering his manners, offered tea or sherry. ‘I’m sorry I don’t have anything more exciting for you, Penny. I have very naïve taste in alcohol.’

  Penny had the decency to burn at the reminder of how rude she’d been to him the last time they had met.

  ‘A sherry would be lovely, Simon.’ She smiled and then rushed on: ‘Simon, I owe you a big, fat apology. I was rude and dismissive of you last time we met. I feel ashamed and hope you will accept my apology.’

  Simon handed her the sherry glass and looked into her face, which he now noticed was rather attractive. Sincerity shone from her eyes and he couldn’t detect any smirking in her plump, smiling lips at all. Eventually he replied, ‘You have nothing to apologise for. Any friend of Helen’s is a friend of mine.’

  He raised his glass to her and she replied, ‘And vice versa,’ before tipping the drink into her mouth.

  *

  Over the next few days the villagers got used to Jonathan and Marie taking photos and measurements of Pendruggan. At first the council house residents were not too happy at having their homes hidden away, but when they understood that they’d have a prime view of back-stage goings on, they felt they had a better deal than anybody. All the catering vans, wardrobe trailers and make-up trucks would be between their front doors and the false wall.

  Jonathan promised that he would give them all
a full tour before the actors arrived, on the strict understanding that when filming started they wouldn’t bother them.

  The day before the ‘Pendruggan’s Got Talent’ show, the Holy Trinity flower ladies were busy with the final tweaks to the church decor. Marie, taking a wander inside, admired the sprays of red carnations and holly decorating the altar, and the arch of spruce branches being secured around the porch.

  ‘I think it’s wonderful, girls!’ she told them. ‘Would you mind if I came back later and had a little fiddle?’

  The ladies’ eyes turned in unison to their leader, Audrey Tipton. Audrey NEVER allowed ANYONE to ‘have a fiddle’ with her designs. EVER.

  After a longish pause, Audrey said, ‘Well, if you think you can add anything, then do help yourself.’

  There was a collective outward breath.

  ‘Great. You can come back tomorrow, but not before noon. OK?’

  Grudgingly, Audrey gave Marie the old church key and said, ‘Noon tomorrow it is.’ She waited until Marie was walking away before whispering to her sidekick, Angela, ‘That’ll give us just enough time to make it all right again.’

  *

  What they saw the next day brought tears to their eyes. Even Audrey’s. The church had been transformed. Marie had fixed thousands of fairy lights into the spruce branches round the porch and added at least two dozen candlelit lanterns with candles to line the path from the church gate to the building itself. Inside, she and Jonathan had rigged a red plush velvet proscenium arch to mark the boundary between nave and chancel, or, as it was now, auditorium and stage. On the back wall, the altar was hidden by a vast black curtain with a sign saying PENDRUGGAN’S GOT TALENT picked out in chasing lights. A low black Perspex table had been placed in front of the steps leading to the chancel with three silver chairs behind it, ready for the judges. Every pew-end had fairy lights wound round it, and the pulpit, in which the show’s compère Mr Audrey Tipton, otherwise known as Geoff, would sit, was swathed and tented in a light sparkly cloth that made it look like an icy snow queen’s balcony. The sprays of carnations and holly were still near the altar, but now they rested on white Doric columns which, again, were covered in fairy lights, and from the roof hung an enormous mirror ball. It looked incredible.

  ‘I had it all sent down overnight from the props store. Hope you don’t mind. The glitter ball is an old one from Strictly Come Dancing. Watch!’

  Marie went into the vestry and a moment later the main lights went out and a single spotlight fell on to the motor-driven twirling mirror ball. The church danced in the refracted light and the fairy lights twinkled with mischief. A gasp went up from the flower ladies.

  Marie reappeared from behind the vestry curtain. ‘Well? Do you like it?’

  *

  There was one last Christmas surprise that Jonathan had rigged up with the help of a couple of farm hands: a Christmas tree in the middle of the green covered in large multicoloured lights. ‘It’s the least we can do for the chaos we are going to wreak on you in the coming weeks.’ He and Marie hugged everybody goodbye, then set off for London.

  Penny, Simon and Helen walked back to the vicarage for a last check on the arrangements.

  ‘What does the winner of the show get?’ asked Penny, stirring sugar into her tea.

  ‘A fifty-pound Marks & Spencer’s voucher, and dinner for two at the Dolphin,’ said Helen, flopping into one of Simon’s old armchairs.

  ‘How about that as second prize and first prize could be a proper walk-on part in the filming? No speaking, probably, but a good close-up? I’ll pull some strings!’

  ‘That’s a fabulous idea,’ agreed Helen. ‘You’re a genius!’

  19

  The show was due to start at 7.30 p.m. with doors opening half an hour before. The WI ladies who weren’t performing were setting up refreshments at the back of the church. Mulled wine, tea, coffee and mince pies. Simon had arranged to meet Penny and Helen in the vestry at 6.45 p.m. They couldn’t meet at the vicarage because the whole of the downstairs was being used as a dressing room for the artistes. Queenie was rubbing baby oil liberally into the muscle man’s thighs, and a couple of Brownies, dressed as sprites, were delving into the magician’s suitcase looking for rabbits. Simon had quietly slipped out the back door and left them to it.

  Nipping across his garden and into the churchyard, he gave the clear frosty night sky a nod and said a silent prayer. Thank you Lord for this wonderful night. Amen. PS Thank you for sending Helen to me.

