As she opened her mouth to begin the story, Ron, much to her annoyance reminded her it was getting late and they were meeting up with those friends at the service station on the bypass and they’d better be off and he still had to get washed and changed.
‘Are we?’ A strained look about his eyes convinced her she had to play along with him. ‘Oh yes, of course, I’d completely forgotten. Oh dear. Will you excuse us, Hugo? Another time, maybe.’
‘Of course. Off you go. Have a good time. See me when you can about the flowers and your ideas, and you, Ron, get in touch with Barry, will you?’ He took Sheila’s hand in his, raised it to his lips and kissed it lingeringly whilst keeping his eyes fixed on hers. A tremulous smile lit her face. ‘Dear lady!’
Ron stood up. ‘Of course. Yes, leave it with me.’
Hugo left disappointed that he hadn’t heard the full story about Caroline. He knew that he definitely wouldn’t hear it from her, it would be too painful for her to resurrect. So, it must have been Peter she was protecting when she wouldn’t open up. Harriet, that was right. Harriet. She’d know.
But Harriet wouldn’t co-operate. ‘Ask Caroline, but don’t expect an answer. And you’re certainly not getting one from me.’
‘Fine. Fine. I get the message.’
‘You’d better and while we’re on the subject, Caroline is off limits.’
He didn’t reply.
‘I mean it, Hugo. Off limits. Definitely a no go area. OK? Flirt with whom you like, I’ll recommend a few if you wish, but not Caroline.’
‘Flirt! What a word to use about me! I’m thoroughly demoralised by the prospect that I would flirt! Well, really. Me?’ He helped himself to a scone Harriet had not long taken from the oven. ‘Why so protective?’
‘She’s a dear friend and I won’t have her hurt.’
‘She’s a grown woman with a mind of her own.’
‘You’re right. She is and she has. But she is still verboten. I don’t want to discuss it any more. I’ve got lunch to get, are you in?’
‘Yes, and I’ll lay the table for you as penance for upsetting you. In fact, I’ll do it twice as double penance.’
Harriet gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. ‘You’re lovely, know that?’
Unashamedly he replied, ‘Yes.’
They both fell about laughing, holding on to each other as they did so. Jimbo walked into the kitchen. ‘May I share the joke?’
On Monday morning, having spent a rather chilly weekend with Jimbo looking glum most of the time, Hugo – partly to get out of the house and partly to have a chance to talk to Caroline on his own – decided to ask her if he could go round to the Rectory and run through her part with her in preparation for the rehearsal that night.
It was Peter who answered the phone. ‘I’ll get her for you. Just a moment. Darling! It’s Hugo for you.’
‘Oh right. Thanks.’ She took hold of the receiver and said, ‘Yes?’
‘Good morning, Caroline.’
‘Good morning.’
‘Are you free sometime today?’
‘When abouts?’
‘Like now, for instance.’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Could I come round and run through your part? Thought we could do some preparatory work, then tonight would flow more easily.’
‘Very well.’
‘In half an hour?’
‘Fine. See you.’ She put down the receiver and explained to Peter.
‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’m off to Penny Fawcett, then I’ve some visiting to do, then I’m going into Culworth to take this article into the newspaper, and I’ll call in at the hospital to see Lavender Gotobed, poor old thing.’
‘Is she any better?’
‘Not much. Bye, darling.’ Peter put his arms round her and kissed her. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you. What about lunch?’
‘I’ll call back at the mini market before I leave and get it there.’
‘Very well. Peter, I’m so looking forward to getting my teeth into this play, and thanks for helping me learn my lines last night.’
‘It’s a pleasure. I want you to do well, you see.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’
She stood at the front door to wave him off. The sun was shining on her, highlighting her dark curly hair and emphasising that happy look in her eyes which he hadn’t brought about. It shone on her slender figure, and lit up the warm apricot-coloured dress she was wearing. God, how he loved her! He’d thought on his wedding day that he couldn’t love her more than he did that day, but he did. Maybe love was self generating, the more one loved the greater the capacity for loving became. Peter raised a finger to his lips, kissed it and blew the kiss to her. He smiled at her delight but knew, in his heart, that the moment he drove away she would be thinking about Hugo Maude.
