The Village Green Affair

by Shaw, Rebecca

  The cold water from the tap surprised her and brought her back down to earth. That hand of his would never touch her again, and she might as well get used to the idea. Pain of an unimaginable kind passed through her from head to toe. Where was Neville when she needed him?

  He was in the kitchen with Peter and Caroline, scoffing his breakfast, looking robust, healthy and, what was worse, thoroughly alive. He’d no right to be alive.

  Taking his cue from Peter, Neville got to his feet when she went into the kitchen.

  ‘Good morning, Liz.’

  ‘Good morning, Peter. I’ve come for my breakfast.’

  Caroline made no comment, even though she knew she’d already eaten her breakfast, merely said, ‘What would you like?’

  ‘I see you’ve got coffee. I’d like that and then some hot toast with butter. Please. Oh! And some cereal.’

  Neville pulled a chair out for her. ‘There we are. You do realize you’ve . . .’

  Caroline shook her head at him and he stopped.

  Neville argued to himself that there was no point in not letting her know she was behaving ridiculously. He tried another tack. ‘I’ll get you fresh underclothes, shall I, from the house?’

  ‘All my clothes! Where are they? I should have taken them out of that flat.’

  ‘I’ve done it for you, my darling. I emptied the flat last night and gave the owner your keys.’

  ‘Thank you, Neville. You are so thoughtful. Could you fetch me a dress or something, too, from the house?’

  ‘Of course, it’ll be a pleasure.’

  He came back with her clothes and put them in the sitting room. When she went to dress she found he’d brought her very newest, smartest underwear and a frock more suited to a Royal Garden Party. He walked in to the sitting room just as she’d got the underwear on.

  ‘Sorry! My word, Liz, that looks good.’ For one miraculous moment he actually felt serious lust for her. At that moment he could have . . . the new, unaccustomed brightness in his eyes told her exactly what his thoughts were.

  When she was fully dressed, Liz went close to him and said, ‘Never. Never. OK?’

  Startled by the rough determination in her voice, Neville asked abruptly, ‘Are you staying here or going home?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘With me?’

  Liz weighed this up in her mind. Standing so near to her, he could feel each breath she took. He’d never been more aware of her than at that moment. He’d bide his time. She was too raw right now, but it would only be a matter of time . . .

  ‘My own bedroom.’

  Disappointment almost overrode his new-found consideration, but he answered sweetly, ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

  ‘Thank you, Neville.’ She automatically reached out to stroke his cheek by way of thanks as she would have done had he been Titus, and instantly recognized he wasn’t Titus and never would be. She had to get to grips with reality. But all that love, all that wonderful love, taken from her in one appalling moment . . . However would she live another day, never mind a week, a year?

  ‘Neville, I want to go to the mortuary to see Titus. Will you make arrangements for me, please?’

  ‘It’s not safe for you to drive. I’ll get my keys and take you.’

  When they came back neither of them was able to say anything at all. Liz went into the sitting room and Neville sat brooding on one of the rocking chairs in the kitchen, rocking gently to and fro, and then sometimes rocking furiously. Caroline had gone to take a surgery and Peter was in his study working on his plans for the funeral.

  Dottie, having finished her cleaning, was about to leave, and very glad indeed she was to be doing that. The sooner this funeral was over the better it would be for everybody. Caroline had given the twins money to go into Culworth so there hadn’t been anyone available to talk to. Before she left she knocked on the study door to speak to Peter.

  ‘Rector, I’m sorry to be troubling you, sir, but I’ve come to say I’m off now. I’ve done what the Doctor asked, and I’ll be here tomorrow as usual.’ Dottie hesitated, then closed the door so no one could hear her and added, ‘I’ve no business saying this but I am: he’s got a different agenda from you and the Doctor. Be warned.’

  Peter smiled. ‘I believe you’re right. I’ll keep a keen eye on him.’

  ‘Can anyone go? On the day?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He was a very lovely man. I liked him very much. Very genuine. Which is more than . . .’ she nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen, ‘you know.’

  Chapter 19

  On the evening of the day of Titus’s funeral there was the usual crowd of people in the bar. Seated at the table with the old settle were Vera and Don, Sylvia and Willie, Jimmy and, for a change, Dottie Foskett. Jimmy, in a rare mood of loving the whole of the human race, had got in the first drinks and was giving them out when in through the door came Grandmama Charter-Plackett. Sylvia waved, and she came over to join them.

  ‘Don’t worry, Jimmy, I’ll get my own drink, and the next round is on me.’ She bustled across to the bar to order a gin and tonic. ‘Georgie! How’s things?’

  ‘Weary after all the people who’d been to Titus’s funeral came in for a post-funeral feed and a knees-up. I had thought they’d have had a wake at Glebe House but they didn’t . . .’

  ‘At Glebe House? Come on, Georgie, Neville’s hardly likely to have a knees-up for his wife’s lover in his own house, is he?’

  Georgie clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘My God! Of course not, I never thought. They kept their romance so low-key I’d almost forgotten about it. She’s back, you know, living in Glebe House.’

