‘Glebe House? Who lives there?’
‘Neville Neal.’
‘Neville Neal? As in Church Treasurer?’
‘The very same.’
‘I am appalled. He doesn’t seem like that kind of person at all.’
‘I think his boys, Hugh and Guy, must’ve persuaded him.’
‘But that would mean that the church would appear to be supporting it.’
‘What the blazes is wrong with a pyjama party? All good clean fun.’
‘I remember pyjama parties from when I was at university. Good clean fun was not exactly the aim.’
Jimbo grinned. ‘Well, it will be here, believe me. Neville, and certainly Liz, wouldn’t tolerate anything else.’
‘I still can’t agree to it all. It’s just not on.’
Jimbo leaned confidentially towards her. ‘See here, we all want you to be accepted here. It came as a terrible blow when Peter said they were going to Africa for a year, terrible blow, because we love all four of them and we’re trying so hard to accept you, so please, for your own sake, don’t object. All it will do is alienate you, and I’m sure you won’t want that.’
‘I see.’
‘They’ve been known in the past to do strange things, collectively, when matters are not going right for the village. Harriet and I have lived here fifteen years – or is it sixteen? – so we don’t get these weird feelings, not like the real villagers do. I’m warning you to keep a low profile about this, well, if you’ve any sense, that is.’
‘I’ll think about it. My reputation will be in tatters if anything sensational occurs.’
‘Believe me, it will be a nine-day wonder and then forgotten.’ Jimbo didn’t entirely believe this but he had to say something to persuade her to leave the matter alone.
‘Your mother. Which house does she live in?’
‘There’s three cottages actually on the Green and she lives in the one nearest the school. Are you going to see her?’
Anna nodded. ‘Yes. She’s well enough?’
Jimbo said cautiously, ‘Almost better.’ Anna had no idea how formidable his mother could be. He grinned.
When Anna got to Grandmama Charter-Plackett’s, she rang the bell on the smartly glowing bright yellow front door. It was a straightforward buzzing bell with none of the fancy ding-dongs of Sheila’s, and briefly Anna wondered if that was significant. Did one subconsciously choose the doorbell that matched one’s personality?
The door opened and there stood Mrs Charter-Plackett senior. ‘Good morning, Anna.’ She went instantly on the attack. ‘If you’ve come about the Women’s Institute plans, I’m all for it.’
Meekly Anna said, ‘I’ve come for a talk.’ She weighed up this tall, well-built woman who had great dignity – even though she was still wearing her impressive dressing gown at half past eleven in the morning – and decided that softly, softly was the best approach. ‘Thought I would like to hear your opinions about the plans.’
‘Come in. I’ve got Sylvia giving me a hand till I’m properly better.’
Sylvia emerged from the kitchen, china cup and saucer in her hand. ‘Good morning, Anna. Here’s your coffee, Katherine.’
‘Thank you. Would you be so kind as to make one for the rector, Sylvia?’
Sylvia smiled sweetly but, without the slightest hint of apology in her voice, answered, ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t time. Got to go. Same time tomorrow?’
‘Yes, please.’ Mrs Charter-Plackett watched Sylvia go out through the front door and made a note to speak to her about her reasons for acting so out of character. ‘Please sit down. Can I get you a coffee?’
Anna checked her watch. ‘No thanks. Got things to do and I’ve someone to pick up in Culworth within the hour. It’s about these bold, if not downright raunchy plans the W.I. have cooked up. I think they’ve gone a mite too far.’
‘For heaven’s sake! A “mite too far” nowadays? In my opinion there’s nothing wrong with their plans at all. I’m delighted. And think of Peter with money to spend on his church. Hymn books, equipment for the Sunday School, altar furniture, a piano or possibly an organ – my good lord, Peter’ll be delighted. We’re millionaires in comparison with those poor people. Millionaires!’
‘I know,’ Anna could feel her opposition melting away, ‘but it just doesn’t seem right somehow.’
