Peter put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. ‘Happy?’
She turned towards him and put her arms round his neck. ‘I am, couldn’t be happier.’ Caroline kissed him. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you. You’re always happy in your garden. How about taking a garden design course, carve out a whole new career for yourself? You’re very good at it.’
‘If I were I wouldn’t be asking you about the peonies.’
‘Follow your instincts. Move them. I’ll dig them out for you.’
‘Peter! Sometimes you are absolutely transparent!’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You do. You’re worried I’ll have a go myself, so you get in quickly with an offer to do it for me. Well, I shan’t. I know what I’m permitted to do.’
‘I should trust you more, shouldn’t I?’
‘Yes, you should. Well? How did you get on with her?’
‘I’ve taken the most awful gamble.’
Caroline listened to what he had to say and replied, ‘Rather you than me.’
‘Do you think I’ve got it wrong? You said play it by ear.’
‘It will either come off quite splendidly or the situation will be ten times worse. A gamble as you say.’
‘I rather hoped you’d agree with me. She’s the sort of person who could solve it, you know. Grandmama’s no fool as she so rightly said.’
‘They might manage to solve it all by themselves if left alone.’
‘They’re all too deeply involved to see the wood for the trees.’
‘I just hope you’re backing the right horse. Despite your support, the village may still not approve. There’s one thing though, they’ll all have plenty to talk about. It’ll keep everyone going for weeks and weeks!’
Over the weekend the bar at the Royal Oak hummed discreetly with the gossip about the four of them. In particular the discovery that Dicky and Bel were brother and sister. Discreetly because of Bryn. They didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but on the other hand the gossip was far too good to miss. What couldn’t be reconciled was the fact that Dicky and Bel had deceived them for so long. Why had no one twigged what was going on? What seemed even more incredible was that the Rector appeared to be condoning it. They couldn’t understand that, him being so particular about things, and him having the church’s attitude to take into account.
Vera had dragged Don in for a drink seeing as Jimmy was always busy driving his taxi on Saturday nights and Pat hardly ever came in since she’d married Barry. So, not wishing to spend the evening alone, Vera had persuaded Don to accompany her. ‘We won’t stay long, it’s just to find out what’s happening, that’s all. You can get back to your telly as soon as.’
To her delight Willie and Sylvia were there and they’d secured her favourite table.
‘Willie! Sylvia! Don’s just getting the drinks.’
‘How’s things, Vera?’ Willie asked her.
‘Fine, just fine. In fact brilliant. My wages have gone up again. Thank Gawd.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘Can’t get people to work the hours. I should worry. What with Don’s money, our Rhett’s and mine, everything in the Wright household is great.’ Vera nodded her head in the direction of Bryn. ‘He’s still working then?’
‘There’s him and Alan and wait till you see the new help.’
‘New help? Who’s that then?’
‘Wait and see.’ Willie, out of the side of his mouth, muttered, ‘Here she comes.’
Vera was totally unprepared for the vision which appeared through the door marked Private. The woman was as tall as Bryn, with a mass of unnaturally red hair, curling and swirling around her head and well down her back. You couldn’t call her fat but she was voluptuous. More than enough of her top half was exposed, the part that wasn’t, was encased in a sparkling, glittering top which, cropped at her waistline, exposed a tanned midriff each time she stretched for anything the slightest bit out of reach. They’d seen short skirts on some of the teenage girls in the village, but the skirt this apparition was wearing came only just short of covering her knickers.
Vera was scandalised. ‘Never in all my born days have I seen anything as disgusting as that. Georgie would never have set her on. Not in a million years. Where the Dickens is she from?’
‘Penny Fawcett.’
‘Penny Fawcett? That dead alive hole. Giddy godfathers. I bet she sets tongues wagging.’
Sylvia giggled. ‘More than tongues believe me! She’s one of old Bertie Bradshaw’s daughters.’
‘No! Not the one the Rector caught …’ Vera lowered her voice and whispered the rest of the story to Sylvia, finishing with ‘Was it Kenny or Terry, I can’t remember.’
‘The very one.’
