A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘Got sick of it, to be honest.’

  Georgie doubted that word honest, there was something behind this reappearance and she couldn’t fathom what. He’d changed a lot since he’d left, become more of a man of the world, more … she couldn’t put her finger on it. She stood up. ‘I can’t leave those two much longer and it’s almost closing. Go out the back way.’

  Bryn put his hand in his pocket and brought out the key to the back door. ‘I’ve always kept it. Sentimental reasons, you know.’

  He looked wistful, but Georgie didn’t fall for it. ‘That was a complete waste of time.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want me here.’

  ‘In a nutshell. Out now, if you please, or I really will get the police.’

  ‘All right, all right. You look good enough to eat.’

  ‘Maybe, and it’s flattering, but for now, hop it.’

  As she was closing the back door after him she said, ‘By the way, you might as well throw that key away, I’ve had all the locks changed.’ After she’d bolted the door she stood leaning against it for support. Georgie’s heart was racing. Thud. Thud. Thud. Why had that thieving, lying toad made her heart beat like this? He meant nothing to her at all. Nothing. But … there was something there which hadn’t been in him before; a certain suaveness, a kind of polish. Shaving off his stupid greying moustache had definitely taken years from his age. She heard the door to the bar being opened cautiously. ‘All right, Dicky, he’s gone. I’m just coming.’ It really was too cruel of Bryn to call Dicky a dwarf, he was a love and, more important, her love.

  When ‘time’ was called the customers made a concerted rush to get out and spread the news. By Sunday morning the story of Bryn’s surprising return had spread like wildfire through the village and to friends and relatives in the adjoining villages. Ancient rivalries between Turnham Malpas and Little Derehams surfaced, and there were scathing remarks passed about the notoriety of Turnham Malpas and an underlying envy that nothing of such a spectacular nature ever happened in Little Derehams. In Penny Fawcett the inhabitants made a note definitely to attend the Monday morning farmers’ market in their village hall to hear the latest scandal direct from the lips of any of the Turnham Malpas people who regularly deserted Jimbo’s Village Store on Mondays in search of home-grown food bargains.

  The return of Bryn Fields kept everyone talking for more than a week. Wherever he went, whatever he did was the big talking point; the car he bought, the people he visited, the outrageous clothes he wore. But by the end of the week they were no wiser as to his reasons for being there than they had been when he’d first arrived.

  Chapter 2

  They all knew Bryn had been to see Willie Biggs on several occasions but no amount of treating him to a pint of his favourite ale in the Royal Oak, or confiding in him bits of news of their own to draw him forth, would make Willie tell what Bryn had been seeing him about. Some had even resorted to trying to get Sylvia to spill the beans but to no avail; she was as tight-lipped as he. More than one said, ‘That’s what comes of working at the Rectory. She’s sworn to secrecy about who comes and goes, and now she can’t let it out not even for a winning lottery ticket.’

  A week to the day of Bryn’s surprise arrival he appeared once more in the bar at the busiest time. Willie, gathered with his cronies at his favourite table, gave Sylvia a wink to warn her. Jimmy, downing his last pint before going out to do his Saturday stint with his taxi outside Culworth station, caught the wink midstream as it were and said slyly to no one in particular, ‘Bryn keeps himself busy.’

  Willie deliberately ignored his remark and said, ‘Cricket team’s doing well this season. Should be the top of the league if they keep it up.’

  ‘Never mind about the blinking cricket team. What’s going on?’

  Willie took his time to answer. ‘How should I know, he doesn’t confide in me.’

  ‘Oh, doesn’t he? Well, why does he keep calling? Is he fancying Sylvia?’

  Sylvia blushed right to the roots of her hair.

  Willie made a fist and threatened Jimmy. ‘One more word and that’s what you’ll be getting right between the eyes, make a right mess of that hawk nose of yours. Can no one do anything in this village without someone casting aspersions?’

  ‘Aspersions! What have you done, swallowed a dictionary?’

  ‘No, Jimmy Glover, I have not. Just let it drop.’

  Sylvia muttered, ‘Oh Lord, he’s coming across.’

