Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  The moment school was over for the day, Kate did a brisk tidying of her desk, and found Maggie Dobbs in Hetty Hardaker’s classroom watching Gertie the gerbil having a mad five minutes racing round her cage. ‘I’m going, Mrs Dobbs, see you in the morning.’

  ‘This is just like us, isn’t it? Racing round, not knowing where we’re going, but going all the same. Life’s a pig, isn’t it?’

  Kate had to agree with her. ‘It can be. Yes. Sometimes, you know, I feel like letting Gertie out and giving her her freedom.’

  ‘Well, if you do, make sure she’s outside and not in here. I don’t fancy coming upon her while I’m cleaning. She could give me a heart attack. You feeling better?’

  ‘Better? I’m always feeling better.’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘You’re lucky then.’ She held her hand up in salute and turned to get on with her sweeping.

  Kate went back to Turnham House and the moment she was indoors she asked Craddock’s secretary if he was in his office.

  ‘Yes, he is, Mrs Fitch. If I could say he’s not in the best of moods . . .’

  Kate knocked on his door and went in. It was only the second time since she’d known him that she’d interrupted him during business hours. She’d forgotten the wonderful linenfold panelling and the old shelves encircling the room, filled end to end with, she was sure, books that hadn’t been opened in years. It had been the library when Ralph Templeton’s family had owned it and the huge fireplace was still there, now filled with gleaming brass fire irons and a wonderful display of flowers. By the fireplace were two leather chairs, the superior kind with wings, looking as though someone very ordinary had no business sitting in them.

  Craddock was on the telephone and when he realized who’d come in there was a pause in his conversation. Then he picked up the thread again and she had to wait. Her heart began pounding. She was being ridiculous; he was her husband after all and he did love her.

  Craddock replaced the receiver on its cradle and got to his feet.

  Neither of them spoke.

  But they looked at each other.

  Long and hard.

  Kate saw a flicker of a smile.

  Craddock saw the anxiety in her eyes. ‘My dearest.’

  ‘I should never have said what I did. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Neither should I. I’m sorry too.’ He opened wide his arms and she went round the desk and clung to him.

  ‘It’s hard being married. I don’t quite know how to behave.’

  ‘Neither do I. I’ll ring for some tea.’ Craddock let go of her and spoke to his secretary. ‘Tea for Mrs Fitch and myself, please, in my office.’ He invited her to sit in one of his imposing armchairs. He pulled a small side table between them and sat down.

  There was silence while they waited for the tea to arrive, but they were used to that. Somehow they could communicate without words.

  His eyes never left her.

  She studied the strength in his features, the thick white hair, the pale blue eyes, which at times were so cold and calculating but at this moment were full of love, making the years between them matter not one jot. She started to say the words she’d been going to use when she’d rung his mobile and couldn’t get a reply. ‘Darling, please . . . I’m . . .’

  ‘Hush. No more apologies. We were both in the wrong. I’ll try not to lose my temper quite so ferociously.’

  ‘Why hide from me?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t face you.’

  ‘I see. We won’t do this again.’

  ‘No.’

  Kate leapt to her feet, her hands on the arms of his chair, bent forward and kissed his lips. ‘I’ll try not to interfere.’

  ‘You’re right to spring to the defence of the underdog.’

  ‘I am?’

  Craddock nodded.

  ‘Does that mean—’

  ‘Kate! Please don’t open the matter up again.’

  ‘Sorry, but—’ There came a tap at the door and in came the secretary with a tray of tea.

  ‘You pour, my dearest.’

  ‘The rose. Where did you get it from at that time of night?’

  Craddock grinned. ‘The service station on the by-pass.’

  ‘Romantic anyway.’ They both laughed.

  The telephone rang and on his way to answer it he took time to kiss her. The taste of hot tea was on his lips and she could smell the strong essence of the aftershave he used, and she craved his touch. Her eyes never left him as he answered his business call. She loved the way his hands gesticulated as he spoke, the wide variety of inflections in his voice, and the very, very slight hint of a northern accent, which occasionally crept through; she wondered about his origins. But best of all she loved the desire in his eyes when he looked at her as he crossed from the desk and stood before her smiling. He studied her face for a moment, then he kissed her on the forehead. ‘You’d better go. I still have things to do.’

