A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘Here meaning here?’ Georgie pointed to the floor to emphasise her point.

  Bryn nodded. ‘That’s right, lunch here at the Royal Oak. They could have a tour of the church, call in at the Store for souvenirs, feed Jimmy’s geese, finish off here for lunch: typical old pub, talk up the history a bit, you know the kind of thing. Perhaps even visit a cottage for some more atmosphere. What do you think? It could be a real money spinner for everyone. Us included.’

  ‘Us? Who’s “us”?’

  ‘Well, you, I mean.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘Groups of twenty, no more than twenty-five or the exclusiveness would be lost.’

  ‘How often?’

  ‘Well, this summer I’ve got one planned for August, one for September. That’s all. But it could mushroom. They’d be here Thursday, which is never a good day for lunches in our dining room, is it?’

  ‘You keep making the mistake of saying “us” and “our”. It isn’t yours, Bryn. You took the money, remember, and I got the business and my name is over the door.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Hastily Bryn spread his hands in a placatory gesture. ‘Habit, you know, you and me, a team for years, it’s hard to drop the habit.’

  Georgie sat sipping her tea, thinking about his plans. Twenty-five people for lunch on a Thursday would certainly be a boost. ‘If I decided to do it, I’d have to consult Dicky first. It would have to be the same menu for everyone, I don’t think the kitchen could cope with twenty-five people all wanting serving at once with different dishes.’

  ‘Absolutely. Typical old English menu. Windsor soup, steak and ale pie with home-grown vegetables, spotted dick steamed pudding with custard, coffee and liqueurs.’

  ‘What’s Windsor soup when it’s at home?’

  ‘Anything you like, just sounds impressive. Drinks, of course, would be up to them, wine, beer, whisky, whatever they wanted. These people are rich, Georgie, real rich. I’ll have them eating out of my hand. Two hours we have here, that’s all. Should be enough. What do you think?’

  ‘I’m too tired, Bryn, to get my mind round it, but it’s definitely an idea. The problem I see is will you have a full load each week to make it worthwhile? That will be hard, making up the groups.’

  ‘No sweat. I’ve got contacts you wouldn’t believe. I cultivated them, you see. Didn’t know why, then the whole idea burst into my mind and I realised the possibilities. I’ll come back in a day or two when you’ve had time to think.’

  ‘OK. Make it Tuesday. But you must understand’ – into Georgie’s eyes came a hard look – ‘it is strictly a business venture. I want paying before the group leaves. They’ll be escorted of course?’

  ‘That goes without saying. You’ll be paid on the dot and I shall be escorting for the first couple of seasons till we get the ball rolling. This tour scheme of mine could be a money spinner, personal touch and all that, and I shan’t stop at just this one tour. I intend expanding as fast as possible. Visiting prime English gardens, castle tours, you name it.’ Bryn rubbed his hands together in anticipation. ‘You and me, together we’ll show ’em.’

  Georgie became caught up in his enthusiasm and allowed herself to smile. ‘Sounds good; in fact, very good. Personal contact as you say. Now, I’ve got to get to bed. I’ll let you out.’

  ‘Thanks.’ They both stood up at the same time and Bryn very lightly took her arm. ‘Good to see you. I’ve lived to regret my treatment of you. I really have. Should have had more sense, not neglected you.’

  Georgie stiffened and drew away from him. ‘Too late now.’ She led the way to the back door and let him out.

  Bryn stepped outside and turned back to say, ‘We could still make a good team, Georgie, I can feel that old something between us. Can you not feel it?’

  ‘No. Goodnight. See you Tuesday.’

  Bryn smiled to himself as he turned into Church Lane. He called out a cheerful friendly ‘Goodnight’ to Jimbo who was just leaving his mother’s cottage. He’d be calling at the Store tomorrow. Jimbo’d be as easy as pie to influence, him being always ready to make money, so long as it was legal.

  Bryn was at the Store as soon as the morning rush of mothers from the school had finished their shopping. He gauged that around half past nine would be about the best time.

  He couldn’t believe that Linda was still at the post office counter. ‘Good morning, Linda. How are you? Still here I see. Thought you’d have gone long ago.’

