A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘That is so sad.’

  ‘I’ll be off. I can’t face the day, really. You OK with the accounts?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Leave the accounts to me. It’s one less thing for you to worry about right now.’

  Jimbo nodded. ‘Thanks for that. Very kind. Perhaps see you later.’ He gathered his bits and pieces together, took a long look round the office as though recalling seeing Ken working there, shook his head, and out he went.

  Harry worked all day without giving a thought as to what this sudden death might mean to him. He couldn’t grieve, after all he hadn’t known the man, but he felt impressed that Jimbo, as an employer, was so upset. It said something rather special about him. It wasn’t until he was clearing up at half past four that it occurred to him that this might be a fortuitous occurence for himself. Might Jimbo ask him to stay on? If he did, he couldn’t stay at Marie and Zack’s. One hundred and fifty pounds for a week or two, yes, but not indefinitely. He checked the clock. Four thirty-one. Better be off. Venetia would be waiting. God, she was an exciting woman. He found her utterly irresistible. She doubled, no trebled, every emotion he had ever experienced with a woman. His mother would have described her as a real cracker of a woman and, what’s more, she was just what he needed right now, this very minute, this very day.

  Harry went straight up there but today, instead of going so publicly into the leisure centre part of the building, he went round the back to knock on the front door of Venetia and Jeremy’s maisonette. She’d said he could and he knew exactly where that would lead him; straight into her bed.

  Venetia opened the door so quickly that she must have been standing behind it waiting for him. She drew him into her arms and they were kissing before the door closed. They stripped off as they finished their first kiss and were upstairs in the bedroom in far less time than it takes to tell.

  Breathless, the two of them eventually rolled apart and Harry’s first words were, ‘What about Jeremy?’

  ‘He’s out for the day with Mr Fitch, looking at a new place he’s thinking of buying. In any case, don’t worry about him, he lets me do as I like in all matters. We have that kind of a marriage.’

  Harry, for a reason quite unknown to him, suddenly went on red alert. ‘I can’t believe that. If you were married to me, you wouldn’t have carte blanche, not likely.’

  Venetia turned towards him saying, ‘What would you do if you caught your wife in bed with a man?’

  ‘Cut his throat.’

  ‘Well, Harry dear,’ she stroked his throat with a lingering finger, ‘no need to worry about your throat because Jeremy wouldn’t do a thing. He never has done, and he never will, believe me. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, would our Jeremy.’

  The wickedness of her attitude thrilled Harry. It made her even more tempting than she already was. ‘He’s caught you before?’

  ‘Not caught me, no, but he has known what was going on and he didn’t say a word.’

  ‘A very tolerant man, then.’

  ‘He loves me, you see. Strange, isn’t it? Perhaps if he didn’t love me, he’d have cut my throat long ago.’

  ‘Not this perfect, perfect throat?’ Harry said, even though he could see the wrinkles starting to appear.

  ‘Even this perfect throat. You are such a handsome man, Harry. So perfectly mannered and so confidence-boosting. Shall we?’

  He couldn’t resist her, but he wouldn’t come to the house again. Taking a quick passionate moment in the changing rooms round the pool was fine, but this was altogether too risky. He also felt bad doing it in the excessively tolerant Jeremy’s own bedroom. One had to have some standards.

  ‘See you tomorrow?’ she asked as he was leaving.

  ‘Possibly. It just depends. You’ve heard Ken Allardyce has died? It might mean extra work for me. I don’t know, Jimbo’s very upset.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘He’s not … ?’

  Venetia roared with laughter. ‘That man is so moral it’s unbelievable. I had high hopes, with all that money, but no, he’s strictly off limits.’

  Harry humbly remarked, ‘I’m glad I’m not.’ Then he kissed her luscious red mouth and left with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Best keep her guessing a bit, he thought to himself. If he fell completely under her spell she’d be capable of making his life hell, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. A nice kind of hell, though.

  He became aware of someone following him as he passed through the village down Jack’s Lane and turned to make sure it wasn’t Jeremy Mayer, bent on throat-cutting.

