The Village Green Affair

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘I’ll get one.’

  ‘Top shelf. Our wardrobe. The Scotch plaid one.’

  ‘Right.’ Peter raced up the stairs two at a time, glad to be of use and feeling that for once in his ministry he was at a loss for words. What could you find to say to someone who lived for twenty-five years with the wrong man, then found her soul-mate, and, in a single, shattering second, lost him? Not a single, damn word. He put the rug against his cheek and relished its comfort for a moment. God help him . . . and more so, God help Liz.

  Chapter 18

  At six o’clock that evening Peter opened the Rectory door for the umpteenth time that day and found Neville Neal standing there. A Neville Neal he hadn’t seen before. His hair was lank with sweat, his cheeks were sunken, his skin was grey, his lips were trembling and his clothes were creased.

  ‘Liz. Is she still here? I asked. No one knew.’

  ‘Yes, she is. Come in.’

  ‘Will she see me?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She hasn’t spoken since we brought her here. I’ll go and ask.’ He disappeared into the sitting room.

  Alex crossed the hall. ‘Hello, Mr Neal. Isn’t it terrible about Mr Bellamy?’

  Neville studied the question. Ever since he’d heard about Titus’s death he’d wavered between absolute delight and crippling shock. His own life had dropped several gears just as Liz’s had until the whole world had gone into slow motion. ‘Even sadder for Liz, my wife.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Good of you to come.’ He turned to climb the stairs.

  Neville watched him go. So like his father. Lucky man. Neither Hugh nor Guy looked like him.

  Peter came back into the hall. He nodded his head towards the sitting room, inviting him in.

  Neville wiped his face with his handkerchief, slicked down his hair and softly walked in. When he’d last seen Liz she’d been so radiant with love for Titus that he’d felt jealous of the man. He was appalled by her appearance now. She looked gaunt, pale-faced, and were those white hairs he could see? Surely not, not so quickly. She appeared to have sunk into the cushions as though she were too heavy for them.

  ‘Liz. I’ve come.’

  At the sound of his voice she sprang up, her face glowing with pleasure. ‘Darling! Darling!’

  He went to her side. ‘Liz. Liz.’

  For a moment she looked confused, then the terrible truth seemed to dawn that it was Neville and not Titus, and she fell back onto the sofa as though dead.

  Neville, so blinded by his own distress, wasn’t aware of the mistake she’d made, and he enveloped her in his arms, raising her from the sofa so he could kiss her and hold her tight. ‘I’m so sorry, darling, so sorry. I’ll look after you, for as long as you need me. Poor Titus. It must have been a heart attack, you know. Nothing could be done. You tried, I’m sure. You’re being so brave.’

  She was so heavy to hold, but hold her he did until his arms were in agony and he had to put her back down again. She hadn’t objected to his embrace, he thought. She obviously needed his sympathy.

  He called out, ‘Peter? Are you there?’

  Peter and Caroline had been standing in the doorway waiting in case Liz reacted badly to Neville’s presence, and they were surprised when she didn’t.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The best thing we can do is to take her home,’ Neville announced, coming out into the hall. ‘Everything is familiar there.’

  But Caroline, being a woman and a doctor and therefore more astute about the strange reactions bereaved people sometimes had, insisted she remained where she was. ‘I’m sorry, Neville, but she’s staying here. Just in case. She’s better with a doctor around.’

  He mounted a protest. ‘But she needs me.’

  ‘I don’t think she knows anyone at the moment. She’s so badly shocked.’

  Seeing the sense of Caroline’s argument, Neville said determinedly, ‘Very well, then, I’ll stay here with her, if you don’t mind. I’ll go home and get her night things and I’ll sit up with her all night. Believe me, I will. If anyone can comfort her I can.’

  He spun on his heel and marched out of the Rectory.

  When the door closed behind him Caroline whispered to Peter, her voice thick with unshed tears, ‘She thought it was Titus, you know. She’d no idea it was Neville.’

  ‘But I thought it looked as though she knew him.’

  ‘Well, I’m telling you, when she realized it wasn’t him, it was as if Titus had died twice. Now, brandy, I think, and we’ll see if she can sleep a little. That’s what she needs.’

  Alex came down the stairs. ‘Is he coming back?’

  ‘Hello, darling,’ Caroline said. ‘Yes, I think so.’

  ‘How’s Liz?’

  ‘Prostrate with grief.’

  Alex peered round the sitting-room door and went in to see her. Caroline watched as he stroked her hand and talked softly to her. She saw yet again how much like Peter he was, with his compassion and inner strength, which had taken him through the troubled time in Africa.

  Liz opened her eyes, saw it was Alex and gently stroked his cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and closed her eyes again.

  She stayed like that until Neville came back, by which time Peter, Alex and Caroline were drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen.

  Neville called from the door, ‘Has she woken yet?’

  Caroline answered, ‘Not really. I’ve put a blanket for you, Neville, on the other sofa. If you need anything from the kitchen during the night, please help yourself. I’ve also left the brandy on the worktop there. If she needs some, feel free.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll say goodnight. Thank you for all you’ve done.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure. Just sorry it’s in such awful circumstances.’

