Village Gossip

by Shaw, Rebecca

  When the curtains did finally close on the last line an audible sigh went around the hall, and then the applause began. Most of the audience stood to clap and they had curtain call after curtain call, until finally Hugo stepped forward to say his thanks.

  With arms outstretched he opened his speech with, ‘What can I say? Without your support where would we have been? You dear, darling people. Weren’t the cast absolutely splendid?’ He flicked his hands in the air, beckoning applause. When it had died down he continued. ‘I came to Turnham Malpas a broken man, wounded by the hurly-burly of life. I leave to go to Stratford, refreshed, renewed, revitalised, re …’

  ‘… charged?’ Someone from the audience called out.

  Hugo laughed, ‘That’s right. Recharged. I love you all …’

  A voice from the back whispered hoarsely, ‘Some more than others’, and was instantly hushed by his neighbours. Hugo ignored the comment and followed on with, ‘There are so many people to thank for this production, not least Mr Fitch who has sportingly lent us his piano and provided the wherewithal for the production. I give you Mr Fitch!’

  Mr Fitch stood up and from his place in the front row turned to acknowledge the thanks.

  Hugo quickly drew everyone’s attention back to himself by signalling to one of the front of house helpers to step forward. They carried a bouquet. By West End standards it was huge, by Turnham Malpas standards it was colossal.

  ‘For my leading lady!’ Hugo leant down to take the bouquet into his arms and he dramatically kissed Caroline, handing the bouquet over to her. Massively stimulated by the success of her performance she thanked him with a big kiss. The audience cheered. This bouquet was followed by others from husbands, from families, from Mr Fitch, from well wishers. And then Neville stepped forward.

  ‘I should just like to say how much everyone in the cast, and all the backstage helpers to whom we owe an enormous debt of gratitude, have learned under Hugo’s tutelage. Me in particular. I know I’m considered a cold fish and that it’s time I let my hair down and relaxed more, well now I well and truly have in this play and I quite like the experience!’ Muted cheers came from the body of the hall. ‘All our lives have been enriched by his work here and we’re grateful for the time he has carved out of his busy life to work with us. He’s a hard task master, believe me. He’s kicked us, cajoled us, ordered us, badgered us, shouted at us, persuaded us, until finally we got it right. Hugo Maude, a present from us all.’ He stepped to the wings and emerged with five bottles of champagne in his arms. ‘With all our love and best wishes for the future.’

  Hugo’s eyes filled with tears as he accepted the champagne. ‘What can I say, but thank you so very, very much.’

  The speeches went on until finally Hugo called a halt. ‘Goodnight! Goodnight! The cast still have a party to go to! Goodnight, everyone, and thank you once again from the very bottom of my heart for all your love and kindnesses. Goodnight!’ He waved vigorously to everyone as they began to leave and then signalled for the curtains to close.

  Turning, he enfolded Caroline in his arms and said, ‘My darling!’ He looked into her eyes and saw behind the excitement and the sparkle an unexpected wariness which he decided to ignore. ‘Caroline! You were wonderful! Wonderful! Completely stupendous!’ Bending close to her ear he whispered, ‘Have you decided? Are you coming with me? Say you are!’

  ‘Move over, Hugo, it’s the husband’s turn now.’

  It was the sharp tone of Peter’s voice which startled Hugo. Peter had only ever been polite and generous in his dealings with him, despite the delicacy of their relationship, so he released Caroline and looked up at Peter wondering what was afoot. ‘Mr Fitch is anxious to introduce you to his guests, so you’d better go play your I-am-humble bit and accept their admiration.’

  Hugo looked at Caroline but could read nothing from her face, he half thought of suggesting she went with him to see Mr Fitch, but changed his mind when he couldn’t interpret her feelings. So he meekly did as Peter suggested. After all if he was to take Dark Rapture to the West End then he would need backers and all Mr Fitch’s guests were influential people. It was only politic to go. Suddenly a sweet au revoir to Caroline didn’t seem like a good idea and he left without a word.

  ‘Brilliant! Quite brilliant. You were right. I was impressed.’

