Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17)

by Shaw, Rebecca

  It was a long time since he’d been in a big industrial city, and it made him relish the idea of Turnham Malpas and the gossiping lot of villagers who’d challenged him so many times over the years. He decided they were a grand lot and he rated Turnham Malpas the best place in Britain to live. He’d tracked down a hotel just out of the centre of Leeds on his iPad and pulled up there about half-past three. They had a room, non-smoking, and using the lift he headed for room 204. Not having Kate to unpack for him he debated whether or not to unpack, but then he remembered his suit. When that was hanging in the wardrobe and with his wash bag propped on the shelf behind the washbasin he decided to find the solicitor who dealt with the name change. Smith, Collins and Beresford in Greek Street. It wasn’t until he arrived at the reception desk that it occurred to Craddock that the Mr Beresford he wanted to see might not even be there any more. Could even be dead. Craddock immediately fixed his mind on death and he shuddered at the thought. Had his boys become soldiers? Had they been killed in Afghanistan? Or, worse, injured beyond hope of a normal life? Right now was his first real chance of finding them and if excessive grovelling was necessary then grovel he would. No one living could grovel better than he when he chose to. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but he would do it if he had to.

  The receptionist, one of those brittle young women who’d chosen to be tough, especially to men, greeted him with a brisk, ‘Good morning. Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Mr Beresford?’

  She checked her screen. ‘Your name?’

  This was the point when he would have to lie. ‘Craddock Fitch. I rang yesterday around lunchtime and was told to come as soon as I could.’

  ‘Ah. That must have been in my lunch hour.’

  Craddock wondered what she ate for lunch. Three lettuce leaves and half a tomato he guessed. With an espresso. No sugar.

  He waited.

  ‘I can’t see you’ve been registered.’

  ‘Well, I was told to come, so I’ve come. Maybe someone, not as efficient as you obviously are, forgot to make a note.’

  She gave him half a smile that only just reached the corners of her mouth and said, ‘We’ll squeeze you in.’

  Craddock decided to charm her. He gave her the kind of smile he reserved for Kate, did he see a slight blush on her cheek? No, he was flattering himself. ‘Thank you, thank you very much. I’ll wait here, shall I?’

  ‘Take a seat. Won’t be long.’

  Craddock sank down into a very comfortable and very expensive-looking armchair, and thought that they must charge a lot for their services to afford chairs like these in reception. Indeed the whole office shouted money. The pictures of the partners, both old oil paintings and more recently photographs on the walls, were impressive; all of them solid northerners, two even with a gold watch and chain across their chests. He was gratified to see that Mr Beresford’s photograph showed a man of stature and presence but was there a gentle twinkle in his eye that the owner had tried hard to disguise?

  ‘Mr Fitch. Mr Beresford is ready for you now.’ The receptionist made it sound as though it was at great inconvenience to both her and Mr Beresford that he’d been granted an interview. Anybody would think he was asking for it for free. Fat chance of that in this opulent place.

  The strong grip of Mr Beresford’s handshake impressed Craddock and he began to soften towards him.

  He explained his mission, brought out the paperwork and then waited.

  ‘You’re from round these parts?’

  ‘Yes, I am. A long time ago.’

  ‘Thought so, there’s still a hint of an accent. It never quite goes does it, try as you might.’

  Craddock smiled. ‘No, it doesn’t.’

  ‘As a boy?’

  Craddock nodded. ‘I went to Queen’s Road School.’

  Mr Beresford looked up, startled. ‘No! Me too. I don’t believe this. I don’t remember Craddock Fitch. Now let me see . . . I do remember a Henry Fitch though, definitely, perhaps he’s a brother of yours? Fitch is such an uncommon name.’

  ‘That’s me. Henry Craddock Fitch. Dropped the Henry when I went into business. Thought it sounded a bit poncey.’

  Mr Beresford laughed. ‘After all these years. Well I never. Remember me? You won’t, I was quite a few years younger than you. Bertie Beresford, that’s me, you were a legend to us younger boys for the tricks you got up to. We all wished we were as daring as you. My word, what a coincidence. What a coincidence. Well, I must say.’ He went back to the business in hand. ‘And I dealt with your divorce, didn’t I? It seems a long time ago now. But I remember. Mrs Stella Patterson. Of course. Beautiful, beautiful woman, as I recall. She could have been dressed in rags and she would still have looked splendid. A pity she never completed the divorce papers with us, I set the wheels in motion but then she never turned up for her appointment and that was the last I saw of her.’ He put a stop to his recollections. ‘Anyway, busy day, must get on. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Do you have any information as to where they were living at the time? I mean, are they still clients of yours?’

