Johnny ignored him. ‘Saturday is Bonfire Night. You saw the size of the bonfire Barry Jones has constructed? There’s even old furniture on there. It’ll be some fire, believe me. You could stay on and light it with me and Charles if you like. Apparently it’s tradition for the owner of Turnham House to light the fire, and so I’m definitely committed.’ Johnny smiled invitingly at Chris. ‘After the bonfire and the burning of Guy Fawkes, we’ll have a big firework display. Jimbo used to do spectacular ones but he’s too busy nowadays, so I’m getting professionals in. There’s a beer tent, baked potatoes to eat round the bonfire, a refreshment tent with hot food, that’s run by Jimbo and so the food’ll be good.’
Very cautiously, Chris nodded in agreement. ‘I might just do that, and go home the next day. This is Thursday, so there’s only Friday and then Saturday, and then home. I might just tolerate that.’
‘Don’t overdo it on the enthusiasm side; it might indicate a change of lifestyle, and that would never do.’
‘OK. OK. I get the message.’
Chapter 23
‘So, they say he’s staying until Sunday so that he can help Johnny light the bonfire, which is a bit surprising when you think about it, ’im being in everyone’s bad books,’ said Dottie.
Sylvia eyed Dottie, unconvinced that the last piece of gossip was correct. ‘Well, that’s a big turn around considering how he’s behaved. He thinks we’re all country bumpkins, but we’re not, are we?’
‘Absolutely not. By the way, you know Fran’s got that little kitten from the cat rescue and it looks like a Siamese but it isn’t. Well, you’ll never guess who’s gone and bought its brother . . .’
‘Who?’ But Sylvia never got her reply because at that very moment in walked Johnny, followed a moment later by Chris. Johnny headed straight for their table, and asked if they could join them.
Embarrassed to death, Dottie and Sylvia both agreed and said of course they could. But they felt as if their evening was in splinters. Now what on earth could they talk about? Not kittens and definitely not Fran Charter-Plackett, and they certainly couldn’t ask Chris if he was enjoying his stay because they knew he wouldn’t be.
‘Now,’ said Chris, using all his charm as only he could, ‘what are you two ladies drinking because I’d like to get you another drink if you’ll allow me.’
‘Well, thanks,’ said Dottie, ‘I’ll have a white wine now. Georgie knows which one I like the best, and Sylvia here, you prefer vodka and tonic at the moment, don’t you?’
‘In that case then that’s what I’ll get for you.’ Chris went across to join Johnny at the bar, and Sylvia and Dottie covertly observed him chatting to Georgie as though they were old friends. Out of the corner of her mouth, Dottie said, ‘There’s been a big change in ’im. You don’t suppose he’s back with Fran, do you?’
‘I hope not, he’s not right for her. Oops!’ Sylvia was mortified because Johnny had come to sit down with them and she hadn’t realised, being too busy watching Chris. But Johnny was too much of a gentleman to make a comment and so she got away with it.
He did, however, ask Sylvia where everyone else was.
‘It’s the blessed World Cup or something, and they couldn’t come out till they’d got a result, and so Barry, Ford, Willie and Zack are all over at our house watching telly, and there’s another half an hour before it finishes. Georgie won’t have a telly in the pub, you see, which I’m glad about.’
Chris arrived with the drinks and was duly thanked. A small silence fell until it occurred to Sylvia to mention the kitten’s name. ‘About the only interesting news we’ve got to impart is that Mrs Charter-Plackett has bought a kitten. It’s a boy and the brother of Bonnie that belongs to Fran.’ In her head she wished she could cut her tongue out, what a blinking stupid subject to bring up again. ‘Anyway, you’ll never guess what she’s calling it.’
No one, not even Dottie, offered the right name and in the end she had to say it. ‘Clyde, of course.’
‘Clyde? Where did she get that from?’ asked Dottie hurriedly filling the silence.
Sylvia nudged Dottie saying, ‘That film, you know, Bonnie and Clyde. Apparently Fran thinks it’s hysterical.’