  It was, however, a Jack Russell terrier. He stopped when Harry stopped and when he began walking again, so did this strange little dog. The story about Sykes, owned by the now-deceased but greatly lamented Jimmy, came into his mind so he turned round and bending down said, ‘Hello! Sykes, is it? Are you Sykes?’ The dog’s tail wagged furiously, in fact, almost all of his body wagged too and it made Harry laugh. Sykes allowed him to stroke his head and they had a pleasant few minutes making each other’s acquaintance. But Harry needed his evening meal, which Marie had kindly started making for him now that he was working. He checked his watch. He mustn’t keep Marie waiting, so he set off at a good pace, hoping that Sykes’s short little legs wouldn’t be able to keep up and he’d go home. But he arrived at Laburnum Cottage with Sykes close at his heels.

  He was a jolly little dog, but Harry knew he couldn’t keep him so he quietly slammed the door shut behind him and went into the kitchen to greet Marie. He never tired of her cheery face and rosy cheeks. A woman made to be a mother, for certain. ‘I’m back, usual time?’

  ‘Ten minutes. I’ve got WI tonight, and can’t be late.’

  But Sykes was there when Marie went out to the WI, he was there when Zack went to the Royal Oak intending to escort Marie home when her meeting in the church hall finished, and he was there when they got back.

  ‘Harry! It’s Sykes waiting outside. He’s been there all evening, did you know?’

  ‘No I didn’t. He followed me home, but I thought he’d get bored of waiting. What shall we do?’

  ‘I don’t like to offend him, I expect he’s missing Jimmy, you see. But Grandmama will be distraught if he doesn’t get home soon.’

  ‘If you’ll lend me a piece of rope or something, I’ll take him back to her. Where does she live?’

  ‘Well,’ Marie said, ‘there’re three very old cottages actually on the green in the centre of the village and she lives in the one with the fancy bright-red door and a brass dolphin for a door knocker.’

  ‘I’ll go straight away, she might not want to open the door after dark.’

  ‘You’re very kind, very thoughtful. Zack! A piece of rope please.’

  But when they reached the three cottages, Sykes had a very different idea of where he lived. He wanted to go to the end one and when he reached it, he whined and scratched at the door with his claws, up on his hind legs. Then he howled loud and long, and it broke Harry’s heart. This must be where Jimmy had lived. The poor old dog.

  The door of the first cottage burst open and there, standing out in the road, was a well-dressed, well-built lady who he knew immediately had not been brought up in a village at all. She was London and you’d better make no mistake about that.

  ‘Mrs Charter-Plackett?’

  ‘That’s me. Come along, Sykes, where have you been? The dear little chap, he’s missing Jimmy. And you are?’

  The imperious tone of her voice allowed no fibbing, and Harry felt uncommonly like a small boy in the headmistress’s office, in trouble for he knew not what. But they had an hilarious hour talking and drinking malt whisky, recounting stories about Jimbo and life in the village, and the fact that she didn’t know what to do about Sykes because she really wasn’t a doggy person. Of Harry she learned nothing.

  Chapter 5

  Up on the village noticeboard the following morning was a large, well-designed poster announcing that there would be an organ recital in the church on the Saturday after
next at seven-thirty in the evening, given by Tamsin Goodenough, the church organist, in aid of the Organ Restoration Fund. Tickets were five pounds, including wine and nibbles.

  Jimbo was providing the refreshments and was one of the main ticket sellers. If it went well, he would set up another recital with Tamsin and a string quartet she knew, in aid of the Church Bells Restoration Fund. Mind you, if some more people didn’t volunteeer to ring the blessed bells, they would be restored but silent.

  Everyone who went into the store was reminded about the recital and Jimbo was doing brisk business. Well, as brisk as could be in a village the size of Turnham Malpas. The capacity of the church was one hundred, if people sat on the two steps up to the font and they brought in the long bench which provided seating outside in the churchyard for visitors. It would be cleaned, of course. Tamsin’s playing was far and away too good for a church the size of St Thomas’s, but they were all careful to avoid telling her that in case she decided to up her game and go to the abbey in Culworth – or somewhere even more prestigious.

