‘Now come on.’ She tried the coffee and approved. ‘My word this coffee’s good. And the sandwich too. Very good, in fact. Now come on, I’ve heard you’ve got Hugo Maude in it, so that’s not what the world would call low key, now is it?’
Jimbo tried to be nonchalant about the whole matter to put her off the scent, not knowing how much she’d heard before he and Willie had realised she was there. ‘That’s correct.’
‘Who else? Anyone I know?’
‘You’re not from the Gazette, so where are you from?’
‘The Fulton Examiner.’
‘No! Was it you who ran the big campaign against extending the bypass?’
‘Don’t try to change the subject! Who else is in it?’
Defeated in his attempt to divert her attention he replied, ‘My wife, for a start. A local accountant and his wife, one of the gardeners from the Big House, a schoolgirl. That’s about it.’
‘How about that glamorous Rector of yours, is he in it? Bet he is, gorgeous man.’
‘No, he isn’t. Must press on, stay as long as you like.’
‘Haven’t paid you yet.’
‘On the house.’
‘It won’t work, you know, giving freebies in the hope that I won’t ferret about too much.’ She wagged her finger at him and gave him a winning smile. ‘My instincts tell me …’
‘It’s a blinking good play and you should stay to see it tonight.’
‘Oh, I shall be back tonight. I’m reviewing it for the paper. Just thought I’d get some background detail this morning. What a feather in your cap. Hugo Maude, no less. How did it come about?’
‘He’s a friend …’ He was going to say ‘of ours’ but changed his mind. ‘He’s a friend of mine from university. Came to stay and we persuaded him to produce the play. Well, he’s acting in it, too.’
While he’d been speaking she’d been making notes. She looked up from her notepad and asked, ‘And you are …?’
‘James Charter-Plackett.’
‘You don’t seem quite the sort of person to be running a village shop.’
Jimbo winced. ‘That’s as may be but I’ve got to make headway this morning. Will that be all?’
‘I’ll leave a couple of pounds on the counter for the food. And thanks. I’ll just finish eating this.’ She waved her half eaten sandwich at him and sat down on the chair. Jimbo disappeared into the back just as Linda arrived to take charge of the post office.
‘Oh! Good morning! Haven’t seen you around here before, just moved in?’
The reporter picked up on the gossipy tone in Linda’s voice and decided to make use of her. ‘No, I’m a reporter.’
‘No! Well, I never. You can interview me if you like.’
‘I like. First of all we’ll have your name, then I can quote you.’
‘Oh never! Me with my name in the paper! How exciting! First time ever, except once when I was nine and won the egg and spoon at the Brownie sports. What do you want to know?’ Excited to such an extent she was eager to throw caution to the wind, Linda propped herself against the counter and awaited her first ever interview.
The reporter got out her notebook and pen. ‘First, who’s in this play?’
Disappointed that the question she had been asked was apparently nothing to do with her personally, Linda straightened up and made to leave. ‘I’m not in it and I’ve never been to a rehearsal, so I can’t help.’
‘Oh! I think you can. You’re here at the hub of the village, and you seem to me to be a very sympathetic person. I expect you know, out of the kindness of your heart, of course, most of what goes on.’ She smiled up at Linda and got the capitulation she’d worked for.
Linda resettled herself against the counter. ‘Well, of course the highlight is having Hugo Maude here. He’s been very ill, and he’s come to stay with the Charter-Placketts to recuperate. Him being a friend from university of Mrs Charter-Plackett and …’ The tale wound on and before she knew it Linda had told the reporter about how scandalised the village was over the way Hugo Maude and Dr Harris had behaved.
‘Dr Harris? Isn’t that the Rector’s wife?’
Linda nodded. ‘Exactly! They’ve been seen kissing, and not just in the play. I mean, it’s not quite the thing, is it? Kissing. What an example to set. Also, they were spotted in the wood together, you know, and …’
‘Linda!’ It was Jimbo coming through from the back carrying a box of butter. ‘Linda! It’s past nine and you haven’t opened up the post office yet.’