‘That’s just the sort of idea that would make Fran laugh.’ Chris said this, and smiled at the thought. ‘You’ll have known Fran since she was born?’
Together they both said, ‘Yes.’ And Dottie decided that a complete change of subject was required because she certainly wasn’t going down that road again, not likely. ‘Did you know that Beth Harris has gone back to university at last.’
‘Why did she leave?’ Chris asked.
‘Not happy. Decided she needed a year off to grow up. Well, she’s been back there must be two months now, and she’s absolutely fine. Thank goodness.’
‘She’s a twin, isn’t she?’ Chris asked.
‘Yes, she is.’ Under the table Dottie felt Sylvia give her a warning nudge with her knee.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever met her twin.’
‘Alex his name is. Tall like his dad and a lovely young man, same as his dad. Very clever; he’s at Cambridge too.’
Chris recollected a conversation he’d had with . . . he couldn’t remember who but they’d hinted . . . ‘Isn’t there something odd about them? Didn’t the rector adopt them?’
Johnny tried twice to divert the flak from Dottie and Sylvia, but twice Chris pursued his suspicions. ‘I’m sure I’m right, aren’t they his, but not . . .’
Dottie said firmly, ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to leave. Things to do. Sorry. Thanks for the drink.’
‘So have I,’ added Sylvia, and the two of them stood abruptly and tried hard not to look conspicuous by rushing out, which was what they both would have preferred.
Outside they halted for a moment. Dottie dabbed at her face to cool herself down. ‘We couldn’t tell him, could we, not him. He wouldn’t belong if he lived here fifty years.’
‘Not a patch on his brother. If you belonged here, you could tell Johnny you’d done a murder and he wouldn’t let on.’ Sylvia debated what to do next. ‘I tell you what, come to our house. The football will be nearly finished; they can go to the pub, and we’ll have a quiet drink on our own, eh? What do you say? See if there’s a good film on.’
‘Lovely. Just the ticket.’
Johnny and Chris had moved to a smaller table after the two of them left, and Chris still felt annoyed that he’d been denied his answer to the Alex and Beth Harris question, and so he asked Johnny, ‘Have I offended them in some way?’
‘Not offended, no, but you’ve stumbled on a big secret that only the villagers know about, and they tell no one who they consider does not belong to the village.’
‘You know though; why not me?’
‘Because you don’t belong.’
‘I belong to you.’
Johnny agreed he did.
‘Well, are you going to tell me?’
‘No.’
Chris took umbrage at this. ‘So how many years do I have to live in the village to be allowed to know their secrets?’
Johnny grinned at him. ‘Something like fifty years.’
Chris couldn’t believe it. ‘Fifty years. My God! The sooner I get home, the better.’
‘Yes.’
‘You really want me to go, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘You mean it, seriously?’
‘Yes, at least until you learn how to behave in a place like this.’
Chris leaned across the table and asked softly, ‘Go on, give me a hint what that much admired, beyond reproach, well beloved rector did? More importantly, to whom?’
‘No. It’s his secret. Ask him, and if he wants you to know, he’ll tell you.’
‘Damn it, Johnny, I am your brother.’
Johnny grinned at him. ‘You daren’t ask him because you know one look from his candid all-penetrating eyes will be your undoing. All the sins you’ve committed in the last twenty years will be re
vealed to him in one long look. He’s well known for it.’
‘He won’t find out my past, believe me. Right. I’ll ask him. I’ll go round to the church tomorrow morning and I’ll ask him, if he’s there.’
Chris did as he promised he would. Chris caught Peter playing the organ which he had to admit he did very well indeed, and so he sat to listen for a while out of sight from the organ behind a stone monument. And when Peter switched the organ off and headed for the vestry Chris followed him, knocked on the vestry door and pushed it open.
‘Good morning, rector. May I have a word?’
Peter was searching through some files in a cupboard and turned to see who was asking to have a word. ‘Ah, I thought it might be you.’
‘You did?’
‘The accent, it’s just something a bit different from an English one. How can I help?’
