Whispers in the Village

by Shaw, Rebecca

  In a moment he was back in the sitting room, carrying his bag and pushing its contents in as best he could in his fury.

  ‘By the time you’ve put your things back in the attic, I shall be making my hot chocolate. Fancy a cup?’

  Paddy liked her hot chocolate, it was always so creamy and satisfying. But he wouldn’t give her the pleasure of a reconciliation. ‘No, thanks, I’m going to bed.’

  ‘Goodnight, then. Don’t forget to set your alarm. God bless.’

  Paddy looked askance at her and left.

  Anna waited to hear his footsteps going up to the attic and they did. She breathed a sigh of relief. They’d come very close to a point where all the improvement Paddy had made would be lost and he’d sink back into that dreadful pit from which she’d rescued him; she just hoped that having won the battle she’d also won the war. As she sipped her chocolate Anna thought about the day she’d had. The one thing she regretted the most was quarrelling with Gilbert. He didn’t deserve her saying what she’d said and she wished, how she wished, she could make amends for their disagreement. The only way was to forget about modernizing the services, but that stubborn streak of hers wouldn’t allow her to. Somehow she had to persuade him to her way of thinking. She’d talk to Mrs Peel. After all, Mrs Peel was the church organist not Gilbert’s organist. Then she remembered he’d said he’d resign if she did. That wouldn’t do. What was her next move? She’d pray about it.

  In the attic Paddy was also wondering about his next move. But he didn’t add anything about praying for guidance. He put on his pyjamas, kindly donated by a volunteer worker at the Abbey crypt but which he suspected had been her recently deceased husband’s, and climbed into bed. He snuggled under the duvet and lay until well after midnight, planning his revenge. It had to be something which would strike savagely at the very roots of her existence.

  Chapter 8

  To: Everyone at Turnham Malpas

  From: New Hope Mission

  Dear Friends

  Three weeks since I last made contact and we are beginning to settle into a routine. The children are travelling every Sunday evening to the International School and returning home Friday evening. There are children there from European countries as well as America, South America and Russia to name but a few, so Alex and Beth are enjoying meeting them all. Most of their parents are working to improve the lot of these people in all sorts of ways. A wonderful experience for them, though Alex complains about the food and Beth about there being very little provision for games as space is so limited. However, they send their greetings to you and hope everything will be just the same as always when they get back to T.M. They are relying on you, they say, to keep the status quo.

  As for my work, I am overwhelmed by the sheer zeal of my congregation. I mention something I would like to have happen and, hey presto, it does. We are short of Bibles (the ones we do have are the very ancient King James version and have been falling apart for many years) and you know I prefer the modern translations. We are short of hymn books and have nothing to print out hymn sheets with. Still, we worship God with blinding faith. How blessed we are.

  Winsome, my right-hand woman, is a wonderful Christian despite the difficult life she has led. Her husband Elijah has medical experience and is helping Caroline with the clinic. Their help is invaluable.

  I hear you are holding events to raise money for us, though the ways and means appear to be secret! Caroline is battling away with the clinic and achieving real success. Very little in the way of equipment but nevertheless she succeeds.

  God bless you all.

  Peter, Caroline, Alex and Beth

  Sheila Bissett read the email within five minutes of Jimbo pinning it on the Village Voice noticeboard. ‘Someone’s told them. They have. They’ve told them and I wanted it to be a secret!’ She stamped her feet in annoyance. ‘You can’t do anything in this village without someone busy-bodying. I wonder who it was?’

  Jimbo was tidying the greengrocery and overheard. ‘Sorry, Sheila, it was me. I didn’t say how though, only that he could expect a surprise. When Caroline hears she’ll be so envious.’

  ‘Envious?’

  ‘Yes. Missing all the fun. How are the numbers going?’

  ‘Well. At the moment we have twenty-two people for the skinny-dipping and twenty who’ve promised to dye their hair. They’re each paying two pounds to put their names down and then whatever they get in sponsorship. As for the champagne race afternoon, there’s ninety-four paid fifteen pounds. That’s ten pounds for the buffet and the champagne, and five pounds for their bet. I’m going to have to close the list soon or they won’t all fit in at the Big House. There is a limit. You won’t believe it but at the moment there’s an English horse expected to run called Major Malpas and forty-seven people have chosen to back that. It’ll never win, Colin says, it’s one hundred to one at the moment. So that’s a bit of a disappointment.’