  Eyes bright with success Caroline looked up at him. ‘I told you you would be. And it wasn’t just me. Michelle and Rhett and Harriet and Liz and Neville were brilliant too. Life will never be the same, will it? So I’m determined to enjoy every last minute of this day. You can stay for the party? Willie doesn’t mind, does he?’

  ‘He’s sleeping in the spare room, so we can stay as long as we want.’

  ‘Oh! I didn’t know. Sylvia’s not …’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Peter …’

  He bent down and tentatively kissed the top of her head. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Nothing. This make-up feels uncomfortable. I’m going to remove it.’

  ‘I’ll help clear the chairs, then. Make space for us all.’

  Apparently from nowhere, a trestle table was erected, and food and drink appeared as though by magic. Hugo, secretly extremely excited by the great impression he’d made on Mr Fitch’s guests, having laid the seeds to take Dark Rapture to the West End, donated his gift of champagne to the party and opened a bottle. They all gathered round with their paper cups and waited for him to pop the cork. He gave the bottle a vigorous shake and the cork fired out, narrowly missing Caroline’s face. She leapt aside, stumbled over Neville’s feet and only saved herself from falling by grabbing Sylvia’s arm.

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  ‘Sylvia!’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m really sorry, you know, about …’

  Sylvia’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. Caroline kept hold of her arm and said quietly, ‘I’m so sorry. One day perhaps you might …’

  ‘I’ll see. I can’t bear … It’s the children, you know, I miss them.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘And you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And the Rector.’

  Still holding her arm, Caroline kissed her cheek. ‘We’ll have a talk sometime. Yes?’

  Sylvia nodded. ‘Well, all right then.’

  Hell’s bells! Would nothing ever be right again? She’d accepted the maternity leave standin job, she desperately wanted to do it and now she might just have no one to see to the children. But would she be here anyway? Hugo caught her eye and smiled that special smile he kept for her. Her heart felt as though it was spinning in her chest, her blood pumped faster and faster and all she could see through the haze was Hugo’s beautiful features and the smile which was only for her. For a moment they were the only ones in the hall. His glorious dark hair, his widow’s peak, the strong beautifully moulded forehead and those eyes! Were there ever such expressive eyes as his? Then their moment was broken by someone standing in front of Hugo. It was Peter, blocking Hugo completely from view. Peter. Peter’s children. Her children. Her darling Alex and Beth. They’d survive her going. Children were remarkably resilient and with her gone surely Sylvia would come back to give a hand.

  The noise of the party grew, everyone was talking, running over the high points of the play, laughing, teasing, making plans for another production, returning borrowed jewellery, clothes they’d lent, pictures commandeered for the stage, her Indian throwover was returned to her, plans were made for storing the costumes Mrs Jones had run up, the chatter and the noise and the excitement went on. Someone had put on a tape and the music added to the excitement.

  Then the door burst open with a crash and silence fell as they all turned to see who had come in. It was Don Wright. But not the Don they’d known all these years, for this Don was the worse for drink and unsteady on his legs. An audible gasp of surprise went round the hall.

  ‘Wel-1-1 now. Champagne, ish it? Don’ll ’ave one!’
/>   ‘Now, Don, is this a good idea?’ This from Mrs Jones.

  ‘’Ello, Greta! Give us a kish.’ He went forward weaving his way between the chairs. ‘You’ve known me a long time, but it doeshn’t give you the righ’ to tell me wha’ to do. Come on, then, I like a nicesh plump woman I do. Round, like, and cuddly.’ He lurched forward and grabbed her, giving her a resounding unwelcome kiss. His hands clutched her bottom. ‘My word, but you’re a …’ Mrs Jones fought him off and then smacked his face.

  ‘Oh now come on, that’sh not kind to an upright good living man li’ me. My Vera never lifted a hand to me.’ His bleary eyes peered at everyone. ‘Where ish she? Where’sh my Vera?’

  But Vera was hiding behind Rhett. ‘Don’t let him see me, Rhett, please.’ Rhett stood his ground. ‘Oh, Rhett! Whatever have I done? I’ve driven him to drink, that’s what. Him that’s never done me a wrong turn all these years.’ Vera peeped out from behind Rhett and, seeing him, realised he was still the same old Don. ‘He won’t change for me though, will he? It’s just a load of sentimental old tosh he’s saying. His problem is he’s got no one to wash his socks and iron his shirts. But I shouldn’t have done what I’ve done.’

