Christmas at the Vicarage

by Rebecca Boxall

  He would never have thought to sue the opticians but his nephew, who had a good business mind, suggested he should look into it and after some persuading from Mrs Chapworth he had contacted his local law firm – Clarkson, Petty & Partners. And so it was that Rosamunde had been assigned to the case, and she’d developed a very soft spot for the couple. She’d gone far beyond the call of duty and had even made arrangements with the Guide Dogs for the Blind Association. Mr Chapworth was due to become acquainted with his guide dog, Indigo, within the month and Rosamunde sincerely hoped having the dog would give him more confidence to go out. Mrs Chapworth had confided in her recently that the poor man had lost all self-assurance now that he could no longer do his job or see properly and could hardly bear to leave the house.

  ‘I think we should take this to its conclusion,’ Mr Chapworth said eventually. ‘I don’t like the idea of the trial but I want to get the money I deserve now we’ve come this far.’ His voice was soft but determined. He was a gentleman in the truest sense, thought Rosamunde.

  There was, however, no need to go to trial in the end. The other side eventually agreed to a sum Rosamunde was prepared to accept on Mr Chapworth’s behalf on the eve of the trial date. The settlement figure was generous and showed the firm’s desperation to avoid bad publicity, but Rosamunde was applauded by her colleagues too, for her hard work and excellent negotiation skills.

  It was a week after the settlement that Rosamunde received a call from the firm’s receptionist asking her to come down to collect a bouquet of flowers. Rosamunde skipped down immediately to find a youngish chap standing in reception holding the bouquet.

  ‘Oh, they’re beautiful. Thank you,’ she said to the man, supposing he was the florist. She took them from him and was about to open the tiny envelope poked into the arrangement to discover who they were from when the man, who hadn’t gone yet, spoke up.

  ‘They’re from my uncle,’ he said. ‘He was so grateful for what you did for him.’ He looked nervous, his eyes darting about. But as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose Rosamunde found herself intrigued.

  ‘You’re the nephew!’ she exclaimed. He nodded meekly. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you persuaded your uncle to sue. It would have been too awful if he hadn’t. He deserved every penny he received.’

  ‘I’m, er, Giles,’ he introduced himself hesitantly, shaking her hand. ‘I just knew he wouldn’t do it unless I stepped in. He’s not really the suing type. Thinks it’s an American thing to do, but they’d never have managed financially without his income. And it wasn’t just that. Those terrible opticians needed to be brought to justice. I’m just sorry there wasn’t a trial and that it didn’t become public,’ he added vehemently. ‘I’m sorry – that was an outburst,’ he added, looking sheepish.

  But Rosamunde was taken with him. He was sweet. And, although he didn’t appear to be terribly high-flying, he seemed quite a bit more sophisticated than his aunt and uncle. She saw him shuffle, about to take his leave, and she realised it was now or never. She had never done what she was about to do before.

  ‘I don’t suppose,’ she said, ‘you’d like to go for a drink with me later, would you?’ Giles looked up, astonished, as though she might be playing a practical joke on him, and smiled shyly.

  That evening she took Giles to the local wine bar for a drink. As they chatted surprisingly easily, Rosamunde tried to analyse what it was about him that – for once – had made her interested in doing the running herself. He was not especially attractive. In fact, he was quite plain, with his pale skin and mousy hair. And there was nothing remarkable about his character. But he had a kind, open face that seemed to reflect his soul. It was as though it was lit up by his goodness, and that was what Rosamunde had decided she needed. She was ready – at last – for a proper relationship and with Giles she thought she might have found what she was looking for. For his part, it seemed he could barely believe his luck.

  Giles had also taken a flat in Harbourton but it was sparsely furnished and he had no flair for home decoration, so soon he became a regular visitor to Rosamunde’s little apartment. It was the first property Rosamunde had owned and she was very proud of the place despite its shortcomings – mainly a lack of space. There was an open-plan kitchen/dining/sitting room, with cream carpets and French doors leading to a balcony overlooking the estuary, and one bedroom with an en-suite bathroom. She had bought a small round table with a blue and white ceramic top and spindly chairs for the balcony and she had dressed the interior in a country cottage style even though the apartment block was modern and most of the flats were decorated in the minimalist trend that was so popular now. It was a very feminine apartment – full of pretty antiques, ornate mirrors and floral soft furnishings – but Giles was simply glad of the comfort both it, and Rosamunde, offered.