  Jimbo gave her a wink. ‘I say, who’s down for the skinny-dipping? Anyone … you know, a bit …’ He drew the shape of a buxom woman with his hands and laughed.

  ‘Honestly, Jimbo, I’m ashamed of you. I don’t see your name on the list. In any case, we’re not having peeping toms. Only those who are sponsored and taking it seriously. Believe me.’

  ‘It’s my pool.’

  ‘Oh! Yes. So it is. But you can’t just spectate, you’ve got to do it. Swim, I mean. It’s all going to be very tasteful. Beautiful water music, Gilbert’s lending Fingal’s Cave and there will be soft floodlights so it’s all nice and select. No leering.’

  ‘So I can’t watch from my own window?’

  Sheila was nonplussed at this idea. ‘No. You have to swim. Though I shall need someone to sign the certificates of evidence to say they’ve actually swum in their birthday suits.’

  Almost before she’d finished speaking, Jimbo said, ‘I could do that.’ But he couldn’t keep his face straight any longer, and burst into laughter. ‘Only testing, Sheila. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I’m glad. I’m sure Harriet will be relieved.’ Sheila could have bitten her tongue off.

  There was something in the tone of her voice that alerted Jimbo. ‘Just a minute. Harriet hasn’t put her name down, has she? For the swim?’

  Sheila’s face was angelic when she replied. ‘For dyeing her hair, she has.’

  ‘I mean for the swim.’

  ‘Now, do you honestly think she would?’

  Jimbo sighed with relief. ‘For one dreadful moment …’ But he didn’t notice that Sheila had two fingers crossed behind her back.

  ‘I’ve opened a special bank account and Ronald is helping me keep an eye on it. I tell you who has put his name down, though: that Paddy Cleary staying at the rectory. I have to admire him; he said his principles wouldn’t allow him to go to the race afternoon. Doesn’t seem the kind of person to have principles, does he? He let Ron buy him three pints the other night, you know the night they did the conga all the way round the Green, never offered once to buy him one in return. Fair’s fair, isn’t it?’

  ‘Short of money, you say. I can’t understand why she has him there.’

  ‘He is a good laugh.’

  ‘That’s about all.’

  Sheila, concentrating on her clipboard, which went everywhere with her at the moment, didn’t catch the odd tone of his voice and she let it pass. ‘I say, Jimbo, if Major Malpas comes in first at one hundred to one, and forty-seven people have five pounds each on it, how much is that?’

  In a flash the answer came back. ‘Twenty-three thousand, five hundred pounds, but it’s a while to the race and the odds could change.’

  ‘Never! I’d no idea! Heavens above. I can’t believe it! But still, it won’t come in first, will it? Couldn’t possibly, not one hundred to one. No. It couldn’t, could it?’

  ‘Stranger things have happened, but it’s unlikely.’

  ‘Then there’s the Pyjama Party on Saturday. I rang Hugh and Guy the other night and they’ve already sold fi
fty-five tickets at seven pounds fifty, and someone had just rung to buy twelve tickets for a birthday party to come. So that’s twelve on top of the fifty-five. So what’s that if they come, too?’

  ‘Five hundred and two pounds and fifty pence.’

  ‘Oh, my word. Then there’s drinks; Dicky’s doing the bar. I’d really no idea.’

  ‘Don’t forget there’s the sponsorship money, too.’

  Sheila had to sit down for a moment. ‘I know Gilbert’s been sponsored two hundred pounds from work if he swims naked.’ She began to tremble. ‘It’s much, much more than I ever thought. What a responsibility. I ought never to have taken it on.’

  ‘Here, have a coffee, help get over the shock.’ Jimbo handed it to her but her hand was shaking so much she was in danger of scalding herself. ‘Steady.’

  The coffee, freshly brewed as it was still quite early, calmed her nerves.