  *

  When he arrived, Helen and Penny were warming their bums on the little fan heater in the vestry.

  ‘I don’t know whether it’s the night air or nerves making me shiver so much,’ said Penny, rubbing her palms together vigorously.

  ‘You? Nervous? Never in my life have I heard you admit to nerves.’ Helen smiled at her.

  ‘I have a little something in my pocket, if you’re interested, ladies.’

  ‘Now, now, Vicar, you are a one!’ teased Penny.

  Simon looked at her innocently, ‘It’s just a little stiffener, as my father would say.’

  Penny sniggered, ‘Said the bishop to the actress.’

  ‘Ignore my puerile friend. What is it?’

  Simon pulled out a hip flask. ‘Cherry brandy. Seemed suitably festive.’

  All three took a grateful swig and Penny apologised for her lewdness.

  ‘I’m getting used to it,’ said Simon with a sigh.

  Just then the compère, Mr Audrey Tipton, bustled through the curtain separating the vestry from the church. He gave off rather a strong odour of mulled wine.

  ‘It’s a good turnout, vicar. Almost everybody’s here. Queenie’s settled in her seat and getting impatient. What’s the MO?’

  ‘Thanks, Geoff. We’ll give it another five minutes and then I’ll go out, make a welcome speech, and introduce our guest of honour, Miss Leighton.’ Penny reached out to shake Geoff’s large hand. ‘Then I’ll introduce you, and it’s all in your hands.’

  ‘Ideal. You put a copy of the running order in the pulpit, did you, Mrs Merrifield?’

  ‘Yes. It’s all there, with a little jug of water and a glass if you need it.’

  He swept back out into the church. The back door to the churchyard opened, letting in a gust of frosty air, and Polly and the magician came in. ‘Everybody’s ready,’ she whispered. ‘They’re coming over at timed five-minute intervals like you said, Helen.’

  ‘Excellent! Thanks.’

  They all waited in the wings until the dot of 7.30 p.m., and then Simon stepped out to warm applause.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to “Pendruggan’s Got Talent”!’ He paused to allow the cheers and a couple of catcalls to die down. ‘Each year our village entertainment astonishes me with the richness of its talent …’

  He was stalled momentarily by cries of, ‘Get on with it, vicar!’

  ‘… And so, tonight I am indebted to my close friend Helen Merrifield …’ This was greeted by a collective cry of ‘Ooooh, vicar!’ from the audience, but Simon ploughed on: ‘… who has managed to engage a leading television producer to join Queenie and myself on the judging panel. Please put your hands together and give a warm Pendruggan welcome to Miss Penny Leighton!’ Penny stepped through the curtain to several wolf whistles and cheers. She waved to the crowd, blew a couple of theatrical kisses, and then took her seat next to Queenie.

  ‘And now,’ continued Simon, ‘as I take my seat at the judges’ table, I leave you in the capable hands of Mr Geoff Tipton!’

  This was Helen’s cue to turn on the mirror ball and dim the main church lights. As she did so, she could hear Geoff walking up the pulpit steps.

  What she couldn’t see, but what she was told later, was that Geoff made his way unsteadily up the steps with his glasses sitting unevenly on his wine-pinkened face. As he got to the top step, he put a hand up to adjust his specs but misjudged their position and knocked them to the floor. Bending down to retrieve
them, he hit his nose hard on the brass lectern. When he stood up again, his nose was bleeding profusely.

  ‘Geoff!’ shouted Audrey, leaping from her seat, but Polly was already through the curtain and beat her to it. With swift efficiency she checked Geoff over and was calling for ice while trying to staunch the flow.

  Simon stood up and, as loudly as he could over the hubbub, asked for a twenty-minute pause in proceedings.

  The WI ladies were going to get through a lot of mulled wine tonight.

  *

  Polly got Geoff mopped up enough for him to be taken off to Casualty by Pete, who insisted the show should go ahead without the benefit of his CPR demo. But as one problem was solved for Helen, another presented itself: Who would compère the show?

  To her consternation, she saw Simon stride purposefully towards her with Piran at his elbow.

  ‘Helen, I have asked Piran to step into Geoff’s shoes and he’s agreed to do it!’

  ‘Reluctantly.’ Piran gave Helen a glower. ‘And only because Simon’s in a tight spot and he knows I’m a safe pair of hands.’

  Conceited bastard, thought Helen, but what she said was, ‘How kind of you. The running order is in the pulpit, on the lectern. There shouldn’t be too much blood on it,’ she added sarcastically. ‘Obviously, skip Pete’s CPR demo.’

  ‘Obviously.’ He turned and walked a few feet away to join the woman he’d had dinner with in the Starfish. They had a quiet conversation and then she kissed him on the lips and gave him a hug, looking over his broad shoulder directly at Helen as she did so.

  Yuck, thought Helen. Ghastly man, ghastly woman. But she couldn’t help but feel the hot prickle of something suspiciously like jealousy as she turned away quickly from the sight of their embrace.

  *

  Within ten minutes everybody was back in their seats and Simon had introduced Piran, who was instantly charming the appreciative audience.

  Helen was just tucking her bag under her pew when she became aware of a strong smell of Chanel No. 5 and someone taking the seat next to her. She sat up and was face to face with Piran’s companion, for want of a better word.