  Mr Beresford hesitated. ‘Explain yourself.’

  ‘When she left me and took our two boys I never heard another word except I knew she’d married this Cosmo fella.’ He hesitated, decided it would not be helpful to do a character assassination on Cosmo and pressed on. ‘I want to get into contact with my two boys, the ones here, Michael and Graham.’

  ‘Ah, right. I’ve never heard a single thing about them, but Cosmo crops up now and again in the press.’

  ‘He does? In what capacity?’

  Bertie Beresford paused a moment as though weighing up if it was correct for him to tell the wronged husband. ‘He’s a Leeds councillor.’

  ‘No! They still live in Leeds? What a stroke of luck.’

  ‘He does, somewhere smart no doubt, but I don’t know a thing about your wife, well, your wife that was, nor your boys.’

  ‘Right.’ Craddock waited for more information.

  ‘Can’t tell you anymore.’ With a kindly helpful tone in his voice he added, ‘But he will have a vote, won’t he?’

  ‘Vote?’ What was Bertie Beresford talking about?

  ‘He’ll be registered to vote.’

  Craddock smiled, the light had dawned. ‘Ah, yes, I see what you mean. I could get their address that way.’

  Mr Beresford cut him short; he’d said too much already. ‘May I offer you some advice, Mr Fitch?’

  Craddock nodded his head.

  ‘Sitting in this chair for all these years I have learned that grown-up children may not necessarily be pining to see their real father.’ He checked the paperwork Craddock had brought with him. ‘Yours, you see, were very young at the time, and they’ll have little memory of you, if any. They may have found themselves with a good and loving stepfather, and won’t be able to see the need for you. So whatever you do, don’t go in with blaring trumpets and gifts and expect a welcome. You’ll more than likely get a puzzled look and the door shut in your face. So be aware. Don’t expect too much. But good luck, Henry.’ He smiled and Craddock saw the twinkle come back in his eyes.

  ‘Thanks for seeing me, pure chance it was you, but I’m glad. If I have time would you care for a drink after office hours sometime, the two of us could trawl back over our days at Queen’s Road School? Hear about how you’ve landed up here looking so prosperous.’

  ‘Of course, just give me a ring next time you’re in Leeds.’

  ‘Might be sooner than you think.’

  ‘Remember, don’t expect too much and then you won’t be disappointed. Good morning, Mr Fitch. You know where to find me.’

  Later that same day Craddock was sitting in his car, a few yards from the house belonging to Cosmo. They were all very similar, with a sameness that told him they were 1930s-built: solid, expensive, confident. Depending on how much space was available to each house, some had double, some single, garages added. As he expected, Cosmo’s
garage was a double. A well-kept house with a beautiful garden to the front. Almost artistic, something rather more than a square of grass surrounded with plants and shrubs. Now Craddock knew where Cosmo lived, he had to retreat and plan his campaign with craft and guile, and he was good at that; but his campaign also needed Kate’s empathy. He’d drive home and talk to her before he made a move. One false step and he’d lose his two boys and his beloved Kate; in the long term she had to be on his side.

  Into his head sprang that comment Bertie Beresford had made so casually, what was it? Pity for your sake she didn’t complete the divorce papers. It hadn’t registered immediately, his head being so full of the boys’ names and where they were. Did that mean then that Stella had never properly divorced him? Was he living a lie, thinking he was married to Kate, when in fact he hadn’t been free to marry? The last thing on this earth he ever wanted was to be untruthful to Kate, for he loved her far and away above everything else in his life. At the thought, sweat rolled down Craddock’s face, trickled down between his shoulder blades. Telling himself that potentially he hadn’t deceived her on purpose wasn’t the slightest comfort.

  The following day when he returned to Turnham Malpas the first thing he did was ring Kate at school. He got a quick, ‘Lovely, see you at half-past three, and then you can tell me everything. Make yourself a cup of tea, darling. Bye!’