‘It’s disgusting. She’ll be putting Don off his orange juice.’ Vera moved along the settle to make room for him. ‘Don’t you make any of your awkward remarks tonight, Don Wright, the last one caused enough trouble. I don’t want you being thrown from the top of the church tower, well, not before I’ve checked your insurance anyhow! Thanks. Cheers.’ Vera raised her glass to her mouth and drank thirstily.
‘Me? As if I would!’
Vera, still appalled by the sight of the new barmaid, said, ‘She’ll be Elektra.’
‘Right name for her too.’ Don made one of his rare excursions into the world of laughter which made the others look at him in surprise.
Sylvia thought it was a ridiculous name. She asked Vera what the others were called. ‘Can’t remember ’em all, the youngest one’s called Mercedes I do know that. Reckon their mother must have had a brainstorm each time they popped out. She died years ago before they all grew up. Mind you, with five girls like Elektra there’s no wonder she died young, it was the surest way to escape the lot of ’em!’
Willie, still ogling Elektra, declared she was much older than she looked. ‘See her neck, yer can’t disguise that, nor her ’ands. I bet she’s fifty if she’s a day. Pity Jimmy’s not here, do ’im good to have an eyeful of her.’
Vera tut-tutted. ‘Well, I’m disgusted with Bryn. Georgie always kept the place with such style, never a word out of place, everything classy like.’
With a deadpan face Don muttered, ‘She’ll be in his bed before long.’ He waited until Bryn was looking in his direction and he called out, ‘Not taken long for yer to find someone to keep the bed warm, Bryn, in a manner of speaking like.’
Elektra answered him because Bryn, caught unawares, couldn’t think of an answer. ‘Jealous are yer? Expect that dried up old prune sat next to yer is your wife. Bet you’ve forgotten what it’s like.’
Don, the wind completely taken out of his sails by this bold retort, didn’t know where to look.
Vera went a kind of purply red, struggled out from the settle and confronted Elektra. Being small Vera’s eyes were on a level with Elektra’s cleavage which made it difficult to speak with authority.
‘You’re a tart. That’s what you are, a tart. Don’t you dare speak to my husband like that. Decent people don’t want the likes of you in here, with yer cheeky remarks and yer black lace knickers.’
‘You old cow. Bet your knickers aren’t black lace, they’ll be pink interlock with them long legs with elastic. Sexy I must say. No wonder that husband of yours is jealous.’ She pulled at the cropped sparkling top and exposed even more of her assets.
Vera, unable to come up with a smart response to this further evidence of Elektra’s unsuitability to be barmaid in the Royal Oak, picked up her glass of lager which was still half full and emptied what was left down Elektra’s chest, banged the empty glass down on the nearest table and said, ‘Don, we’re going ’ome.’ As they crossed the bar towards the door Vera said, ‘Now look what you’ve made me do with your uncalled-for remarks.’ They left in a kind of triumphant flurry.
Elektra was yowling, plucking at her top as the lager trickled down her cleavage down her midriff and then her imitation leather skirt and thence to
the floor. Bryn came from behind the bar armed with a tea towel and began dabbing at Elektra’s front.
Uproar ensued. The customers were cheering him on with enthusiasm, making bold hints about their relationship and inferring what a lucky man he was, and did he need a hand?
At that moment Peter walked in. Bryn unaware what had caused the ribaldry to trail off into silence continued mopping Elektra.
‘You’ll have to go in the back and get changed. You’re absolutely wet through. Alan! Get a cloth and a bucket and …’ Bryn saw Peter and stopped in mid-sentence. Immediately he knew that he looked all kinds of a fool. It would contribute nothing to his case as far as Peter was concerned. But did he care? No, he didn’t. Hail-fellow-well-met was the best attitude to adopt. ‘Good evening, Rector! What can I get for you?’
‘I’ll have a mineral water thank you, Bryn. Busy tonight.’
‘That’s right. Just had a bit of a fracas with two of the customers. All part of life’s rich pattern. Eh?’
‘Indeed. I’ve just popped in to see about arrangements for a meeting. I didn’t know how you were fixed for help in the bar but I see you’ve got someone. Eighty pence, that right?’
‘That’s right, Rector.’