  ‘I’ll be in the flat, taking a bath. I’ve a meeting of the school anniversary committee tonight so I shall be eating early. Is that all right?’

  ‘Of course. I shan’t be long.’

  They held the inaugural meeting in the school hall with Kate taking the chair, unaware that before the meeting was over she’d be wishing she’d never even started the whole idea. Tea was served at the start, along with a tasteful plate of biscuits kindly provided by Muriel. When the biscuits had all been eaten and a few voices had finished muttering about some people having only one biscuit when others had had two or three, Kate called the meeting to order and began her speech.

  ‘Thank you all so much for coming tonight and being so kind as to volunteer your services at the anniversary weekend. I really want this to be the best kind of celebration we can possibly make it. If the programme is lacklustre, we shan’t tempt people to come and the whole thing will be a flop. As far as the school is concerned, we have decided we must have the children performing something. I’ve spoken to Arthur Prior about photographs on the day and he has faithfully promised to be available. I also thought to ask Peter about a service on the Sunday morning. That really is as far as I’ve got. So if anyone has any other ideas, please tell us now.’

  Pat Jones raised her hand to speak.

  ‘Pat.’

  ‘I’m more than willing to volunteer to organize food and the serving of it. Would you want it in the church hall or in the school? Either way, I’m not bothered. Though I do prefer—’

  A confused babble of voices greeted this statement and Kate had difficulty in sorting out what everyone was saying.

  ‘I would prefer it to be in the church hall,’ she said. ‘I’d like to put up a big wall display of school life through the ages. If the food is in there as well then we’ll have a massive concentration of visitors in the school hall and all that space going spare in the church hall.’

  Someone from the second row piped up. ‘Well, I disagree. It’s a school, not a church event on the Saturday, so it should all be in the school.’

  Pat snapped, ‘Like hell it shouldn’t. Sorry for speaking out but there’ll be tables and chairs and trestle tables with the food on and the school hall’s too cramped. In fact, the church hall could be a bit cramped, but at least you wouldn’t have everyone squeezed in one place.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Kate. ‘I agree. Hands up those who agree food should be in the church hall.’ She counted and found the motion carried by a narrow margin in favour of having food in the church hall.

  A man from down Shepherds Hill grunted, ‘Well, are you going to ask Jimbo to supply the food for free?’

  There was a general shaking of heads. Muriel said, ‘I don’t honestly think we can ask Jimbo to provide the food for nothing. He’s always being expected to do that and it’s simply not fair.’

  ‘He can afford it. That shop’s a goldmine with his catering and the mail order. He’s making money hand over fist. He could contribute something, greedy beggar that he is.’ The speaker had forgotten Harriet was sitting fu
rther along his row.

  Harriet was indignant and answered the challenge in her most haughty manner. ‘I beg your pardon. Jimbo and I have discussed this very point. The only reason you have a shop in this village is because it’s supported by the mail order and the catering. Without that, the Store would have to close. Jimbo and I will not be providing the food for free, but we will sell it at cost if you want it. Further than that we are not willing to go.’

  There was a mild round of applause here and Kate gave her thanks to Harriet for her kindness.

  ‘That’s OK, Kate, but I don’t want to hear any more about Jimbo not being generous. He is, to a fault sometimes.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Muriel. ‘Exactly. Thank you, Harriet, my dear. And thank Jimbo for us too.’

  ‘But what about volunteers to help Pat? Are you giving your services?’ said someone in the back row, who appeared all set for trouble.

  Pat nodded. ‘Of course I am. That’s what I said. I’ll search for some people to help. Leave it to me.’

  There still remained a certain amount of chuntering from the back row and Kate decided she’d better find something for the awkward ones to do before matters got taken out of her hands. ‘One problem we shall have is parking. Is there anyone here who has experience of organizing car parking so people don’t find themselves hemmed in when they want to leave? I’ve arranged with Craddock that we can have Rector’s Meadow for parking and Home Park if need be.’