‘But I was just being interviewed.’ She made no move towards the post office and deliberately continued her conversation ‘… they do say that …’
Jimbo banged down the box he was holding and said, ‘Linda! I do not want to have words. Please do as I ask. Now!’ To the reporter he said, ‘Sorry about this but I am a stickler for opening on time. Can I help at all?’
The reporter closed her noteback, smiled sweetly, and left.
As he stacked the butter on the chill counter shelves, Jimbo said, ‘Never have I been so angry with you, Linda. Telling a reporter all that. I bet three quarters of it wasn’t true anyway.’
‘It’s no good speaking to me like that, Mr Charter-Plackett, and I was speaking the truth.’
‘You were not. You were insinuating all kinds of things.’
‘Were they or were they not seen in the wood together? Have they or have they not been seen kissing and holding hands, or him with his arm round her waist and her not objecting?’
Jimbo stopped stacking the butter and looked straight at her through the post office grille. ‘I can’t deny it.’
‘Well, then.’
‘But telling a reporter …’
‘Well, she kind of wheedled it out of me.’
‘It makes me wonder what tales you tell that you hear in here. It should all be absolutely sacrosanct. Taboo.’
‘Are you telling me, then, that you never tell anyone what you hear in here?’
Jimbo hesitated.
Triumphantly Linda replied, ‘No, you see, you’re as bad as me.’
‘No, I am not.’
‘You are. It’s the kettle calling the pan black, that’s what.’
‘One more word out of you …’
‘Yes?’ Linda came out from behind the grille and, hands on hips, faced him squarely. ‘Well, I’m waiting.’
‘What you’ve said this morning is tantamount to putting an advertisement in the paper.’
‘It is not. What’s more you’ve no right to speak to me like this.’
Despairing Jimbo said, ‘Haven’t I? Any more and you’ll be sacked.’
‘Go on then, do it and then we’ll see what the industrial tribunal will say. My Alan knows all about it.’
‘I bet he docs. Then do your damnedest.’
‘Is that it, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right, I won’t even trouble to take my coat off. That’s it. Eight years of service to you and yours. Well, I can manage without you. And it won’t be any good coming round and apologising and begging me to come back like you did before, because I shan’t. So there!’
‘Right! I’ll send your P45 and the money I owe at the end of the month.’
‘Right!’ Linda flounced out, slamming the door with vigour.
Jimbo immediately regretted losing his temper. Linda might be annoying – she was a stickler for her lunch and coffee breaks – but she did know her job. Damn and blast. Now what? There was one thing absolutely certain, he wasn’t going to beg her to come back, ever again. Once was enough. He’d manage somehow. Damn and blast Hugo Maude. The trouble he’d caused. Now this. He finished stacking the butter, threw the empty carton in the rubbish bin and shut himself in the post office with a heavy heart.
The reporter went straight across to the Rectory, knocked and waited. She quite fancied cajoling some more information out of the gorgeous Rector. She flicked a comb through her hair while she waited. She knocked again and to her disappoint
ment it was neither the Rector nor the Rector’s wife who came to the door.
‘Yes?’ Sylvia folded her arms across her chest and tried to look intimidating.
‘I’m from the Fulton Examiner.’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s about the play. I wondered if the Rector’s wife would be able to give me an interview. I’m reviewing it tonight for the paper and I thought a little background information would be a good idea.’
‘Not in.’
‘Oh! That’s a pity. I was hoping to see her. The Rector, then. Is he in?’
‘No.’
Smiling her most gentle smile, her little-girl-in-need-of-help-and-sympathy smile, she asked, ‘Are you in the play? You look as though you might be, you look the adventurous type.’
‘I am not.’
‘I’ll call back later, when they’ve both returned.’
‘Don’t bother. They’ve nothing to say.’
‘Nothing to say? I can hardly believe that, not with the great Hugo Maude in it. Surely he of all people must have caused something exciting to happen! Such a handsome man, so charismatic. Every female heart a flutter, eh?’
