Temperamentally averse to getting herself involved in other people’s business, Olivia stared at the floor of the little clearing with dismay. Ought she to say something to the Ainsworths? Their foreign maids were the subject of endless gossip in Affacombe, but personally she believed that most of this stemmed from the local girls incensed by what they considered unfair competition. Anyway, it was surely up to the Ainsworths to keep an eye on their staff. On the other hand she didn’t believe for a moment that the ban on the ruins kept the boys out of them altogether... This wasn’t the sort of situation you’d care for them to stumble on.
Undecided, and irritated by the tiresomeness of it all she extricated herself and returned to her car. It was just on one o’clock: later than she had realized. When she was halfway down the drive Fred Earwaker swung in at the gate on his bicycle, returning from his dinner, and she slowed up for a friendly word. To her utter amazement he rode past without acknowledging her, his normally open face a wooden mask. She had stalled her engine, and sat for a moment watching him in the driving mirror, pedalling on without a glance over his shoulder. What on earth could be the matter, she wondered, starting up again? An accident to Ethel or Tommy? Perhaps he was hurrying to report to John Ainsworth and ask for time off? But as the thought came into her mind she saw Fred turn left as if making for the fallen tree.
After a late lunch she tried to settle down once more to the papers in the spare room, but her attention kept wandering. I’d better face it, she thought at last, thoroughly exasperated, and went downstairs to ring up the Priory School. John Ainsworth answered.
‘I want to talk to you and Faith about something,’ she told him. ‘Not over the line, I think. Could you be free? I can come up any time.’
‘Why, of course,’ he said. ‘Come about half-past eight, when most of the jobs are over. Here’s Faith.’
‘My dear, I can’t think of anybody I’d be more glad to see!’ Faith sounded tired and fussed. ‘We’re in a good old tiz. I’ll lay on coffee.’
‘You must have spotted the girl down in the village,’ John Ainsworth said. ‘An exotic blonde with a waggling bottom, and false eyelashes like the prongs of a rake. She came after Easter, and to our flat amazement turned out to be quite a good worker. So, when she said she’d like to come back after the holidays, we were only too thankful. Well, she suddenly walked out early this morning, leaving a note to say she’d been offered a good job in London if she’d go at once, and would we please forward her luggage to the address given — some club for foreign girls, it was. She’s gone to some man, if I know anything about it.’
‘Of course the other girls were in such a state of excitement that we could hardly get any breakfast,’ said Faith. She looked harassed and shiny, and pushed back some straying wisps of hair. ‘We’ve talked to them, and they obviously knew she was up to something, but of course, they stick together like glue. All the same, I’m quite sure they weren’t expecting her to go off like that. Then on top of it all there’s the Earwaker disaster.’
Olivia looked up sharply.
‘Earwaker? What’s happened?’
‘Ethel’s gone off to nurse her mother, she says. She’s taken Tommy with her. They went this afternoon, apparently. She does the early shift, and goes home at half-past eleven. She got Mrs Mullings to bring up a note.’
‘Mrs Mullings?’ exclaimed Olivia. ‘But surely Fred knew she was going?’
‘A bull’s eye,’ said John Ainsworth. ‘Blake came up from the South Lodge just now, and said he thought he’d better tell me that it was all round the Priory Arms that Ethel’s left Fred. She found out today that he’s been having an affair with one o’ they vurrin gurls up to the skule. The Paleys who live next door heard the mother and father of a row going on in the dinner hour. I suppose Luisa knew someone had found out and decided to vamoose while the going was good.’
‘Oh, Lord,’ said Olivia, ‘I’m afraid this is where I come in.’
‘Of course, there’s no proof that Fred and the girl have been meeting there,’ she concluded. ‘The Monk’s Path is a right-of-way. Anybody can step over the wall into the ruins. Do you get people trespassing much?’
‘Very seldom. Village kids now and again, or a nosey hiker. No, it seems pretty conclusive: a nice handy spot for them. I’d better have some of the shrubs down in case it’s a recognised love-nest. I hope to God Fred doesn’t take it into his head to go off after Luisa, the silly fool. Staffing a place like this is damn-all.’
