by Roger Keevil
“Ah, now hang on,” interrupted Gideon. “Didn’t I hear that Seymour Cummings is also in line for the job?”
“I suppose he told you that himself,” retorted Albert waspishly. “I wouldn’t believe anything you hear from Seymour Cummings. No, Horace is the man, trust me. So he’ll be up to London a lot more, won’t he, Robin?”
“Er, yes, I suppose he will. Lord, look at the time. I have to go.” And with that, Robin abruptly finished his drink, set down the glass, and hurried out, leaving the other two looking at each other in faint surprise at the suddenness of his departure.
Robin crossed the road and entered his office, where his secretary was just hanging up the phone.
“That was Mr. Palmer from Meadow Farm,” she said. “He wanted an appointment, so I’ve told him he can come on Wednesday at eleven o’clock.”
“Well, he can’t,” replied Robin shortly. “You’ll have to ring him back and make it another day. And if there’s anything else for Wednesday, cancel it.”
He entered his office and, quietly but firmly, closed the door.
Ivor Pugh surveyed the view from the top of the church tower with a gentle smile. In the far distance, rolling hills studded with beech woods were interleaved with green pasture and the striking yellow of oilseed rape. Closer, within the tree-lined curve of the unseen river, the chimneys of Dammett Hall rose above the solitary gigantic cedar which dominated the front lawns where tents were already appearing for the next day’s fete. And clustered around the feet of the church, Dammett Worthy itself, a collection of tile, thatch and slate punctuated by the multicoloured patchwork of the supermarket car park.
Ever since becoming vicar at the parish church of St. Salyve some twenty-seven years earlier, the Reverend Pugh had always tried to find a few moments every day to climb the tower and look out over his parish. He felt that, in a sense, it brought him closer to his flock and closer to God at the same time. Having recovered his breath, for the hundred and sixty-eight steeply-winding steps never seemed to get any easier to climb, he started down again, passing the bell chamber and the ringing room where the ropes hung expectantly, before emerging next to the vestry door at the foot of the tower. A sudden thought struck him, and he approached the altar to check the water in the flanking flower arrangements. No, all was well – the Flower Society had not been so pre-occupied with preparations for the fete that they had neglected their duties in the church.
The vicar was a short grey-haired man whose sprightly walk and perky manner belied his seventy-four years, and were reminiscent of nothing more than a robin alighting on a bird-table in search of breakfast. Humming “Onward Christian Soldiers” under his breath, he made his way along the nave towards the west door which opened abruptly in his face, causing him to jump back with a surprised cry of “Good Lord!”.
“Sorry to disappoint you, vicar,” came the reply. “Only me, I’m afraid. Did I make you jump?”
“Well, yes, you did, as a matter of fact,” answered the vicar slightly breathlessly. “But no matter. Were you looking for me, Mr. Cope?”
“Horace, please, vicar, otherwise I shall have to call you Reverend Pugh, and that sounds so formal and unfriendly,” responded his visitor in an arch voice. “And we can’t have that, can we? All friends together, that’s what we are in our little village – am I right?”
Horace Cope gave what he obviously thought was a winning smile. The effect was not quite what he hoped. His round shiny face, perched atop a short plump body clad in a check suit in shades of fawn and green, was crowned by strands of greasy hair drawn across a bald crown, giving him the look of a disreputable bookmaker about to explain why he could not pay out a bet.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Cope … er … Horace. Now,” continued the vicar, in tones in which only a close observer could have detected the faintest hint of irritation, “what did you want me for?”
“It wasn’t really you I was wanting, actually,” replied Horace. “I was out for a stroll round the village, and as I came past the churchyard I thought I’d have my usual few minutes at the Dammett Well … my little “communion with the spirits”, as I call it …”
“Hmmm, quite!” The irritation in the Reverend Pugh’s voice grew plainer.
“Sorry, vicar, no offence intended.” Horace did not sound remotely contrite. “But I thought that with my little fortune-telling performance coming up at the fete tomorrow, I might as well enlist all the help I can get.” He giggled. “And then I thought, while I’m here, why not have another little burrow through your church registers, if that’s all right by you. You never know that reminding myself of the name of some village girl’s granny may come in useful. You know what I always say – the Well for inspiration, the Church for information!”