‘We’re very level headed here, takes a lot to surprise us.’
With a twinkle in her eye the reply came back, ‘I’ve heard one or two things.’
Despite the reporter’s persuasive interviewing techniques Sylvia retained her resolve to let nothing slip. ‘Well, I haven’t and I work here.’
‘Oh, I see. You’ll know a thing or two about your delightful Rector’s wife, then? Bet you’ve a few stories to tell. Leading lady, I understand. Who could play opposite Hugo Maude without being charmed, and he is a real charmer, don’t you think?’
‘That he may be, but it’s nothing to do with the Rector’s wife, believe me.’
‘That’s not what I’ve heard in the Store. Apparently, you’re all scandalised about what’s been going on.’
‘I’m shutting the door. Right now.’
‘Oh please …’
But the door shut with a crash. Knowing when to accept defeat, the reporter went off to the Royal Oak and Sylvia returned to the sitting room where Caroline was flicking through her script.
‘Who was it at the door?’
‘It’s not my place to say it, but I’m saying it.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Sylvia, with her arm fully extended, pointed in the direction of the door. ‘That person was a reporter. That person was asking me about you. She’s found out, goodness knows from whom, what’s been going on. I may lose my job over tins but I won’t stand by and watch the Rector being crucified any longer. You and the Rector and your children mean more to me than anything I can think of. At this moment you are tearing them apart.’ Sylvia stamped her foot. ‘Just what are you thinking of with this business with Hugo Maude? Tell me that.’ She stood arms akimbo and waited for Caroline to reply.
Caroline stood up, her face taut, her eyes blazing. ‘Nothing is going on between Hugo and I. Nothing at all …’
‘I don’t know how you can stand there and lie like that. We all know. Every man jack of us in this village knows. You can’t fool us, even if you’re fooling yourself; which you are and make no mistake about that. I don’t know how the Rector faces everybody each day, I really don’t.’
‘I’m afraid you’re overstepping the mark now, Sylvia.’
‘It’s not me doing the overstepping, believe me, it’s you and it’s got to stop. Just think what you’ve got to lose. And the children. God help us, it would kill them if you left.’
‘Who said anything about leaving? Not me! It’s none of your business, none at all …’
‘It is though! I’ve loved those children from the first moment I clapped eyes on ’em. They’re like my own flesh and blood …’
‘But they’re not, and the whole business is entirely my concern and not yours. That is enough.’
‘Right.’ Sylvia began removing her apron. ‘This is breaking my heart this is, but you have my notice as of now. This minute. I will not be a party to this kind of behaviour. Perhaps if you have to manage without me you might, just might come to your senses, because at the moment you’ve no sense left. Not one jot or tittle left. You must be out of your mind. I can’t bear standing by and seeing the Rector …’
‘Always the Rector, what about me? Don’t I have a life besides being his wife?’
‘When you really get down to it, unfortuntely you haven’t. But then you knew that when you fell in love and married him, so it’s no good complaining now. You weren’t a young untried girl, you knew exactly what you had to face. He’s the loveliest man any woman could hope to have, and there’s dozens out there who’d jump into your shoes in a trice, but the pity of it is there’s absolutely no one else for him, but you. It’s the same for the children, no one else for them but you, you’re their strength and stay. You’re in danger of forgetting that and casting them aside, and all for what? All for what, ask yourself that! All for what?’ Her lovely grey eyes full of tears, Sylvia turned away and left the room.
Distraught, Sylvia went about the kitchen picking up the bits and pieces which were hers; the comb she always left here, the apron she kept for the afternoons, the hand cream she kept by the kitchen sink, the old mac in case it rained. All treasures which she had thought were permanent belongings in the Rectory. Leaving the house quietly, she wandered off to the church in search of Willie to ask for the comfort only he could give at this appalling moment. She sat down on the seat he kept just outside the boiler house door where it caught the sun, and gazed out across the churchyard waiting for him to appear. The morning sun was creeping round casting lovely shadows over the grass. Such a peaceful, restful place and yet her mind was in turmoil, her heart was thumping and her legs felt like jelly. In the depths of despair Sylvia warmed her face with the rays of the sun; a face down which tears were falling.