When Hugo rang the doorbell Caroline was on the telephone, so it was Sylvia who opened the door to him.
‘Good morning, Mr … Hugo. Do come in. Dr Harris is expecting you. She said would I put you in the sitting room and would you like coffee?’
‘Later perhaps, I’ve only just had breakfast.’
She left him seated in an easy chair. He hadn’t been in many rectory sitting rooms, in fact come to think of it he hadn’t been in any but somehow he knew there weren’t many rectors relaxing in sitting rooms of this standard. The almost oriental design of the curtains picking up as they did the warm gold of the carpet. And the chairs! So comfortable. Nothing well worn and dowdy in this room. He wondered how the other rooms must look and how she’d furnished their bedroom.
On the mantelpiece were framed photographs of their children, but the photograph on the window sill was of their wedding. Hugo got to his feet and went to look at it. He picked it up and studied her closely. She hadn’t worn a veil, simply a circlet of fresh flowers on her dark hair. Her dress was an ageless classic. Long narrow sleeves, a neckline just low enough to allow her to wear a double row of pearls which glowed against her creamy skin. Modest. Maidenly. Virginal. He studied Peter and was devastated by the look of joy in his face. Envy, monstrous envy filled Hugo’s soul. To love like that! If Peter wasn’t so damned good looking perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad, but those good looks and Caroline and to be blessed with a love like that! How he envied him.
‘Like it?’
He’d been aware a moment before of a perfume in the room. Now, at the sound of her voice, he knew it was Caroline’s.
Hugo carefully placed the photograph back on the window sill and turned to look at her.
‘Hope you don’t mind. Couldn’t help but take a look. Got your script?’
‘It’s here.’ She picked it up from the coffee table and went to sit on the sofa. He sat beside her with his script in his hand.
‘I’ve already learned a lot of the lines, Peter’s been helping me. This Marian character I’m playing, she’s complex, isn’t she?’
‘Indeed. Tell me what you’ve learned about her.’
‘Before the war, she was a dutiful wife. Usual thing, never had a job, married almost straight from school, the local boy everyone expected her to marry, had the prescribed two children, a boy and then a girl. The war came, he went into the army expecting her to be sitting tidily at home keeping the home fires burning and doing her bit by knitting balaclavas and mittens for the soldiers at the front. Well, she didn’t. She got up off her backside, learned to drive, worked at the local big house which had been turned into a hospital for officers, became a nurse and saw more of the foul side of the war than most.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘Then husband Charles comes home. He’s not been physically wounded but emotionally and psychologically he’s a wreck, but he manages to keep that particular problem well under wraps. Not even she has realised how badly damaged he is.’
‘Excellent.’
‘He is appalled at what she’s been doing during the war and fully expects her to go back to doing nothing. Which she does, mainly b
ecause he is so adamant about it. I think there’s a hint of cruelty in his attitude, and in addition it’s almost as if he’s afraid he might lose her if he doesn’t keep her tied to the home. But she’s so glad to have him back that she goes along with it. Then this man Leonard arrives. Am I getting it right? Is this how you see it?’
‘It is.’
‘He completely upsets the applecart. He upsets the husband and he upsets her. Stirs things up in her which she’s never had stirred before. Husband Charles always insists on his conjugal rights but never quite gets it right. He’s on a kind of ‘Oh! It’s Saturday, so it’s our night’ routine. So rather surprisingly, to her, she finds herself ready for anything, as you might say.’
Hugo sat back watching her as she outlined her ideas to him. He’d a powerful idea that her husband had a completely different approach from the husband in the play, and that she knew he knew and she guessed he was jealous. Which he was. She moved on to the effect the newcomer, Leonard, had had on the wife. What was she saying … ‘So I can quite understand why she does what she does. Life with Leonard would be unpredictable. He’s no job, just private money, and deeply in love with him though she is she can’t cope with that so she opts for the safety of the husband and children. So sad Leonard gets killed the very night she tells him it’s all over.’
