‘Not before time. It’s a right eyesore, and that tarpaulin flaps in the wind all the time. It can’t half be annoying if you live nearby I should imagine,’ remarked Greta.
‘Grandmama Charter-Plackett said that the other night, when that gale got up, it was flapping and banging all night.’
‘I wonder who’s bought it?’
‘Maybe it’s been inherited by the so-called possible long-lost nephew or whatever of Ralph’s they’ve been searching for. There must be someone, somewhere who’s inherited it.’
‘Well, all I can say is, if they’re half as nice as Ralph, they’ll do all right. It’ll be a long job.’
‘Well, time will tell,’ said Willie. ‘Anyone ready for another drink? Sylvia, Vera?’
‘What about me, don’t I count?’ Don angrily pushed his glass along the table towards Willie.
‘Only if you remember about that apology. You’ve really hurt Paddy’s feelings, you have, Don.’
Paddy sat outside the Royal Oak on the seat they all called Saul’s seat, named after the old soldier who was banned from the pub two centuries or so ago, and who sat there waiting for the pub customers to take pity on him and bring him a drink out.
He was devastated about what Don had said about him. Normally comments like that he simply shrugged off, but tonight somehow he couldn’t. It was so unfair of Don when he’d been honest ever since Mr Fitch gave him his chance to reform. Thieving never crossed his mind now, not since he’d felt so secure in the friendship he’d been given by Vince and Greta. Moving in with them had been the icing on the cake of his new life and he’d foolishly hoped that everyone he knew would allow him to leave the bad times well behind him. Life could be so unfair. Even his finger was throbbing something terrible.
Paddy sat there knee-deep in self-pity. One person entered the pub without even glancing at him; so much for friendly villagers. Two cars hastened by, and what he hoped would happen but didn’t, was that someone from the table he had been sitting at would come out and beg him to return. He wouldn’t have gone back in if they had, but it would have been good to have the opportunity to refuse their offer. Another car slowed up, went by, then reversed and stopped alongside Saul’s seat.
And there she stood, the love of his life. Now he really felt foolish. Wallowing in deep self-pity! What a fool he was.
Tamsin walked round the bonnet of her car and stood in front of him. ‘Been banned? For fighting?’ She pointed at his finger and her face broke into a wide smile. When he didn’t reply, she tapped his shoulder gently and, still getting no response, sat down beside him. ‘In the dumps? What’s brought that on? Where’s the laughter and the jokes in the pub I hear about?’
‘You see, you try so hard to leave your wrong-doings behind you. You turn over a new leaf, become ambitious, an optimist instead of a pessimist, hard-working instead of an idle good-for-nothing at the bottom of the pile, and then someone kicks you in the teeth and reminds you of the past.’
‘Who?’
‘Don Wright.’
Tamsin smiled to herself. ‘Oh, Paddy! Don’t take it to heart. Don’s a great chap but since he had that bad fall when he was repairing the guttering at the nursing home in Penny Fawcett, he’s never been that good.’ She tapped her head to indicate where Don’s problem was. ‘Looks all right, but he forgets to be thoughtful sometimes.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Peter did. He told me to remember not to take offence at strange things he might say.’
‘I see.’
But she didn’t seem to have been any comfort to him. ‘So don’t let it upset you.’
Paddy sighed, then looked up so he wasn’t staring at his feet and said, ‘Right.’
‘That’s better. Now, as I see it, you have two options. We go in the pub for a drink or we go home to my house and have a drink there. I think the pub, in the long run, would be the better option, don’t you? Show them you’re proud of what you’ve achieved, which you’ve a right to be.’
Curiously, Paddy’s self-pity lifted and he could bear to look her in the face. ‘OK then. With you, I will.’
‘Wait there. I’ll go and park my car, then we’ll go in together.’
Chapter 7
Harry had been in the pub and observed the incident with Paddy and he was left to wonder what Paddy had done. Thieving? Thieving what? He’d ask Marie and Zack when they joined him. He checked his watch. They were late, in fact, twenty minutes late, and that wasn’t like them. On the dot, or ten minutes early, was more their style. So he was still waiting when Paddy came back in with the church organist. What the blazes was her name? Surname was Goodenough or something. And her first name? Harry was saved from the struggle to remember when Georgie spoke to her by name. ‘Now, Tamsin, what can I get you? Not often we see you in here so you’re very welcome indeed.’