‘And there was I thinking you were “cool”, as my grandchildren would say.’
‘I am but—’
‘Then fall in with their plans, my dear. It’s by far the safest thing to do if you want to survive.’
The doorbell buzzed again and they heard Muriel open the door and call out, ‘Are you ready for visitors?’
‘Come in, Muriel.’
Muriel appeared, carrying a cake well wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘I’ve brought you a cake, Katherine. So handy for filling a little corner when your appetite isn’t up to par. Good morning, Anna, and how are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. We’re just discussing these ideas the W.I. have come up with. Have you heard about them?’
‘Oh yes. I was there.’
Anna said she thought the vote was unanimous.
‘It was.’
‘So you agree?’
Muriel nodded. ‘Yes. I thought it was just what was needed. Something daring, you know. Otherwise fundraising gets tedious, doesn’t it? The same familiar things and you begin to lose heart before you’ve even started. Yes, I agreed wholeheartedly.’
‘And Sir Ralph?’
Muriel hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Oh! yes, he’s all right about it.’
Mrs Charter-Plackett said, ‘Muriel, is that true?’
‘Of course. I wouldn’t say so if he didn’t agree. I’ll be going now. Glad you’re feeling better, Katherine.’
‘Thank you for the cake, Muriel, most kind. I will very easily be tempted to eat a slice at lunchtime.’
When Muriel had closed the door, Grandmama Charter-Plackett said to Anna, ‘There we are, then, there’s your answer: Ralph agrees.’
‘Must go. Thanks for talking to me. Be seeing you. God bless.’
‘And you.’
Mrs Charter-Plackett sat down to enjoy her coffee in peace, luxuriating in the knowledge that this morning her home seemed to be the hub of everything. Three visitors and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet; she was doing well. In fact, she was feeling much better than she had done for over a week. She hated being ill, it made her feel old, when she wasn’t, well, not really. You’re as old as you feel, that’s right. The phone rang.
‘Katherine Charter-Plackett speaking.’
‘Craddock Fitch here. Good morning to you. Feeling better? I understand you’ve been ill, there’s a lot of it about.’
‘Much better, thank you. And you?’
‘In the pink, thanks. About these amazing fundraising activities the W.I. have got themselves involved in – you’re on the committee, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Are you interested in the pyjama party, the midnight skinny-dipping or the hair-dyeing? Don’t tell me you’re putting your name down for dyeing that beautiful white hair of yours?’
‘No, I am not. I’ve had an idea though.’
‘Fire away.’
‘This business of gambling on the L’Arc de Triomphe race in October. How about if I hire a big screen and we all watch it up here at the Big House? Make it a champagne party? I haven’t worked out the details of the gambling side, but Kate suggested everyone dress up in black and white, like that race meeting in My Fair Lady, remember? Add a bit of distinction, wouldn’t it?’
‘There are times, Craddock, when I thoroughly approve of you and this is one of them. Excellent idea.’ She heard Mr Fitch chuckle his approval of her.
‘It is, isn’t it. We’ll have amplifiers as well as the big screen. Can I rely on you to inform the committee? Off to Sweden tonight, but Kate knows the details, she’ll fill you in. I understand Colin Turner down Shepherd’s Hill is a bit of a whizz with studyi
ng form. He might need to have a hand in this. Checking the date and runners and such, placing the bets. Speak to you soon.’
Mrs Charter-Plackett, despite her ill-health, danced around her sofa she was so excited. Yes, indeed. Things got better by the hour. She disliked the man, but there were times when he really did come up trumps. She’d ring Harriet and let her know.
Breathless, she dialled her number, but she wasn’t in, so she rang Sheila instead.
Sheila listened spellbound to Mr Fitch’s plans. ‘I do not like the man, but this is perfect,’ she said. ‘Absolutely perfect. Isn’t it exciting? I never imagined it would take off like this. We are going to have to be so well organized otherwise it will spiral out of control. Will you be at the committee meeting on Friday? … Oh good! Glad you’re feeling better.’