The vicar sighed. “Yes, er … Horace. Of course you may look at the registers again. As they are public documents, you have every right.” The word ‘unfortunately’ remained unspoken. “You know where they are. Please make sure you put them back in the cupboard when you’ve finished. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go out. Her Ladyship is expecting me up at the Hall to confirm some arrangements for the fete.”
“Oh yes, of course, you’re opening it, aren’t you? How lovely!” cried Horace. “No doubt I shall see you up there beforehand – you will be at Sandra’s do for a little drinkie first to steady the nerves, won’t you? Well, you mustn’t keep the Lady waiting. I’ll see you tomorrow at twelve. Toodle-pip!”
And with a gay wave of his hand, Horace disappeared into the vestry. Ivor Pugh stepped out into the churchyard, took a deep breath of fresh air, and started down the path towards the lychgate.
Chapter 2
A brisk breeze was snapping the flag flying from the roof of Dammett Hall, but it could not totally dispel the warmth of a beautiful summer’s day. All morning the south lawn had seen a constant buzz of activity, as a procession of cars disgorged flower arrangements, cages of guinea-pigs, folding wooden chairs, bunches of enormous carrots, wedding cakes, wrought-iron boot-scrapers, and the thousand other things which go to make up a traditional fete in the English countryside. Visibly in charge and glowing with enthusiasm, Laura Biding with clipboard in hand seemed to be everywhere at once, pointing new arrivals towards the correct tent, rounding up toddlers who had escaped from the car while their mothers were unloading the boot, instructing the Scouts on the programme of sports events, and all with an air of calm competence which seemed to indicate that nothing had been left to chance.
Lady Lawdown looked out of the drawing room window at the preparations in hand and smiled fondly. A knock came at the door, and Amelia Cook entered carrying a tray.
“I thought you might like some coffee, Your Ladyship.”
“Oh, Amelia, you’re so thoughtful. Thank you so much. I haven’t had a moment to think about anything, and I expect you’re rushed off your feet in the kitchen. What a shame Mrs. Richards couldn’t stay to help, but I dare say you’ve got it all under control. You wouldn’t mind just popping up to Mr. Cummings’ room and telling him there’s coffee waiting, would you? Lovely.”
A few minutes later, Seymour Cummings entered the room. His fifty-odd years sat easily on him alongside a healthy tan, and he wore his comfortably casual check shirt and cord trousers as if born to the country lifestyle, yet with a touch of sleekness which hinted at a level of city sophistication and the money that went with it. He joined Lady Lawdown at her vantage point at the window and looked out over the preparations taking place on the lawns.
“Morning, Sandra,” he said, greeting her with a peck on the cheek. “Laura seems to be on top of everything. I feel I should offer to help, but I’m feeling awfully lazy this morning. I hope you didn’t mind me not coming down for breakfast.”
“Of course I didn’t, darling,” replied Lady Lawdown, “although Mrs. Richards was rather sniffy. You know she likes to do the whole country-house-breakfast thing when I have someone staying. But I told her that you were proba
bly still quite exhausted from your lecture tour, and you deserved a lie-in on your first Saturday. Just autograph your column in tomorrow’s Sunday Stir for her in the morning – that will brighten her up. Anyway, do have some of this coffee Amelia’s made for us, or you’ll be in her bad books too.”
“Amelia’s far too busy to worry about me,” smiled Seymour, pouring coffee. “The last time I saw her, she was scampering back downstairs to carry on in the kitchen. Something about critical timing on a batch of quiches. Now sit back and drink this. Brandy?”
“Oh lord, no, darling. I’d better not start just yet. I shall be on the alcohol soon enough. You haven’t forgotten that I’ve got people coming for drinks before the fete, have you?”
“Actually, I had,” groaned Seymour. “I thought you invited me down here to rest my weary bones, not to stand in as your social host.”
“Don’t be silly, Seymour,” laughed Lady Lawdown. “It’s just a few friends. Helen’s coming, and Robin Allday, and the vicar has to be here because he’s opening the fete. Then there’s Albert Ross and, of course, Horace.” And as Seymour opened his mouth in protest, she swiftly forestalled him. “Don’t forget what you promised, darling. No unpleasantness.”
