‘I like the idea of aromatherapy,’ said Angie, ‘all relaxing and that. With my three boys I need to relax more. Are you all set up?’
Jenny sipped her coffee. ‘Not yet. I’ll let you know. Have you heard of the name Sweetapple before? I’m supposed to have relatives in a village nearby. Dereham Magna, I think it’s called. They say my grandparents came from there.’
Wryly Grandmama answered, ‘You’re a bit late to be looking up relatives. The village disappeared after the Plague, something like six hundred years ago.’
Jenny looked uncomfortable and rapidly changed the subject. ‘Oh. Well, I’ll just catch the Post Office while there’s no queue.’ She dropped her empty paper cup in the basket but it missed by a mile.
Grandmama raised her eyebrows at Angie, got up and cleared up the mess Jenny had left behind. Scathingly she commented, ‘Some people have been dragged up not brought up.’
Jenny left with a bundle of notes.
‘She’s on benefit. How are they managing to buy their own house? Lucky them.’ Angie went to do her shopping.
Grandmama carefully placed her empty cup in the waste basket, chose her welcome-to-your-new-home cards, paid for them and went home to Harriet, then remembered she wouldn’t be in all day and recollected she’d intended to go home to pick up a few things. She tutted at her forgetfulness and sat down to watch morning TV before deciding it was a load of rubbish. Who in their right mind wanted mauve walls and lime green curtains with some dried twigs stuck in a vase and three squares of blue paint pretending to be pictures in their sitting room, or had they called it a lounge? She shuddered, closed her eyes and fell asleep thinking about the odd expression that Jenny had on her face when she’d said her name.
Later in the day she went back into the Store to find Harriet to ask if there was anything she could be doing towards their evening meal. A thin, and to her mind, wimpish man, was standing dithering about, obviously unable to make up his mind what to buy out of the desserts freezer, so she went across to offer him help.
‘Good afternoon. Can I help at all? You seem to be at a loss.’
‘Oh! Trying to decide what to buy. Jenny usually does this kind of thing, she’s so particular, you see.’
‘I can imagine. It’s a pudding you want?’
‘Well, yes. I’ll take this.’ He hoisted a great party-size cheesecake out and placed it in his basket.
‘You must be Jenny’s husband, then? How do you do, Mr Sweetapple? I met Jenny earlier. I hope you’ll be happy living here. And you? What do you do for a living?’
‘I’m in social work. My name’s Andy Moorhouse.’ He offered to shake hands. ‘And you’re …
‘Mrs Charter-Plackett.’
His head went back and then dropped right forward. He repeated the name, twice. It appeared to ring bells with him and she waited for him to say something but he didn’t.
‘Yes, that’s right. My son owns this place.’ She waved her hand around. ‘It’s excellent, isn’t it, for a Village Store?’
‘It is indeed.’
She pointed at his cheesecake. ‘Don’t you think that’s a little large for two? There is a smaller size.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’ But he didn’t change it.
At this moment Jimbo came out from the back carrying a crate of oranges and began stacking them on the green grocery display. While his back was turned to the till, Andy Moorhouse scuttled off to pay for his outsize cheesecake and disappeared on winged feet. The Store bell scarcely stirred as he slipped out.
What a curious man, all kind of slippery and unfathomable. She really didn’t care for him at all. He looked as though he needed a good scrub down with a bar of carbolic soap followed by a large plate of dumpling stew. For the second time that day she shuddered. Andy Moorhouse? Then he wasn’t married to Jenny, was he? Now that she really didn’t agree with. Just one great big con to get his meals made and his socks washed without any obligation of any kind. No doubt they declared their love for each other and agreed they were so special there was no need for a piece of paper to seal their bond. But life had taught her that wasn’t always how it worked. She disliked him even more.
*
Andy slipped home with his cheesecake, cutting across the Green without for one moment considering the wet grass and that place where the ground went very soggy with water from a drain which didn’t merit any attention from the council. In any case, that patch had been soggy for eighty years that they knew of.