‘I don’t think he will,’ Olivia said, remembering the expression on Fred Earwaker’s face. ‘And I’m pretty sure Ethel will come back when she’s cooled down, and they’ll weather it somehow. There’s Tommy to consider.’
‘Ethel’s like a mule when she gets an idea into her head,’ lamented Faith.
‘Listen, Faith. I’m off to London tomorrow, as you know, to get something to wear at the wedding. But if you’re still two down on the domestic side when I get back on Wednesday, I’ll gladly help you out. It’s a firm offer.’
‘How simply wonderful of you, Olivia darling! You’re a friend in a million. But I shouldn’t dream of sending you an S.O.S. unless we’re really up against it.’
Chapter Five
Olivia’s visit to London was a great success. Remarking that it was the last time they’d be boy and girl on their own, David insisted on taking her out twice to dinner and a theatre. At the weekend they went down to Wimbledon and inspected the house which Julian’s trustee was buying for her. A helpful assistant at Margrove’s made the buying of the wedding outfit positively enjoyable. There was even time to meet some old friends.
At intervals she hoped that the Affacombe problems were sorting themselves out. On an impulse she told David about the Earwakers.
‘The balloon went up jolly suddenly,’ he commented. ‘Was Ethel quite normal when she was up at the Priory that morning?’
‘She must have been. Faith Ainsworth had no idea that she was thinking of going off to her mother until the note arrived in the afternoon.’
‘How early does Ethel go up to work?’
‘Half-past eight. A good half-hour before the post arrives. Are you thinking of an anonymous letter, or something of that sort?’ Olivia asked with interest, having had the same idea herself.
‘It looks a bit like it doesn’t it? I mean, Ethel could hardly get home before a quarter to twelve or thereabouts, and Fred was due to turn up for his dinner soon after twelve. Anyone from the village with a juicy scandal about him would surely have waited until he’d gone back to his job, and Ethel was alone for the afternoon? Does anyone occur to you as a potential writer?’
‘No one at all,’ replied Olivia. ‘I’ve thought and thought about it. I’m quite sure the other foreign girls must have known about the affair, but it doesn’t sound like one of them, somehow. I wish it did: it’s hateful to think of someone from the village doing anything so beastly.’
‘I agree. Naughty of old Fred to let himself be seduced by a glamorous blonde, but clean fun compared with the other form of amusement. I hope Ethel manages to get over it. He’s an awfully decent chap.’
Olivia’s last engagement was a call on her former employer, Professor Moreton-Blake, who was most encouraging and helpful about her Parish History. She came away feeling that she could hardly wait to get back to Affacombe and start work again. On the following day she returned home and rather reluctantly contacted Faith Ainsworth. She learnt that Ethel Earwaker had not returned, but that some temporary help was available, and that there was hope of a replacement for Luisa. Asked about Fred, Faith reported that attempts by Simon Fairhall and John to act as mediators had got nowhere: he was flatly refusing to discuss the situation. Olivia finally rang off with a feeling of relief at not being wanted in a domestic capacity.
By teatime on Saturday she had completely finished sorting and classifying Roy Garnish’s papers, and wondered when he was coming down again. Obviously she must see him and try to persuade him to deposit th
e more valuable records with the County Archivist. With the comfortable feeling of a good job behind her, she presently bathed and changed and set off to supper at Crossways, wishing that she were going to spend the evening with Julian rather than en famille.
It turned out a more congenial party than she had expected. There was the latest report of David to give Julian, and her own activities to describe. A good visual memory enabled her to draw a detailed plan of the Wimbledon house for Barbara and Hugh, and this led to an animated discussion of colour schemes and furniture. Later, they worked on a list of those to be invited to the wedding, a matter complicated by the smallness of the church. Glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece Olivia was astonished to find that it was past eleven, and said that she really must be going home.
‘Mind taking your notice of the Revel meeting?’ asked Hugh Winship, returning to the room with a duplicated sheet. ‘Thought it was time I got a move on with all this wedding business ahead.’
There were cries of dismay from the three women.
‘Heavens! I’d completely forgotten the Revel,’ exclaimed Julian. ‘Must you be Hon. Sec. again this year, Daddy?’