Sheila leaped to her feet, trod on the cat’s tail and, ignoring Tootles’s cries, flung the French windows open and shouted, ‘There’s to be a champagne party at the Big House, Ron. Come in, come in and I’ll tell you all about it. Come on!’
Ron shook off his wellington boots on the terrace, as Sheila called it, padded inside and dropped gratefully into a chair. ‘Well?’
The news was round the village and all outlying districts long before Mr Fitch had boarded his plane for Sweden. By the following morning Sheila was getting phone calls asking for tickets.
‘We don’t know the price and we don’t know the date yet. You’ll have to watch out for the publicity campaign,’ she said each time.
At four o’clock, they stopped answering the phone and Ron put a new message on the answermachine saying just that.
‘We can’t go on like this, Ron. I’m exhausted. What’s it going to be like nearer the day? What have I started?’
‘Something enormous, that’s what, old girl. Enormous. You’ll really be on the map after this.’
Sheila smiled. ‘I will, won’t I?’ She dropped off to sleep, when she’d really intended getting their supper ready, and dreamed of popularity and being the centre of things and having a clipboard to refer to, but then, out of the blue, she was back in that park hunting hysterically for that missing child, the child Louise had asked her to care for. She’d let her down badly. Which brought Louise to mind when she woke. Organization? Who better to ask?
‘Soon as I’ve had supper I’m going to see Louise about all this. She’ll show me how to organize it all.’
‘Wait till she’s got them to bed, you know what it’s like. Total Bedlam.’
‘I could help her to get them to bed, you know. It’s not beyond me.’
‘Very well, you go; I can’t stand it.’
Due to her excitement and the supper going wrong and having to start all over again, instead of getting to Louise’s early to help get the children to bed, she arrived at the cottage just as young Gilbert was saying goodnight.
‘Goodnight, young man, sleep tight.’
‘Say the other bit, Nana.’ A big grin spread over his face and Sheila thought, ‘There’s no wondering who his father is, that’s for sure.’
‘Mind the bugs don’t bite.’
He skipped off to bed, leaving Sheila’s eyes wet with tears. Such a lovely boy, such a happy nature, just like his father.
Louise came downstairs and began ironing.
‘I’ve come for help.’
‘What with?’
‘Where’s Gilbert?’
‘Just gone to a meeting in Culworth.’
‘Doesn’t he work long enough hours as it is?’
‘Yes. He’ll be back soon. Couldn’t avoid it. So, what do you want help with? As if I didn’t know.’
‘You’ve heard then, about what we’ve planned?’
‘It’s difficult not to. They were all on about it at playgroup. I’ve an idea you’ll have more swimmers than you ever imagined and I wouldn’t be surprised if the membership of the W.I. rockets. Who suggested this midnight swim?’
‘Me. Midnight skinny-dipping we’re calling it.’
‘Mother! Who’d believe it? So what do you want me to do?’
Sheila had been watching her banging her way through the ironing and wondered if really she had any right to ask her to do anything at all, apart from keeping her head above water. Then she thought of number six and instead of what she really meant to say she blurted, ‘This new baby, are you pleased?’
‘Gilbert and I both wanted six children, and this is it.’
‘But how will you cope? I mean, six children all to be fed and clothed, in this tiny cottage, too.’
‘Well, you know old Miss Gotobed, she was telling me the other day that she remembers there being ten children in this cottage when she was small.’
‘But they’d no standards then, had they, not like we have today. We all—’
‘I knew you weren’t pleased. But don’t make any suggestions about getting rid of it. I can’t. For me it already exists and it would be murder if I did, so don’t let’s mention it again.’
‘When is it due?’
‘Not quite sure. What with feeding the baby for such a long time, and being so busy, I never really noticed I was pregnant.’
‘It will be the last, will it? I don’t want you getting depressed and doing something silly.’
‘Silly? Is that a euphemism for killing myself?’