  Jimbo watched her sympathetically. ‘I know we haven’t seen eye to eye over the years but I do admire you and the W.I for doing it. It’s brilliant. I don’t know what could possibly top this. Nothing, I don’t think. What about the press, have you informed them?’

  But Sheila never got to answer him because at that moment in came Anna followed by a stream of customers, which did Jimbo’s heart good. Before they shopped they crowded round Sheila, wanting to pay for the race afternoon, put their names down for hair-dyeing and a few for the skinny-dipping. She gave three customers the names of who to contact for the pyjama party, and in the end completely forgot she’d gone in there to shop and went home to put her paperwork straight.

  This was the way to stir everyone up, she thought. As Jimbo had said, what could top it? No one, not no one could think of anything quite so startling. The W.I. were at last on the map! Sheila hugged herself with joy, and then fell in to all kinds of horrors beginning with ‘what if’. But she hurriedly put the lid on her fears and kept them all bottled up. If she wasn’t careful she’d be having a nervous breakdown, but she’d have to wait until after the race afternoon to have her breakdown, because that was the last event.

  The pyjama party was this Saturday but none of that was her responsibility, so she could sit back and let it all pass her by. It had surprisingly mushroomed into being the social event of the season for the younger set in the area. Stuffed-shirt Neville had got quite carried away and had sacrificed his immaculate lawn so they could have a giant bouncy castle. He’d also bought himself a pair of designer pyjamas with matching dressing gown and a red wig so he could get into the spirit of things. The weather forecast promised a fine mild evening so it all looked very promising.

  It was an eight-thirty start, and the cars began arriving by eight-twenty. By nine, Church Lane and all Stocks Row were full and the Green had begun to take the overflow. It was no good rushing out to protest at the sacrilege of parking on the Green because it was flooded with cars in no time at all. Hugh and Guy had arranged for the music to be relayed outside, consequently the entire village was enjoying the party. There were some in Little Derehams who swore they could recognize the tunes the music was so loud.

  Jimmy Glover had fun looking out from his bedroom window and watching all the cars parking. One was a bit too close to the pond. But never mind, eh! It hadn’t rained for days so the ground was firm. He loved the costumes they were wearing. Such ingenuity. The chap who’d got out of the car nearest to his cottage was dressed as Wee Willie Winkie; the fellow with him appeared uncomfortable in his outfit, as though he was regretting his idea of wearing babydoll pyjamas and blond pigtails but was still determined to enjoy himself.

  Jimmy spotted Fergus and Finlay Charter-Plackett going over to join in the fun, and surely that was Flick, too. Well, would you believe it. Young Flick old enough for a party. Then he caught a movement by the pond. Was that empty car somehow nearer to the water or was he dreaming? He watched carefully and was sure it was inching, very, very slowly. No, it wasn’t, he was going daft in his old age, that was it. Plain daft.

  The sound of someone shrieking took his attention for a moment then he looked back and yes! The car had moved! No, it wasn’t. Honestly! He’d be frightened of his own shadow next. Two party-goers crossing the green between the cars were wearing Victorian nightdresses and carrying lighted candlesticks; they looked good with their hair tied with old-fashioned rags like they used to do to make ringlets. Another glance at the car and Jimmy could swear it had definitely moved again. No, it hadn’t. Yes, it had. It was difficult to gauge in the dark. But yes, now it was gathering speed, no, it wasn’t, yes … yes … it was, and before he had time to shout a warning, it sank gracefully into the pond and become submerged almost above its bonnet. He half thought of going to tell someone but decided he was better inside with his windows shut. They’d find out soon enough; no point in spoiling the party.

  One person he didn’t see arriving for the party was Dean Jones because he’d approached from the Big House and through the churchyard. As soon as he’d heard that Anna was intending to go, Dean made sure he had a ticket. He’d dressed up in his mother’s pyjamas, which were much too short in the leg and the arms, a doll’s hot water bottle pinned by a ribbon to the right-hand side of his jacket and a giant dummy also pinned by a ribbon to the left-hand side. He waited in the queue to get his hand stamped when he presented his ticket. He’d never been inside Glebe House before and was overwhelmed with the display of good taste coupled with apparently unlimited money. The whole house downstairs was alive with people. The music was throbbing, and the highly charged conversation and the excitement of the crowded rooms added to the buzz. The adrenalin rush he got when he spotted Anna spun him almost out of control. He stuttered and stammered with embarrassment, until Anna said, ‘Rhett! You look great.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you were coming. You look perfect.’