‘Can’t very well not now, m’dear. The meeting’s on Monday week.’
‘Personally, I think Revel’s the utter end,’ said Barbara. ‘I feel bound to go to the wretched meeting though, to support Hugh. Come with us, Olivia?’
‘Thanks very much. I’d like to. Shall whichever of us gets there first keep a place? Then we can mutter flippant remarks while Hugh looks important.’
As she walked home escorted by Hugh, Olivia reflected that she was making quite good headway over establishing friendly relations with Barbara.
Affacombe’s community life revolved round the Priory Arms, the church and the parish hall. Volunteers had recently redecorated the interior of the latter with sky-blue colour wash and yellow paint, and fluorescent strip lighting had been installed. Coming in out of the dark to the Revel meeting Olivia blinked at the glare and noticed that the characteristic smell of steamy tea urns and perspiration was as strong as ever.
The hall was already well filled. At the far end Simon Fairhall was standing at a small table, talking to George Forbes, owner of the Village Stores and honorary treasurer of the Revel. The usual voluntary segregation was in force. In the back rows youths and their girls engaged in self-conscious badinage. The older members of families who considered themselves real Affacombe filled the middle rows, forcing the incomers, who were mainly gentry, to the front, and surveying them with critical interest as they took their places. Large coloured prints of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh looked down on the assembly, and the hands of a wall clock stood at one minute to seven-thirty. Olivia hurried forward to find Barbara Winship, but to her surprise neither she nor Hugh had yet arrived. She slipped into a chair next to a Commander and Mrs Forsythe, and put her handbag on the empty seat on her other side. After a brief conversation she glanced round at the door, but there was still no sign of the Winships.
‘Where on earth are they?’ demanded Charles Forsythe. ‘Old Hugh’s never late. I want to get this over and be home in time for the News.’
By five and twenty to eight conversation in the hall had risen to a roar, and the Vicar and George Forbes were conferring with baffled expressions. Soon there were signs of restiveness, and Simon Fairhall hammered on the table.
‘We seem to have mislaid our secretary,’ he said. ‘Does anyone know if he and Mrs Winship have been away for the day?’
‘Maybe the clocks is wrong over to Crossways,’ suggested someone, raising a laugh connected with a recent incident involving the Vicarage clocks.
There was a chorus of offers to run over to Crossways. Finally George Forbes hurried off under a good-humoured volley of enquiries as to whether he was clearing out with the balance from last year. The noise in the hall quickly rose to deafening proportions once more.
‘Hope they haven’t had a car smash!’ screeched Celia Forsythe.
The tumult died down as George Forbes reappeared and made his way up to the front, panting heavily. Simon Fairhall listened, and turned to the rows of expectant faces.
‘I’m sorry to tell you that Mrs Winship was taken ill just as she and the Colonel were starting for the meeting, but we hope it’s nothing serious. He naturally didn’t feel he could leave her alone in the house, and was just ringing round trying to get a message up here. Now, we must find someone to act as our temporary Revel secretary.’
‘Not this fella,’ Charles Forsythe murmured anxiously, trying to look inconspicuous. ‘She’s gone down with ’flu, I expect. Coppin was saying he’s got some cases in Leeford.’
Tiresome, thought Olivia. Barbara always made such heavy weather of her ailments, and there was a lot to be done in the near future. Perhaps she’d better call in on her way home... She tried to concentrate on the meeting, wondering what would happen if Fred Earwaker hadn’t turned up. From all accounts he was still living like a hermit outside working hours.
St Lucca’s Revel included some customs of interest to antiquarians. At sunset on December 15th a barrel of blazing tar was sent hurtling down the precipitous side of Sinneldon into the river. It was maintained that the longer it went on burning, the better were the prospects for the crops and for animal and human fertility in the twelve months ahead. At the moment of its final extinction the Revel Queen of the year emerged from concealment carrying a blazing torch with which she set alight a huge bonfire on the river bank. Then, attended by her retinue, all carrying lanterns, she led the way to the parish hall. The questionable festivities which had affronted Bishop Whitcombe had in the course of time been sublimated into a Parish Supper, followed by some mildly rowdy dancing in the village street. Bad weather sometimes reduced the earlier part of the proceedings to chaos, but from time immemorial nothing short of the two World Wars had ever induced the villagers to abandon it.
