‘Well, there’s plenty of time. And you, Alex, do you know yet?’
‘I’ve chosen sciences for my A-levels, so I might choose medicine or scientific research of some kind.’
‘Good luck to you both. Your dad’s coming in here for his lunch with the others after the meeting. Are you staying? I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined them.’
Both Alex and Beth promptly squashed that idea with an emphatic ‘no’.
‘Very well, then, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy, my dears, enjoy.’ The Bishop’s wife saw someone else she knew and leapt away, determined they weren’t going to escape her.
‘I’m going before they get here,’ Beth said. ‘I can’t talk to Dad as if nothing’s happened. Let’s be off.’
They scuttled out of the coffee shop as fast as they could, ate a sandwich for lunch in a café by the river and then spent the afternoon in the cinema avoiding the issue. Two and a half hours not thinking about it resolved nothing, and with school tomorrow they wouldn’t have time. So that was that for the moment. But they promised each other that neither of them would mention it without the other being present.
Monday was a busy day for Dottie. In the morning she was at the Rectory and in the afternoon she was a fully paid-up member of the village embroidery group from 2 p.m. until 4 p.m. Then she called in the Village Store for any bits and pieces, and caught the late-afternoon bus back down Shepherd’s Hill - sometimes she walked down if there wasn’t much shopping to carry - and to add to the usual there was a business dinner tonight at the Old Barn and she was booked to help out. No need to cook at home tonight.
Dottie had joined the embroidery group more for the company than any particular artistic bent, but after a few weeks she’d found herself enjoying it so much she had become a keen member. At the moment they were all working on a tapestry as part of the refurbishment of a block of offices in Culworth. It was to be placed in the main entrance hall behind glass and its finished length would be eight feet. It was the biggest project they’d tackled and sometimes they got a case of en masse nerves and had to put it away for fear they would make terrible mistakes which couldn’t be rectified.
Dottie felt today had been a bad day, and she wasn’t entirely sure she was in the right frame of mind this afternoon with this worry about the twins and their upsetting letters. But there was nothing she could do about it, and she certainly couldn’t let on about the matter.
She was just on time. Their teacher, Evie Nicholls, had put everything out and Dottie’s spirits rose when she saw the wonderful colours of the wools they were using and the part-finished tapestry on its frame. It was a picture designed by Evie, illustrating the kind of work the company was involved in, so there were rivers, boats, cranes and quaysides, men working, men idling, chimneys and smoke. Dottie regarded it as her contribution to the beauty of the world and the only one that would outlast her.
‘Good afternoon, everybody! Still cold.’
‘It is. Glad you’ve come, Dottie. I want you to work on that background piece in the duck-egg blue you started last week. It’ll have to be done before we can do the next lot of fiddly bits.’
She grinned, did Dottie. ‘I always knew I had a place in life: Dottie, the specialist in backgrounds. It’ll look good on my epitaph.’
Evie looked crestfallen. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .’
But Dottie was laughing and so Evie was relieved.
There were five of them working this particular afternoon: Evie, Dottie, Sheila Bissett, Bel Tutt and Barbara, one of the weekenders. They all worked together very well. The person most likely to cause friction was Sheila Bissett. She’d never been the same since her Louise and Gilbert had lost that premature baby. She’d always longed to be slender, had Sheila, and now she’d no worries for she was as slim as a wand and could wear anything she chose and look good in it, but it hadn’t improved her attitude.
‘They’ve moved in,’ she said.
‘Who?’
‘The new people in Glebe House, of course.’
There was a disappointed chorus of, ‘No! I never saw the van.’ Missing someone moving in? How had that happened?
‘The van didn’t get here until nearly midnight last night, due to a breakdown, and believe it or believe it not, they unloaded there and then in the dark. Needed the van for another job, apparently, and had to speed off about three this morning.’
Dottie looked up from threading the duck-egg blue on to her very best tapestry needle. ‘Seeing as how you live in Little Derehams, how come you know all this and we don’t?’
Sheila grinned. She’d always loved being first with the news. ‘Because I ran out of milk and came to the Store by half past seven this morning to get some for Ron’s breakfast, and she was in there buying their breakfast - bacon, eggs, the whole works. So at last, after all the speculation about who had and who hadn’t bought Glebe House, now we know.’
The words not spoken were: ‘What’s she like?’ But they didn’t need to ask because Sheila was bursting to tell them.
‘She’s big and blowsy - all money and no taste. Her husband is retired, something big in metal he was, apparently, and has so much money he doesn’t know where to spend it next, or so she says.’
‘What’s she called?’ asked Bel, who often worked in the Store and was always mindful that she must remember names because Jimbo liked it that way.
Sheila drew in a big breath. ‘She says her name is Mercedes and his is—’
‘Toyota? Nissan? Skoda?’
There was an outbreak of giggling at this, and Dottie laughed the loudest at her own wit.