Sheila hesitated. ‘Well, yes, that’s what I mean. Yes.’
Louise looked up from the ironing. ‘Gilbert and I know what we are doing. He and I have complete understanding, he’s my rock. Believe me.’
‘I know I’ve never been very good at being frank with you, but I just have the feeling you’re not absolutely all right—’
‘That’s enough. It’s early days and I’m having morning sickness like I’ve never had it before, so I’m not into food at the moment and it’s a bit exhausting, but it will pass.’
‘You’ve never had that before, have you?’
Louise tut-tutted in exasperation. ‘What was it you came to see me about?’
‘Oh yes. How shall I set about organizing all these sponsorship things?’
‘When I’ve finished this ironing, I’ll have a think.’
‘Here, let me finish it and you sit down and think. I can iron where as I can’t think.’
They changed places and Sheila noticed how relieved Louise appeared to have the opportunity to sit down. She can’t pull the wool over my eyes, Sheila thought. She’s worried. She ironed away, admiring the little shirts and frocks, unravelling a bundle of tights, pressing the baby’s pram blanket, which had come out of the tumbler dryer looking too creased to use. She took a great pile of the boys’ socks and paired them up, and when she’d neatly lined them up on top of the pile of ironing, and admired yet again the little frocks on their tiny hangers, she looked up and saw Louise had gone to sleep.
The cup of tea she’d made for her had gone cold before she woke. When she did wake, Sheila made a fresh pot and they sat chatting over organization, lists, codes, coloured stickers and files until Sheila’s mind was awash with confusion.
‘I’ll think about it tomorrow. I’ll go home and you go to bed. It’s almost ten; Gilbert won’t be long. Or would you like me to stay till he gets home?’
Rather too hastily, Louise said no she needn’t. He would be home soon.
For once in her life Sheila said, ‘If there’s anything you need to confide, I shan’t tell Gilbert or your dad. Just between you and me, you know.’ She stood on tiptoe and kissed Louise’s cheek. ‘Don’t forget.’
As Sheila drove down Little Derehams High Street, she spotted Gilbert driving home. They both pulled up and wound down their windows.
Gilbert called out anxiously, ‘Everything all right, Sheila?’
‘Of course. I’ve been getting Louise to show me how to organize these events for the W.I.’
‘Right! They’ll be a success, I’m sure.’
‘Can I put your name down for the midnight skinny-dipping?’
‘Certainly,’ Gilbert la
ughed. ‘They’ll sponsor me at work, I’m sure.’
‘Good! Be seeing you. I’ll give you a sponsorship form very soon. Goodnight!’
‘Goodnight to you, Sheila. Ron OK?’
‘He’s fine.’
There, she proved she could keep a secret by not telling Gilbert she was worried about Louise. So, her first official volunteer for skinny-dipping. They’d made a start.
Chapter 6
The very next name to go on the skinny-dipping list was Dean Jones. He’d met up with Sheila in the Store and asked her to include him. That was his first major decision about his change of lifestyle. Since his initial visit to church, when he’d attended simply to see Anna, he’d made a few more decisions, but these were to remain secret.
One: he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Two: he might come from peasant stock, as his tutor would have said, but he had been to Cambridge and that meant something in this world; he couldn’t be kicked into touch as easily as a farm labourer could be.
Three: he needed another suit and some smart casual clothes.
Four: he had to find ways of being in touch with her without making his feelings too obvious. He’d no actual experience in the ways of a lover but if he was in touch with her then surely opportunities would arise.
The final decision he had made was that neither his mother, nor Barry, should know how he was feeling. They would be horrified. So was he, come to that. But immediately the sensation was obliterated by his overwhelming fascination with her. He had always been one who could face the consequences of his actions, and he knew there would be serious consequences, if not downright scandal. The thought of it filled him with elation and terror all at the same time. Consequently Dean was either full of himself or wallowing in despair, and his swinging moods did not go unnoticed by his mother.
Whispers in the Village Page 6