Jenny shrieked, ‘We’re not made of money, whatever made you buy one as big as that? Here, give it to me.’ She snatched it from him, speedily slashed and hacked it in half and then half again, wrapped three-quarters of it in clingfilm and banged it in the freezer. The remaining piece was thrown on a plate to thaw. ‘Shan’t send you shopping again, mark my words I won’t.’
Andy ignored her. He picked up the newspaper and sat down in front of the fire to read it.
‘Well, cat got your tongue?’
He gave the paper a shake, a significant kind of shake, and flicked her a mysterious look over the top of it. She snatched it from him and asked, ‘You’ve got news. I can tell. What is it?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out.’
She began tickling him mercilessly, till he was rolling about in the chair incapable of avoiding her slender fingers with their long, square nails.
‘All right, all right! Stop it. Stop it!’
Breathless, Jenny flung herself down in the chair opposite him, caught a stray lock which had escaped the chignon and said, ‘Well, spill the beans.’
At this moment the doorbell rang and Jenny got up to see who it was, but the door had already opened and a face was looking round the door calling out, ‘It’s Caroline Harris, come to welcome you.’
‘Oh! Please, do come in.’
‘I live next door and thought I should pop in to make myself known. I’ve brought a cake. I didn’t make it, Sylvia did; she helps me. I do hope you haven’t got allergies or anything and can’t eat cake.’ Caroline smiled so fetchingly that Jenny was quite bowled over.
‘We both love cake. Thank you very much indeed. Andy! We’ve been given a cake. A sponge, I think, your favourite. I’m not much good at baking cakes, so it will be a nice change for Andy.’ That stray lock of hair fell down again and while she attended to it she sat the cake on top of a great pile of books stacked on the hall table. ‘Andy!’ This time she shrieked his name.
Andy appeared, dishevelled and still breathless from their tickling session. He held out his hand for Caroline to shake. Which she did and then, Jenny noticed, surreptitiously wiped her hand on the side of her skirt. That angered her.
‘So what do you do to justify your existence … Caroline, is it?’
‘Yes, that’s right. At the moment nothing except look after my twins. But I am actually a doctor and will be back at work when I’m able.’
‘How old are the twins?’
‘Beth and Alex are thirteen.’
Jenny noticed Caroline beginning to look defensive. ‘They need you at home, do they, at their age?’
‘For the moment, yes.’ Caroline began to make her exit. ‘I hope you enjoy the cake, Sylvia’s well known for her baking. I’ll see you around, then. Bye-bye Jenny, Bye, Andy.’ The smile Caroline gave them both was pleasing, but it made Jenny’s resentment mount.
‘Lady Bountiful! Didn’t even make the cake herself. Who does she think she is?’
Andy, rather taken with Caroline’s manner, said, ‘Hush up. She was only trying to be friendly in the best way she knew. She’s a lady, believe it or not, which you won’t recognize being as you’re not one.’
Jenny playfully lashed out at him with her foot and kicked his ankle. ‘Doctor indeed. I bet. Didn’t mention her husband, did she? Maybe he’s given up on her toffee-nosed attitude and done a bunk.’
‘Then again, maybe not. So I still haven’t told you about what happened in the Store. Go on, then,’ Andy settled
himself in his chair and pointed at Jenny. ‘Sit down.’
Jenny took a tube of moisturiser from the mantelpiece and began idly spreading it over her arms and hands, rubbing it in with practised sensual fingers, ignoring Andy. Then she began on her legs, smoothing the cream on almost to the tops of her thighs. It was only when he said ‘… got away with it because she withdrew her accusation before it came to court. But I know for a fact she was paid off because she gave me my commission.’
Jenny’s ears pricked up. ‘Paid off for what?’
‘For what she said he’d done.’
Jenny screwed the cap back on the bottle. ‘But what had he done?’
‘What do you think?’
She hadn’t been listening, her mind occupied with her limbs, so she said what appeared appropriate. ‘No!’
