Muriel hastily hid her head under the bedclothes as though by doing so she could hide from the consequences of the question she had posed herself, but it was no good evading the subject. If Ralph Tristan Bernard Templeton asked her to marry him, would she? Give up her solitude, her privacy – her own personal space? And in return for what? Companionship, more money, a better life-style? And dare she say it, SEX? Did one have sex at her age? Ralphie seemed to be a very virile kind of person, but maybe they could marry for companionship – yes, that would be it – companionship. He could take her abroad and drive her about in that beautiful Mercedes and she would have a wedding ring on her finger and that would be that. Better without SEX. If he asked her, that is what she would say: no SEX. Bit late to start with that now.
The only problem with that decision was that by the time they had finished their meal and Muriel had cleared away, leaving only Ralph’s brandy and the coffee on the little table, she was actually wishing he would kiss her. She put it down to the wine.
‘Moo, shall I light the fire for you? I think you look cold.’
‘If you like, yes. Now the evenings are drawing in, a fire is welcome. It’s all laid – we only have to find the matches.’
Ralph pulled the sofa round closer to the fire when he’d got it going and the two of them sat on it watching the flames flicking up the chimney.
‘I missed an open fire when I was abroad. If I get Toria Clark’s house I shall keep her wood-burning stove. They warm the whole house and there’s a lovely crackling sound and a nice woody smell.’
‘You’re looking forward to your own home, aren’t you, Ralphie?’
‘Yes. It will be the first real home I’ve ever had.’
‘That will be nice for you. Would you like some more coffee?’
‘Yes, please.’
They sat in silence watching the fire. Ralph put down his cup, swirled the last drops of his brandy round the sherry glass, which was all Muriel could find to put it in, and then took hold of her hand.
‘I should very much like to kiss you, Moo.’
‘Oh, I see.’
He put his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. She shut her eyes and waited. Ralph burst out laughing. Muriel’s eyes sprang open. ‘Moo, you’re not in a torture chamber! Kissing is supposed to be fun.’
‘Fun?’
‘Yes, fun. Come here.’
Muriel did most of her deep thinking in bed. Reflecting on the evening’s events, she arrived at the conclusion that yes, Ralphie was right – it was fun. They’d progressed from little pecks to touching each other’s tongues as they kissed. She recollected the stirrings of feelings she hadn’t known existed, feelings which went all over her body and were quite incomprehensible. Ralphie certainly seemed to know what he was doing. But what had given her the most food for thought was his suggestion that they went to Rome together.
‘I want to say this right now before we go any further, Moo. It will be all above board. Separate rooms, no obligations of any kind. We shall go as two friends each in need of companionship.’
‘Oh yes, that’s right, I understand. Companionship. That’s how I would want it.’
‘I don’t wish to give offence but I have plenty of money. What with my bachelor existence and my family money, I’ve managed to save all my life and I know that things might be difficult for you, so if I may I should like to pay for the flights and the hotel myself. Absolutely no strings attached. There’s no pleasure in travelling alone and having no one to share, and it would give me great delight to show you Rome.’
‘I’ll think over what you suggested and let you know tomorrow.’
As he left, Ralph kissed her hand and said, ‘Don’t be afraid of what life offers you, Moo. It’s too short for letting chances pass you by. Do say you’ll come.’
She’d have to ask Jimbo for time off and tell Mr Palmer she couldn’t play the piano for him that week. Oh dear, and what about Pericles? He’d have to go into kennels, that’s what. Second fiddle he’d have to play for a week. She’d give him his favourite chicken meal when she got him back. No, she’d better not go, it wasn’t fair to Pericles. He’d never been in kennels before. She’d tell Ralphie. It wouldn’t do at all, going to Rome with a man. It simply wasn’t done. But she would have loved to see the Coliseum, and the Trevi Fountain and the Sistine Chapel, and to have walked in St Peter’s Square. Well, it wasn’t to be. Pericles was her staunch friend and she couldn’t desert him.