  ‘Why, Mr Fields. I wondered how long it would be before you called. How are you? My, I hardly recognise you, you’re so … brown and, well, years younger without that moustache. No need to ask how you are!’ She grinned ruefully from behind the grille and finally answered his question quietly. ‘I think I’ve been sacked a total of four times now, but he always comes crawling back asking me to return, because he can’t find anyone who can do it as well as me.’

  ‘Watch it! The next time might be the last.’

  ‘Oh, don’t say that! It’s so handy being able to drop Lewis off at the childminder and come straight here. Are you wanting something?’

  ‘Just to see Jimbo. Is he in?’

  ‘I’ll give him a shout. Hold on.’ Linda unlocked the door of her cage, as she called it, and carefully locked it after her. She excused her caution by saying apologetically, ‘Can’t be too careful!’ She slipped into the back of the Store to find Jimbo.

  Bryn looked round as a preliminary to his conversation with Jimbo. He preferred to be well armed before a business discussion. He noted the picture postcards of the area, especially the ones of the church and the village green, then he progressed to the jams and marmalades, remembering Jimbo had a line called ‘Harriet’s Country Cousins’ whatever. Now that would be a good line for souvenirs. The title was perfectly splendid for his needs. Of course, he’d want a percentage when the sales grew. Which they would. He picked up a beautifully evocative jar, a six-sided pot with a red-and-white gingham cover on the top and an elaborate label saying ‘Harriet’s Country Cousins’ thick-sliced Grapefruit Marmalade, made to a recipe from an old notebook found …’

  ‘Yes!’ Jimbo stood beside him resplendent in his striped apron and with his bow tie matching the ribbon around the crown of his straw boater. ‘What can I do for you this bright morning? You wanted to see me?’

  Bryn was instantly aware of the belligerent tone of Jimbo’s voice, so he set himself out to charm and by the time he’d finished his spiel about his rich tourists and the money that could be made, he had Jimbo eating out of his hand.

  At least he thought he had, until Jimbo suddenly said, ‘And what is there in it for you, if I’m selling doodahs to your tourists?’

  Bryn hesitated in order to demonstrate delicacy of feeling. ‘Well, perhaps when we get things really going you could see your way …’ He tapped the side of his nose and winked.

  Jimbo said, ‘I make no promises. I’m not here to make you a rich man, you know, Bryn. Margins are tight in a set-up like this, I’ve to watch every penny.’

  ‘Oh, I can see that.’ Bryn gazed around Jimbo’s well-equipped, stylish set-up. ‘Margins are very tight.’ His right cheek bulged with the pressure of the tip of his tongue.

  Jimbo was forced to smile. ‘I’m still not promising you a percentage of my profits on anything I sell as souvenirs. Accounting for it would be difficult.’

  Bryn nodded gravely. ‘Of course, of course it would. You need to expand what you have on offer, though. Little framed pictures of the village houses. A small model of the church and perhaps the school, and of course a model of the Royal Oak. Now they would sell. Oh, yes. They would sell. Tasteful, of course.’

  Stung by the implied lack of good taste on his part, Jimbo answered, ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Think about what else you could sell. Once the old brains get going, who knows what we might come up with. I specially like Harriet’s jams et cetera, they would go down a bomb with the tourists.’

  ‘Are we to expect tourists every week?
’

  Bryn laughed. ‘Not to start with, but I’ve every intention of directing as much business as I can to this village.’

  ‘Let’s hope they thank you for it.’ Jimbo touched the brim of his boater. ‘Must get on. Be in touch. When’s the first lot?’

  ‘August.’

  ‘Right. I’ll be in touch as I said.’

  Bryn extended his hand. ‘Thanks for your attention, I’m going to make sure it works. I’ve got quite a few ideas which, if they come to fruition, will put Turnham Malpas on the map. Ye olde yokel sitting by the pond, et cetera, you know the sort of thing. It’s those little touches that really make a tour.’

  Jimbo shook his hand and Bryn left with a satisfied smile on his face.

  Chapter 3

  After their evening meal Jimbo explained to Harriet the purpose of Bryn’s stay in Turnham Malpas. ‘In addition he’s going to have what he describes as an olde yokel sitting by the pond.’

  ‘That’s you, is it?’ Harriet asked.