‘Sunday evening after service I thought, in the rectory. It’s fine with the others. Is it all right with you?’
‘I’ll get Elektra to change shifts, her and Alan should be able to manage.’
‘Good.’ Peter stood at the bar one foot on the brass rail and looked at the crowd. He acknowledged Willie and Sylvia and a few more from church, and drank his mineral water. There was a lot of furtive giggling amongst the customers and an occasional burst of laughter.
Elektra returned. Sylvia gasped. Nudging Willie she whispered ‘I’m certain that’s one of Georgie’s tops. I remember her wearing it. It’s not on is it?’
‘It’s not blinking decent, it isn’t. You wouldn’t think Georgie was living only yards away, you’d think she was dead. I’m amazed at Bryn. He’s lost his marbles, that’s what.’ Willie went to the bar to buy another drink. ‘Good evening, Rector. I’m afraid things aren’t what they were in these parts.’
Peter smiled wryly and said, ‘I agree.’
Two of the customers called good night and went, and those left behind settled down to a quiet evening. There was a game of dominoes in progress at the table by the fire, someone got up and shouted to Bryn should they put another log on, and he agreed, not caring much either way as he was chatting to Elektra. Two chaps from Culworth decided to have a game of darts and Elektra exchanged some coarse chit-chat with them. Bryn glanced at the clock. An hour to closing. And then … He admired Elektra’s rampant red hair and thought about burying his hands in it, grasping great handfuls of it, twining it round his fingers, luxuriating in the thickness of it and … would she let him though? As she’d said her father had turned her out and she’d nowhere to go, he’d delightedly agreed to her having Alan’s old room. Everything somehow had fallen neatly into place. As he contemplated with relish the possibility of some extra-mural activity once the bar was closed, he heard the outside door open. He looked up to see who’d come in.
It was Georgie carrying her case. She’d come back.
Bryn went hot right from his bow tie down to his brown suede shoes. His head swirled till he felt so dizzy he had to clutch hold of the bar to steady himself. Through the mists which, to his surprise, had filled the bar he saw the look of fury on Georgie’s face when she spotted Elektra.
He watched her eyes taking in the whole of the saloon, Peter at the bar, the flames hungrily crackling away at the new log, the plastic flowers Elektra had put on the counter, which now appeared to him to be in the worst possible taste, and finally her eyes reached him. If it was possible he went even hotter. Her look floored him. He felt compelled to turn his eyes away, he couldn’t meet hers, those lovely blue eyes which had so captivated him all those years ago; it was the horrendous sadness he saw in them he couldn’t face. Georgie didn’t speak. Not even to Peter. She walked across, went behind the bar and through the door marked Private.
Had she come back for good then?
Sylvia asked Willie this very question and he couldn’t answer it, neither could anyone else. In fact the question never did get answered for it was ‘Time, ladies and gentlemen, please’ before they knew where they were. So they all went home, Peter included, none the wiser.
Chapter 19
Grandmama was taking her turn organising the after morning service coffee in the church hall. With the service commencing at ten o’clock she was already there by quarter past nine putting out the cups. Willie had switched on the heating and the water heater so there was nothing much else to do but put out the cups, get the big coffee jugs out, spoon some sugar into bowls, put the pretty tablecloths on which Muriel had made when the hall had been renovated, get the spoons out of the locked cupboard, where was the key? Drat it, Mrs Jones had that. Where was she?
She heard the outside door shut and Mrs Jones calling out, ‘Anyone here?’
‘Good morning!’
‘Oh! Good morning Mrs Charter-Plackett, I thought I was the first. You’ve done everything. You must have been early.’
‘I was. I had a bad night so I decided to get up early and make the best of the day.’
‘Not sleeping well then? I have some blinking good herbal stuff I use when I’m having one of my sessions when I can’t sleep. Yer sleep but yer don’t feel drugged when yer wake up. I’ve got a new bottle in mi bag, ‘ere you ’ave it.’ She searched about in her cavernous bag and produced a bottle of tablets still in the herbalist’s bag. ‘Take it, go on, buy me a new bottle next time you’re in Culworth. I’ve still got some left in my old bottle.’