Ralph was very disappointed. ‘I don’t wish to be intrusive, Moo, but are you saying no because of me?’
‘Oh, not at all. You said as two friends and for companionship and that’s how I would want it. But it’s Pericles, you see. He’s never been in kennels before and he’s too old to start now. It would be cruel. I’m so sorry, I would have loved to have gone. I’ve got to go. It’s time I was at the tearoom. Thank you for asking me, though.’ She trailed off towards Harriet’s Tearoom with a heavy heart. It was no good, you couldn’t cast off old friends just because you’d found new ones. One must be loyal.
Jimbo came bustling in about eleven. ‘Come to hearten the troops. How’s things this morning, Muriel?’
‘Very good, thank you, we’re having a very busy day.’
‘You sound as if you don’t enjoy us having a busy day.’
‘Oh, I do, I do.’
‘Well then, what’s the matter?’
‘If I told you something in absolute confidence could I rely on you not to tell a soul?’
‘Of course. Cross my heart and hope to die.’
‘Ralphie – you know, Sir Ralph – has asked me to go with him to Rome. We’d be going as friends and for company, you understand, and I’ve said no and I wish I didn’t have to say no.’
‘Well, why do you have to say no?’
‘It’s Pericles. I’d have to put him in kennels, and that would be cruel.’
‘Ah, right. Now, if I could solve that for you, would you go then?’
Muriel stopped to think for a moment. ‘I don’t know if I should.’
‘Why not? Why not have some fun! He’s a lovely chap.’
‘Yes, then I would.’
‘Right.’ He dashed out of the shop and left her on tenterhooks wondering what he was going to do. Jimbo couldn’t have Pericles because the children had got two new kittens to replace the one drowned in her water butt. There – she’d said it without flinching. She must be improving.
Jimbo returned after half an hour. ‘Right, that’s settled. I’ve told Sir Ronald that you’ve got the chance to go abroad and would it be possible for him to have Pericles like he did when you were in hospital and he jumped at the chance. Says Lady Bissett’s Pom loved the company. So that’s sorted. I’ll look after the till while you go and make your arrangements.’
*
Ralph and Muriel spent five days in Rome. In her whole life she had never had a holiday like it. Never even been abroad. Mother always wanted to go to Eastbourne or Torquay, when Muriel in her soul had longed to visit far-distant lands. Ralph treated her like a queen, and to his sophistication she brought genuine childlike delight to everything they saw. They dined in pavement cafés, followed in the footsteps of the Christian martyrs, nearly had her bag stolen by children at the Trevi Fountain, stood in St Peter’s Square and saw the Pope appear at the window, and held hands as they wandered through the Basilica. He bought her anything she took a fancy to. She felt like a child being indulged in some kind of fairyland. On the last night they had dinner in a smart restaurant and then went walking by the Tiber.
‘This is a far cry from Turnham Beck, Ralphie.’
‘It is indeed. One day we’ll go to India and see the Ganges. That really is a sight.’
‘I don’t know if I could bear to see the poverty in India. That would upset me dreadfully. All those children with flies crawling on their faces.’
‘You would have made a lovely mother, Moo, if you’d had the chance.’
‘It’s too
late to be crying for the moon.’
‘Too late for children, but you could still have happiness and friendship.’
‘You’ve given me that and spoiled me quite dreadfully. I shall never forget this holiday, not if I live to be a hundred.’
‘There could be more like this – Paris, Venice, New York, Hong Kong …’
‘Oh, don’t, Ralphie, I couldn’t possibly go to all those places. I’m quite satisfied to have come here. Thank you, thank you, thank you.’
Muriel leant towards Ralph and placed her lips on his. It was the first time she had chosen to make contact with him and she felt she might develop quite an appetite for it.
Chapter 20
The bar of The Royal Oak hummed with the news of Muriel’s return from Rome.
‘Have you seen ’er, Betty?’ Jimmy Glover enquired.
‘Not likely to, after what he said about our Sharon last time he was in here. Flipping cheek.’
