This particular Saturday he drove to Culworth. His mission? New clothes. Michelle had begged a lift but he’d refused; he did not want his bossy sister dictating what he should buy. Still less did he want her to have one of her renowned intuitive moments and realize he had a woman in mind.
His allowance from Mr Fitch’s education fund, paid to him while he was at Cambridge, had always been in excess of his requirements so besides his salary from Neville Neal he had a nest egg into which he would dip. The smartest man’s shop in Culworth was A.J.P. Tindales. Dean looked in the window for a while then opened the door and entered the hushed portals.
In a whirlwind buying frenzy in which purchases were made at the snap of a finger, he emerged an hour and a half later with two new business suits and several casual clothes. The cost was astronomical. But if he was to succeed he had to look the part. He raced for the multi-storey car park as fast as he could without appearing ridiculous, because meeting anyone he knew from Turnham Malpas would be a disaster. His clothes safely locked in his car boot, he sauntered off to find a coffee shop that would appeal to his new image.
There it was, the new one tucked alongside the cathedral. It was extremely busy, it being Saturday, and Dean had to squeeze his way between the tables to reach the only empty one right at the back. Café latte ordered, he sat back and waited its arrival. He glanced round and spent a few moments studying everyone. They were all quite heedless of his state of mind; how could they not know? He looked up at the waitress to thank her for his coffee and as she turned away to serve other people her space was filled by … Anna.
‘Hello, Rhett. May I join you? There doesn’t seem anywhere else free.’
‘Absolutely.’ He leaped to his feet and pulled out a chair for her. ‘It’s Dean, by the way.’
‘Of course, sorry. What do you recommend? Cappuccino? Latte? Espresso? Instant? Or maybe they don’t sell instant in here.’
Dean had to smile. ‘I don’t think they would. They consider themselves above a quick instant.’ He caught the waitress’s eye and she came across. ‘What would you like? The latte is good.’
‘Latte it shall be.’ Anna put down her bag, her elbows on the table, her head to one side and smiled at him. Her teeth were perfectly white and even. ‘So, Dean, why are you in Culworth on your own?’
‘Been shopping, then I’m going to the library.’
‘Do you know, I haven’t found the library. Where is it?’
‘You know the circular building at the far end of Kirkgate? It’s so big you can’t miss it. The one everyone says should never have been built? Well, there’s shops and the library in there, a health centre and a cinema; they’ve called it the Rotunda.’
‘Why don’t they like it?’
‘Too modern, too round, too big and the shops all sell things one could well do without.’
‘I see. Oh good, here’s my coffee. Thank you.’ She stirred it, took a sip, nodded her approval and then said, ‘I’ve been thinking: you know the Youth Club that Kate from the school and Venetia from the Big House run in the church hall?’
Dean nodded.
‘Well, I’m thinking of taking a larger role than Peter took. I’ve been to visit it and it occurred to me we need young men to help run it. How would you feel about that?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘I support it because it isn’t uniformed, you see, and I intend building up the numbers.’
‘Don’t you approve of uniforms then?’
‘Frankly, no, I don’t. Too regimented, too much like an army, and I’m a pacifist.’
‘So am I, but Dicky does a brilliant job with the cubs and scouts. Best pack in the county. They’re always winning cups and things, top of this, top of that. I don’t think the uniforms matter one jot. The boys love it.’
Anna completely ignored his support of the Scouts and carried on speaking as though she hadn’t heard a word. ‘The Youth Club needs a young man or two about. Good for role models, you see. And you’re a role model and a half.’ She smiled again and Dean thought his heart must be out there pinned to his sleeve.
To give himself time to think, Dean sipped his coffee, offered her the sugar bowl and when she refused it he had nothing else with which to fill the silence, so he said, ‘I could help, I suppose. But I haven’t any particular talent to bring to it.’
‘That doesn’t matter, it’s you being there that counts. Think about it. The church needs people like you. Young, educated, full of ideas, confident, gregarious. Am I pleading my cause well?’
Again those beautiful teeth of hers, and he noted the very delicate pink lipstick that gleamed on her lips. ‘You are, none better. I might give it a whirl. Not done anything like it before so I shan’t know how to begin.’