  Grandmama had just taken her first sip of her drink when Georgie’s innocent remark made her splutter it down the front of her top. ‘Are you sure? After . . . you know.’

  ‘Well, that’s it. I don’t know. Do you?’

  Grandmama fitted her not inconsiderable bosom onto the bar top and, leaning close to Georgie’s ear, whispered, ‘I don’t know for certain, but the story is . . . he . . . raped her that night she left him and went to Jimbo’s.’

  Georgie made a great effort to control her voice but she didn’t succeed. ‘Raped her! He never! That cold fish. Just goes to show.’

  Those who hadn’t heard quite correctly soon had it relayed to them by those who had. The bar fell silent, except for Don, who said loudly, ‘I’m surprised at Grandmama letting on like that. With her class she should know better.’

  Vera blushed bright red, Sylvia fixed her eyes on her drink, and Jimmy said, ‘So the truth will out, it seems.’ Willie, shocked to the core by such revelations almost before Titus was cold in his grave, muttered something indistinguishable and took a long drink of his home brew. What was this village coming to? He recollected that Arthur Prior at Wallop Down Farm was an illegitimate cousin of Ralph’s, and not everyone kept to their own beds even in what was described as the Good Old Days, but that wasn’t rape, now was it? More like mutual good fun in the haystack. What Neville had done . . . well, that was awful.

  Grandmama never arrived at the table with the settle. She got waylaid by eager gossips wanting to know all the latest news.

  ‘Well,’ said Dottie, ‘that is disgusting, I must say, and him a pillar of the church. Really disgusting. Poor Liz.’

  ‘But going back to live in the house where it happened! How can she?’ Sylvia whispered.

  Dottie tapped the table with her forefinger. ‘She’s got nowhere else to go. The flat she was renting, well, the chap came back for medical treatment after a nasty car accident wherever he was abroad, so she had to leave, and it all happened the day Titus died. So, apparently,’ she drew a deep breath, ‘she’s back in Glebe House and so is . . .’

  ‘Yes . . .?’

  ‘Neville.’

  They’d seen him going in and out of Glebe House but never guessed he was sleeping there. Well, of all things. Would you believe it? There was a silence for a few moments whi
le they all digested the implications.

  Sylvia asked where Dottie had got the information, suspecting it might be from the Rectory.

  Indignantly, Dottie refuted such a suggestion almost as it took wings. ‘Like you, Sylvia, working at the Rectory, anything I hear there I don’t divulge.’

  ‘So-o-o . . .?’

  ‘From overhearing Jimbo and Harriet talking when they’d forgotten I was there cleaning, and that’s the truth.’

  Vera nudged Dottie and winked at her.

  Dottie winked back and asked, ‘It’s all right talking about it, but do you give poor Liz a thought? I certainly do. That’s dreadful what he did to her.’ She felt a change of subject was needed, so rooted about in her handbag and came out with a gilt-edged card.

  Vera tried peeping over the top of the card to find out for herself. ‘What’s that, Dottie? You’re full of surprises tonight.’

  ‘You’ll all be getting an invite. I’ve got mine early ’cos I happened to be there cleaning when the invites came from the printers. Take a butcher’s.’

  It was eagerly passed round, and a few people sitting near tried to have a butcher’s, too.

  ‘Two weeks Friday. Eight p.m. Well, isn’t that lovely? Opening of the Old Barn. Well, we’ve waited long enough. It’s seems like months since they started renovating it.’

  Dottie casually mentioned she’d been in to have a look round when she’d been helping Jimbo unload a never-ending stream of boxes of table linen.

  ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Beautiful. Transformed. Still medieval, you know - can’t get away from it, can you, in a place built back then. For weddings and big parties, mmm-m-m. All them oak beams, magnificent they are. Can’t believe they could build like that all those years back. You can have it with small tables for four or six, or do a kind of medieval banquet with the tables in long lines and benches. Such good taste, it is.’ Dottie bunched her fingers and kissed them. ‘That building, combined with Jimbo’s food - no one, and I mean no one, will be able to resist. He’ll make a mint, he will. He’s already got it booked for several events before it’s quite finished. Anyway, you’ll all see it when you go. He’s got fairy lights in all the trees as you drive up, and he switched them on for me. Course it was daylight, but I could see it would be lovely. And the ladies’ loos! They could win a prize they’re so beautiful: pale turquoise, dark turquoise and white tiling from floor to ceiling, and great big mirrors, with hand creams and a choice of perfumed sprays and soaps and such for anyone to use.’

  Sylvia got her diary out and wrote in the date and the time. ‘That’ll be a night to remember and not half, though could anything beat that champagne race meeting for the Africa fund?’

  They all agreed nothing could beat that.

  Vera asked if Dottie had any more explosive news to tell them, ’cos if so, would she wait till Don had got the next round in? They might be in need of alcoholic support after hearing it.

  Dottie tapped the side of her nose and winked at them all.

