A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘Of course.’ Tamsin hoped he wasn’t going to say anything at all about his feelings. Now wasn’t the time, and it never would be.

  ‘I had a very different upbringing from you, sure I did.’

  ‘How different?’

  ‘How long have you got?’

  ‘How old are you, Paddy?’

  ‘Forty last birthday.’

  ‘Which is when?’

  ‘November 20th.’

  ‘Is your name really Patrick?’

  ‘No. I was christened Paddy. How much more Irish can you get?’

  ‘You don’t sound very Irish.’

  ‘Once I’d left Ireland, I tried to make sure that I didn’t sound like an archetypal idiot Irishman.’

  Paddy was silent then. It seemed to Tamsin that he had something more to say and suddenly she couldn’t bear it another minute. ‘I’m all ears if you’ve something to tell me.’

  ‘I was number three, and the first boy of eight children, not one of whom my parents could afford to have. We were dirt poor. My father never worked, as far as I know. Any money he got to before my mother got her hands on it went on drink. We were frequent visitors to the local convent, begging for food. I felt so ashamed. Everyone knew us for what we were; unclean, ill-mannered, shabby and at the bottom of every pile.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Tamsin spoke with compassion in every timbre of her voice.

  Paddy smiled at her. ‘One day I saw the light, as they say, and I realised that life didn’t have to be like this, that things could be better if only my dad made the effort. So I tried to reason with him, for my mother’s sake. I got knocked down for my pains and went to school the next day with a broken arm, in agony. The head teacher insisted that I went to the hospital and, when I turned up at home with my arm in plaster, he knocked me down again. For being soft, he said. That day, iron entered my soul and I vowed that, as soon as I could, I would leave home and damn the lot of ’em. So, just before my seventeenth birthday, I did just that, would you believe?’ He laughed, but it was bitter laughter, and it hurt Tamsin dreadfully.

  ‘Paddy! What on earth did you do at your age? How did you live? At sixteen?’

  ‘I stole our neighbour’s wage packet. I shouldn’t have done it, he was a decent man through and through.’

  ‘Paddy!’

  ‘I struggled on for years, from one job to another, thieving if necessary. I’m sorry, it’s not recent behaviour. But when there’s no food on the table one has to lower one’s standards and get some … somehow or other. Then I met Anna, the curate from the abbey, and she brought me here when she stood in for the rector. I didn’t do right by her but …’ Paddy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Then I got lodgings with Greta and Vince, and a job at the big house courtesy of Mr Fitch. But still I couldn’t stop stealing.’

  ‘Paddy!’

  ‘Sorry, but I did. I was desperate. However, enough of my life history, it’s too sordid for your ears.’

  He stood up and looked down at her. At her red hair and green eyes. At the sad, sweet, caring expression on her face. At the light sprinkling of freckles on her forehead and cheeks.

  He liked her wholesomeness and the beauty of her spirit. And, at that moment, he lost his heart to her.

  But he wasn’t worthy of her, not when he thought about his past and the rotten tricks he’d done to stay alive. He’d drag her down, no doubt about it, they weren’t in the same class. ‘Better go. Thank you for tonight, your playing was beautiful. It goes right to the heart, sure it does, just like you.’ He was out of the house and running down the road to his lodgings with Vince and Greta before she could stop him.

  Tamsin watched him running away and, to her horror, knew for certain that he must be in love with her. But she must be mistaken, surely. Well, bad luck, Paddy, if you are. I’m not the marrying kind, we’re not right for each other. But the moment she thought that she regretted it, because there was a lightness of touch and a sincerity about him that impressed her.

  *

  Paddy ached with his love for Tamsin even as he drank the mug of Ovaltine so kindly prepared for him by Greta. ‘You’re quiet tonight, Paddy. Are you all right?’

  Paddy nodded. ‘The music was beautiful, wasn’t it?’ There was a yearning in his voice which Greta couldn’t ignore. ‘Yes. Beautiful. It makes you wish you could play like that yourself, it must be wonderful. Neither Vince nor me ever got a chance that way.’ As a sly afterthought, she asked, ‘Tamsin OK?’ Still, she wasn’t prepared for the light that glowed in Paddy’s eyes.