‘Just be there. Friday. Seven-thirty. Great bunch of people.’
Dean agreed, feeling as though her proposal was the answer to a prayer. The rest of the café was a blur, except for Anna sitting opposite him offering him the chance to have contact with her. He was filled with joy, great heaps of it, and felt like springing up from his chair and dancing. Such bliss.
‘There you are, couldn’t see you at first, tucked away here at the back.’
The accent he couldn’t fix, but the blur had disappeared and, pulling out a chair and sitting down between Anna and himself, was a very tall thin man, meanly dressed, bearded, slightly unkempt. Anna introduced him. ‘This is Paddy. Friend of mine. Paddy, this is Rhett. No, sorry, Dean, from the church.’
Dean offered to shake hands but Paddy ignored his outstretched hand, so after a moment, Dean said, ‘Pleasure to meet you.’
Pleasure? A pleasure? Who was this man? Friend? Fellow priest? Lover? Dean cringed from head to foot. Surely not. He needed to know. ‘Are you in the church? You know, a member of the clergy?’
A wry smile crossed Paddy’s face. ‘Nothing. That’s what I am, nothing. Never met someone who’s nothing, have you?’
That seemed to be the end of the matter, and Paddy began to roll a cigarette.
‘Not in here. They don’t allow smoking.’ Dean was glad of an opportunity to put him down but it didn’t appear to affect Paddy in any way. He simply closed up his little tin box and stowed it away in his trouser pocket.
Anna asked, ‘Coffee, Paddy?’
Paddy nodded and, as Dean was facing the café and could catch the eye of the waitress, it was left to him to draw her attention.
‘What can I get you?’
Paddy replied, ‘Coffee regular, black as night.’
Anna explained. ‘I’ve known Paddy a long time. He’s staying with me at the rectory for a while.’
That gave nothing away at all. Dean finished his coffee and got to his feet. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. Friday, seven-thirty. OK?’
‘Thanks, Dean, I do appreciate you deciding to help.’ She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, they smiled at one another, and Dean left, his heart racing, his face flushed with delight. As he strode away from the table he heard Paddy say, in an unpleasant, sneering tone, ‘What’s that little pipsqueak going to help you with?’
Boiling over with humiliation, Dean went out of the café door and bumped straight into Michelle as she was coming in. ‘What are you doing here?’ He stooped to pick up a carrier she’d dropped.
‘Coming in for a coffee. You’ve had yours, I assume? You look as if you’ve lost your wallet. Whatever’s up?’
Dean shook his head. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’
‘So, you’ve no shopping with you.’ She peered at him suspiciously. ‘Did you come to meet someone and she hasn’t turned up? That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Leave it. Leave it. How did you get here?’
‘Bus, seeing as my darling brother wouldn’t give me a lift in. I wouldn’t have spoiled your assignation. You only needed to say.’
‘I didn’t have an assignation. I’m going home now. Want a lift?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve still got Grandad’s birthday present to buy,
though I can’t think what to get him. What have you got him?’
‘Nothing.’ Dean studied the thronging High Street, rattling his small change in his pocket. ‘I’ll get something during the week at lunchtime. I’ll be off, then.’
Before she could stop him he’d disappeared into the mêlée. Too late he realized he’d left Anna to pay for his coffee. What an idiot he was. That loathsome Paddy wouldn’t pay, oh! no not he. He had sponger written all over him. And now he, Dean Jones, had foolishly volunteered to help with the youth club. He must be mad.
As he swung through the main gates of Turnham House, and up the drive to the Head Gardeners House, he had to smile. He’d got what he wanted, a chance to make contact with Anna, and his new clothes. So altogether it had been a successful morning.
Then he remembered Paddy. Just who was he? He couldn’t believe he was her lover. Heavens above, he knew she had better taste than to fall for such a loser. It puzzled him and the more he dwelt on the matter, the more mysterious Paddy became.