  When Don couldn’t spot Vera, he said, ‘Anyway it’sh not only her I’ve come to shee, it’s that Mr Hugo Maude. I’ve come to knock his block off.’

  Hugo pushed forward into a gap and faced him. ‘I’m here.’ Summoning all his acting techniques, despite the prospect of a physical attack, he assumed an air of authority and said, ‘I suggest you toddle along home, Don, and sleep it off.’

  ‘Home? I haven’t got a home no more. Not now my Vera’sh left. You’ve driven me to drink! Me, a lifelong teetotaller! Thish champagne’s good, gi’ me some more.’ He held out his cup and someone dribbled a drop in to pacify him. ‘That’s not enough, fill it up, go on fill it up. That’s better!’ Don staggered slightly, steadied himself, took a slurp of champagne from his paper cup then pointed with his free hand at Hugo. ‘This is a toast to that shnake in the grassh. Mr Hugo Maude. The man who parts women from their lawful husbands. He started with my Vera. Thirty-six years of married bliss we’ve ’ad, and he comes along and whizz bang wallop she leaves me. Three daysh and it feelsh like three yearsh.’ Don placed his champagne on the trestle table and, taking out a grimy handkerchief, mopped his bleary eyes.

  ‘Oh Rhett, he really is missing me. What have I done?’ Vera whispered.

  Don put his handkerchief away and continued with his tipsy monologue. ‘But he wasn’t content with just one woman, was he? Oh no. When my Vera left me because of him, he didn’t tell her he already had another string to his bow, did he? Oh no! Up at the Big House getting his oats, he was. She was only too ready and willing; anything in trousers, that’s her motto. He’s a two-timing blackguard. Now ’er ’usband’s had a ’eart attack! It was the shock that did it! Lucky if he lives.’

  ‘Someone get him out!’ Hugo snarled his request, but no one moved to comply; Don’s performance had mesmerised them all.

  Don picked up his cup again. The champagne appeared to have cleared his head, for now his speech was not nearly so slurred and his eyes were taking in everything: the blank, horrified faces, the incredulous ones, the embarrassed ones, and in Caroline’s case the appalled one.

  Don went to stand in front of her. ‘It’s you my heart bleeds for. You’re a lady, and he shouldn’t have done it to you. You’ve been duped.’ Don liked the sound of the word and said it again, ‘Absolutely duped. How many more he’s had while he’s been here I don’t know, but he’s rubbish, he is. Don’t take no notice of him,’ he jerked his thumb in Hugo’s direction. ‘Don’t listen to his sweet talk, it’s all acting. Go home to the Rector and them lovely children of his, ’cos all that rat will do is drag you through the mud, believe me.’

  Peter, horrified by what Don was saying, at last mobilised himself as Don paused to toss the last of his champagne down his throat. He forced his way through the crowd, pushing aside those rooted to the spot by the horror of what they were witnessing. He intended to take Don by the arm and frog-march him out, but as he reached him the door opened again and everyone turned to look at the newcomer. This time it was Venetia.

  Unaware of her arrival, Don pursued his point, emphasising it by stabbing the air with a shaky finger. ‘Yer see it’s all right for Mr Hugo Maude to mess her about, ’cos that Venetia’s a … tart. An out and out tart. But not you!’

  Someone switched off the tape and in the profound silence which followed everyone stared at Venetia.

  The evening was full of shocks, for this was a Venetia they’d never seen before. A broken reed battered by life’s storms, she wore a grubby sweater, wrinkled trousers, no jewellery. Her hair was straggly and unkempt and, for the first time since they’d known her she wore no make-up. She looked completely done in. It was Venetia who spoke first.

  ‘Thanks for the character reference, Don. That’s all I needed to hear, tonight of all nights.’ No one answered her, all they could do was brace themselves for her news. ‘I saw the lights on and I had to talk to someone before I went to bed.’