  ‘Yes, thanks. I made her a cup of tea, she was tired out.’ ‘I’m not surprised. Playing like that must take it out of her. I’m going up. Turn out the lights, please. Goodnight!’ Greta just hoped, as she climbed the stairs, that Paddy hadn’t fallen for Tamsin. It would never be right, her a Cambridge music scholar and him dragged out of an Irish bog by his own boot laces, a man of the soil and an ex-thief too; they’d nothing in common.

  Paddy acknowledged that too, but there was nothing to stop him dreaming. No one knew he dreamed of her but himself. He’d just have to pine away in his lonely bachelor bed for ever and a day. He sat up in bed with a start. He could buy one of those tapes she’d done in aid of the church funds. That was it! Then he could lie in bed listening and dreaming about her into the night, with his walkman clamped to his ears and no one the wiser. First thing Monday morning, he’d nip into the village store before work, buy the tape and take it with him to the big house! He could listen to it while he worked in the glasshouses, lost in his own world. Excellent.

  Tom was having a long weekend so Jimbo was in there first thing. Paddy wished he wasn’t, because he knew of Jimbo’s predilection for gossip. ‘Do you have one of those tapes that Tamsin did of her playing, you know the ones for the church funds, please? I want one for Greta. Thanks.’ ‘Just past the stationery, on the top shelf, the special display.’ Jimbo had a grin on his face, but the look on Paddy’s face when he carried the tape to the till made him hesitate to make a comment, however well meant. ‘Lovely Saturday night, wasn’t it? Did you enjoy it?’

  ‘I did indeed, and so did Greta. It must be lovely to have a talent like hers. Greta says she never got a chance to learn anything musical and I must say, I certainly didn’t. Survival was my priority! Believe me. Here’s the money.’ Paddy handed his ten-pound note over, whipped the tape into the holdall that held his gardening overalls and his packed lunch, and was out of the shop before Jimbo could come up with a merry quip.

  Paddy was in one of the glasshouses, checking the vine, when he surreptitiously got his walkman out of his overall pocket and switched it on. So absorbed was he that he didn’t hear Michelle sliding the glasshouse door open.

  She had to tap him on his shoulder to catch his attention. ‘Morning, Paddy. How’re things?’

  He swung round, switched off the tape and took the earphones out saying, ‘Morning, boss.’

  ‘The name’s Michelle. Think it’ll need watering?’

  ‘Just finding out. It’s not been all that hot this weekend, has it? We don’t want to drown it.’

  ‘No, that’s right. You’re doing a good job with these vines, the best chap I’ve had looking after ’em. Remember last year’s crop? I thought they’d never end. Let’s hope it’s the same this year.’

  ‘You won’t be here to see.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  Before he knew it, he was saying, ‘If you need someone when you get to Kew, you know I’m reliable.’

  ‘Come on, Paddy. You can’t leave Turnham Malpas, you’ve put roots down.’

  ‘A chance to work at Kew can’t be turned down for the love of Turnham Malpas.’

  ‘I turned down several jobs till Kew came on the scene but somehow, this time, I can’t say no.’

  ‘You’d be a fool if you did.’

  ‘Do you mean it about going to Kew if the opportunity arises?’

  There came a brief pause while Paddy stared out of the window and then he replie
d, ‘I do, indeed I do.’ But his tone wasn’t entirely convincing.

  ‘Well, in that case, I’ll let you know. At least I’d know I could rely on you, one hundred per cent.’

  ‘Thanks. Thanks too for getting me this promotion, by the way.’

  ‘You deserved it. When you’ve checked the glasshouses, that piece there is looking a bit sick. It needs snipping off. Come and see me in the office later, to talk about things a bit over a coffee. OK?’

  ‘Righto.’ Paddy was surprised by his spontaneous request for a chance to work at Kew Gardens. Whatever had made him say it? He was the biggest fool, how could he separate himself from Tamsin? He couldn’t. He closed his eyes for a moment to think, without distraction, about how beautiful she was. Those clear, green eyes of hers, so unusual. The red hair she wore without any restraint, like a hairclip or a ribbon. It must be the very devil to dry he thought, then he imagined himself helping her to dry it in front of a big roaring fire and taking her up to bed … Ouch! Snipping off the piece Michelle had said needed snipping off, he’d cut his finger. Blast. It had gone deep. Blood poured. He’d nearly cut the end of his finger off! Oh, God, not hospital. He was terrified of hospitals. Perhaps a bandage would do the trick. Anything rather than white coats and needles. The piece of flesh was hanging by a thread. Hospital? Hell! He was scared. He sped with the speed of light to the staffroom, a handkerchief wrapped tightly round his finger doing nothing to stem the blood. It dripped with every step he took. Once bandaged up by the official First Aider, Paddy fainted. Out cold.