“Oh very well,” sighed Seymour. “Anyway, what time are they coming?”
“I said about mid-day.”
“Then we still have three-quarters of an hour. You can sit back and think beautiful thoughts. I think I’ll pop out for a stroll round to offer Laura a bit of moral support. Just as long as she doesn’t rope me into anything strenuous.”
“Hello, Sandra! Only me!” Helen Highwater’s voice echoed up the staircase of Dammett Hall. “I hope I’m not too early.”
Sandra Lawdown appeared framed in the arch at the top of the stairs. The pose was only slightly self-conscious, and the graceful descent would have done credit to a top model.
“Helen, dear, not at all. You know you’re welcome any time. It’s only just coming up to twelve. Do come on through.” And she led the way into the drawing room. “Right, let’s have a little something – we can get a head start on the others. I have a feeling I’m going to need a few drinks to get through today. Sherry as usual, is it?”
“Lovely, thank you. You’re not worried about this afternoon, are you? The fete seems all under control, from what I could see coming up the drive. I’m sure Laura’s on top of everything – well, she always is, every year. That girl’s a marvel. How she does it I don’t know.”
“Oh, it’s not the fete, darling,” replied Lady Lawdown. “That always runs like clockwork. No, it’s the people. You talk about Laura. I know there’s something at the back of her mind that’s bothering her. She seems quite calm and organised, but I’m sure there’s something … a mother always knows.”
“Laura? Oh surely not. Perhaps she’s in love,” smiled Helen. “Hasn’t she been seen around with Robin Allday quite a lot lately? Now there’s a lovely man. And he’s always so helpful.”
“I can’t imagine she’s interested in Robin,” retorted Lady Lawdown dismissively, pouring herself a brandy. “He’s a charming man and we both like him very much, but I can’t see Laura going for a middle-aged man. I should have thought she was far more likely to be involved with somebody from her London set.”
“Any news of any more work in that line?”
“Not that I know of. She goes up to London for auditions and photographic sessions every so often, but nothing ever seems to come of it. I don’t think her agent can be very good. She doesn’t really talk that much about it.”
“Well, perhaps that’s what’s on her mind,” suggested Helen. “She feels she isn’t contributing to the household because she’s short of money.”
“She has her allowance from the trust which Peter left her,” responded Lady Lawdown, “which was very generous, considering he was under no obligation to do so. Oh, for heaven’s sake, let’s talk about something other than money. It only reminds me about the blasted Hall roof! Wouldn’t it be nice if we could have all of today’s cash to have that fixed, instead of half of it going to the church?”
At that moment, the sound of the front door slamming was heard from the hall, and Laura Biding appeared in the drawing room doorway.
“Right, I hope that’s everything,” she sighed, subsiding on to a sofa. “I’m shattered, but I think everybody knows what they’re doing – all the stalls are ready and waiting, there’s already a queue at the gates, and I’ve just seen the vicar coming up the drive. I deserve a drink!”
“Darling, what on earth would I do without you? What would you like?”
“A very large scotch, please, Mummy. Then I can breathe booze all over the vicar and scandalise him!” She laughed.
“Would you like me to pop out and watch for him?” asked Helen. “You know he’ll only dither about on the steps otherwise.”
“Would you, dear?” said Lady Lawdown, and Helen disappeared into the hall as a clock at the foot of the stairs began to strike the hour.
“Where’s Seymour?” enquired Laura. “I thought he would have been first to the whisky. Don’t tell me he’s abandoned you.”
“He’s gone for a walk, darling. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him – he said he was going to come and give you some moral support.”
“Fat chance!” snorted Laura.
Voices were heard from the hall, and Helen ushered Ivor Pugh into the drawing room. The vicar’s round face was a little pinker than usual under his panama hat, and he was perspiring slightly.
“Good morning, your ladyship. Oh no, I tell a lie, it’s good afternoon! Do forgive me, but I’m a bit puffed. Gracious me, that drive of yours never seems to get any shorter, does it? Do you mind if I sit down?” And he subsided on to the sofa next to Laura.
“What you need, Mr. Pugh, is a drink to set you up,” replied Lady Lawdown. “I can’t have you collapsing on the job when we can’t start the fete without you. What’s your poison?”