Paddy, of course, hadn’t given him a single thought once Dean had vacated the café. No, Paddy had more important matters on his mind, like where was he going to get some money. ‘Nice house you’ve got, Anna. I reckon we’ve fallen on our feet here. Well, in Turnham Malpas, that is. Nice little village and the kind of people I like. Generous, easy-going—’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that; they can be damned stubborn when they want, I understand. Now I’ve got to get back to the rectory. Are you coming with me? Is there anything you need? Look, let me give you this,’ she had a £20 note in her hand. ‘Toothbrush, whatever; you’ll be needing something, I’m sure.’
Paddy almost kissed that note in triumph, but he didn’t, not when he was trying to look grateful. ‘Thanks, Anna, that’s very kind of you. I just hope your parishioners appreciate what a kind heart you have. You’re a true friend. I’ll come back on the bus.’
They left together, Paddy hanging back to retie his shoe until Anna had paid the bill. She set off for the car park and Paddy to the shops.
The market in the main street was thronging with people laden with carriers or just simply browsing, and he was hustled from time to time as he tried to get close to the stalls. Once or twice he pushed them back and gave them a glare. He was good at glares, was Paddy, even better at looking appreciative and better still at looking in need of buckets of TLC. He decided to try his luck on the corner at the end of the market.
Paddy dug out his stock-in-trade, a fold-up ancient panama, put it down on the pavement with an inviting two or three coins in it, and dug in his pocket for his mouth organ. He ran up and down a few scales to get himself in the mood and then began to play some well-known tunes: ‘Abide With Me’, ‘Fast Falls the Eventide’, ‘The Lord’s My Shepherd’ and ‘Ave Maria’. After all, you had to play according to your clientele.
He could get really soulful with ‘Ave’, he could and, low and behold, he could hear coins dropping into his hat. By the time he’d rendered it twice with plenty of heartrending vibrato, he’d made himself feel really sad so he decided to play ‘Abide With Me’ once more, then pack up and count what he’d collected, which was £1.82. Not bad. They were generous, like he’d said to Anna. It bought him a drink in a local hostelry and after that he wandered off to find the bus station. He’d have a kip when he got in, and would wake up just in time to eat the nice meal Anna would have ready for them both, then he could visit the Royal Oak this evening and establish himself with the locals. Tonight would be his chance to make them feel sorry for him.
In his bedroom at the rectory he emptied his pockets. Bar of soap, toothbrush, bar of chocolate, three pairs of socks, cheap shampoo and the £20 note still intact – oh, and three white handkerchiefs. That was the way to shop. The stallholders in Culworth market hadn’t enough eyes in their heads to catch Paddy Cleary. Not nearly enough.
Saturday night was the big night of the week for the Royal Oak, if you wanted to meet someone. Take a perch in the bar and you’d meet most of the villagers and then some, because they came in from the outlying villages on Saturdays for their night out. Dean was there with Rhett, having a swift half before going into Culworth to the late-night film at the new multi-screen in the Rotunda. Dean had come in for some teasing about his new casual clothes, especially from Rhett. ‘What’s this, then? I reckon you’ve got a girl.’
‘I have not got a girl, as you so politely put it, just decided to improve my image.’
‘Oh yes, I’ve heard that one. I say, who’s that chap sitting with Jimmy? Haven’t seen him before.’
Dean turned … and saw Paddy. ‘He’s staying at the rectory.’
‘Yer what? Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. I saw him with her in the new coffee shop in Culworth this morning.’
‘Looks the wrong kind of chap for the rectory. Is it her brother or something?’
‘No, an old friend.’ Dean could have rushed across, dragged him to his feet and booted him out of the door and into the road, like he’d seen Bryn do with a disruptive punter in the old days. Willingly, gladly, with pleasure. But there was nothing disruptive about Paddy. He was quietly drinking his pint and talking animatedly to Jimmy, who was only half listening by the looks of it.
‘Well, I don’t reckon much to her friends if he’s a sample. Looks like a sponger to me. Well, he’d better not try to get a pint out of me, because he won’t.’
‘Nor me.’ Dean turned his back so Paddy wasn’t in full view and wouldn’t anger him quite so much. But his image was still there in his mind and Rhett wouldn’t let the matter drop.