‘But yes. Vowed it wasn’t what she said it was and with her withdrawing her accusation he got off scot-free. He won’t want that story getting round the village, will he now? Not well-placed Mr Jimbo Charter-Plackett.’
‘I met his mother this morning. I thought the name meant something but I couldn’t think what. You must have mentioned him to me before.’
‘Quite likely I did.’
‘What I don’t understand is how you know him.’
‘I told you, but you were so busy rubbing that stuff on yourself you weren’t listening. When he was at college in Cambridge. I was a college servant.’
‘Oh, I see. So you heard it all?’
‘Exactly. The servants talked of nothing else for a whole week. All the domestic staff were involved in one way or another, turning a blind eye to what went on, that kind of thing. What a coincidence though, us coming here and meeting up with him after all these years, right out of the blue. Thing is, can we turn this to our advantage?’
‘Did he recognize you?’
Andy shook his head. ‘Didn’t get a good look at me. Anyway, he wouldn’t remember a college servant, not he. Oh, no. Far too superior. There must be ways of making him squeal. I’ll think about it.’
Andy tapped the side of his nose and gave Jenny a slow conspiratorial smile. He’d make that Jimbo squeal and not half. It might be thirty years since he’d last seen Jimbo but he was as vivid in his mind today as he had been all that time ago. Put on a bit of weight, he had, but he knew him. Oh, yes, he knew him. What was the name of the girl involved? He ought to know because he’d come out of it very well indeed. The money he’d got from her kept him going for a while after he’d been dismissed. Fiona, that was it. Yes. Andy began to plan his approach. There might be more money in this than he could ever have dreamed of.
Chapter 4
Caroline had gone back to the Rectory feeling she hadn’t handled Jenny’s antagonistic attitude very well at all. Well, she’d more important things to think about right now. This was yet another day when Beth had not managed to go to school. Alex, quiet and self-absorbed as he was, trundled off to school as though he were glad to get away from the house, whereas Beth daren’t leave it. What the hell had happened when they were missing in the African bush those six long weeks?
Sylvia came later in the morning now so it was up to Caroline to get some breakfast ready for Beth. She’d no idea if she was still asleep, as she’d allowed Beth to awake in her own time ever since they got back. Disturbing her too early could bring on one of her terrified screaming fits and Caroline, quite frankly, had had enough of those. Alex could calm Beth down but she couldn’t.
But she’d decided this morning that she would take her breakfast up to her, wake her gently and see what happened.
Caroline called to her as she climbed the stairs with her tray, ‘Beth, darling, breakfast coming up. Are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ came the reply.
They met on the landing.
‘Loo first, won’t be a minute.’
Caroline put the tray down on Beth’s desk in the window and poured the tea while she waited. Having brought up an extra cup for herself, she sat down on the end of the bed and took a sip. What was it about tea that was so comforting? You didn’t even have to wait until it had gone down before you felt the benefit. Beth came back in and sat at her desk, looking at her breakfast.
‘This is nice. You and me drinking tea. I missed a cup of tea.’
‘Well, you can have as many cups of tea as you like now, for ever and ever.’
Beth looked out over the garden. ‘I love this view, your garden, then the Rectory meadow, then the wood and if it’s winter you can just see the redbrick of Turnham House.’
‘It is lovely. It’s your garden as well as mine, you know, you’ve always worked in it with me.’
‘This toast is very tasty. It’s just right.’
Beth had developed this annoying habit of never answering anything directly. It was like two conversations going on at the same time.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘Alex gone to school?’
‘Yes.’
‘One day, not yet, I’ll go to school.’
‘Good, only when you’re ready … Are you able to tell me yet what makes you wake screaming in the night?’
Beth’s knife clattered onto the plate and she shuddered.
‘It’s all right, darling. If you can’t, don’t worry.’
‘I wish Dad was here.’
‘So do I, but he isn’t and won’t be till next July.’
‘I need him here.’
‘He can’t help it. He has a vocation, a personal vow to God, and we can’t go against that. He gave his word to work at the mission for a whole year. He saw us safe home, so now he’s gone back. They’ll all be so grateful he’s returned.’