The compassionate understanding smile on Peter’s face, no different despite the passing years, almost made Chris decide not to ask him the heavily weighted question on his lips. But he did. After all, he didn’t belong in the village, a fact he was never allowed to forget, and he didn’t want to either, so it didn’t matter to him if he offended. ‘There’s always this mystery about you that no one is ever willing to explain, not even my own brother will tell me, and so I’m asking it now. The entire village has it as its secret but not me.’
Peter turned away to pick up a file from the table behind him. ‘Yes?’
‘I’ll come right out with it. Who is the father of your children? Alex and Beth?’
‘Me.’ Peter turned to face him.
Wow! Chris thought, those eyes of his such a bright blue, but somehow . . . Then he became frighteningly aware of Peter’s penetrating glance, the deeply thoughtful look, and somehow wished he’d never . . . ‘So, it’s not you it’s your wife, she was the unfaithful one.’ He hesitated as he caught a change in Peter’s attitude. ‘No, I’ve got it completely wrong, haven’t I?’
Peter’s facial expression changed to one of cold anger. ‘Yes, you have. I am disinclined to discuss this any further. It is an entirely private matter, and you can go back to Rio with the problem unresolved because it is no longer a matter for discussion between you and me.’
‘Look here, are the children your wife’s? I understand you prefer honesty, so let’s have all our cards on the table.’
‘She adopted them.’
‘When you and she married I assume?’
He didn’t get an answer from Peter, so Chris, who was struggling to get the matter straight in his mind, asked, ‘So, it isn’t she who is the guilty one?’
‘That’s absolutely right, Chris. There’s a very apt sentence I can quote you from the Bible. Let he who is without sin amongst you, cast the first stone. You might do well to remember that. Unless it is, of course, that you are entirely without sin, in which case you are a very exceptional person and worthy of great praise, and I for one am very envious of you.’
Chris, tough and self congratulating as he was and always had been, fought to subdue the guilty shudder that began crawling relentlessly up his spine.
Peter looked Chris in the eye with a steady but compassionate expression that challenged his very existence. ‘But somehow I think not. I think you are as guilty of sin as the rest of us, and have been all your adult years.’ Peter sustained the challenge in his voice by adding, ‘But it is never too late to change. Never ever too late to treat others as you would like to be treated, to be honest and truthful, to put a stop to the unkind rumours, to give generously of your time, to think of others first and yourself last. Never too late.’
For once in his life Chris was speechless, for he recognised that Peter had very astutely described Christopher Templeton’s own shortcomings; and that feeling of guilt he’d sensed crawling up his spine finally exploded into his brain and with it, it seemed, the whole of his past life lay exposed to the world.
Peter collected the files he needed, and said, ‘I must press on, unless there’s something else you have to say?’ Peter waited but getting no response he suggested that they left.
As they walked down the aisle together Peter asked Chris how long he was staying, and what was Rio like because he’d never been there, and how was the hotel business nowadays. And then they were out in the sun shaking hands, with Peter wishing Chris a good journey home, and then Chris was on his own walking back up the drive to the Big House and everything was so normal, as though their conversation about sin had never taken place.
But it had, and try as he might, he knew that today the deepest truth about him, Christopher Templeton, had been declared out loud by a very perceptive man. And he didn’t like the sound of it.
Chapter 24
The notices about Bonfire Night had been put through every letterbox in Turnham Malpas, posters were nailed to trees, there was a full page advert in the church magazine that announced all the fringe activities, and as Bonfire Night was conveniently this year on a Saturday no one bothered to have a fire in their own garden. Fireworks provided by Johnny promised a spectacular show, and all they had to pay for was food and drinks if they wished.
Jimbo was delighted. At last the village was becoming the centre of everyone’s lives once more, and he loved it. His Fran was getting better as each week passed, the Old Barn was firing on all cylinders, sometimes there’d be three or even four events each week, and although it was hard work keeping up with all the catering and the fringe requirements for the very varied happenings, Jimbo thrived on it. Now he’d got a wedding licence, people could both marry and have the reception in the Old Barn and so his calendar for weddings was rapidly filling up to capacity. And it all meant more money in the coffers.