  The two girls shrieked with laughter. Fran asked what a yokel was and Flick told her between gasps of laughter. ‘I can just see you, Dad! Have you still got that old smocked thing, Mum, you bought in that sale? You know, the Victorian farmer’s thingy?’

  ‘I have. He could wear it, couldn’t he? Very authentic.’

  Jimbo said, ‘Less of the mirth. What he wants us to do is expand our range of souvenirs.’

  ‘We haven’t got any souvenirs.’

  ‘We’ve got your jams and marmalades.’

  ‘Of course, I never thought of them in that light.’

  ‘We’ve got postcards.’

  Harriet thought for a moment and suggested, ‘Turnham Malpas pencils with those dear little rubbers on the end.’

  Flick said, ‘Framed pictures of the village.’

  Fran proffered the idea of sweets in Turnham Malpas tins.

  Flick scoffed at her idea. ‘Trust you to think of sweets, you’d eat all the profits.’

  ‘I wouldn’t, would I, Mummy?’

  ‘No, darling, in fact you’ve come up with a good notion there. We could also put our Belgian chocolates in Turnham Malpas tins.’

  Flick was appalled at such duplicity. ‘That is outrageous. Dad, don’t let her. She mustn’t. That’s cheating.’

  ‘Definitely cheating.’ But he winked at Harriet, which further outraged Flick.

  Fran, being too young to understand what they were meaning, asked, ‘Is there anything Flick and I could do? We’ll be off school in August. I’d like to dress up.’

  ‘We’ll see.’

  Harriet checked her watch. ‘Come along, Fran, time you were off to bed.’

  ‘I really want to talk business with Daddy.’

  ‘You’ve talked enough. You had one of the best ideas so far, so that’s sufficient to be going on with. Move!’

  Tucked up in bed, the curtains drawn against the light, Fran said, ‘Sit down to talk.’

  Sensing there was something on Fran’s mind, Harriet did as she asked. ‘Two minutes, that’s all.’

  ‘Mummy.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘How can you be someone’s little girl if she’s not your tummy-mummy?’

  ‘First, you’re not worrying about yourself, are you? Because, let it be clearly understood, I am your tummy-mummy.’

  ‘I know that because Flick remembers me being born in the hospital car park.’

  ‘And you’ve been in a hurry ever since. However, there are some ladies who would love to be a mummy but they’ve got an illness or something and the doctors say they won’t be able to have a baby growing in their tummy, so-o-o they can make a solemn promise to care for a baby who has no mummy or has a mummy who can’t look after it and that’s called adoption, and it’s just as if the baby is theirs, except it hasn’t grown in their tummy.’

  ‘They look after someone else’s baby.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So is that what happened to Beth and Alex?’

  ‘Yes, because Caroline isn’t able to have babies.’

  ‘So whose tummy did they grow in, then?’

  ‘Someone’s who couldn’t look after them and gave them away to Caroline and Peter when they were tiny, tiny babies, because they thought it was for the best.’

  ‘Did you know them?’

  ‘I knew them when they were tiny.’

  ‘No. I mean did you know their real mummy? I wonder who she is. Beth wants to know. I thought you might be able to tell her.’

  ‘Fran, it’s something very personal for Caroline and Peter, and I honestly think you shouldn’t get involved. It’s for them to tell her, believe me.’

  ‘Beth keeps on and on about it. Every time I see her. She’s asked loads of girls.’

  ‘It really isn’t any of our business.’

  Fran turned over on to her side, closed her eyes and said, ‘I think you know, but you won’t tell me. It’s not fair. Goodnight.’

  ‘It’s not my secret.’

  ‘I shall tell Beth to ask Caroline.’

  ‘You’ll do no such thing. You’ll mind your own business. Goodnight. I mean what I say. It’s all too private.’

  ‘Mm.’

  Just as Harriet left her bedroom Fran called out, ‘Teaspoons with a tiny church on the end. How about that for an idea? Or doorstops made out of wood with one of Jimmy’s geese painted on.’

  ‘Fran! I’ll tell Daddy, but switch off now, please.’

  Harriet found Jimbo in his study doing rapid sums on his calculator. ‘I wish you’d never mentioned this idea just before Fran went to bed. Her head’s full of souvenirs. She’ll never settle and you know how much she needs her sleep.’