  Jimbo sold two tickets to Valda and Thelma Senior who, much to his surprise, had both longed to be musicians, but whose father had other plans for them. He also sold tickets to Georgie from the Royal Oak, two to the Fitchs and two to Marcus and Alice March, her being a singer and, to his surprise, one to Paddy Cleary, who looked rather sheepishly at him.

  ‘Didn’t know you were musical, Paddy.’

  ‘I’m not, but you have to support things when you live in a village, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course. That’ll be five pounds, thanks. I’ll take that first and then your other stuff, or I’ll get mixed up. How’s life up at the big house now that you’ve got your horticulture certificates? Promoted, are you?’

  ‘Earning more money and … don’t tell anyone, but there could be a promotion.’

  ‘Who’s leaving, then?’

  ‘I thought you’d have known, you of all people.’ Paddy laughed and wagged a finger at Jimbo.

  ‘Well, I don’t. Tell me.’

  Paddy leaned across the counter and said quietly, ‘It’s Michelle. She’s moving to …’ he paused for effect, then added, ‘Kew.’

  ‘Kew Gardens!’ Jimbo was stunned. He’d always understood she was excellent at her job, but Kew! ‘My word. That’s a promotion and a half. What’s happening to you?’

  ‘If I play my cards right, I could be Deputy Head Gardener.’ Paddy visibly swelled with pride. He couldn’t help it, especially when he remembered the thieving rogue he’d been when he first came to the village. Coming here had given him the only chance in the whole of his life to earn an honest crust.

  ‘What a turn round. That’s brilliant! You must be proud.’

  ‘I am. All I want now is the joint of beef for our supper tonight.’

  ‘Ah! Yes, of course. I have it in the back, in the chiller. Won’t be a tick.’

  While Paddy waited for Jimbo, he stood admiring his ticket for the recital. He stroked it as though it was covered in gold leaf. He couldn’t wait for Saturday.

  Though Jimbo might love gossip and say how much he missed not working in the store each day since Tom had taken over as manager, he didn’t know, and neither did anyone else, that he, Paddy Cleary, had been out with Tamsin three times since that night in the pub. Three wonderful nights! He wondered when he should let Tamsin know how he felt. She was such a bright, jolly person with no edge, even though she was so talented. She was even a very convenient three years younger than himself. He just couldn’t believe she hadn’t been snapped up by some very eligible man long ago. Classical music had never been of interest to him, ever, but when Tamsin played he was transported to another world. Another beautiful, beautiful …

  ‘Ah! Thanks, Jimbo! I paid Tom when I ordered it, you remember?’

  ‘Yes, I know. Enjoy!’ Jimbo watched Paddy leaving the store and thought, if he didn’t know better, he might think that perhaps Paddy had a woman in tow. Still, if he had, he’d have bought two tickets, wouldn’t he, so perhaps he was wrong, but he did look livelier than his usual solemn self. Time would tell.

  After Paddy, Bel came in to do her stint behind the till, and next his mother popped in for some tinned food for Sykes who patiently waited for her tied to the hook outside provided for that very purpose.

  ‘How’s Sykes coping?’

  ‘Don’t you mean, how am I coping?’

  ‘Well, yes, the two of you.’

  ‘I suppose it could be said that walking him is doing me good. I’m shattered when I get in but, once I’ve recovered, I’m absolutely fine. He’s a grand little dog, but he does miss Jimmy.

  We both do.’

  ‘I could never understand how well you got on with Jimmy, Mother. He was all the things you aren’t.’

  ‘I know, and never clean enough, but somehow … Anyway, his blessed dog took a liking to that new chap at Marie Hooper’s … Harry something. He followed him home and Harry brought him back. A thoroughly decent chap is Harry, and he has an appetite for malt whisky of which I always approve. It makes men real men in my opinion, liking malt whisky.’