  On his first visit to the Vicarage Giles was very nervous.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re so anxious about,’ Rosamunde said as she drove into Potter’s Cove and up the hill to her father’s house for lunch.

  ‘Well, he’s a vicar,’ he tried to explain. ‘So it’s like meeting your prospective father-in-law for the first time and going to confession all at once.’

  Giles had been raised a Catholic and seemed to have a rather quaint view of what Bernie would be like. She suspected he’d never met an Anglican vicar before – least of all one like Bernie – and she was too amused to put Giles right. He would discover soon enough that Bernie was a soft, gentle giant. Rosamunde also chose to gloss over Giles’s reference to Bernie as his ‘prospective father-in-law.’ It was true their relationship was moving fast but Rosamunde wasn’t ready to start choosing the rings just yet.

  As they approached the back door Rosamunde wondered if Giles might actually faint with nerves. He was white bordering on green, and beads of sweat had emerged on his upper lip. Rosamunde wished she could feel a little more sympathy for him, but recently she’d been feeling that Giles had gobbled up the kindness quota in their partnership.

  ‘Rosie!’ greeted Bernie as they entered the kitchen. ‘I’m just back from morning worship. And you must be Giles,’ he said grasping Giles’s sweaty palm. ‘It’s so wonderful to meet you, old chap. Now, what would you like to drink? Is it too early for a sharpener?’

  ‘A coffee would be great,’ replied Giles, looking relieved to discover Bernie was not only human, but a kindly human.

  ‘Really?’ Bernie looked a little puzzled, but put the kettle on and proceeded to fix large gin and tonics for himself and Rosamunde. It was actually only half past eleven but Bernie felt a drink was quite essential when it came to social ice-breaking.

  ‘Erm, well, if you’re having a drink, then why not?’ Giles piped up and Rosamunde nodded at him encouragingly. He may not have been the world’s biggest drinker but today was not the day to be abstemious.

  Bernie was right, in any event. A little bit of alcohol loosened everyone up nicely and a pleasant Sunday followed. They had drunk too much to be able to drive home and so Rosamunde and Giles decided to stay the night. By ten o’clock Giles had gone up to bed, and Rosamunde and her father sat by the fire with Gladys, the new kitten, who was curled up in Bernie’s lap.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ Rosamunde asked her father.

  ‘He’s lovely. Delightful. He obviously adores you, which is the most important thing.’

  ‘You think he’s boring,’ she replied.

  ‘Rosie, I’m just so pleased you’ve found someone, at last, whom you consider serious enough to bring home. Even if he is boring – which I’m sure he isn’t – it wouldn’t matter so long as he treats you well. But you must love him, my dear. It mustn’t be a one-way relationship.’

  Rosamunde cocked her head to one side, her red hair cascading onto the sofa arm, deep in thought.

  ‘I do love him,’ she told her father. ‘In my own way, I do.’

  The following weekend wasn’t quite as successful. Rachel was down from London for the weekend and Rosamunde feared sh
e might eat Giles for Sunday lunch. It was her turn to feel nervous.

  Rachel had her latest man with her – a drummer who’d worked with Oasis and who looked like he’d been up all night. He was devilishly good-looking despite his red eyes and dishevelled locks. Rosamunde found herself immediately embarrassed at Giles’s wholesomely fresh face and combed hair and then reprimanded herself. It wasn’t as though she wanted a rock star boyfriend, after all.

  Bernie tried his hardest all day but it was clear his daughters’ men had nothing in common and while Rosamunde felt strained at the effort of trying to make the best of things, Rachel seemed intent on making the day as awkward as possible. She kept mouthing ‘D.U.L.L.’ to Rosamunde behind Giles’s back and when she started to ask him if he’d ever taken drugs Rosamunde decided enough was enough and suggested she and Giles take a walk down to Inner Cove.