  A hand went up in the back row. ‘I’ll be responsible for that. I’ll find some assistants too.’

  Kate made a note. ‘Thank you. Now about the—’

  ‘What about bunting and flags?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  Willie Biggs offered his services. ‘We’ve plenty left from the Jubilee. I’ll sort it out but I’ll have to have someone to help put it up. I’m not keen on climbing ladders.’

  Colin Turner agreed to help Willie and then came up with an idea of his own. ‘How about a cricket match? Village versus Old Boys? If we play in the early afternoon it’ll be over before the kids’ show.’

  A babble of approval followed his suggestion, then someone said a cricket match could go on until evening.

  Various ideas were tested until Colin came up with time limits and run objectives. ‘Like these one-day matches except it’ud be about four hours. Start at noon.’

  Kate thought that an excellent idea and said so, and the motion was carried unanimously.

  Hetty Hardaker then asked where the children’s show would be held, and so it went on. By nine o’clock the whole weekend had been arranged and Kate was feeling particularly pleased that there hadn’t been any vicious outbreaks of dissent . . . until the question was broached about who would be sitting on the VIP platform to watch the children.

  ‘Who are the VIPs?’

  ‘All the committee?’ someone suggested.

  Rather disparagingly someone else said, ‘Don’t be daft; that’d be too many.’

  ‘Are we inviting the old headteachers?’

  Kate agreed. ‘Who else if not them?’

  She noticed then that Muriel’s face flushed, that Harriet looked distinctly uncomfortable and that the faces of several others had suddenly and inexplicably shut down. ‘So, yes, they’ll be on the platform, which reminds me we shall need men with muscle to get the platform in place on the Friday night.’

  ‘Right!’ said Colin Turner. ‘There’s a few dads who’ll be useful for that. I’ll make sure they turn up.’ The moment passed.

  Margaret Booth suggested a few ideas for the display in the school hall and they were about to close the meeting when a spokesman for the annoying clique on the back row stood up to speak. ‘We still haven’t decided who’s sitting on the platform. I suggest all the school staff. After all, they’ve done most of the work.’

  ‘What about me? I’m doing the flowers in the church and a right task that will be, I can’t be left off.’ This from Sheila Bissett, who had been quiet for once.

  ‘Come on, Sheila, we’ll have a platform stretching from one end to the other if everyone gets on. Have some sense.’

  ‘You’ll be on then, will you, as car park organizer? I think not.’ She bristled and hunched her shoulders to show her indignation. ‘Don’t listen to him, Kate, he’s nothing but a troublemaker.’ She looked round for support but found people were evading her eye.

  Hetty Hardaker said she’d be too busy with the children and Margaret Booth agreed. ‘We’re not bothered, are we, Hetty? So that’ll be two less.’

  The car parking troublemaker resented Sheila’s bossiness, and said so in no uncertain terms. Sheila rose to her feet and declared that some people didn’t know their place, and what was more, she’d refuse to do the flowers.

  Muriel braved her wrath by saying, ‘But Sheila, we always have your flowers and we can’t manage without them. You’re so good at floristry, in fact excellent would be a better word. Think of how lovely the Sunday service will be with your arrangements. I’m sure space will be found for you.’

  Sheila sat down again, her pride restored by Muriel’s observations. ‘Very well then.’

  Kate smiled broadly in relief, having visions of the entire committee resigning en masse. ‘Very well then, leave the platform to me. I’ll sort something out. Agreed?’ She smiled in turn at everyone on the back row, one of her dazzling smiles, which were hard to resist. There was a general air of agreement.

  Before Kate closed the meeting she remembered to mention the souvenir programme she was planning. ‘I thought we’d charge two pounds for it, something to take home, you know, with photos and history. What do you think?’

  Everyone appeared to like the idea, except the newly elected head of car parking. He snorted his disgust. ‘Two pounds! That’s far too much. Far too much. Seventy-five pence at the most, or even fifty pence. Who can afford two pounds? That’s daft.’