‘Do you think she’s right?’
‘To be glad he gets killed?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s never right to kill, no matter the provocation.’
‘Do you think Charles kills him?’
‘Oh! Definitely! Everything points to that.’
‘It can’t be comfortable, realising almost for certain her husband is a murderer.’
‘Here, look, where she says to her friend Celia …’ Caroline leafed through the script till she came to the page she was looking for. ‘Here it is. “It was doomed from the beginning, I see that now and I shall pay the price for the rest of my life, because I have to live with it every day.’
‘You’ve studied it all out, haven’t you?’
‘If I’m doing something then I do it right and understanding what makes her tick is vital, surely?’
‘Of course, of course. Let’s do that scene where the chap first comes in. Act one, Scene two. Right. Off you go.’
‘I haven’t finished yet. Having an affair on the side was much more terrible then in 1920 than it would be today, wasn’t it? You really do have to see it from their point of view to get the right message across.’
‘Of course. That’s the trouble with a lot of amateur productions, the cast don’t have the width and depth of experience of life to get through to the essence of the part they’re playing.’
Caroline, about to read her first line, looked up at him. ‘I sincerely hope you’re not suggesting that I’ve had experience of extra marital affairs and that’s why I understand so well.’
Hugo who’d been lounging back on the sofa enjoying Caroline’s company sat up straight. ‘Oh no, of course not. With a man like Peter, what woman would want an affair? I’m sure you’re quite satisfied on that score.’ His slight hesitation before the word ‘satisfied’ angered her.
‘Look here, I hope you’re … Look, let’s get on, please. Have you found the page?’
They read through and discussed various points and only stopped when Sylvia said she was going to lunch and did Dr Harris want anything before she left.
Pulled back to reality by the request, Caroline had to think for a moment. ‘No, nothing at all, thank you. See you later.’
‘OK. Good afternoon to you, Mr Maude.’
‘Hugo! Hugo!’ His reprimand was spoken in such a pleasant way Sylvia had to smile.
‘Yes, well, then, Hugo.’
‘Good afternoon.’
Sylvia was clattering plates in the sink. ‘Have you finished? Because I’m in a rush. I’ve got to get back, just in case. You were late, I’ve waited ages for you to come.’
Willie, who’d only had two bites of his sandwich, looked up, surprised. ‘Come on, I haven’t been in the house two minutes. What’s the rush?’
‘He’s there.’
‘Who is?’
‘Who do you think. His lordship.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘I bet my bottom dollar he’ll have stayed for lunch.’
‘Put me a drop more milk in this tea, will yer? Look here, she’s an upright, loving woman married to a lovely man. He’s a priest, she’s a doctor, she knows the position better than you and me. Stop worrying. She won’t do anything wrong, believe me.’
‘Won’t she?’
‘No, she won’t. If he tries …’
‘Which he will. I’ve seen that look he has in his eye before now.’
‘Where have you seen it?’ Willie picked up his cup.
‘Dicky Tutt, for a start.’
Willie spluttered his tea over the cloth. He wiped his mouth, coughed a bit and then said, ‘Honestly!’ When he’d got over the choking fit Willie began to laugh. ‘You’re not suggesting there’s going to be a real proper affair are you, like Dicky and Georgie?’
Faced with the question, Sylvia couldn’t make herself voice her thoughts. If she said it, it might mean it would happen. ‘No. not really. Well …’
‘Give up, forget it. I know I’m right. You’re worrying over nothing.’
Sylvia stood up. ‘You finished?’
‘I have now and I’ll have indigestion all afternoon with hurrying.’
She cleared away, kissed him, reminded him to lock up after himself, and left him.
Their laughter reached her ears as she unlocked the front door. She called out, ‘I’m back.’