“Just the tiniest whisky would be very welcome, thank you … well, just a little more, if I may. Oh, thank you so much, your ladyship. Well, haven’t we got a lovely day for it? It looks as if all your hard work has paid off, Laura. And you’re looking as lovely as ever, if I may say so, my dear.”
“You’re very sweet, vicar,” smiled Laura. “But I can’t take all the credit for today. Are you sure you haven’t been putting in a word with your friend upstairs to arrange some good weather for us?”
“Laura!” Lady Lawdown sounded shocked. “What a thing to say!”
“Oh please don’t worry, your ladyship,” twinkled the vicar. “No offence taken, I assure you. It just goes to show that Laura is still the same naughty little girl at heart as when she first came to the Hall … what is it, fifteen years ago? Just when you married his lordship. I really do think Laura was one of the prettiest bridesmaids I’ve ever seen. Another? Well, I suppose the weeniest drop more won’t do any harm, will it?”
The distant tinkling of a bell was heard from the servants’ quarters at that moment, together with the sound of the front door opening.
“Yoo hoo! Anyone there? It’s only us chickens!”
“Horace!” grunted Helen. “I was wondering when he would put in an appearance!” And as Laura made to get up, “No, stay where you are, Laura. I’ll go.” A door was heard to open. “It’s all right, Amelia, I’m on my way,” called Helen towards the kitchen as she entered the hall. “Horace … and you’ve brought Albert with you. How nice! We’re in here.” She led the way into the drawing room.
Horace Cope’s smiling face seemed even shinier than ever, an impression accentuated by a flamboyant scarlet floppy-collared shirt accompanied by a large gold medallion on a chain around his neck. A light-blue linen jacket was draped around his shoulders with artful casualness. Behind him, Albert Ross was a complete contrast, drab in beige trousers and a fawn pullover, and carrying a large suitcase which he dropped with a sigh of relief.
&nb
sp; “Good grief, Uncle Horace,” laughed Laura. “Where on earth did you get that shirt? You look like a refugee from the 1970s!”
“I can’t imagine how you would know that, Laura!” replied Horace. “You’re far too young. No, it’s just a little costume to help with my character. You know I like to give a good performance. I have some big red curly-toed slippers, and just you wait until you see my robe – it’s turquoise and gold, and there’s an enormous matching turban. And Albert is going to do some make-up for me and give me lovely big eyebrows.”
“I can hardly wait,” commented Lady Lawdown drily.
“Well, you won’t have to wait for long, Sandra, will you? Just come and have a little chat with me in my tent, and I’ll tell you your future. No charge! Goodness, where are my manners? These are for you.” And Horace handed over the extravagantly-beribboned bouquet of lilies he carried.
“Horace, how sweet,” exclaimed Lady Lawdown. “Aren’t you generous? They’re beautiful.”
“I hope you don’t mind lilies,” remarked Horace. “Some people say they put them in mind of death, but I think that’s just superstitious nonsense. That reminds me, Helen, I hope you’re ready for all those adoring fans of yours. They can’t get enough, can they? Bet they’ll be quizzing you about the new book. Well, isn’t this lovely? It’s quite a party, isn’t it.”
“Then you’d better have a drink, hadn’t you,” replied Lady Lawdown.
“Just a very quick sherry, and then I absolutely must get on. No, don’t move – Albert will do it, if that’s all right with you. I don’t want to break up this lovely picture.” He surveyed the gathering with an approving smile. “It’s too perfect – really, it’s too good to be true. The Lady of the Manor in all her glory – her beautiful daughter, as pretty as a picture – Helen, one of our village’s most celebrated successes with those marvellous surprising books of hers – the Reverend Pugh, the moral guiding light of the community. Thank you so much, Albert.” He took the proffered glass and sipped. “I simply can’t imagine what it would be like if you weren’t around to look after me.” He grinned toothily. “But where’s our resident legal eagle? I thought Robin Allday would be here as well to keep us all on the straight and narrow. Perhaps he’s been detained. Oh, I do hope not. We can’t have the Church without the Law, if you don’t mind my little joke, vicar! And of course, Sandra, you have dear Seymour staying with you. Surely he will be gracing us with his presence. Or has something unforeseen cropped up to keep him away?” He chuckled.