‘Could be a good customer of yours if she apologised.’
‘That’s as maybe.’
‘Well, your Sharon is rude. And them clothes she wears leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘Listen who’s talking.’
‘I’ll have you know I’ve turned over a new leaf, haven’t you noticed?’
Willie, seated at a table close to the bar shouted, ‘Well yes, I’ve noticed. I’ve stopped wearing a peg on me nose when I come in ’ere.’
Jimmy went over to sit with Willie. He took a draught of his best bitter and leaned confidentially towards him. ‘Reckon he’ll make an honest woman of her then, now they’re back?’
‘I’ll let you know if they put up the banns.’
‘By gum, I bet Muriel’s had a surprise. Spinster good and proper all these years, and then this. She must be sixty-three or four, I reckon.’
‘Must be – on the other hand, it could be purely platonic. “Just good friends” like all them film stars say.’
‘That’s likely, I don’t think. Our Ralph looks to me like a man who would enjoy a bit of that there ’ere.’
‘And what do you know about it in your vast experience?’
‘Well, Willie, I have been married, which is more than can be said of you.’
‘True, true, but even so I might have had more experience than you have. They say there’s some married men who never find out what it’s like. Their wives put their foot down on the honeymoon and finito – they never even get started. D’yer remember old Fred Armitage? He once told me his wife had ne—’
Their confidential exchange was curtailed by the sound of Betty shouting in the back.
‘You’re not going to an acid-house party! I don’t care where it is, you’re not going! For a start I need you in the bar tonight, we’re short-handed, and for another you’re not staying out all night.’
‘Bit rich, you starting to take notice of me after all these years. Since when have you ever bothered about me and Scott? It’s been “the bar, the bar” all my life. I’m off and that’s that.’
‘You’re not. I shall tell your dad.’
‘Some good that’ll do. He’s been under your thumb for years. He’s forgotten he’s got a mind of his own.’
‘That’s enough, our Sharon. Do as I say.’
‘Who the hell do you think you are, telling me what to do? I’m nineteen and can do as I like.’
‘Not under my roof you can’t.’
‘Under your roof, is it? Well, in that case I’ll find somewhere else to live.’
‘Right, you do that – and good riddance to yer!’
‘And good riddance to you too.’ The sound of furniture falling and the distinct noise of flesh on flesh resounded through the bar.
‘Mac, hadn’t you better go and see what’s happening?’ one of the women shouted.
But Mac carried on stolidly washing up glasses. ‘They’ll sort it out without me,’ he grunted.
Obvious sounds of a fight were now filtering through.
‘Mac, get round there and do something!’
The door from the house into the bar burst open and Sharon and Betty appeared, wrestling with each other. Glasses and bottles on the bar and the shelves behind began cascading onto the floor. Willie and Jimmy leapt up and went to help Mac separate them. Eventually mother and daughter were forced apart. Betty was breathing heavily, her carefully structured hair awry and her gold chains in complete disarray around her throat. Sharon was laughing.
‘What a sight you look – mutton dressed as lamb. You won’t get away with this. I’ll have my own back, just you wait and see. You’re welcome to ’er, Dad.’
Sharon trotted back into the house, leaving the inmates of the bar scandalised. The hubbub continued for some time. Betty went to reconstruct her hair and Mac cleared up the mess. He was philosophical. ‘They’ve had rows like this before. It’ll all blow over.’
Michael Palmer, absorbed in listening to Aida on a new CD he’d bought at the weekend, jumped when he heard the hammering on his front door.
‘Drat it, I wonder who that is at this time of night.’
His heart sank when he saw Sharon McDonald standing at the door with her case. A large bruise was making itself noticeable all down one side of her face, and there were tears brimming in her eyes.
‘Oh, Mr Palmer, please can you help me? I’ve nowhere to go and Mum’s turned me out. Please help me.’ Tears began to fall and she sniffed helplessly.
‘Whatever are you doing with a bruise like that on your face?’