He stood, in the early morning of Bonfire Night, on the doorstep of the store looking out over the village green. Cold, yes, but not so cold that he couldn’t stand there for no more than a minute; it was a bracing, uplifting kind of cold, and the skies were bright blue with the promise of a brilliant day. Not a cloud in the sky, thank goodness. He had a wedding at 11 a.m. today so the whole thing would be over well before the bonfire was due to be lit.
Next week he and Harriet would be off to South Africa for ten days and goodness didn’t they deserve it? He couldn’t wait. Leaving, of course, Fran in charge. Fran. He dwelt on her for a few moments. His darling Fran, the youngest of his flock. How could he have been so careless as to allow her to go out with that Chris Templeton? He should have put his foot down right at the start. But he knew he couldn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t, because that was the way to drive her away. The outcome would have been the same though, with her pregnant, and Chris careless and fancy free. Which he was. Damn the man. How could a lovely gracious man like Johnny have a brother like Chris? They were as different as cheese and chalk. Johnny thoughtful and already more like Ralph than anyone had ever thought possible. Chris hard-faced, selfish, thoughtless, although he was off back to Rio tomorrow, thank heaven. The sooner the better.
Jimbo felt rather than heard Fran come to stand beside him. ‘You’re just like me, Dad. I like to have a moment here first thing, sniff the air, see how the world’s doing today.’
‘It’s doing rather well, methinks. How about you, love? Are you doing rather well?’
‘Just about, but it’s not easy to put it all to one side and bash on. It’s all certainly taught me a lesson.’
‘What kind of a lesson?’
‘To take a long deep breath before commitment, to pace myself, to be more certain. To assess people better, hold back till I’m certain.’
‘That sounds like common sense to me.’
‘I was too young for him, and if I met him now I’d know better how to deal with him. The bigger the distance between us though at the moment, the better it will be for me.’
‘The world is full of wonderful people, as well as the charlatans, Fran. Before long there’ll be someone else who will really love you, believe me.’
Fran slipped her hand into the crook of her fa
ther’s arm. ‘He’ll have to be very much like you, Dad. Kindly and strong . . . and round and bald.’
The two of them laughed uproariously, and Willie Biggs coming in for his morning paper enjoyed their happiness. ‘Good morning, you two. Come for my paper, as if after all these years I have to tell you that.’
Willie stood beside the till, fumbling in his pocket for the right change as he always did, on the principle that at that time in the morning he couldn’t expect them to have any change when all he was buying was his newspaper; but they’d never let on that before they opened up they filled the till with a fresh supply of change every single day. ‘You know, Willie, you could always have your paper delivered. The boys set out at seven-fifteen on their rounds so you wouldn’t have to come out in the cold and the rain,’ said Jimbo.
But Willie straightened his back and marched out as best he could, saying just before he closed the door, ‘The day I can’t pick up my own newspaper is the day I shall be put in my box. See you at the bonfire, I’m right looking forward to it, same as always. We’re lucky to have that Johnny inherit.’
The two of them watched Willie make his way home and the exact same thought was in both their minds, that Willie Biggs, the very last of a long line of the Biggs family living in the village, was running out of time. Fran thought about life in the village of Turnham Malpas and how much she loved it; but at the same time there remained in her mind a very strong interest in the gorgeous man she knew really belonged in Brazil, and she decided she wasn’t going to avoid him like she’d first intended, because she felt strong enough to make a point of saying goodbye to him tonight at the bonfire. After all, it wouldn’t be the last time she’d see him because he’d certainly be back to see Johnny and Alice and the little boys, and so she might as well get used to it. She simply would not allow him to hurt her any more, that was the thing. No more allowing him to draw close, no more meeting at the Wise Man, no more . . .
Jimbo suddenly remarked, ‘Do you know, Fran, although in one way I’m glad I haven’t the responsibility of the firework display, at the same time I shall miss doing it. What will I do all evening without the responsibility for it?’
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