Sheila couldn’t reply for laughing. When she did speak she said, ‘Ford. Ford Barclay.’
Then they really did have to stop sewing, and their peals of laughter could be heard by Zack the verger who was grass-cutting behind the hall.
‘Now, just stop it, Sheila, and tell us the truth,’ Dottie said.
‘It is the truth,’ Sheila protested. ‘He was born in the States and they use the name Ford a lot. It’s quite common apparently.’
‘So’s he by the sound of it. And her!’
This brought more peals of laughter, then Evie suggested she made a pot of tea to give them all a break. They never sewed and drank tea at the same time for fear of a spill, so they all moved their chairs over to a small table they put out for the very purpose of drinking tea.
Evie came back with the tea-tray and as she put it down she said, ‘We shouldn’t be so cruel, you know. They may be very nice people.’
‘You’re right as usual, Evie, but even you must admit . . .’ That set them off again. It was a while since such juicy gossip had come their way and they intended to make the most of it.
‘He sings, she says—’
‘In the bath?’
‘No! Sings, on the stage, and he fancies joining the church choir, she says.’
Evie said she thought that would be lovely, as Gilbert was short of adult male singers. ‘I wonder if he’s tenor or baritone?’
‘She didn’t say.’
Barbara the weekender spoke up. ‘I bet Ron thought you took a long time getting the milk.’
‘He did. He was sure I must have broken down.’
‘You did - laughing!’
‘You should see her rings! Diamonds as big as peas.’
‘Ah!’ said Barbara. ‘But are they real?’
‘They looked it.’
‘But then the lights in the Store are very bright; that would make them sparkle.’
‘There was one that looked just like Princess Diana’s engagement ring - you know, that giant sapphire with the diamonds all around it.’
Thinking about the new owners of Glebe House reminded Bel of Liz, who had moved out. ‘Poor Liz, going all that way to live with her mother, and leaving such a beautiful house, and Neville killing himself like he did. Who’d have thought it? Certainly not me. I wonder how she’s going to manage.’
Sheila said, ‘I think
Neville doing what he did was the last straw for her. I expect she feels so guilty, but then those who are left behind after a suicide always do feel guilty, don’t they? Could I have done more? Why didn’t I realise? Everlasting questions.’
Bel changed the subject. ‘By the way, Michael Palmer died. You know, the old headmaster at the school. Jimbo had a letter from Suzy Meadows-that-was only this morning. Very sudden apparently.’
Sheila said how sorry she was. ‘I liked him. A bit old-fashioned but an excellent disciplinarian, wasn’t he? Such a surprise when he married that Suzy. I always thought they were a funny match.’
‘She’ll be lonely, I expect. All her girls will have left home and now him gone, too.’
Dottie kept very quiet but then couldn’t avoid answering Sheila’s question: ‘Dottie, you remember him, don’t you? Him and Suzy.’
‘Only vaguely. Didn’t have much to do with them.’
‘Her first husband committed suicide. Funny man. He was all shut in and avoided your eyes. You must remember them.’
‘Vaguely, like I said. Anyway, back to work or else it’ll be a wasted afternoon.’
Had she got her answer to the riddle of the twin’s letters? She wondered. Maybe, maybe not.
Evie knocked on the window to tell Zack that his cup of tea was waiting for him, and they heard him switch off his ancient mower.
Zack, known for being a man of few words, nodded to them all, poured out his cup of tea and gratefully sank on to a chair. He enjoyed watching them embroidering. It seemed so right in an ancient church hall, doing tapestry. It fitted somehow. Peace descended, and that was what Zack liked - peace. No women nattering on.
Then he said, quite suddenly, ‘They’ve bought a plot.’
‘Who? A plot of what?’ Evie queried.
‘Them what’ve bought Glebe House came round to see me before they moved in to buy a grave. One of the last. They intend staying here for ever, it seems. Going to make some big changes round here, I understand.’
‘Oh! So they might think. New brooms indeed! Well, we’ll show ’em if we don’t like their ideas. Big changes indeed! My eye!’ Sheila huffed and puffed her annoyance.
‘Been here less than a week and he says he’s buying me a new mower for the churchyard. Says it’s an antique I’m using. He reckons it was bought before the war. Amazed, he is, that I’m still using it.’
‘So are we, Zack. I don’t know how you keep it going. It’s too much to expect,’ Sheila said sympathetically.
‘I reckon he doesn’t know how expensive they are nowadays, though. I don’t suppose such good luck will come my way. He’ll never buy it.’
None of them noticed Zack finish his tea and carry the tray into the kitchen for them. They were too busy speculating about what Ford and Mercedes might do with their money. Afterwards, when they’d concentrated on the tapestry for over an hour, Dottie suddenly broke their silence. ‘The twins did well with their GCSEs. Never told you with it being holidays right through August. Ten each they got.’
‘Ah!’ said Barbara. ‘What grades, though? Cs Ds? What?’