‘Oh, well thank you. I could give them a try, couldn’t I? I don’t usually have any problem, just an off night now and again. Have you the key for the cupboard, I need the spoons.’
‘Coming to something when yer have to lock up church cupboards. Things aren’t what they were, are they?’
Grandmama gave her a quizzical look but as Mrs Jones didn’t respond in any way she thanked her for the spoons and went round putting one in each saucer.
Mrs Jones, between counting the spoonsful of coffee needed for each jug said ‘You won’t have seen the new barmaid?’
‘No.’
‘Our Kenny was in there Friday, he says she’s a tart and he should know.’
‘Is she?’
‘Oh yes. Between you and me she’s been around rather longer than she’d like us to know. Dresses fifteen when she’s nearer fifty. But as Kenny says she has a heart of gold, so we all know what that means.’ Slyly she brought the conversation round to Georgie. ‘Must be awful for Georgie having that tart in her lovely pub. How’s she keeping? Don’t see much of her nowadays. Has she said anything about going back to him? Or is she staying with you a bit longer?’
Sorely tempted to relate the conversation she’d had With Georgie which had gone on far into the previous night Grandmama remembered Peter’s admonition and said briefly, ‘I’m only giving her a refuge till she sorts out what she wants to do, she doesn’t confide in me.’
Oh no, thought Mrs Jones, I should cocoa. ‘Well, it must be very difficult for ’em, them being business partners, not like if they were managers and the brewery owned it. Different when it’s a free house. More complicated money-wise isn’t it?’
‘There that’s that. I’ll be off to church. See you afterwards. I don’t expect there’ll be many there today. We shouldn’t be too busy.’
But she was wrong. The church was filled, not so many as for a special service but there were plenty there, and they all poured into the hall afterwards too. Grandmama and Mrs Jones were kept very busy, so busy they hadn’t time for gossip, but judging by the loud hum of conversation and the hoots of laughter everyone else had plenty of time for it.
After the first surge of activity Grandmama took a moment to look around. Her eyes lighted on Pe
ter first, because he was a head taller than most of the others. He was talking to Georgie. Poor Georgie. She’d made that brave decision to go back to Bryn and make a real effort to improve their lives together and what had she found? that disgusting woman serving in her bar, wearing one of her favourite tops, and Bryn looking like the cat who’d been at the cream. What had made matters worse was her realising, once she’d gone upstairs, that Elektra was living there, something she would never have allowed. Alan, yes, but then they’d known him since he’d first started work with them at eighteen, and been pleased to offer him a home, but Elektra … She was a different kettle offish altogether.
Grandmama had been secretly appalled by Georgie’s reaction. It seemed to her that Georgie had still had a lot of feeling left for Bryn, but that it had been destroyed in an instant by what she’d found. Apparently they’d had a frightful row, with Georgie telling Bryn exactly what she thought of him, something she’d never done before. Bryn had grown defiant, and told her what else could she expect when she’d left him to cope by himself, and if she didn’t like the new barmaid she knew what she could do.
‘Which is?’
‘Just leave and let me get on with it my way.’
‘We’ll have no business left, our punters won’t like’ – she’d given Elektra a scathing glance – ‘someone like her, we’ve a better class of pub. She’s more the Jug and Bottle type.’
Elektra had taken umbrage at that remark. ‘The Jug and Bottle! I wouldn’t work there.’
‘No? Perhaps you’re right, they wouldn’t want you, you’re not even good enough for them, and that’s saying something.’
Bryn had protested. ‘Now come on, Georgie, there’s no call to be downright nasty.’
‘Isn’t there? Don’t forget, Bryn, I’m a partner in this business and I shall want my profit share. If she stays there’ll be no profit to have. People like Sir Ralph and Jimbo and the Duchess and the Rector won’t patronise us with her in here. She’ll attract all the wrong kind of people.’
Elektra tossed her hair back and hands on hips retorted, ‘Stuck-up lot they are, anyway, with their mineral waters and their gins and tonics.’ She mimicked someone sipping delicately from their glass and laughed. ‘There’s plenty that will come ’cos I’m here. Give me men like Kenny Jones and their Terry, they know how to spend money …’
Scandal in the Village Page 20