‘Mum did it and I’m too frightened to go back home. I’ve packed my case and climbed out of the window. I’ve always tried to do what she wanted but I can’t please her. Could I stay the night while I decide what to do? Please let me in. She’ll never think to look for me here.’ The tears trickled down her bruised cheek and she fumbled unsuccessfully in her pocket for a handkerchief.
‘Here, come in. I’ll find you a tissue.’ Michael’s immediate reaction, that he mustn’t have anything to do with this girl, was overridden by his schoolmasterly instincts to care and protect children in distress. ‘We’ll have a cup of tea and talk things over. Perhaps if I come back home with you we could sort it out with your mum and dad. It’s not right for you to have nowhere to go.’
He found a box of tissues and went in the kitchen to put the kettle on. Sharon followed him in. ‘I’m scared to be on my own. Can I sit in here while you make the tea? Oh, Mr Palmer, all my life my mum’s been hitting me. Now I’m old enough to leave but that means our Scott will be left on his own. She’s terrible to live with, you know. I have thought about going to the Social about ’er but who’d believe me?’
‘Well, of course they would, Sharon. You’ve got the evidence now.’
‘Yes, that’s right I have, and they couldn’t make me go back ’cos I’m nineteen. But who’d protect Scott then? He’s the one I worry about.’
‘That’s very commendable. Let’s go and sit down by the fire and see what we can sort out.’
‘You are kind to me, Mr Palmer. I always liked you when I was in school. I know I gave you a lot of trouble but with all the rows at home it was hard to behave right.’ The tears began falling again.
‘Now, now, Sharon. Drink your tea up and you’ll feel better. I’ve only got digestive biscuits, will they do?’
‘I love digestive biscuits, Mr Palmer. They’re so homely and that’s something I’ve never had, a real home.’
Michael pondered the predicament in which he found himself. He’d no idea that the girl had experienced such a difficult childhood. She’d kept it to herself all these years. No wonder she’d been such a trial! He had really misjudged her … Sharon adopted a brave smile. She touched the bruise on her face and grimaced.
‘I’ll get some ice for that, Sharon. At least we might keep the swelling down.’ They sat chatting for a while and as it grew later and later, Michael realised he had no alternative but to put her up for the night. He didn’t fancy tackling Betty McDonald until the clear li
ght of morning. No one would know, anyway.
‘See here, Sharon, just for tonight you can sleep in the spare bedroom. It’s downstairs next to the bathroom. So you go and use the bathroom and I’ll put clean sheets on the bed. There are fresh towels in the airing cupboard in the bathroom.’
He kept well out of the way while she got ready for bed; he didn’t want her to think he had any designs on her – which he hadn’t, heaven forbid. He called, ‘Good night, Sharon,’ through her closed door as he went up to his bedroom. He’d never got rid of the double bed he and Stella had used, and as he got into it he suddenly felt quite lonely. Being a widower had its compensations, but sometimes it would be nice to have someone sharing the bed, even if it was only for keeping warm and conversation. Despite the events of the evening he fell asleep almost directly, firmly convinced that in the morning he would go across to the McDonalds’ with Sharon and lay down the law.
During the night, he turned over and woke with a start. Close beside him was a female form. Convinced he was dreaming, he put out a hand to assure himself he was alone, but it came in contact with another hand which guided his to a warm ample breast. He leapt out of bed. There was a soft chuckle and Sharon’s voice.
‘Oh, come on, Michael, I’m used to this kind of thing. A handsome widower like yourself must be in need of some hanky panky. Come on, get back in. I’ll give you a good time. Don’t be shy.’
‘Sharon, get out immediately – this minute! Go downstairs to your own bed.’
‘It’s cold and lonely down there, and I need someone to hold my hand. Come on, no one will know. It’ll be our secret. I bet I can teach you things you’ve never even dreamt about. Let’s face it, that Stella of yours wouldn’t have given you much joy, so take your chance now while you can.’
The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 18