I should never have said all that. But it’s true. She’s being led away by that … mountebank. That womaniser. Now I’ve lost my job. Hang the money, I loved it. Willie’ll be retiring soon and we definitely need it, but … There’d be other places, other people who needed domestic help. The Rector would give her a reference … but maybe he wouldn’t, not after what she’d said. Caroline always came first with him. Like the reporter had said, he was a gorgeous man.
‘Hello, Sylvia! I’m looking for Willie.’ It was Peter, the sun catching his red blond hair making it resemble a halo. Sylvia tried to stem her tears.
Peter sat down beside her and quietly asked, ‘Can I help?’
There was a silence and Peter waited, then Sylvia admitted she’d given notice.
‘I see. Your immediate notice?’
Sylvia nodded.
Intuitively he answered, ‘She’s having a very difficult time.’
‘I know, but so are you.’ She patted the hand resting on his knee.
Peter studied Sylvia’s face for a moment. ‘Indeed.’
‘You’re being far too kind, far too considerate to all concerned.’
Peter sighed. ‘What would you have me do?’
‘Go for it.’
‘For what?’
‘Him.’
‘You think so?’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Oh, yes, I do. He’s to blame. Catching her when she’s so vulnerable. Her life up to having that cancer had been all glorious. You know, loving parents, happy family life, good at school, head girl, prizes and such at medical school, high praise in every direction. Then she marries you, then you give her the children and she dotes on them, she truly does, and then she got knocked sideways with the cancer thing. It came as a terrible blow. Really beaten into the ground she’s been, and somehow this business is all part and parcel of getting over that.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I love your children, and I don’t want to live to see them have their hearts broken. But … well, that’s what’s going to happen if something isn’t done and quick. But don’t ask me wh
at, ’cos I don’t know. The pendulum’s swung too far in his favour, and it’s to be stopped. You see I can’t believe he means all he says to her. At bottom he’s a very lightweight person, a child, a kind of Peter Pan. She must be the only person in the village who doesn’t know who else he’s chasing – well, not chasing, he’s already caught her from what I hear. Get my meaning?’ Her voice caught in her throat and made her pause. ‘I’ve said much too much and I’m very sorry. She’ll never forgive me.’ Sylvia wiped away a tear. ‘Never!’
‘We’ll see. Like you, I do now believe something has to be done.’
‘Oh yes. And quick, before it’s too late.’
Peter stood up. ‘I agree. But if she was to make a mess of this play that would be even more damaging. She’s got to be successful in it, you see. If I step in right now, today, it could do untold damage. But, yes, you’re right, I musn’t stand aside once the play is over. Give this to Willie for me will you, please?’ He dug into the pocket of his cassock and handed her Willie’s wage packet, then walked away.
He’d left his car keys in the vestry so he entered the church by the main door, intending to retrieve them. Peter shut the door behind him and began to walk down the aisle, but paused by the tomb Willie claimed was haunted. Sleeping in his favourite place on the top was Jimmy’s dog Sykes. Peter tickled him behind his ear, a practice Sykes adored. His short, stubby tail gently wagged his appreciation. Giving him a final pat Peter recommenced his walk down the aisle, but then stopped in his tracks.
Kneeling on the altar steps was Caroline, her head in her hands. He stood watching her, trying to decide whether or not to go and kneel beside her. Before he had decided what to do for the best she shuffled herself around and sat on the steps, her forearms resting on her knees, her head bowed, totally unaware of his presence. All the love he felt for her coursed through him right to his very feet and he longed to give her the comfort of his arms, to hold her, hug her, heal her. Yet he held back sensing that perhaps it was not his arms which could do any of those things at this moment. Space, like he’d said last night – was it only last night that he’d lost his temper? – space was what she needed and that was what he would give her now. So despite his surge of desire to hold her to him he turned and quietly left.
Village Gossip Page 22