  Sheila Bissett took her chance to get her own back and declared, ‘Two pounds will barely cover the printing expenses. Two pounds it is. Hands up all those who agree.’ She looked fiercely round at everyone from her seat in the centre of the front row. ‘Well?!’

  A volley of hands went up and Sheila’s decision was ratified.

  Sylvia suggested a list of headteachers right from the beginning would be interesting.

  Muriel said, ‘We must have photos of them too, if that’s possible. Well, the later ones.’

  ‘Lovely. I’ll make a note. I’ll be in touch with each of you before the day, you can be assured of that. Goodnight. Thank you.’

  Gratefully, Kate went home, wishing she’d not brought her car, because a walk home up the drive would have helped to blow away her anxiety. She’d no idea how difficult the villagers could be. Most of it was caused by old feuds, some long-forgotten insult or incident, which still rankled. As she rounded the bend in the drive and saw the old house, she thought of the tales this house could tell if only it could speak.

  Chapter 10

  As Kate had said, they all knew in Little Derehams what was going on in the cottage that had once belonged to that witch Simone Paradise. They’d watched gardeners from the estate tackling the wilderness that passed for a garden, seen the septic tank chaps sorting out the smell of sewage – and a right week that had been, disgusting it was. They weren’t too sure about what was happening inside but someone had seen a new bathroom suite being delivered and it wasn’t a cheap, secondhand one either. And another person had seen what she thought was a new cooker and new cupboards for the kitchen going in. But Greenwood Stubbs, the head gardener at Turnham House, coming down to watch over the proceedings, had definitely given the game away. No prizes for guessing who was footing the bill – high and mighty H. Craddock Fitch, no less.

  When cans of paint were carried in and the odd-job man from the estate marched through the newly replaced garden gate, wearing white overalls and carrying a ladder, then they knew for certain that a complete facelift was going on. Lucky Mrs Bliss. Lucky, silent
Mrs Bliss, who never exchanged a word with her neighbours beyond good morning. What had she done to deserve all this special treatment? Well, it wouldn’t do, they could all manage very nicely with a new bathroom suite, to say nothing of the double glazing she’d had installed.

  Turnham House Properties had a very busy week fending off demands from the other cottagers. They were sorry Mrs Bliss didn’t speak to any of them because they’d have had an opportunity to give her the sharp edge of their tongues. Talk about favouritism. As it was, the property office didn’t give a toss about their requests, and instead it was they who received the sharp edge of the land agent’s tongue.

  The build-up of resentment carried further afield than Little Derehams. Having no public house of their own (the Monk’s Hood Arms had been converted into a house thirty years ago), drinkers used the Royal Oak as their hostelry.

  Consequently, one night when Vera Wright had gone in there in an attempt to alleviate her dread of the fact that Don was still hovering between life and death in Culworth Hospital, the matter of the renovations at the Bliss cottage was the subject of conversation. Opinions varied. The attitude of the Turnham Malpas residents was, why not? Little Derehams residents came down on the side of injustice.

  ‘We’ve got some damn great holes in our winda frames. Don’t matter how big yer fire, the wind don’t harf blow some blasted great draughts round yer ear’ole in the winter. We’ve told the agent but o’ course he’s under strict instructions.’

  Vera asked, ‘Instructions? From who?’

  ‘That bug—’

  Vera interrupted swiftly. ‘Mind your language in here. You know how strict Dicky is.’

  ‘Mmm. Fitch. Lives in luxury up there with his fancy piece and leaves us to get rheumatics ’cos he’s such a skinflint.’

  ‘How long is it then since you sold out to him?’

  ‘Old Fitch bought it from us ten years back.’

  Vera leaned forward and tapped the table. ‘And you’ve paid only a moderate rent this last ten years, I’m told. You were glad enough to accept his money when it suited. In Turnham Malpas we didn’t sell, well, one person did but she was in dire straits at the time. The rest of us decided to keep our independence. Every one of you daft lot sold out to him. More fool you. If you’ve any sense you’ll fit your own double glazing in with the money he paid you for the cottage.’