  Bryn made his way over to them, carrying a loaded tray. ‘Been some time since I had the pleasure of buying you all a drink. I hope after all this time I’ve remembered your favourite tipple. He put down the tray and the five of them inspected it. ‘Orange juice for Don, gin and tonic for Vera, ale for Jimmy and Willie, and for you, Sylvia, a Martini and lemonade.’

  ‘Martini, oh no! That’s not me. I like a snowball; you know, advocaat and lemonade.’

  Bryn groaned. ‘Of course. Sorry. I’ll have this and I’ll get you a snowball. Does the dwarf know how to make one I ask myself?’

  ‘That’s cruel, Bryn. Don’t call him that. We all like him,’ Sylvia protested.

  Jimmy interrupted by stoutly defending Dicky. ‘He stood by Georgie and kept this pub going for her in the first few weeks after you hopped it. Thanks for the drink, I won’t be so churlish as to refuse it but don’t buy me another. I can buy my own.’ He half turned his back to Bryn, clinked his glass with the others and sat brooding about whether he should be friendly with Bryn.

  When he came back with Sylvia’s snowball, Vera and Don thanked him graciously and, after a nudge from Don’s knee under the table, Vera started up a conversation with Bryn with the positive intention of finding out why he’d come back. ‘It’s no good, I’ve got to come right out with it. We’re all wondering why you’ve come back, Bryn.’

  Bryn tapped the side of his nose with his forefinger. ‘Ah! That would be telling and I’m not ready to say anything until my plans are all in place.’

  ‘Plans! What kind of plans could you be having for this sleepy old place?’

  ‘You all need waking up, there’s no doubt about that. And I’m the man to do it. You wouldn’t be averse to earning an extra bob or two, would you, Jimmy?’

  ‘Might.’

  ‘I’ll call round then.’

  ‘I might listen – then again, I might not.’

  Bryn twisted round in his chair and shouted, ‘Dicky! Same again over here, and don’t hang about.’

  ‘Don’t order any more for me, I’m driving tonight.’

  ‘One more won’t harm, I’m sure.’

  Jimmy’s heavy-lidded eyes rested on Bryn’s face. ‘You won’t soften me up, not even with a whole gallon of ale. I can’t forget your behaviour before you left. It was only the Rector being so strong that prevented you from murdering Dicky. I don’t know how the poor chap can bear you in the same room as him. Why you haven’t gone to prison for it I’ll never know. Anyway, time I was off.’ Jimmy strode out, leaving behind him an uncomfortable silence.

  Sylvia pretended to check her watch, cleared her throat and said, ‘I’ve a programme to watch on TV, if you’ll excuse me.’ She picked up her bag from the settle and squeezed out. ‘Goodnight.’

  Willie followed, glad of an excuse, leaving a half-finished pint on the table. Vera and Don felt uneasy. If he wasn’t going to tell them why he was there, what was there to talk about? They were saved any further embarrassment by Georgie coming to the table with the tray of drinks Bryn had ordered.

  Georgie looked at Vera and Don but avoided Bryn’s eyes. ‘Oh, dear! What a surprise,’ she said, ‘your guests are disappearing one by one. What do you want me to do with this lot, Bryn?’

  ‘Oh! We’ll drink it, won’t we, Vera?’

  Vera blushed. Don grunted and made to take his orange juice from the tray, but Georgie stepped back so the tray was out of his reach. ‘I’ve a better idea.’ Without any warning she tipped the drinks over Bryn’s head. Ale and orange j
uice and gin and tonic ran all over him and the glasses crashed to the floor around him. All he could do was to sit there gasping, soaked to the skin, wiping away drink from his eyes with his well-tanned hand.

  Between clenched teeth Georgie snarled, ‘Another time don’t you ever dare shout for Dicky to bring you drinks in that nasty way. I run a well-mannered pub here and I won’t stand for it. You’d speak to a dog better than that.’

  Bryn stood up and came as close as he had ever done to striking Georgie. He brought his arm back to do that very thing, but the savage glint in her eye and the thought that he wouldn’t get what he wanted from her by alienating her stopped him just in time. It was difficult to be taken seriously when wet through and smelling like a brewery, though, but he tried. ‘I’m very sorry, Georgie, love, I shouldn’t have asked like that. Forgetting my manners.’ He paused to wipe the trickles of drink running off the end of his nose. ‘Won’t happen again.’