  Craddock went to stand in the front window and looked out at the village. There was no doubt about it, he loved this village, every stick and stone even if it didn’t belong to him as he’d always dreamed it would. He felt the misty presence of Ralph Templeton invading his consciousness. For a brief moment the old Craddock crept back and smiled because he had the possibility of getting to know his two sons, whereas Ralph, for all his education, his glittering career in the diplomatic service and his title, had nothing. There was no one anywhere in the entire world to proclaim the name of Sir Ralph Templeton as their father. But he, Craddock Fitch, whom Ralph had despised, had two sons, and he had their addresses in his top pocket garnered from the same voting register as their stepfather. How Ralph would have sneered at the thought that he, wealthy businessman Craddock Fitch, might not actually be legally married to his wife. Or would he? Maybe, being the honest, kindly Ralph whom Craddock remembered, he would have been sorry at the trick that blessed Stella had played on him. But Stella . . . Craddock trembled for a moment when he recalled her naked beauty. The nights of passion, the physical attraction he had for her had been overwhelming, and he remembered how at first he’d missed her so very much. He paused for a moment enjoying his memories.

  He hadn’t found Stella on the electoral register. He dwelt briefly on the reason why not. Died? Divorced? Separated? But that didn’t matter; she wouldn’t be interested in him anyway, and after all he had Kate, lovely flesh and blood Kate, who loved him just as much as he loved her. But now all of that might be ashes in his mouth. He’d have to tell her. This very day. He couldn’t delay it. Why hadn’t it occurred to him at the time that they’d never completed the divorce proceedings? He’d been too full of making his embryo of a business grow, that was his trouble; all those years, business, business, business, before everything else, that was why.

  But he had a shock when he finally told her.

  Kate’s amusement at his news filled their sitting room with the joyous sound of her laughter. ‘You mean to say we have probably been living in sin all these years? Well, I never. I’d better pack my bag, hadn’t I? Hussy that I am. Hell’s bells. You wicked man, tempting me into your bed with a marriage certificate worth nothing.’

  Craddock couldn’t believe her response. Full-blooded laughter. No recriminations, no anger, no reproach. This he hadn’t expected. His burden of guilt that had weighed so heavily upon him during the night quickly melted away.

  ‘Well, there’s one thing, Craddock, we needn’t tell anyone, need we? I don’t care. You don’t care. You do feel OK about it?’ Before he could answer her, she’d added, ‘I know you do. Finding her and actually getting a divorce would waste so much time, so don’t let’s bother. Can you divorce someone in their absence?’

  ‘You don’t mind, then?’

  ‘Mind? Well, it has come as something of a shock but what the hell! We love each other. Let’s drink to living in sin, shall we?’

  Chapter 13

  Alice and Johnny had had a bad night with the baby, and when he heard someone ringing the doorbell and discovered it was only half-past four in the morning Johnny was not in the best of moods as he stumbled downstairs to see who was there. He undid the massive bolts, dragged the door open and his first words were, ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’

  Chris heaved his case in over the threshold, saying, ‘That’s not a very nice welcome to your brother, is it now?’

  Johnny rubbed his hand over his forehead to wake himself up. ‘Is there a crisis? What is it?’

  ‘Let me get in. I’m hungry and thirsty and desperate for sleep.’

  ‘Well, what’s happened?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter. I just wanted to escape the daily grind of running our empire, that’s all.’

  ‘I suppose one day the truth will come out. Alice and I are shattered. We’ve had almost no sleep, and it’s already half-past four. You know where everything is in the kitchen. Help yourself. Same bedroom as before. We’ll talk in the morning.’ Johnny, too exhausted to care, left Chris to fend for himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so ghastly. There was more to Chris’s sudden appearance than Chris was willing to let on, he knew. Damn him. Just damn him.

  The grown-ups had their breakfast around nine. Alice had put the two babies, who’d breakfasted a while ago, on the dining-room floor to play while the grown-ups ate. ‘So we don’t know why’s he’s here then?’

  Johnny shook his head. ‘No, it’s not just boredom, which he claims it is. There’s something else. He’ll tell us eventually. Just look at Ralph; spent half the night awake, and now he’s as happy as a pig in muck lying there waving his arms about and watching Charles tottering around. They’ll be a dynamic duo once Ralph gets on his feet.’