  Jimbo looked up, lost in thought. ‘I know this idea of Bryn’s is only a possibility. It may or may not work depending, but we do get lots of other visitors from all over the place so whatever we decide on could be a year-round line. Why on earth I haven’t thought of it before I don’t know.’

  ‘Teaspoons and doorstops she’s come up with now. Heaven alone knows what she’ll have thought of by morning.’

  ‘She’s a true daughter of mine, is Fran. I’ll put those on the list. In the scheme of things this is only a small matter, but every penny counts. I tell you who’d be good for the doorstops: Vince Jones. He’s a wizard with wood, remember?’

  ‘And for framing the pictures. But has it occurred to you that you haven’t spoken to the Jones family since Mrs Jones went steaming through the Store casting all before her?’

  Jimbo laid down the calculator and leaned back in his chair. ‘Ah! I’m getting carried away here.’

  ‘I also remember all the cursing you did about the Jones family when their Terry and Kenny had to disappear quick sharp before the police caught up with them, or worse, those gangsters. Think of the outlay for all these things! The returns could be quite slow and we’ve no guarantee that Bryn’s idea of tourists would work.’

  ‘Agreed, but … the idea grips me and if an idea grips me then most often it turns out to be a good one. I’m going to play around with it, see what comes up. Doesn’t cost much to have two hundred pencils embossed with Turnham Malpas Store, does it? You’re not listening to me.’

  ‘No, you’re right, I’m not. I’m off to see Peter and Caroline.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Beth is obssessed with where she came from. They’ve always known, the two of them, that Caroline isn’t their mother but that Peter is their father, but now apparently she wants to know the rest and those two should do something about it.’

  ‘They’ll deal with it when the time is ripe.’

  ‘It’s ripe now, believe me. Fran says Beth’s asking everyone at school and before long some child is going to spill the beans.’

  ‘Harriet, is this wise?’

  ‘I’m going. Won’t be long.’

  Jimbo stood up. ‘Please, think about it.’

  ‘I’m going. I won’t have Fran getting all upset, it’s not right. W
hat’s more, the whole situation means I can’t tell my own daughter the truth and that’s certainly not right.’

  ‘Very well, but tread very carefully, please.’

  Hand on heart Harriet answered, ‘I am the soul of discretion.’

  Peter came to the door when she knocked at the Rectory. ‘Hello, Harriet, come in. If it’s Caroline you want to see she’s out, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, it was both of you, but maybe on second thoughts I’m quite glad it’s you on your own.’

  ‘Had we better go into my study?’

  ‘All right, then, yes.’

  Peter opened the door for her and she went in and flopped down in an easy chair. Peter sat at his desk and waited for her to speak. She was struck as always by his commanding presence – his height, the breadth of his shoulders, his fresh complexion and thick reddish-blond hair – he was very handsome in any woman’s eyes. But his penetrating blue eyes made him intimidating, for they seemed to see straight through you, and it felt as though all your smallest and most unworthy thoughts were exposed to his scrutiny.

  ‘Peter, I have a problem. Well, at least it’s not my problem, it’s yours and I don’t quite know how to phrase it.’

  ‘Mine? What are we talking about?’

  ‘Your Beth and Alex.’

  ‘Have they been misbehaving?’

  ‘No. Never. They’re always well-mannered and never any trouble. No, it’s not that.’

  Peter waited a moment, then said, ‘Well?’

  ‘You know they’ve been having sex lessons this term … well, it has caused them both, I think, but mainly Beth to … to be honest, it’s time you and Caroline came clean about … well, not clean exactly, that’s not what I meant to say, but it’s time you and she spoke to the twins about their origins before someone else does and makes a balls of it. Because if that happens the twins could be irreparably hurt.’

  Harriet thought it must have been at least a whole minute before Peter replied but of course it wasn’t, it was seconds. ‘I see. She’s never said anything to us about it.’

  ‘Well, it will be difficult for her, very difficult for them both, won’t it? They won’t want to hurt Caroline for they love her so, but they ought to be told, because it’s causing Beth such anguish. Fran tells me she’s asking everyone if their mother is their real one, hoping, I expect, to find someone else who’s been adopted so she can compare notes or something. But what’s made me come tonight is the fact that Fran asked me who their real mother is. And I don’t like not being able to tell the truth to my children.’