‘I’ve always approved of your mother’s common sense. How is she?’
‘Frustrated by inactivity but bossing us all around as ever. They’ve brought help in so they’re going to be all right. Dad isn’t too perky; Mother won’t let him rest, she will make him do things that he’s not really up to yet. But they’ll have to sort themselves out.’ Caroline grinned at him. ‘When Mother heard me packing in the night she shouted from her bedroom, “And not before time”.’
Peter laughed. ‘Only she could have survived such a serious accident so brilliantly.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled and made as though to kiss him, but changed her mind. Her voice shook as she said, ‘I’ll go and give Sylvia a hand.’ He followed her into the kitchen, where the children were already seated at the table drinking from their Bunnikin cups, waiting for Sylvia to finish making their lunch. The sun had come out again and was shining into the kitchen, welcoming them all back. Sylvia looked at the two of them as they went in. She turned back to the worktop to finish putting the sandwiches on a plate and said, ‘Can I invite the children to tea this afternoon? I’ve bought some things at the Red Cross sale they might like to play with. Make a change for them, wouldn’t it?’ She looked at Caroline. ‘I could take them straight after they’ve finished lunch.’
‘Thank you, Sylvia, that would be a lovely idea.’
‘Bring them back about six after their tea?’
‘Thank you, yes, thank you.’ Peter recognised the unspoken message between them. Without it being mentioned, the two of them had arranged time for him and Caroline to be alone.
The children were eager to see what Sylvia had bought for them and they rushed off hand-in-hand with her, without so much as a backward glance.
‘Be good, the two of you, be good.’ Caroline closed the door and stood with her back to it. She was glad to have time alone with Peter, but it would have been a relief to have been able to postpone their reconciliation until her tiredness had lifted. She could hear Peter clearing the lunch away. She’d make a fresh pot of tea, just to have something to do to stop herself from clutching hold of him and never letting go. They must sort things out before that happened. ‘I’m making myself more tea, would you like some?’
‘Yes, please. They’ve found Roman ruins up at the Big House, by the way. The Show is in jeopardy yet again, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh no! I don’t believe it. What has … Louise … to say?’
‘My darling girl, I have no idea, I haven’t seen her. She’s replacing someone up at the Big House so she’s very busy. This Roman ruin caper has certainly upset the apple cart. There’s an emergency meeting this Thursday, Sylvia says. You’ll find out then, I expect.’
‘Yes, I expect I will. Mr Fitch must be going mad.’
‘I imagine so. I haven’t seen anyone to ask.’
‘I see. Here’s your tea.’
‘Let’s go into the sitting room, the chairs are more comfortable.’
‘Right.’ Caroline led the way, Peter carried the tray in and placed it on the coffee table. They sat together on the sofa. When it had brewed he poured them each a cup.
Together they both said, ‘Darling …’
‘Sorry. You first.’
‘No, you first.’
Peter put his cup down and began, ‘I’m going to tell you what we said that morning. Every word. And you’ve to listen and then I’ll listen to you. OK?’
‘Yes.’
He told her word for word as best he could remember, even the kiss and the cross he made on her forehead and her sadness at not being able to see the twins, and how she’d sobbed and that she was marrying Michael and how he’d given her his blessing as she left, and how she meant nothing to him now.
Caroline told him about her fear. Fear that, seeing Suzy, he would want her and they’d take the children and go away and how it would crucify her if they did. After all, seeing her again he might realise it was Suzy he wanted more than her, but she couldn’t live without him and his children. And did he think that now might be the best time to tell them because they’d know without understanding; the understanding would come in time but wouldn’t, hopefully, hurt so much if they already knew. ‘I feel as if we have to put things straight and then they’ll stay straight for the rest of our lives. I went away partly because I was so distraught and partly because I wanted to get the children away from you both so you couldn’t take them from me. I may not have given birth to them, but they are mine, believe me they are mine. This problem with Louise, too. I felt so threatened and like a fool I ran away instead of standing and fighting for what was ours.’
‘You had nothing to fear. Nothing at all. There is never any question of that. Please believe me. You’re right about telling the children. We’ll tell them together when the right moment comes, I don’t know how we’ll put it to them, but we will somehow. Then we shall be straight, as you say, for the rest of our lives. God bless you for coming back.’