  Neville grunted and disappeared into the sitting room.

  In bed, snuggled up against Peter, Caroline asked him if he thought Neville was imagining that his moment had come to get Liz back.

  ‘Possibly. I’m so upset with the grief of it all I can’t think straight. Such a lovely chap, Titus.’

  ‘I know, so am I. I tried, how I tried, but it was already too late to revive him. There wasn’t a flicker of life in him. But perhaps if I’d tried another minute or two . . .’

  ‘Don’t think along those lines. You’ll crucify yourself. You did your best, with no equipment. If he’d been in hospital maybe . . .’

  ‘I don’t think so, Peter. The heart attack must have been colossal. He had no vital signs at all. But let’s face it, it was those bikers who killed him.’

  ‘Being the kind of man he was, he must have been devastated at what the bikers had done, not just for himself but for his stallholders, too.’

  ‘They were doing it just for fun, weren’t they? It certainly sounded like it. So cruel, their laughter. So cruel.’

  ‘That’s certainly the end of the market.’

  ‘Considering the trouble it’s caused, perhaps it’s as well.’

  ‘Maybe, but everyone did enjoy it, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yes, they did. Poor Liz. I can’t imagine what she’ll do or if she’ll ever get over this.’

  ‘I don’t think she will get over it. The shock, the unexpectedness of it. It’s dreadful. What a day.’

  They both fell silent, wrapped in their own thoughts.

  Eventually Peter said, ‘Goodnight, darling. Aren’t we lucky, you and me?’

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  The two of them had not been disturbed during the night and had slept well, but the moment Caroline opened her eyes the horror of yesterday immediately filled her mind. She sat up abruptly and leaped out of bed, hastened into the bathroom, showered and then dressed and went downstairs.

  It was only half past six but she opened the sitting-room door to see if either Neville or Liz was awake. Liz was, but Neville slept soundly.

  ‘Caroline. It did happen yesterday, didn’t it? Titus. You know.’

  ‘Yes, Liz, it did. That’s why you’re h
ere.’

  ‘But Neville, what’s he doing here?’

  ‘I don’t really know. Said he didn’t want to leave you alone and he’d sit with you all night.’

  ‘Where’s Titus? I want to see him.’

  For a moment Caroline wondered if Liz thought he hadn’t died. Then she realized what she meant, and cleared her throat while she thought how to phrase her reply. ‘Well, as you can expect, Titus is . . . well . . . he’s at the hospital, in the . . . mortuary. You see, with it being so unexpected . . . they’ll have to find out why. You see.’

  Liz uttered the words ‘post-mortem’ as though they were the most repulsive, disgusting words in the English language. She visibly shrank from the whole idea. ‘Not that. Please not that. Looking at him and cutting him up. Can I stop it?’

  ‘It’s the law. I assume he’d no previous history of heart problems? ’

  ‘I don’t know. Haven’t known him long enough. He never said. Damn the law. Damn, damn, damn it. Not my dearest, dearest Titus, please not.’ Liz writhed with the pain of it all. The absolute crushing pain of her loss.

  ‘I’ll . . . I’ll . . . make a pot of tea.’

  ‘That’s right. A pot of tea, it’ll put everything to rights.’

  The scathing mockery in Liz’s voice floored Caroline. ‘I’ll do it just the same.’

  She escaped to the kitchen and began to organize the breakfast.

  After a few minutes Neville came in wearing a flamboyant dressing gown. ‘She won’t let me touch her.’ He sounded indignant.

  ‘She really doesn’t know what she’s doing.’

  ‘But I’m determined to do what’s right. Take her home to Glebe House, attend to the arrangements. Someone will have to do it. Save her the trouble. Has he any relatives?’

  Caroline shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  She set a tray for Liz to eat her breakfast in the sitting room. It didn’t seem right for her to breakfast with Beth and Alex. Their emotions were still so fragile after Africa, and they were only fourteen.

  ‘Here. Take this in for Liz,’ she said. ‘I’ve given her a warm croissant and butter, although I’ll be surprised if she can eat anything at all, after the shock. If that doesn’t suit, let me know what she prefers.’

  ‘She needs to eat; I’ll see she does.’

  ‘Please, Neville, tread very carefully. She’s bereaved.’

  ‘She isn’t bereaved,’ he snapped. ‘You’ll be calling her a widow next, which she isn’t. I’m still alive and kicking. Look!’ With his arms outspread he indicated his live presence.

  ‘She’s lost her soul-mate. That’s how it feels to her, anyway.’

  Neville raised his voice, ‘Caroline! That kind of sentimentality is ridiculous.’

  He’d forgotten it was half past six so Peter would be going out for his morning routine and had heard every word.

  ‘In this house, no one speaks to Caroline with such disregard. My wife has done all she can for Liz. One more outburst like that and I shall physically turn you out.’