  ‘In future remember what I’ve said. I won’t have you speaking like that in here. And you can pay me for that lot before you go.’

  Bryn spread his hands wide in a placatory gesture. ‘I’d better get changed first. I’ll be back.’ He threaded his way between the tables, causing customers to snatch at their coats to avoid getting them wet. A long wet trail was all that was left of Bryn when the door closed behind him.

  ‘Vera, let’s be off. I don’t want any more of him embarrassing me. Don’t know what’s got into him. He’s not the same man at all. Come on.’ Don took her elbow to assist her to rise, and in a gentlemanly fashion picked up her bag from the floor and tucked it under his arm.

  ‘Thanks. ’Ere let me carry that.’ They stepped around Dicky who was mopping the floor after Bryn. ‘Don’t know how you put up with it, Dicky, ’im coming in here. Just don’t do anything daft, mind.’

  Dicky looked up. ‘I won’t. If we knew why he’d come back it would help.’

  ‘There’s a reason, but none of us can fathom it yet. But believe me, we’re all on your side.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Dicky stopped mopping to watch them leave. He leant on his mop handle and silently cursed Bryn. When he thought about it the worst scenario would be that this newly revitalised Bryn might take Georgie away from him – after all, they were still married, it was no problem. Then Bel would be back in Glebe Cottages with him and he’d be back to that old boring job. A sister wasn’t quite the same as a lover, still less was a lover as good as a wife and a wife, namely Georgie, was what he wanted most of all. He finished the mopping, emptied the bucket in the grate outside and was storing them away in the cleaning cupboard when Georgie appeared.

  ‘Dicky!’ Georgie put her hands on his shoulders and, looking into his eyes, said, ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t go back to him, no matter what. I’m asking him for a divorce tonight. That’s God’s truth.’ She gave him a peck on his lips, gently placed her finger on his mouth for him to kiss and then went back into the bar to help deal with the rush.

  Uncanny, that, thought Dicky, she even knows what I’m thinking. But then Georgie always knew what he was thinking, it was typical Georgie, it was. His insides ached with the pain of loving her. A terrible paralysis crept over him when he considered perhaps having to face the rest of his life without her. The thought made him shudder deep inside; it didn’t bear thinking about. It wasn’t at all what he wanted, having snatched moments, sneaking off for weekends away, all because tongues wagged too freely in this close community. It had its advantages, though: they’d welcomed him and Bel with open arms and when they’d found out their secret – that he and Bel were brother and sister – no one really minded. But the Rector had made his opinion absolutely clear on the matter of him and Georgie: ‘While you are the leader of our Church Scouts I will not tolerate you openly living with Georgie. I know it’s not in line with current thinking, but there you are. Added to which, in the eyes of the boys you would become the object of unseemly mirth and sniggering, and with it all the hard work you’ve put into establishing the largest and most successful Scout group in the county would be gone, never to be regained. You are brilliant as leader, I could challenge anyone to find a Scout leader better than you. Don’t lose all that, for your sake or the boys’.’

  Dicky pottered about in the cleaning cupboard tidying this, reorganising that, until he could find nothing more to tidy. He gave a great sigh. Peter always saw the greater good, the long term, what was best for all concerned and after all he did have to be grateful to him for his very life. If it hadn’t been for Peter being so very fit, Bryn would have had him over the top of the tower and he, Dicky Tutt, would have been strawberry jam. It struck him in a flash. Of course, that was it! Insist on prosecution. Of course! That would get rid of him sharpish. Bryn would be discredited for ever, Georgie could get a divorce, no sweat, and they could marry and he could live at the pub … Why had he allowed Peter to persuade him not to prosecute?

  He perched on a case of carpet shampoo in the dark and his heart sank. He knew full well why. It was as Peter had said at the time, the whole story of Bryn, and Georgie and Bel would be open to public view and to distortion by the press. Let’s face it, thought Dicky, I did torment Bryn with all the tricks I got up to. Anyway, Peter was right. It really wasn’t in his nature to want revenge. He’d got Georgie’s love and that counted for a lot. But hiding behind her skirts by leaving her to deal with Bryn … he had to laugh, though – pouring the drinks over him; what a woman!