Harry heard Tamsin ask in her sweet voice for a Martini and lemonade.
‘And what for you tonight, Paddy?’ Georgie asked as she leaned over the bar counter and said something sotto voce to Paddy. She must have said something encouraging because Paddy smiled a little. The two of them carried their drinks to a table just the other side of where Harry was sitting and he was able to keep them in his sights by slightly adjusting the angle of his chair. There was a little awkwardness about their being together and he guessed this wasn’t the first time, but that they were still new enough not to be absolutely comfortable with each other. Now, if it had been him and Venetia, they’d have been possibly holding hands and laughing together, their heads close so others couldn’t hear what was said.
The promise he’d made to himself about keeping cool, treating her a bit off-hand, had failed miserably. He was quite simply fascinated by her. Well, perhaps there was more to it than that. He went swimming almost every evening after work now. It was so easy, just a stroll across Home Park and there he was, stripping off, and there she was already stripped off and they could swim and tease and tempt and then … He’d made up his mind that they couldn’t meet at the maisonette she and Jeremy shared though, not when he was likely to meet Jeremy at any time and have to look him in the eye. But there was no doubt about it. He, Harry Dickinson, was enslaved. Even so, he recognised her for what she was, free-living and enjoying it, and he knew that if he walked away tomorrow, in a few days she’d be looking for someone to replace him. Though he did get an inkling sometimes, just briefly, that this time she was more serious about him than was usual for her.
Tamsin went to the bar again. There was a burst of laughter from one of the tables and from the table with the settle down one side, there was an angry exchange. Then the outer door opened and in came Venetia, alone. Dressed outrageously. The light of battle in her eyes. Conversation died immediately.
It was a summer’s evening, but it wasn’t warm enough for the outfit Venetia was wearing. It was a pansy purple dress held up by shoestring shoulder straps, a clinging bodice that left nothing whatsoever to the imagination, a skin-tight skirt just to the knee that emphasised every curve, and her face was made up as though she was just about to go on stage. The outfit was finished off with a huge, metallic gold bag with matching shoes. Briefly, Harry was disappointed. He liked smart clothes and the women who loved them, but this … in a country pub, was on the verge of embarrassing. She paused for a moment as the outer door slammed behind her, saw Harry and, without hesitation, headed straight for his table. It was obvious to everyone it was him she’d come to see.
Venetia leaned over Harry, clearly intending to kiss him, but he quickly leaped to his feet. ‘Sit down. Your usual?’
He made for the bar. ‘Gin and tonic, please.’
Dicky winked at him. ‘My word, she’s looking great tonight.’ He nodded in Venetia’s direction.
‘Yes. And a whisky, neat. How much?’ Harry slid the money across the counter, picked up the drinks and went back to his table.
Everyone began talking again. No doubt, about the two of them. ‘I thought we were keeping
us under wraps.’
She giggled helplessly and Harry realised she had been drinking before she came. ‘Careful, Venetia, please.’
‘Why?’ She raised her glass to him and toasted him with her eyes. Harry fell instantly under her spell all over again. What the hell? She had a right to dress how she wished, and he didn’t care that she’d made it so plain to them all. It would be round the village by the next morning, on that he knew he could rely. And if Jeremy couldn’t keep her to himself, why should he worry? Under the table Venetia rubbed her bare leg very gently against him, and that put an end to his embarrassment completely. Was there ever such a woman as Venetia? Sitting here, in the full public gaze, teasing him like this. He sneaked a look round the bar while taking a sip of his whisky and saw the disapproval, the eyes raised to the ceiling in disgust, and the heads brought close together as the villagers gossiped.
Tamsin and Paddy noticed what was going on, but had no interest in it because they had eyes only for each other. Tamsin was telling him about an invitation she’d received to play the violin at a concert in Smith Square.