  When he came round, Paddy couldn’t believe what a fool he’d made of himself. Three of the groundsmen were in there having their morning tea so they were crowded round, along with the First Aider and, to add to his feeling of foolishness, there was Michelle. ‘Honestly, Paddy, there was me thinking you were a man. I got the message to come ASAP imagining that at least your arm was hanging by a thread, and all it was was your finger! Get him some hot tea, somebody, with sugar in it, right now.’

  The First Aider, in a huff about Michelle’s interference and her mockery of the first patient she’d had in days, snapped, ‘Here it is, waiting for him. Blood takes people that way sometimes. It could have been very serious. Here, sit up, Paddy. Mind, it’s hot.’

  ‘It’s bleeding a lot still. We’d better get you to the hospital to have it stitched.’

  This advice from Michelle made Paddy go as white as a sheet again. He was going to resist that idea. He simply was not going, no matter what she said.

  ‘You work with soil, Paddy, so you can’t work with it bleeding so much. If nothing else, it could get infected. That would be dangerous for you, not the plants. Right, Mrs First Aider, take him to hospital.’

  ’I’m the one qualified to say whether or not he goes to hospital, not you.’

  ‘And I’m manager here, and I say he has to go. Get galvanised, woman, I don’t want him passing out. Again.’

  Muttering furiously under her breath, the First Aider escorted Paddy out, to find, halfway across the staff car park, that her car keys were in the staff room. Unfortunately for her, Michelle came out into the car park at full speed at that precise moment, shouting, ‘You might find these useful!’ This was her final humiliation.

  Paddy was given the rest of the day off by Michelle when he finally got back to the big house. ‘You look as white as a ghost, Paddy. We can’t have you working with equipment in that state, else that First Aider will think it’s Christmas and her birthday rolled into one. Home you go. Can you walk there OK? Or perhaps you’d like me to give you a lift?’

  ‘Of course I can, the fresh air’ll do me good. Thanks.’

  Greta wasn’t working that afternoon and she was horrified when she saw the size of the bandage Paddy’s finger was swathed in. ‘Oh, Paddy! I’m glad I can’t see it. Oh! Look! There’s blood coming through. It must be bad.’

  ‘It is, but …’ Paddy said, more cheerfully than he felt, ‘I’ll survive.’

  ‘Do you want a lie down?’

  ‘No, but I’ll sit in the lounge for a bit.’

  ‘Cup of tea and a biscuit. Plenty of sugar, that’s what you need.’

  Greta bustled away and fussed over him all afternoon till about four o’clock when he said he’d have a lie down. She agreed it would do him good and told him she’d give him a shout when his supper was ready, if he hadn’t put in an appearance.

  Paddy fell asleep soothed into unconsciousness by Tasmin’s music. My, she could play …

  When Vince came in and Marie had told him the story about Paddy, he went upstairs to see how Paddy was. He tapped on the door and, getting no reply, decided for safety’s sake, he’d better walk in, just in case Paddy had taken a turn for the worse. The door creaked a little and the noise woke Paddy. Vince was convinced he needed an evening in the pub, but Paddy didn’t want to go. ‘Go on, Paddy. You need something to take your mind off it. Eat a good supper and you’ll feel a new man. Go on.’

  Paddy allowed himself to be persuaded, mainly because he hoped doing something positive might take his mind off his throbbing finger.

  They joined Don and Vera at the same time as Willie and Sylvia. As always, they were all careful not to sit in Jimmy’s old chair. Somehow they’d developed a kind of dark wariness about that chair, as though, if they sat in it, a sudden, unwelcome visit by the Grim Reaper would inevitably occur. They told each other it was all nonsense, but still no one sat in it.

  Consternation was the order of the day when they saw Paddy’s heavily bandaged finger. ‘My, Paddy, that looks bad. How did you do it?’ This was Vera, looking terribly concerned.