  ‘Dicky! Can you come?’

  That was Alan wanting more help. He got up, shut the cupboard door and marched into the bar with a grin plastered on his face. ‘Who’s next?’

  It was Bryn, a very smart Bryn. Dressed more suitably for the Caribbean than Turnham Malpas, he certainly made heads turn, no doubt about that. Dicky steeled himself not to go white at the implied threat of Bryn’s presence. ‘What can I get you, Bryn?’

  ‘Whisky on the rocks … please.’ He dug out his wallet crammed with notes, peeled off a twenty and said, ‘Take for that tray of drinks that got spilled as well.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Bryn threw the whisky down his throat and asked for another. He took that to a table and sat down to wait. It unnerved Dicky having to work with Bryn’s eyes on him all the time. He felt like a goldfish swimming round and round its bowl, with a cat poised for whisking him out with its paw if he swam too close to the top of the water.

  Bryn sat there until closing time, then went to the bar and asked Georgie if he could have a word.

  ‘I can’t leave all this mess. Wait ten minutes.’

  ‘I’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ But he did. He collected the empties and put them in the wheelie bin. He found a cloth and wiped a few tables, he collected some crisp bags off the floor and finally got out the cloth bag, which they’d always used to put the takings in the safe until the morning.

  Georgie snatched it from him. ‘That’s my job. Go in the back, the door’s unlocked.’

  She and Dicky said a quiet goodnight to each other by the outside door. ‘I won’t let him persuade me, honestly, Dicky. I will not have him back. Believe me.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

  ‘Right. I’ll come straight after communion. Right.’

  Georgie smiled at him. Their eyes were on a level and she could look straight into his and loved him so. She said, ‘Right. I’m sorry about all this, but at least we might get a chance to sort things out. Goodnight, love.’

  ‘Goodnight.’

  Georgie turned out the lights and made her way across the bar and upstairs to Bryn.

  She found him seated in a comfortable chair in the sitting room waiting for her. He stood up as she entered and it gave her heart a turn. He hadn’t done that for years. ‘I’m going to have a cup of tea.’

  ‘Like you always did after a busy day. Can I make it for you?’

  ‘Bel will be in the kitchen making herself a drink,
so I’d better do it.’

  ‘Very well.’ He relaxed back into the chair and shuffled his shoulders about as though making himself comfortable for a long time.

  ‘You want one?’

  ‘No, thanks. Tea’s not my tipple any more.’

  When she came back with her tea she had the odd feeling that he’d been out of the chair poking through her belongings. The desk drawers were closed, the papers on top apparently undisturbed, all the same …

  Georgie sat down and sipped her tea, expecting that Bryn would be the one to open the conversation. But he didn’t. She heard Bel unlock the bathroom door, listened to a car roaring up the Culworth Road. Then the deep silence of the countryside descended. Eventually she said, ‘I thought you wanted to talk.’

  ‘I’ve a proposition to make.’

  ‘Spill the beans, then.’

  ‘While I’ve been managing bars on the cruise liners I’ve come into contact with a lot – and I mean a lot – of Americans, Americans who travel a great deal. Many of them want to come to Europe but haven’t the know-how to make a successful job of it. They want to see the real England, what makes us tick, what makes us what we are, to get the feel of our heritage. I’ve an address book crammed with names and telephone numbers, and I’ve planned a tour, an off-the-beaten-track kind of tour. When they come to London they’ll have two or three days there doing the Tower, Buckingham Palace, a performance at the Globe Theatre et cetera, then we’ll travel to Bath, on the way …’

  ‘You’re not thinking of bringing them here, are you?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. I shan’t have them staying in the kind of hotel that can be found all over the world and they could be waking up in Hong Kong or Sydney or New York. No, that’s not for me. They’ll be staying in typically English country house hotels, hotels with ambience, ones just that bit different from the usual tourist dumps, so I thought …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I thought that on their way to Bath and Stratford they could call here for lunch.’