‘Play the violin? I thought the organ was your instrument?’
‘Well, yes, but I also play the piano and the violin.’
Paddy had no answer to that. He might as well just pack it in right now. Three instruments, and he couldn’t play a penny whistle. What was the point in hoping? They were totally mismatched. He was so disheartened by her casual statement that he was on the verge of leaving. But then she said something that left him speechless.
‘I could teach you the piano? Or maybe you can play it already, I don’t know. Can you?’
Tamsin saw a light come on in Paddy’s eyes which was quickly switched off. ‘No. No, I couldn’t. I don’t have a musical background, far from it. It wouldn’t be any use trying.’
‘You haven’t tried then. I’m a good teacher, even though I say it myself.’
Paddy’s eyes looked cautiously into hers and, for a moment, he was lost in thought. Then he said, ‘Greta hasn’t a piano. So I can’t.’ He was both relieved and disappointed.
‘You could use my piano. Or there’s one in the village hall. I’d love to teach you.’
Paddy shook his head. ‘No. No. I couldn’t.’
‘It wouldn’t be any good thinking you’d master it in two or three weeks, it would be hard work, believe me. But think about it. You see …’ Tamsin then stopped talking, as she found herself to be the only person speaking at that moment because someone had walked in and everyone was suddenly busy looking at no one in particular while awaiting events. Only Harry and Venetia were unaware of the new arrival because they were gazing into each other’s eyes, oblivious to their surroundings.
It was Jeremy Mayer.
He surveyed the bar, looking at every table in turn and, when his eyes came to rest on Dicky and Georgie waiting to serve drinks, he walked across to them saying in a loud, confident voice, ‘Double whisky, please, landlord.’
He withdrew his wallet from his back pocket, took out a twenty-pound note with a flourish, and laid it on the bar top. He tipped the whisky down his throat in one magnificent gesture, and asked for a second, then a third. When he was obviously going to order again, Dicky was about to say, ‘Is this wise?’ Then Jeremy ordered a gin and tonic and another double whisky. He then walked majestically over to Venetia and Harry’s table and handed their drinks to them.
Jeremy wasn’t the huge, impressive figure he had been in the past, but he had enormous dignity in every inch of his bearing. He nodded to one or two people he recognised, then turned his attention to Harry. ‘Good evening, Harry. Beautiful evening, isn’t it? Full of promise for a wonderful summer, they say. Are you enjoying village life?’
Harry looked Jeremy straight in the eye, deciding to answer him in the same casual way. ‘Yes, I am actually. Really enjoying it. Thanks, Jeremy.’
‘Nice people, aren’t they?’
‘Indeed. I’m living at the B&B down Shepherd’s Hill. I’ve been made very welcome.’
‘I know you are. Marie and Zack are very friendly. You’ll not lack for friends here. Venetia, darling, another G and T?’
Venetia couldn’t help but think: What’s this all about, the conniving beggar? What’s he up to? The first gin and tonic had gone in a moment, her thirst being somewhat excessive due to panic. She didn’t normally panic about Jeremy, but somehow there was a threat present and, for once, she was flummoxed.
‘Yes, please. I’m terribly thirsty.’
Harry was about to offer to buy her a drink, but he was too late. Jeremy had instantly sprung up from his chair and gone to buy it for her. Conversation had begun again all round the bar, muted for fear of missing anything, but conversation nonetheless. Tamsin was still trying to persuade Paddy to have piano lessons.
‘It’s no good. I can’t, really I can’t.’
‘I know! I’m quite good at playing the flute, how about that? I could teach you the rudiments and I have a flute that I could lend you. Then you could practise at home in your bedroom. Please, Paddy?’ Those green eyes of hers pleading with him turned opposition into agreement in Paddy’s mind. At the very least, it would mean seeing her regularly. That could be his opportunity!
‘Very well. You win. I can’t afford much in the way of paying, I’m afraid.’ He had to say it, but dreaded her reply.
‘Pay? I don’t want money, not from a friend. I know it’s something completely alien from anything you’ve ever done before, but you never know what it might lead to. Playing a musical instrument might turn into something you have been waiting for all your life, and you just didn’t know it.’