She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. He began to touch her, remembering her anew. He stroked her hand, kissed her hair which smelt of sea and sand, he ran a finger down her bare brown arm, he kissed her fingers. Trying not to disturb her head he turned himself gently towards her, and put an arm across the front of her, around her waist. He savoured the living life of her, the beat of her pulse, the smell of her flesh, perfumed and sweet. His hand touched her breast and he rubbed his fingers back and forth, enjoying the warm firmness of it. She took that hand in hers and with eyes still closed she kissed the palm, and then put it back.
He raised her up and put an arm around her shoulders so she rested half on his shoulder, half on his chest. He held her like that while she slept.
Chapter 19
‘Well, Mr Fitch, I had a word with Gilbert Johns, he’s our tame archaeologist around here, and he said nothing must be done till a team can get here to investigate.’
‘You told him?’
‘Well, of course I did. We need this solving.’
‘I never gave you permission to do that! There is one thing you must understand, no, not understand, accept! I decide what happens around here, not you. Right?’ Louise nodded, gritting her teeth at his male arrogance. ‘I came back here last night with the intention of persauding,’ he indicated inverted commas with his fingers, ‘the men to lay the pipes and cover it all up and mum’s the word.’ Mr Fitch rubbed his forefinger and thumb together as though he was feeling twenty-pound notes. ‘You know?’
Louise did know, but she couldn’t let him do it.
‘Yes, but …’
‘Yes, but nothing. I’m going out there now and just watch me get my own way.’
She watched him march out of the office door and across the hall. Masterful he might be, but she’d a nasty feeling that it would be Gilbert out there. He’d said as much on Saturday morning when she’d showed him his well-organised music cupboard.
‘My dear Louise, I shall be grateful to you to my dying day. What a miracle! If I’d done it, it wouldn’t have been half so well organised as this. I just meant to make piles and leave it at that. But these wonderful plastic folders and the list. Amazing. I didn’t know we had half this stuff. How can I ever thank you. It’s a wonderful gift you’ve given me, it really is.’
Louise had blushed. ‘It was nothing, really – not once I’d worked out how best to do it. Have you seen the handwritten anthems? I don’t know enough to identify them, but you will. Look, here they are.’ She’d checked the catalogue she’d made and then found the right shelf and pulled them out for him to inspect.
Gilbert had sat down to study them and she’d stood by awaiting his comments. He was so scruffy. No, not scruffy, kind of untidy in a scholarly way. Despite the chilly morning all he wore was a pair of old cotton trousers and a bright burnt-sienna shirt open almost to his navel, which meant she had glimpses of a seriously hairy chest. The sleeves were rolled up, showing dark brown sinewy arms. All that digging, she thought. On his bare feet we
re a pair of sandals, scarcely more than a couple of leather straps fastened to a thick hard-wearing sole. She noticed his toenails were scrupulously clean and neatly cut. Her nostrils kept catching a trace of his earthy scent as she stood waiting for his verdict; it stirred her inside in a strange kind of way. His face was striking. He wasn’t handsome like … Peter, but the hollows of his cheeks, and the prominent cheekbones and the piercing brown eyes were intriguing.
She noticed his hands were trembling. He looked up at her. ‘What a find, listen.’ Gilbert hummed a few bars. ‘No, that’s not right, no. Look, bear with me, we’ll go and try them on the organ.’
She followed him into the church, unable to appreciate how someone could grow so excited over a few handwritten crotchets and quavers. He swung his legs over the organ seat and switched on. Gilbert then looked at her with glowing eyes. ‘You never know, you could have found something of real value. Unknown, never performed. What a triumph!’
Louise began to catch his excitement. ‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. Now here we go.’ Gilbert could only play the organ as he would a piano, but the melody was enchanting. ‘Here are the words. You sing your part, I’ll sing mine.’
The two of them had tried it. They’d had several stops and starts before they got it right and in parts Gilbert had difficulty reading the notes because they were so faded, but together they worked it out.