‘He’s the sort who thinks the world owes him a living. He’ll think that I’m obliged to treat him because I’m in employment, even though I earn peanuts. He doesn’t look too ill to work, does he?’
Dean didn’t answer.
‘Does he? Have you gone deaf ?’
‘No, just thinking. I don’t believe Anna would give him shelter if he wasn’t a worthwhile person.’ Out of the corner of his mouth Dean muttered, ‘Aye! He’s coming across for another pint. Drink up, let’s be off.’
They skidaddled out as fast as they could, leaving Dicky to serve Paddy with no one available to pay for his second pint.
He asked for the same again, complimenting Dicky on the quality of his special brew. ‘Absolutely excellent, best pint I’ve had in years. Ah! Just a minute, would you believe it? I’ve left my wallet at home. Paid you with small change for the first one, didn’t realize I hadn’t picked up my wallet. Can you put it on the slate and I’ll pay what I owe next time I’m in?’
‘Of course. What name shall I put?’
‘Put it down to the rectory. That’s where I’m staying at the moment. I’m so sorry, really very sorry.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, easy done,’ said Dicky. ‘The rectory is as good a reference as any. There we are.’ He pointed at Paddy’s glass of beer. ‘We call it Georgie’s Special Brew after my dear wife.’
‘What a tribute! She’s called Georgina, is she?’
‘That’s right. ’cept she always gets Georgie.’
‘Pretty name. Pretty village, too, you know. Lovely people.’
‘Some is and some ain’t, as you might say.’ Paddy raised a surprised eyebrow. ‘Oh?’ Dicky laughed. ‘No names, no packdrill.’ Paddy shifted a little and put a foot comfortably on the footrail, resting his forearms on the bar. ‘Any casual work going anywhere, do you think?’
Dicky shook his head. ‘Not that I know of, though sometimes there’s casual work at the Big House, picking peaches, I shouldn’t wonder, this time of year. You could try there Monday. You’ll need to ask Michelle Jones – she’s head gardener now. But she won’t stand any nonsense. Nice as pie in here, but once she gets her overalls on and them secter things in her hand she’s a different woman, and she’s only a slip of a girl really.’
Paddy grinned. ‘Sounds too much like hard work for me. Anyway, I might give it a whirl. That chap I’ve
been talking to sitting on the settle – what does he do for a living?’
‘Jimmy? He’s a taxi driver. Sorry, someone to serve.’ Dicky turned away, glad not to be free to give this chap a general run-down on the village and its inhabitants. He wondered why he didn’t quite take to him.
Someone sitting the far side of the bar beyond the fireplace was whispering very quietly, ‘See that chap at the bar? I saw him begging in the market this afternoon.’
‘Begging? You never. You must be mistaken.’
‘I’m not. It’s him. I’m certain. Playing a mouth organ and a hat down on the ground for your money. I wonder what he’s doing in here?’
That casual remark was overheard and it was round the bar in a moment. Several people patted their pockets or checked their bags to make sure they were still in possession of their money. A beggar, was he? At the rectory? Come on. It must have been someone else begging in the market, not him. Anna wouldn’t have a beggar living with her, well, not living with her in that sense, but living in the same house. What would Peter say? What indeed. All Caroline’s lovely things in there, too.
Ron and Sheila came in then, Sheila armed with her clipboard, hoping to get some more names down on her lists. Just the right night for it, Sheila had said, and had dragged Ron out on the pretext that a real lady didn’t enter a bar unaccompanied, even in these enlightened times. They both went to order their drinks and found themselves innocently standing beside the subject of everyone’s conversation.
Paddy put down his empty glass and said, ‘Good evening. More delightful inhabitants of Turnham Malpas, I assume?’ He gave the impression of being about to tug his forelock, which impressed Sheila enormously.
She laughed as she said, ‘I don’t know about that, but I am here on a mission. Collecting names for the events the W.I. have organized for raising funds for Africa. Can I put you down? But maybe you’re a visitor and not here for long?’
Raising funds? Ah! ‘Well, I’ll be glad to do what I can. I’m here for quite a while.’
Whispers in the Village Page 7