  Greta said, ‘It’s terrible, he fainted.’

  Willie was scornful. ‘Paddy, you never did! I thought you were a real man.’

  Greta spoke up in his defence. ‘It’s real bad. The First Aider took him to hospital. Stitches, tetanus injection, the whole works. Michelle insisted.’

  ‘You can’t work then? All that soil and funny germs.’

  Paddy rubbed his hand to relieve the throbbing. ‘It’s a bit difficult. Michelle’s very particular about tetanus and that, but I’ll go mad if I don’t work. It’s my life blood, is gardening.’

  ‘Perhaps you could do some office work to broaden your experience. There’s bound to be office work in running gardening projects. Bills and things to pay. Seed catalogues to study.’ Sylvia suggested.

  ‘I’m right-handed so I couldn’t hold a pen.’

  ‘Oh! Of course not.’

  Don leaned across to speak confidentially to Paddy. ‘A little bird tells me that a bit of experience in the office could stand you in good stead, seeing as Michelle’s off to Kew at the end of the month.’

  They all heard, even though he was only speaking to Paddy.

  ‘No!’ They said in unison.

  ‘Who’s going to be Head Gardener then? You? You’d better get the drinks in to celebrate,’ suggested Willie.

  ‘I’m telling you here and now, I’m not going to be Head Gardener. I haven’t been there long enough. And I don’t have enough experience yet.’

  ‘No, I should think not, considering what a thief you were some years back.’ Don picked up his glass of home-brew and drank from it as his comment sank in.

  Greta, who’d taken Paddy into her heart right from him first coming to lodge with her at Sir Ralph’s request, was genuinely horrified. ‘How dare you, Don Wright. What a cruel, unkind thing to say. You know full well Mr Fitch has complete faith in Paddy, otherwise he wouldn’t have paid for him to go to college, now would he?’

  Vera nudged Don and said, ‘That’s enough, Don, you’ve gone too far.’

  Don retaliated with, ‘Maggie told me that she saw him steal in the railway station once. So yes, he was. And well you know it. I shan’t apologise.’

  Vera was mortified and Sylvia was full of sadness at the hurt Don had caused and, as for Willie, he plunged in with, ‘What about the milk of human kindness, Don? There’s no need to rake all tha
t up.’ He looked at Paddy and saw how hurt he was.

  Paddy was ashen-faced. His throbbing finger didn’t help either. It just didn’t seem to be his night. ‘I’d better go. Goodnight.’ He pushed his chair back and stood up, preparing to leave.

  ‘No, don’t go. Finish your drink. Go on. Take no notice.’

  ‘I’d rather go. Goodnight.’ Paddy left, speaking to no one as he weaved his way between the tables.

  ‘I can’t believe it of you, Don, that was cruel.’

  ‘It was the truth and well you know it.’

  Vince, a man of few words, chimed in with the final comment on the matter. ‘It would have been better left unsaid and the next time you see him I shall want to hear that you’ve apologised. It was unforgivable and, if you’ve nothing better to say, you’d better shut up.’

  ‘Right then, I will. ’Cept if anyone’s interested, they’ve started.’

  Vera, Vince, Greta and Willie sat waiting for further enlightenment, but it didn’t come. Impatiently Vera asked Don what he was talking about.

  ‘Ralph’s old house. They’ve started renovating it after the fire, you know. It’ll take some doing, it was a fire and a half. Must be nigh on a year since it burned down. Poor Ralph, he loved that house.’

  ‘Poor Muriel too, burned alive. She didn’t deserve for that to happen.’

  ‘Someone’s bought it then?’ asked Vince.

  ‘Couldn’t say.’

  Vera began huffing in exasperation. ‘For heaven’s sake, Don, tell us what you learned.’

  ‘I learned nothing. This chap was coming out the door and locking it behind him, though heaven knows why seeing as there’s nothing in it and no roof on it. When I asked him, he shut up like a clam.’

  ‘So,’ said Vera, ‘we’re no wiser.’

  ‘Well he said he’d been asked by a solicitor in London to take over restoring it. That was all he knew. Just that this solicitor in London was in charge of it. But it’s being completely restored on the instructions of the new owner and they’re starting next week, scaffolding and that. Apparently they’ve been a few times making plans and now they’re really starting work on it.’