  Vera got to her feet. ‘Go on, Don, I’ll come with you, and help carry the drinks. Dottie, not a word till I get back.’

  Quietly Sylvia commented that it was wonderful how Don had improved since that fall. ‘Never thought he would.’

  ‘The brain can take years to mend, you know, or not mend at all. Can’t expect too much. I mean, after all, he was always a man of few words before his fall.’ Willie nodded knowledgeably. ‘He’s not quite A1 at Lloyds but not far off.’

  Don came back carrying a tray of drinks, followed by Vera putting the change in her purse. He sorted them out, remembering all by himself exactly who wanted what. When he’d sat down and taken his first sip of orange juice he looked up at Dottie and said, ‘Well, then, what is it?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘Your big news.’

  ‘Oh! That.’ She wasn’t nearly as reluctant to tell them as she sounded. ‘It’s just that I’ve got a job with Pat Jones, helping out when they have an event on at the Old Barn. I shan’t be waiting on, just hurrying about giving Pat a hand in the background. She’s got a new uniform to wear; not dressed like a waitress, more like management. She’s a slave driver, is that Pat.’ She sounded annoyed, but the smile on her face was lovely to see.

  ‘Well, Dottie, here’s to your new job.’ They all clinked glasses and drank to Dottie.

  ‘Congratulations!’

  ‘Well done!’

  ‘All grist to the mill, eh!’

  ‘They say the tips are excellent.’

  ‘At last I shall have money to spare, for the first time in my life!’

  ‘Good luck to you, Dottie,’ Don said, meaning every word.

  ‘There’re a few jobs going still.’ Dottie looked round the table but thought not one of them could fit in quite as well as Dottie Foskett. ‘What with this new job and my house all done up - the builders say they’ll be finished by next weekend - I shall be sitting pretty.’

  When Grandmama finally joined them, their talk turned to the position Liz Neal found herself in, and they speculated on her future.

  ‘None of us knows, and we are not likely to. But believe me, if he’d done that to me he’d have been out on his ear in quick sticks,’ Grandmama pronounced loudly.

  ‘We haven’t seen much of you lately. Have you been away?’

  ‘No, I’ve been assisting the police in their inquiries.’ For one wild, unbelievable moment they all thought she meant the police had hauled her in for questioning, and sat stunned. Grandmama looked round at their faces and began to laugh. ‘Not because they suspected me of anything. I was helping them because I saw the burglars leaving Sir Ralph’s.’

  ‘Whew!’ said Don. ‘That’s a relief!’

  ‘Did you know they actually took Muriel’s engagement ring from her finger as she lay asleep in bed.’

  ‘That beautiful sapphire? My God! The cheek of it. Stealing from a poor old lady who doesn’t even know what day it is.’

  They digested this piece of information, and Dottie asked, ‘Have they got it back for her?’

  Grandmama nodded. ‘Oh, yes. They confessed what they’d done, couldn’t do any other. I’d seen them leaving the house, you see, and Mac caught them as they were escaping, so they really couldn’t say it wasn’t them. And they were carrying all the stuff. So, between us, Mac and I have caught both sets of burglars. When they’ve been sentenced Muriel’s ring and her ornaments will all be given back as will all the other stolen property, including my silver snuff boxes. Blinking good job the market’s finished with. What with the bikers and the burglars . . . mind you, the bikers have only been fined not imprisoned. It was two chaps called Tone and Eddie who took your stuff, Willie. I feel quite sorry for them. The bikers, on the other hand, did an awful lot of damage, to say nothing of indirectly killing Titus.’

  Indignantly Willie shouted, ‘Sorry for them? They need horse-whipping, never mind sorry for them. Stealing my grandad’s watch - twenty-two-carat gold it is - and Sylvia’s solid silver locket. Disgusting. To think they’d been poking about in our belongings. They deserve all they get.’

  Grandmama retorted, ‘Perhaps if you’d been treated like they were when they were children, you’d not have spent the last thirty years comfortably working as a verger in a lovely backwater like ours. They didn’t have a chance.’

  Willie slapped his glass of homebrew down on the table and said, ‘Comfortable? Comfortable? I worked bloody hard at my job. In summer every hour God sent, believe me. At everyone’s beck and call night and day, locking up, unlocking. Believe me, it was no soft job.’ His face flushed and his eyes sparked anger, and for one terrible minute he thought he might be going the same way as Titus, because his heart was thumping and he felt if it went any faster . . .

  ‘Now, Willie,’ Grandmama laid a quiet hand on his arm, ‘you know I didn’t mean a thing about your job. But you have to admit it was peaceful. After all, your customers didn’t answer back.’ She smiled as sweetly as G
randmama could ever do, and Willie’s heart began to slow.

  From the dining room Police Sergeant MacDonald and his wife came into the saloon bar for a drink to finish off their evening.

  ‘Come and join us, Mac.’ called Grandmama. ‘Move up and make a space, all of you.’ So they did and Don collected two spare chairs from other tables for them and Grandmama dug in her purse and got to her feet.