  Harriet broke the spell by walking towards her. Assuming the worst, she said, ‘Of course you did. We’re all so very, very sorry about Jeremy. Such a great loss for you … and for us. Look, come and sit down here.’

  Venetia shook her head. Looking directly at Hugo she said quite steadily, given the circumstances, ‘From this day forward I shall not be the Venetia everyone’s always known. I regret deeply all the things I’ve done which have caused harm, and from now on things will be very different because, hopefully, I’ve been given a second chance. I may have been a … tart, like Don said, but not any more.

  ‘My Jeremy’s not dead, you know.’ An audible sigh of relief went round the room. ‘I proposed to him tonight. I don’t know if he realised what I was saying, I hope he did. I hope it gives him the strength to keep on fighting because I want him to live. It’s still touch and go, you see.’ Venetia half lifted her hand in a sad farewell. ‘Goodnight. God bless.’

  No one spoke for a while after the door closed behind her. Peter’s first concern was Caroline. He looked down at her and knew he’d never seen her so distressed. She visibly trembled. Her eyes were closed. Sweat beaded her top lip. Her hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. Peter didn’t know what to say or what to do. One wrong move and he could blow it for ever.

  He stood beside her watching people self-consciously begin clearing up: saying nothing, just busily occupying themselves to cover their embarrassment. Slowly they began to exchange a few words. Don weaved his way across to the collection of empty champagne bottles and, putting the top of one of them to his mouth, he sucked the last drop from it and from the next and the next. He staggered wildly and then lurched forward, falling across the end of the trestle-table. It collapsed with a mighty crash and he with it.

  The noise caused Caroline to open her eyes. She looked up at Peter and said softly, ‘Please take me home in as dignified a manner as possible.’

  ‘There’s just one question I want to ask you. Did you know he was seeing Venetia?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘Not until yesterday when something Venetia said at the hospital made me think he just might, you know …’

  ‘Because if you’d known and said nothing …’

  ‘I truly didn’t know.’

  ‘It wasn’t news to everyone else. They all knew, I could tell from their faces.’

  ‘Apparently so. Here, drink this.’ He handed her a small brandy. ‘You need it.’

  Caroline placed the glass on the coffee table. ‘Not now, I need a clear head. I never thought it would be Don Wright who would cut me down to size.’

  ‘It’s been a night of surprises.’

  ‘You can say that again. What I can’t understand is why I never guessed, why a grown woman like me, well experienced in dealing with people from all walks of life, never realised. Not a glimmer. Not a hint.’


  ‘He’s a very complex character.’

  ‘I can’t believe he didn’t mean what he said to me. He can’t have done, can he?’

  ‘I think he did at the time he said it.’

  She looked up hopefully. ‘You think he did?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘I see. Can I be honest?’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘That phrase Marian used in the play, “throb with life”, every moment. That’s how it was for me.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Every moment to be treasured. It was gloriously reckless. Miraculous. Enchanting. He cast a spell over me.’

  Peter knelt on the hearthrug to put himself on a level with her.

  ‘Now, damn him, all that fine, uplifting love is smashed to smithereens. All those wonderful times ground under his heel, like the finest crystal, shattered and never to be, no more.’

  She sat quite still for a moment just looking at Peter, remembering gratefully how, despite her crying need for him, she’d told Hugo she couldn’t in all conscience sleep with him until she’d definitely left Peter. At least she didn’t have that stumbling-block to face. Then she thought of Hugo and how he’d captivated her and she asked pleadingly, ‘It was true what Don said, was it? About Venetia? It wasn’t just him being drunk for the first time in his life?’

  ‘Judging by Hugo’s face it was true.’

  ‘Damn! Damn! Damn! How could he do it to me? How could he?’

  ‘I’m sure that when he was with you he did love you.’

  ‘If he did, how could he go from me to her?’

  ‘Because he’s several people all at once, and all of them crave adoration. It feeds his genius, you see.’

  The door bell rang.

  Caroline’s eyes were wide with pain as she begged, ‘Peter! Don’t answer it.’

  ‘I must. It could be someone in need of help.’

  ‘Not at this time of night.’

  The bell rang again. Peter stood up.

  ‘Please don’t answer it.’

  They heard Willie coming down the stairs, complaining.