  ‘I apologize. I beg your pardon, Caroline, and yours, Peter. It’s the stress. I’m worn out with it. I’ve been awake most of the night. She’s been sobbing and calling his name.’ They could hear him grinding his teeth at the thought. ‘How would you feel about that, Peter, if it was Caroline calling out another man’s name? Eh?’

  He marched out with the tray, leaving the two of them seething.

  ‘I’m going for my run, it might make me feel better,’ Peter said. ‘Don’t take any more clap-trap from him. I’m not having it. Bit late now to begin caring. It would never have happened if he’d been a good husband to her in the first place.’ Peter placed a kiss on Caroline’s forehead as he was leaving. ‘I’ll cut my run short just in case. What’s more, I’m not having him staying here, OK? Liz, yes. Neville, no. If he asks, you say, “I don’t think Peter would want that.” Right?’

  The day following Titus’s death it rained, and was very cold for a summer’s day. Caroline knew Peter was dreading taking the funeral service. Neville had tried to take charge of the details of it, and there’d been a real struggle for Peter to insist that Liz’s wishes must be taken into account.

  Finally Neville had accepted that Peter was right, but with little grace. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing. I know what needs to be done. Neat and short and without the heart-rending pathos so often initiated for someone for whom most people at the service haven’t any feelings at all. After all, who of the people attending will want to shed a tear for him. He was pathetic.’

  Finally, Peter, to his chagrin, lost his temper. ‘Titus was . . .’

  Neville interrupted with ... ‘Titus was a pathetic idiot, he’d never make progress either in his boring business nor anything else he put his hand to ...’

  ‘I think, Neville, you could put on a postage stamp your knowledge of Titus Bellamy. I have learned that he read history at Oxford and later became an astonishingly young professor of history there and was well respected in his field. Unfortunately he had a breakdown and had to leave. That was when he turned to running organic markets. His funeral will be conducted in the manner that Liz requests. She wants a celebration of his life not a dreary, sad affair. And a celebration it will be. If you’re not willing to go along with that then don’t bother turning up.’

  Neville had been taken aback by the news of Titus’s scholarly background, but the knowledge gave him even greater grounds for disliking him. After all, he’d had what Neville had always deeply envied, a doctorate from one of the most prestigious universities in the world. He was even more horrified to hear what Peter said next.

  ‘There will be several highly distinguished people from Oxford coming to pay their respects and, of course, journalists and photographers.’

  Neville grew angrier. So this loathsome predator who, with less than the flick of his finger, had taken his wife from him, was to have plaudits and praise even at his funeral. It was the final bitter pill. Momentarily, at first, he’d felt slight sorrow for Titus, but now it was replaced by bitter fury. And to boot, Titus had won Liz’s love, which he, Neville Neal, had once enjoyed and had now lost. But perhaps there was a chance to win her back now the man had damn well died, and it was a chance he’d take with both hands and win, so long as he played his cards right.

  ‘Of course. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Of course Liz must have what she wants, a celebration of his past, full of joy and light, very appropriate for a man of his merit. Truly fitting.’

  ‘Good. That settles it.’

  ‘Do you think it would be appropriate for me to sit with Liz at this service? We’re not yet divorced, though we shall be. Should I, do you think, just in case it’s too much for her?’

  Caroline, not convinced by Neville’s apparent change of heart, said, ‘That’s for Liz to decide, isn’t it?’

  Neville patted her arm. ‘Of course, you’re quite right. When the funeral is over I shall take Liz back to Glebe House. After all, it is her home. She can’t stay here for ever. I’m living there again, you see.’

  Peter, sensing that Caroline was about to boil over at the suggestion, laid a quiet hand on her arm. ‘Yet again, that’s for Liz to decide.’

  The problem was Liz found it intensely difficult to make decisions because she was so completely empty of everything. It was as if someone had drained away all her faculties - her brain, her innards, her appetite, her bodily strength, her will, the very zest of her - and left behind a weak and useless empty shell. But still they would keep asking her for decisions, and she’d nothing left of her with which to make them. She felt the need to lean on someone, and was grateful for Peter’s strength, Caroline’s loving common sense, and, above all, Neville’s kindness. He was so different, so considerate, so attentive to her every need. Had he truly had a metamorphosis, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly? Or was it only pretence? Well, for now she’d lean on him until she was more able to cope, and she’d go through the motions of believing
in this butterfly until her strength came back to her, if ever it did.

  She turned over and lost the duvet on the sitting-room floor. I might as well get up, she thought. She needed her breakfast. Breakfast. Cereals and toast and hot coffee. Yes. That’s what she’d have. Liz slipped on a dressing gown of Caroline’s and went into the downstairs loo to freshen up her face. Who was this woman looking at her? My God, she thought, that’s me! Oh, Titus, I’m so glad you can’t see me now. Still, you wouldn’t mind, because you love me for what I am, and how I love you, so very much. Liz stroked her cheek and imagined the hand she saw in the mirror was Titus’s beautiful, slender hand, and she remembered the times she’d held it and enjoyed those fine-boned fingers caressing her.