They were sitting in the kitchen having lunch. A half-empty bottle of red wine on the table. An empty dish, which by the looks of it had held a cold beef salad and, waiting still to be eaten, two slices of her best fruit cake.
‘You’re soon back, Sylvia?’
‘Lots of ironing to do. With not being in tomorrow I need to get on with it.’
‘Of course. We’ll take our cake into the sitting room. Bring the wine, Hugo, will you?’
Sylvia watched him follow her out. This kitchen belonged to the family. She thought about the times Dr Harris had sat in one rocking chair and she in the other giving the twins their bottles. She remembered when there’d been two high chairs round the table at lunchtime, with the Rector feeding one baby and Dr Harris the other one. What happy times they’d been. How much she’d enjoyed them. Lovely though he was, Hugo Maude didn’t belong, he was dining-room company, not kitchen company. And wine at lunchtime! Now that was decadent. As she snapped open the ironing board Sylvia heard them laughing again. Caroline’s laugh was joyous; happier than for some time. Well, at least that was a plus, she supposed.
Chapter 7
Vera called in at the Store for a few vital necessities. Bread, milk, eggs, half a pound of bacon, some chocolate biscuits, a shaving stick and razor blades for Don. She was standing in front of the razor blade display trying to remember which kind Don used when she heard Mrs Jones’ voice.
‘There’s ten parcels today, Linda. There’s the list. Hurry up and we’ll catch the lunchtime post.’
‘Keep yer hair on! Shan’t be a minute.’ Linda finished sorting her postal orders, tidied the counter, put some paper clips back in her tray and tested the sponge she used for wetting her fingers when she was counting.
‘Honestly! I haven’t got all day! I’ve a costume to machine this afternoon when I get back. Beads to sew on as well. Hurry up!’
As Linda began weighing the parcels and writing down the cost on Mrs Jones’ list Vera edged closer. Swallowing her pride because of her desperate need to help with the costumes she said, ‘If you’d let me help I could be doing the beads. I’ve got a bit of ’oliday, time’s getting on.’
‘You! Not likely not after the way you spoke to me at the meeting. I wouldn’t let you help, not for anything. I’d stay up all night first.’
‘Of course he’ll like ’em. He’s been with me every step of the way.’
‘Oh! Very close, are yer? Hand in glove?’
‘Don’t be daft. We professional people have an understanding.’
Vera hooted with laughter. ‘You professional people! I can remember the time when you were glad to clean at the pub when your boys was little. I don’t call that professional.’
‘So you think cleaning at a nursing home is a step up the ladder, do you?’
‘Better than cleaning out stinking lavatories when they’ve all had too much to drink. And I don’t stoop to nasty underhand tricks like you get up to, either.’
Mrs Jones grew belligerent at this accusation and looked ready to begin one of her famous tirades. Taking a deep breath she thundered, ‘What do you mean, “underhand tricks”?’
‘Like that time when you reported Carrie Whatsit to the Show committee for buying a pot plant at the garden centre and kidding on it was home grown.’
‘I never.’
‘You did. Or that time when your Terry beat up the husband of that girl what works at the Jug and Bottle and you swore he’d been ’ome all night. Don’t think we don’t know what you get up to.’
‘You’ve a mind like a sewer, you have.’
‘You might think you’re superior but yer not. You’re a scumbag, that’s what.’ Vera took her shopping to the till where Bel totted it up and asked her for nine pounds twenty-five. Her hands were shaking so badly she couldn’t unzip her purse.
‘Here, let me do it for you. There we are. There’s your change look, seventy-five pence.’
Vera nodded her thanks. The aftermath of the argument was having its effect and Vera was bereft of speech.
Bel whispered, ‘Take no notice. She’s not worth it. Been right on her high horse since she got that job.’ She lifted the carrier off the counter and handed it to her. ‘There y’go, love.’
Vera was about to leave when the door crashed open and Grandmama Charter-Plackett came in.
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