  Alice smiled sympathetically. ‘Sorry it was such a poor night. I do think it might be better if, for a while, you sleep in another bedroom, so at least one of us is fresh to face the day.’

  ‘Absolutely not. They’re mine as much as they are yours and so we take equal blame,’ Johnny teased her. ‘I shall be interested to hear Chris’s story though. I hope it’s not one of his women who’s upset him; he takes it all so badly.’

  Alice said, ‘Mmm, I think that’s all play-acting. He’s not nearly so upset as he makes himself out to be.’

  ‘Alice!’

  ‘It’s true. I got his measure almost the first day I met him. It’s all show to illustrate what a sensitive so-and-so he is. But he isn’t really; he’s as hard as nails where women are concerned. I think it’s Fran Charter-Plackett he’s come back to see.’

  ‘For goodness sake! She’s a child in comparison with his usual women.’

  Alice downed the last of her green tea, replaced the cup in the saucer, stood up and said, ‘You wait and see, I shall be proved right.’ She kissed Johnny’s forehead. ‘Love you.’

  Chris eventually appeared downstairs around half-past ten. He ate his breakfast in the kitchen, assisted by Alice who was determined to find out why he was here so unexpectedly.

  ‘More toast, Chris?’

  ‘No, thanks, Alice. Where are my beloved nephews?’

  ‘Johnny’s taken Charles down to the lake to tire him out before his morning sleep, and Ralph is sleeping the sleep of the righteous in his cot having spent most of the night awake.’

  Chris smiled at her. ‘How do you manage to look so gorgeous after a night like that?’

  ‘Your flattery will get you nowhere with me, Chris. What I want to know is why are you here?’

  Chris favoured Alice with a deep calculating look, and then declared he was here because of unfi
nished business.

  ‘Well, it certainly wasn’t hotel business, because after a long struggle and a lot of running about on Johnny’s part, the deal is going through next Monday for those country-house hotels on the verge of bankruptcy. So is it woman business?’ She asked that question with a quizzical look on her face, her eyebrows raised.

  Chris didn’t answer.

  ‘Is it Fran?’

  After a pause Chris deigned to answer. ‘Thought I’d been too abrupt with her. Young, you know; they hurt very badly.’

  ‘Oh, my word. So, he does have a softer side then.’

  Their eyes met and they both burst into laughter.

  ‘Oh, Chris. Thirty-two and you still can’t get it together. You need someone older and more sophisticated. She’s a lovely, lovely, sweet girl with just the right amount of fire. She’s not for you, Chris. Not for you.’

  Chris looked hurt. ‘Not for me?’

  ‘No, and I don’t want you lighting her fire again. It’s simply not fair to her.’

  Chris stood up, put the last piece of toast in his mouth, chewed it well, looked at Alice when he’d swallowed it, and said, ‘I’ll do as I please.’ He headed for the door, opened it and turned back to say, ‘Sounds like young Ralph’s woken up. You’d better get back to what you’re good at – changing nappies.’

  Alice was livid at that final parting shot. So angry with him that she decided to phone the Charter-Placketts and let them know who was back in town. Forewarned is forearmed.

  It happened to be Harriet who answered her call. ‘Alice Templeton here, Harriet. Got to be quick. Just thought I’d let you know that Chris is back.’

  ‘Oh! Is he? Right. What is he—’ was Harriet’s reply, but she was too late as Alice had already put down the phone.

  ‘Damn and blast,’ said Harriet loud enough to alarm half of Turnham Malpas. She stamped her foot too and it hurt because the limestone floor tiles in the kitchen were so hard. That blasted man, just as Fran seemed to be getting over him. Well, appeared to be, at least. Not quite her bouncy self yet but getting there. Alice sounded angry. Why should she phone here? Did she know something Harriet Charter-Plackett didn’t know? Why was he back again when he couldn’t stand, he claimed, the English winter? Johnny had told Jimbo only the other day that the two small country hotel chains they were intending buying had at last faced the fact they were heading for bankruptcy and had definitely decided to accept the Templeton’s meagre offer. So Chris wasn’t entirely a waste of space, but right now Harriet could kick him hard enough to send him right the way back to Rio.