‘Why didn’t you ask him to stay?’
‘Because it would tear at his heart if I did and I wouldn’t want to do that. Don’t think he’ll have forgotten about us, because he won’t. We’ll be in his prayers every single day.’
Beth finished her cup of tea and got back into bed. ‘I’m going to sleep for a while. It’s not the same as having him here every day. I could go in his study and tell him everything right now.’
‘Can you not tell me?’
Beth replied abruptly, ‘No.’
‘Look, would you like me to get someone for you to talk to? A doctor or someone? I know people who could help.’
‘No!’
‘What about Anna? She’ll be in the study soon, it’s almost nine.’
Beth said no again, but more fiercely.
‘OK, I shan’t mention it ever again. But you can, that is, if you want to you can.’
‘I don’t.’
Caroline took the tray downstairs with her and cursed the day Peter had been called to go to the New Hope Mission. She’d gone with him though, gladly and willingly, to get away from the Village because of the one thing which had dominated her life almost from the first week of their arrival: Peter’s unfaithfulness. What kind of a life would she be leading right now if the twins hadn’t come into it she honestly couldn’t imagine. She heard the front door opening and then …
‘It’s only me.’
‘Good morning, Sylvia.’
‘Good morning.’ Sylvia appeared in the kitchen doorway, putting on her apron. ‘How’s things?’ She nodded her head towards the stairs.
‘Beth? Not gone to school, I’m afraid. She wants to talk to Peter, I won’t do.’ Without warning, tears filled Caroline’s eyes.
‘Well, you know what he’s like. Everyone can tell the Rector anything, he just has that way with him. Compassion, you know. Wonderful. He has it in spades. I won’t do her room, then?’
‘I wonder if she might talk to you?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘I doubt it. It must be something very deep-seated. Alex won’t tell either?’
‘No. He’s always kept things to himself and this time he’s even worse. She said last night to me that I mustn’t ask Alex, because he mustn’t tell. She got quite hysterical about it. So I haven’t. But he can’t keep it bo
ttled up for ever. I don’t think it’s just hiding in the bush all that time. I feel sure something happened, that there was an incident of some kind.’
‘One day they will get it out and be all the better for it.’ Sylvia got out her cleaning things, picked up the vacuum and set off up the stairs, dreading talking to Beth in case she did feel like telling her. Whatever must have happened?
But Beth was in the bathroom, taking a shower by the sound of it. Some days she had three or four showers, as though she had to wash something away. It suddenly came to Sylvia’s mind about a film her and Willie watched one Saturday night about a girl who’d been attacked and did just what Beth was doing. Showered and showered time and again. Blamed herself for it happening and trying to wash away her shame.
Sylvia’s blood ran cold. If that was it, if it came out Beth had been attacked, she’d go to Africa herself and find and strangle whoever was responsible with her own bare hands. How dare anyone do anything nasty to her dear Beth. She was such a dear, dear girl.
Beth came out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped turban-wise in a hand towel, a bath towel tucked up around her armpits.
‘Beth, love, how’s things?’
‘No different, thanks.’
‘Get dried and dressed and come in the kitchen for a chat. I’m baking when I’ve done the bathroom. You could help me, like you used to do.’
The reply lacked enthusiasm but Beth agreed to help.
They spent a happy hour in the kitchen together making cakes, in particular Farmhouse Delight, which Alex loved, and a lemon curd cake, which was Beth’s favourite. Surprisingly, Beth actually stayed long enough to help clear up, even so far as to scrape out the bowl with her finger like she’d always done.
‘I’m going to lie down now on the sofa. Thanks for letting me help.’
‘The pleasure was all mine. Willie and me think of you as our grandchildren, did you know? We’ve been so upset about you being missing, imagined all sorts of things, but now we can thank God you’re both home and safe. Do you feel grateful?’
Beth, her hand on the kitchen door knob, turned to say, ‘Not yet. But perhaps I should be.’
A Village Feud Page 4