‘All As, both of ’em. They’re that bright.’ She couldn’t help but shake her head in genuine amazement.
Somewhat deflated by this statement, Barbara said, being thoroughly unpleasant as she often was, ‘Ah, well. Just goes to show what happens when you can afford to pay for their education, and him only a vicar.’
‘He’s called a rector in these parts. It’s their money, so surely they can spend it how they like?’ Dottie began to get annoyed.
‘It’s not fair.’
‘Life isn’t fair, is it? You’ve got two houses - what’s fair about that when some people have none?’
This comment shut Barbara up, which was just what Dottie intended. Then she made a mistake in her stitching and swore. Evie decided that today was not the day for peaceful stitching and they’d better stop before things got too nasty. You had to be at peace to stitch effectively, she always thought. ‘It’s only half past three but I think we should stop. We’re not in the mood. I’ll do some myself during the week to catch up. See you next Monday.’
Dottie stayed behind to help clear up. ‘Sorry, Evie, about getting annoyed, but they’re such lovely children. Well, I call them children but they’re not, are they? More young adults. I only wish they were mine. I’d be so proud.’
‘So would I. And they are - lovely, I mean. So well-mannered. ’
‘Indeed. They treat me like gold, they do, not like a skivvy, which I am, and I can’t stand by and see ’em criticised. Sorry.’
‘You’re not a skivvy, nothing like. Don’t worry, Dottie. Can you bring the case with the wools and I’ll—’
‘Oh no you won’t. I’m carrying the frame - it’s too heavy for you, slip of a thing that you are. I expect Tom carries it across usually, does he?’
‘Well, yes, he does, but he’s gone to the wholesalers this afternoon, so I can’t ask him.’
‘It’s dry today, so we’ll cross the Green with it. Ready?’
It was far heavier than she’d thought and Dottie was glad to reach Orchid Cottage.
Tatty, Evie’s little dog, launched himself out of the door the moment it was opened and greeted them ecstatically.
Evie tried to get past him and couldn’t. ‘Move, Tatty, move! You silly dog! We can’t get in.’
‘He’s so well since his operation, isn’t he? Hardly any limp at all.’
‘Exactly.’
‘There we are. Is it all right to leave it here? Bye then, Evie. Thanks for everything.’
Dottie left for home, deciding to leave her shopping until tomorrow, and wondering if the twins had worked out what to do about the news in their letters. It had nagged at her all afternoon, and it was thinking about them that had made her so bad-tempered with that Barbara. If she could solve the twins’ problem for them she would, because she wouldn’t have them hurt, not for the world.
Had she known that they hadn’t solved it, or let on about it to either Peter or Caroline, and were facing their first day in the sixth form with it still casting a shadow over them, she would have been even sadder than she already was.
Chapter 2
The following day Peter was in his study making a set of notes about the meeting he’d attended the day before. If he didn’t, he’d have no proof of what had been agreed, because the minutes always arrived weeks afterwards and were almost useless by then.
The doorbell rang and he heard Dottie answering it. When his study door opened, Dottie said, ‘It’s Mr Barclay, Reverend, just moved in to Glebe House. He says is it convenient?’
‘It is. Show him in.’ He got to his feet, hand outstretched in greeting.
Mr Barclay was almost as tall as himself but twice as wide. His hair was snow-white and stood in a bush around his head as though he’d just been plugged into the mains. There was a slightly swarthy look about his skin, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black.
‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Barclay. Do sit down.’
Ford Barclay dropped down with a sudden almighty thud on to the sofa.
‘Thank you, Reverend. Most kind, when you’re so busy.’ He nodded in the direction of Peter’s desk, which was covered with piles of papers.
‘Everyone calls me Peter, except Dottie who showed you in. I’ve suggested several times she calls me Peter, too, but she won’t have it.’
‘Peter it is, then. I’ve called because we moved in two days ago and this is my first chance. My name’s Ford Barclay, and the wife is Mercedes. We’re very much looking forward to settling in and taking our place in village life. First, that old mower your . . . verger, or whatever you call him, uses. I’m buying him a new one, heard him using it yesterday morning and went to have a word. I couldn’t believe what a struggle it was to cut the grass, and it wasn’t that long. So, first things first, I’m buying him another one. Bang up to date. Thought I’d let you know. He’s too old to be struggling with that old piece of eq
uipment and while Ford Barclay is still breathing he’s not pushing it another day. My old lady’s busy sorting the house today, so I’m taking Zack to get the mower this very minute. I might even take a look at diggers, too. The clay soil must be the very devil when there’s graves to dig. Just a small one, but it may do the trick.’
‘I’m overwhelmed. It’s more than kind of you, Ford, it’s very generous. We’ve been meaning to buy a new mower but there’s always something more urgent to spend the money on. Our previous verger was deeply attached to it, you see, because his father used it for years when he was the verger and . . . well, he always said it was the best for getting between the gravestones. So we’ve never bothered about it.’
The Village Newcomers (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 2