  ‘You don’t need the burden of a dog at your age, why don’t you find …’

  ‘At my age, what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, you’ll soon be …’

  ‘Hush up! If you say my age out loud in here it’ll be as good as announcing it on the BBC news. There’s nothing wrong with having a dog at my age. He’s a good companion, I can say what I like to him and he never answers back, he just wags his tail in approval, which is more than you get from a man.’ She rooted about in her purse. ‘There’s the money, Bel. Good morning to you.’

  Jimbo watched his mother untying Sykes and admired her vigour. My God, she’d live to be a hundred at this rate. Then he saw her kiss the top of Sykes’s head before she set off home across the green, and he was reminded that, despite the tough front she always put up, she was marshmallow inside and always had been.

  Damn! He’d forgotten to ask her to buy a ticket for the recital. He’d buy her one as a treat, she deserved it. He placed five pounds, there and then, in his recital money tin, making it seventy-five pounds altogether, and tucked it neatly into the drawer under the till so it was handy for Bel. Then he put his mother’s ticket in an envelope with her name on it in his apron pocket.

  Later that day, Bel handed Jimbo the tin with the recital money in. ‘I’m off, I’ve got a shift at the pub tonight. Here’s the money for the organ thingy. I’ve sold quite a few actually, more than I anticipated. See you first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks. Has Tom sold any?’

  ‘Quite a few, he says, and all the money’s in there.’

  ‘Wonderful! I’m determined this recital is going to be a roaring success. Bye bye. See you tomorrow, Bel.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Eager to see how many tickets he’d sold that day, Jimbo tipped the money out onto the counter and began to count. All he had was fifty pounds. Fifty pounds! In fivers and tens and ten one pound coins. That was ridiculous! Last time he’d counted it was seventy-five pounds. What the hell? A devastating, sinking feeling came over Jimbo as he realised that money had been stolen from the tin. Automatically, out of an instinct born of years of guarding his money, he began to count how many tickets he had left in the drawer under the till.

  He had fifty-four tickets left. If that was so, there should have been £230 in the tin. But he had only fifty pounds. He’d lost money before, when someone working the till had mistakenly given too much change to a customer, but this was absolutely deliberate thieving. If he’d sold forty-six tickets, then there should be £230 in the tin.

  He double-checked all his locking procedures as he left the store, carefully carrying the till roll, the cash from the till, the recital cash tin, and the box containing the unsold tickets and left for home, feeling badly let down. All his working life he had been completely honest and fair in his dealings with his customers and his staff and he believed t
hat if he was, then they would be honest with him too. He’d only met with dishonesty with that thieving murderer Andy Moorhouse, who’d done his level best to ruin his business with his tales of food gone off. His food gone off! Indeed not! But this … He had two options when it came to contemplating who the thief was. It was either a member of the public who’d been in after he’d checked the tin, or one of his own staff, in his absence. But his mind shied away from such thoughts, he trusted Bel and Tom as he would one of his own children or Harriet, they were as honest as the day was long.

  *

  He flung his front door open shouting, ‘Harriet! Harriet?’

  ‘Kitchen. Where else at this time of day?’

  ‘We’ve been robbed!’

  ‘Robbed?’

  ‘Yes! Robbed. I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Robbed? By whom?’

  ‘Exactly. By whom? That is the question.’

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be either Tom or Bel.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘So, Jimbo, darling, that leaves the customers. From the till?’

  ‘No. Out of the tin I was keeping the recital ticket money in.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘It had seventy-five pounds in it before I left the store, and when I opened it before I left just now, there was only fifty pounds. It should have been £230, acording to the number of tickets already gone from the drawer.’

  ‘So,’ Quickly calculating in her head, Harriet said, ‘So that’s … £180 gone! My God! That’s someone with the devil of a lot of front.’

  ‘Bel and Tom had already gone by the time I noticed, you see, so I couldn’t ask them who’d been in during the afternoon.’

  ‘Then you should get them to write it down while it’s still fresh in their minds. Tomorrow will be too late. Do it now, there’s time. Supper will be at least another three quarters of an hour, I got held up.’