  ‘Your sister doesn’t like me,’ he said sadly as they walked down to the village and across the beach.

  ‘It’s not you,’ Rosamunde assured him. ‘It’s just that she’s going through a phase. Rachel’s been going through phases her whole life and currently it’s the ladette phase. Truly, Zoë Ball and Sara Cox have nothing on her. We’re not very close at the moment.’

  ‘What a shame,’ he said. ‘I think she’s lovely anyway,’ he added. Rosamunde felt her heart sink. Did Giles ever not like anyone? Then she stopped herself. Surely it was a good thing to like everyone? It was, of course, but it was just so difficult to match up to Giles. Being with someone so good made you feel constantly lacking by comparison.

  It hadn’t been a successful day, but in their everyday life Rosamunde was happy. There were a few issues, but weren’t there in any relationship? And he treated her so well. Giles was always surprising her with little gifts or taking her out to dinner.

  So when the inevitable day arrived – a year later – and Giles asked for her hand in marriage, Rosamunde found herself, without hesitation, saying yes. She was twenty-seven, a lawyer, and now she was engaged. Rosamunde had finally put her difficult past behind her and was ready to move on.

  21.

  THURSDAY 11TH DECEMBER 2014

  It was two weeks until Christmas and Rachel had just arrived from London in her new sports car, having taken a couple of days off work. She’d left the children with Simon and was clearly in the mood for some fun: she cracked open a bottle of champagne as soon as she arrived through the kitchen door.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s just cycled into Thatchley for a wedding interview with Mrs Croft’s daughter and her fiancé. He should be back soon.’

  ‘Do you remember that wedding interview of yours?’ Rachel asked. ‘Poor Giles.’

  But Rosamunde didn’t want to think about Giles. She poured them a glass each and they made their way into the sitting room where she had just lit the fire.

  By the time the sisters had finished the bottle Rosamunde had begun to wonder where Bernie had got to. He’d said he would be back by three o’clock and it was nearly five now and dark outside. She was about to phone The Three Bells, the pub where the interview had taken place, when a drenched and out-of-breath Bernie staggered through the back door.

  ‘What on earth’s happened?’ asked Rachel, stubbing out the cigarette she’d been smoking at the kitchen window while Rosamunde rinsed their glasses. Bernie began to speak but as the story unfolded he found himself crying with laughter. He mopped at his eyes with his dotty hanky.

  ‘What?’ Rosamunde laughed. His mirth was contagious. Eventually, Bernie managed to pour the story out.

  He’d been cycling home from the pub along the lanes when he’d come across a figure lying prone on the road. Immediately alarmed, he’d hopped off his bicycle to make sure the man was alive. The man – Terry Molton – was the landlord of The Three Bells and a man known for his love of liquor.

  ‘So I woke him up,’ explained Bernie, still trying to get a grip of himself. ‘And I gave him some water. He was ever so grateful. He’d had a heavy lunch at his sister’s house, he told me, and was walking back to the pub. Anyway, he thanked me and picked himself off the ground and when I turned around I saw him cycling off. On my bike!’ Bernie guffawed. ‘I couldn’t believe it! So I had to walk the rest of the way home!’

  The three of them were in fits of laughter at this modern twist on the story of The Good Samaritan but finally they recovered and the girls took their father through to the sitting room where he dried off by the fire. Rosamunde made tea and found some cake in a tin, which she brought through, and the three knuckled down to the real business of the day – finalising plans for their Christmas party.

  They had now received replies to the invitations and the drink had been collected by Rosamunde and Benedict and was stashed in the garage. Mrs Garfield had offered to do the catering but they wanted her to be able to let her hair down, so they’d asked a caterer from Thatchley to prepare the food instead. It had been decided that the spread should be festive but simple: sausage rolls, smoked salmon sandwiches, turkey soup, warm mince pies, chocolate Yule log and Christmas cake – the sort of fare they hoped everyone would be ready to devour on a cold winter’s night after the nativity play. Kizzie’s three older girls had offered to be the waitresses for the night and make sure everyone’s glasses and plates were topped up, which would be a great help.