Tamsin was so full of missionary zeal that Paddy simply couldn’t resist her. So he agreed, and when she said it would be a good idea to make an immediate start, then drained her glass and got ready to go, he meekly followed her out of the door, ignoring the winks he got from several punters still happily awaiting the turn of events with Jeremy, Harry and Venetia.
Half an hour later, they were still waiting for a piece of action from the three of them, but it had all got rather boring as Jeremy was obviously carrying the whole of the conversation on his shoulders and was apparently enjoying himself. Then they spotted him glancing at the clock over the bar. Ah! Was this the moment they’d all been waiting for? Would she go home with Harry or Jeremy?
Rather unexpectedly, Jeremy stood up, saying loudly, ‘Time we went home, Venetia. I’ve not brought the car so we’ll have to walk. It’s a lovely evening and it’ll do us good. They’ve forecast rain for tonight and I’ve no umbrella so let’s hurry up, just in case.’
Venetia ignored him while she made up her mind. She’d had every intention of going home with Harry. She’d tried ringing him on his mobile but there’d been no answer. She’d rung him at the B&B and there was no reply there either. So she had come to the pub as a last, desperate measure. Now Jeremy had ruined the whole escapade. Spending the evening incarcerated with him, listening to his pointless, trivial conversation, had tried her temper to the limit. Should she make a stand here and now and declare …
‘I’m waiting, darling.’
Since when had he persisted in calling her darling? It was all a front. A hidden challenge to Harry, who now appeared dumbstruck by Jeremy’s fluent performance. Stuff it. She wasn’t having any of it. ‘You go home, I’ll follow on. I won’t be long.’ She half turned away from Jeremy and began talking to Harry, who looked to be in shock. ‘So, next Thursday night we’ve organised a gala night for the students and I was wondering if …’
‘Venetia!’
Harry’s response to Jeremy’s anger was a muttered, ‘I think you’d better go.’
If he’d stabbed her through the heart, she couldn’t have been more upset. For one terrible moment, she almost began to cry, but then she swallowed hard and bent down to pick up her bag. She got to her feet. How to leave the pub with her dignity intact? She’d kill him the next time she saw him. How could he let it happen
like this? Giving in to Jeremy when all she’d wanted was him? But if she felt so upset about him, then he must mean more to her than she’d acknowledged to herself. So, head held high, she twinkled her fingers at a couple of the punters who knew her, and followed Jeremy out. The sound of their argument as they tramped across Home Park to their maisonette echoed far and wide.
Marie and Zack had arrived while Jeremy had been sitting with Harry, but he hadn’t noticed so he was surprised when they suddenly materialised at his table, drinks in hand.
Marie put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Sorry we’re late. We ran out of petrol. Stupid thing to do. It’s only the second time in our lives we’ve done it. Zack thought I’d filled it up and I thought he had, so there we are. You all right if we sit here?’
‘Of course.’
She had to say it. ‘I didn’t know you knew Venetia.’
‘I don’t, not really, Marie. Her husband’s a bit overpowering, isn’t he? Keeps her on a tight rein, does he?’
Marie exploded into laughter. ‘Oh, Harry! You are an innocent! I do like you for it! Zack calls her … Well, anyway, never mind that. No, he doesn’t. I doubt anyone could keep Venetia in order.’
Zack spoke up, feeling the need to warn a nice chap like Harry. ‘You need to keep away from her, Harry. For a decent chap like you, she’s bad news.’
‘Ah! Right. Thanks for the advice.’ Harry stared into his drink and wished himself anywhere but where he was. She’d been so full of promise earlier, before the arrival of the dreaded Jeremy.
Drinks finished, Marie and Zack, with Harry in tow, got into their car. They’d parked in Stocks Row because the pub car park was full, and they were passing the church when Marie said, ‘Zack! Stop! There’s a light on in the church. In the vestry!’
Zack stamped on the brakes and came to a sudden, alarming stop. ‘My God! Who could that be? Right, wait there, Marie. Don’t you follow me.’
A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) Page 8