Getting the tar barrel to the top of Sinneldon and sending it off on its meteoritic descent called for brawn, and was the prerogative of the younger men. For some years Fred Earwaker had been regarded as the leader of the operation. As the business of the meeting slowly progressed, Olivia listened anxiously.
‘Now, strong men forward, please,’ Simon Fairhall said. ‘Which of you hefty lads are doing the barrel this year?’
There was an awkward silence. At last one of the older men rose to his feet.
‘Seein’ as Fred Earwaker b’ain’t yur, Vicar, I takes leave to propose Jim Brent leads barrel party.’
In default of other suggestions Jim Brent was duly seconded, and elected by a forest of raised hands. Olivia gave a sigh of relief. It had been done very tactfully, really. If only some way could be found to break the impasse, though.
Hugh Winship looked slightly lost, in the manner of men whose domestic routine has broken down.
‘She was perfectly all right when I went off to the County Council this morning,’ he told Olivia. ‘Began to feel off colour when she got in from walking the dogs this afternoon, she says. She didn’t fancy any supper, and just as we were starting off for the meeting she had a funny sort of collapse. Scared me stiff. I got on to Coppin, and he’s been along and says she’s got a virus infection. Means ’flu, I suppose. Left some pills, and told her to stay in bed. She’s got a bit of temperature.’
‘Shall I go up and see her?’ she asked.
‘Think not, if you don’t mind. Her light’s out: she said she just wanted to sleep. Nice of you to look in, though. How did the meeting go?’
Olivia gave him a brief account, and undertook to come round again after breakfast the next morning. An early telephone call, however, put her off. Barbara was feeling better, but would not hear of her risking infection. With the comforting feeling of having at least tried to do her duty she settled down to a good day’s work on the Parish History.
It was a wet and dismal afternoon, and going over to draw the curtains at an early hour she saw the Garnishes’ Mercedes pass, goi
ng in the direction of the Priory. She decided to ring them later, and offer to bring the box of papers up to the West Wing on the following day. They could hardly avoid asking her in, and she could then raise the matter of the County Archives.
This plan, however, was not to materialize. Roy had started off with a bit of a cold that morning, Pamela said, and he was now absolutely streaming with it. He would be sorry not to see her, but it really wouldn’t be sensible. He was just here, and would like a word...
Hoarse and catarrhal, Roy thanked her for all her work and asked her to hang on to the box till he was down again. Yes, he’d got a flipping awful cold.
Olivia commiserated and rang off, wondering who it was at the front door.
Chapter Six
Julian stood with her back to the fire looking tired and strained.
‘Daddy seemed bothered about Mummy,’ she explained, ‘so I thought I’d better come home for the night.’ She hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact I wondered if I might ring up David from here, just on the chance that he’s in this evening?’
‘My dear, of course you can,’ Olivia told her. ‘Any time. The Crossways telephone’s rather public, isn’t it? See if you can get him while I make some coffee.’
Julian took a step in the direction of the telephone and then stood irresolutely.
‘I’m a bit bothered myself, come to that.’
‘Why not sit down for a minute and tell me about it, if you’d care to?’ Olivia suggested, pulling up another chair and throwing a log on the fire.
Julian took off her coat and sat down. For a few moments there was silence as she watched the leaping flames.
‘Mummy’s looking simply dreadful,’ she said unequivocally. ‘So white and drawn, and she’s gone to pieces in the most extraordinary way. When we were alone she broke down completely, and said she couldn’t possibly face the wedding and that it must be put off for the present. When I said there was no need to have a reception or any fuss at all she got quite hysterical, and said it wouldn’t make any difference, and the whole thing had got to be postponed. Then Daddy came in, but neither of us could do anything with her at all. At last we persuaded her to take a sedative Dr Coppin had prescribed, and in the end she quietened down and got sleepy. It just doesn’t make sense. I mean, she was perfectly happy about the wedding on Saturday evening, wasn’t she? It’s so sudden.’
The Affacombe Affair Page 4