  ‘I’ve brought masses of fairy lights and scented candles down with me,’ Rachel told Bernie and Rosamunde as she stood by the window and lit another cigarette. ‘And I have an idea for some entertainment.’

  Bernie and Rosamunde exchanged glances. Rachel had some funny ideas about what amounted to entertainment. They’d attended a party at her old flat in London years ago that had involved topless waitresses and bottomless waiters.

  ‘Oh yes?’ asked Bernie, weakly.

  ‘You know I’ve just trained as a teacher of burlesque dance?’ she asked. ‘Well, I thought I might put on a performance later in the evening. What do you think? It’s so glamorous. Honestly, everyone will love it!’ Her enthusiasm was so boundless Bernie didn’t have the heart to pour cold water over the idea, despite his reservations.

  ‘Sounds marvellous, darling, but will it involve going topless? Only there will be quite a lot of children at the party.’ Rachel laughed.

  ‘Of course not, Dad! My own kids will be there, remember! No, no, no. It’s a little bit saucy but – I promise – no nudity!’

  ‘Well, I’ll be intrigued to see it,’ Rosamunde told her sister. ‘What’s the name of that famous burlesque dancer?’

  ‘Dita Von Teese.’

  ‘That’s it. You’re quite like her, actually, but with red hair.’

  ‘Oh, I’m far better than her,’ Rachel said but instead of sounding arrogant, as she should have done, her confidence was as disarming as usual. Rosamunde threw a cushion at her sister, who laughed and ducked.

  Later in the evening the trio were joined by Mrs Garfield and Kizzie, who was looking a little pale and drawn. When they had a moment on their own Rosamunde asked her friend if she was all right.

  ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I’m still convinced Gerard’s playing away. It’s keeping me awake at night.’

  ‘Has anything happened to make you more suspicious?’ Rosamunde asked.

  ‘Nothing tangible. Nothing I can confront him with yet. But he’s being so shifty and he keeps going out for hours at a time. When I ask where he’s been he says he’s been seeing his friend John, but he’s never had such a close friendship with him before. Why all of a sudden?’

  Rosamunde had to admit it was sounding more and more likely, but until there was firm proof, or unless Kizzie confronted her husband, she didn’t know how to help.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Let’s get through Christmas and then in the New Year you must talk to him,’ she advised her friend. ‘Maybe there’s a perfectly innocent explanation anyway,’ she comforted. Kizzie sighed and pulled herself together, pasting a smile on her face.

&nb
sp; ‘You’re right. I’ll deal with it after Christmas. Come on; let’s get the party sorted for now. I want to hear more about this burlesque dancing,’ she giggled.

  22.

  APRIL 1998

  Congratulations!’ Kizzie pulled Rosamunde into a hug before grabbing her hand to inspect the ring. ‘Beautiful!’ she declared. ‘I can’t believe you’re engaged!’

  ‘I know,’ grinned Rosamunde. ‘Although – and I can only admit this to you – the circumstances weren’t exactly ideal.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Kizzie as she ordered a bottle of champagne from the bartender. Kizzie had managed to leave the girls with her mother to enjoy a night out in Harbourton with Rosamunde and find out all the juicy details of her engagement.

  ‘Well, you know Giles told me he was taking me away for the weekend?’ Kizzie nodded and the pair raised their bubbling glasses to each other. ‘Guess where he took me?’ Rosamunde continued.

  ‘I give up!’ Kizzie replied immediately.

  ‘Jersey!’ Rosamunde told her with a grimace.

  ‘Oh hell, what a mistake! I guess he didn’t know.’

  ‘Exactly, he didn’t, so I could hardly hold it against him, but it was so strange to be there with Giles. Especially as we stayed in the same harbour village as last time. I know it’s silly – after all, that was so long ago – but all these memories came back to me and I went into a bit of a decline. Poor Giles couldn’t work out what was going on and I didn’t want to have to explain it all so I just said I wasn’t feeling very well. Anyway, after the first day I pulled myself together and got on with things. When Giles proposed the first thing I felt was relief that he’d done the deed and we could head home again! Isn’t that a dreadful thing to admit?’