  She did. She was wearing a cream satin nightdress, which reached the floor in a swirl like an evening dress. The straps were thin like shoelaces and sent all Dean’s hormones into overdrive. He struggled to control his voice. ‘I’m going to get a drink. Can I get you one?’

  ‘Oh, no. Please let me. My turn.’

  To Dean’s extreme embarrassment, Anna searched for her purse by lifting the hem of her nightdress and exposing her leg well above the knee. Her purse was tucked into a frilly blue garter that secured it to her leg. ‘Thought carrying a purse would spoil the effect of the nightdress, so I tucked it into a garter.’

  Dean’s temperature rocketed and he was glad Michelle had rouged his cheeks before he left otherwise the blushing he was undergoing would have given the game away. Hell’s bells! He persuaded himself he was adult and well able to cope but … Anna stood in front of him at the bar and asked him what he wanted to drink. He said the first thing that came into his head. ‘White wine spritzer.’ Then wished he hadn’t because it sounded girlie. Too late, she’d ordered the same. Standing close behind Anna because of the crowd, Dean got a close-up view of her neck and he studied the way her dark hair curled itself around her ears. He thought it was beautiful.

  What was happening to him? He was behaving like a teenager when in truth he was twenty-two. He and Anna should have a meeting of minds not this base emotion he was experiencing. Did she feel the same? Of course she didn’t. Facts were facts: he was a gauche, mumbling idiot, not the bright, debonair, man-of-the-world he imagined himself to be. How could he be debonair wearing his mother’s pyjamas?

  ‘Here we are, Rhett, white wine spritzer. I like them; they’re so refreshing but you get the alcohol buzz.’

  They squeezed their way out of the crowd at the bar and Dean muttered, ‘I’m Dean.’

  ‘Of course, I don’t know why I keep making that mistake. Of course you’re Dean. I do apologize. Let’s put our drinks on this window sill behind the curtain and go for a dance. Would you mind? I’ll find someone else if you don’t want to.’

  ‘Of course I would like to.’

  He surreptiously wiped his sweating palms on the legs of his m
other’s pyjamas, just in case she fancied him holding her while she danced. He never felt comfortable dancing, those two left feet he felt grow as he took the floor always hampered his performance. Why couldn’t he be like Rhett? Laughing and confident and not caring a fig if he stood on his partner’s feet or made a fool of himself; now that was something he couldn’t bear. But what had he done already? Chosen to wear women’s pyjamas? Why hadn’t he thought of doing what Neville Neal had done, bought smart men’s pyjamas and a matching dressing gown? So much more suave.

  The parquet floor in the dining room lent itself beautifully to dancing. The dining table had been pushed to one side, the chairs lined up against the walls, the French windows opened to the autumn sky, the music, slinky kind of, with a hint of the orient in the rhythm. What more could he ask? Anna really threw herself into the dance and some of her enthusiasm rubbed off on him and he began to relax, until Rhett caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Immediately he stiffened up and those two left feet came back. He stumbled, causing Anna to say, ‘I’ve had enough. Let’s go outside.’

  ‘I’ll get our drinks.’

  Anna went to stand by the floodlit pond and when Dean joined her she smiled and his heart turned over. God! He’d got it bad. What to talk about?

  ‘Dean, how did you feel about helping at the youth club last Friday night?’

  ‘I quite enjoyed it.’

  ‘Good, you appeared to be quite comfortable with it. Kate and Venetia thought you were splendid.’

  ‘Oh! Thanks.’

  ‘As for your table tennis … Well! County standard, I thought.’

  ‘Huh! I don’t know about that. It’s just one of those things I can do without having to think about it. Always have been able to.’

  ‘Dean, do you know, I wonder why someone with your degree is doing their accountancy qualification in a small town accountant’s like Neville’s. I don’t mean they’re a two-bit outfit, they’re obviously doing rather well, but you could have got a job with any of the leading companies up in London, couldn’t you?’