‘It’s wonderful! By the style, it’s late eighteenth- or early nineteenth-century, I should think. Wait till I tell people about this. No composer’s name though, what a pity.’ Gilbert turned off the organ. ‘With a bit of work on it I could use this in church. Clever girl, clever girl. What a find.’
She was warmed by his enthusiasm. ‘That’s not the only bit of news.’
‘No? What other treasures are you about to unearth?’
‘That’s a highly appropriate way of saying it, actually.’
‘Yes?’ He put his head on one side, reminding her of a heron she’d seen once, watching for fish by the beck on the spare land.
‘There’s been what we think are Roman ruins found under the lawn up at the Big House.’
She almost jumped back with shock at his response. He appeared to have been electrified. ‘At the Big House?’
‘Yes. They were digging to put in these new sewers, and they found interesting bits and the men won’t go any further. They’ve had trouble before, you see.’
Gilbert paced about the aisle with excitement. ‘I want to see. Not been to the office for my messages. Got back too late. Don’t know anything about it. This could be a major find. Oh yes. I don’t suppose we could … No, of course not.’
‘Could what?’
‘Go and take a peep. Just a little peep, don’t you know.’ He’d begged with the innocence of a child wanting to peep at a birthday present before the day.
‘I work up there now, for a while anyway, so perhaps … I know exactly where it is.’
He eyed her speculatively. ‘Let’s, shall we?’
‘There’s only a skeleton staff with it being the weekend, so no one of any importance will see us.’
‘Let’s go.’
Louise had noticed Gilbert blanch when he saw the diggers. ‘Oh my God! They’ve got to be stopped.’
‘Don’t worry, they have stopped. It’s a question of whether Mr Fitch will permit anyone to investigate. He wants everything finished because of the Show. It’s to be his grand gesture in his Lord of the Manor campaign.’
Gilbert waved his hand in disdain. ‘That! That’s nothing, nothing at all. Trivial at best.’
‘What is, his ambition or the Show?’
‘Both.’
‘Both?’ Louise was horrified by his attitude, and for a moment rendered speechless. She stuttered and gasped and eventually came out with, ‘But I’ve put an awful lot of work into the Show, and everyone’s looking forward to it. We’ve got Morris Dancers …’
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I know about them.’
‘Hot-air balloon, children’s fancy dress, tug of war, you name it. So many people are involved, so much work. We can’t cancel it.’
‘If this proves important, nothing can be done till we’ve fully excavated it. Come on, jump down, let’s see what we can find.’ Louise had looked down into the trench. She could see bits of mosaic here and there and what appeared to be something earthenware poking out of the side.
Fascinated, despite her dislike of dirt and mess, she’d allowed him to grip her hand and help her in.
Her mother had been at home when she got back.
‘Louise! What on earth have you done? Where have you been, you’re filthy! Good heavens. Take your shoes off – don’t put them on the carpet. I’ll get a newspaper. Mind your skirt on the wall. Better just take your dress off and give it to me. Oh dear.’ Louise didn’t get a chance to explain until she’d showered and put on fresh clothes.
‘Come on, then,’ Sheila Bissett demanded. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘If you laugh I shall never forgive you.’
‘I won’t.’
‘I’ve been up at the Big House with Gilbert Johns looking at the Roman stuff in the trench.’
‘You’ve been digging?’
‘Well, not digging exactly, but he found one of those trowel things in his pocket and we had a bit of a poke around.’
‘Bit! You look as if you’ve been laying the sewers singlehanded.’
‘Not quite, Mother.’
‘Not far off. So what does he say?’
‘They mustn’t lay any more pipes till he’s had a chance to investigate properly. Gilbert being Gilbert says the Show is a minor consideration. I could have slaughtered him for that.’
‘Did he indeed! Minor consideration! What about all my ladies and their flower arrangements? One of them’s been all the way to Wales to get a piece of slate exactly the right shape for her display. I can hardly tell her it’s all off.’
‘We’ll have to see. Mr Fitch will sort it out.’
From her position behind the reception desk she could see Mr Fitch striding back. Perhaps she was getting fanciful but she thought she could see smoke coming out of his ears.
‘Do you know this bloody Gilbert?’
Feeling like a traitor she said, ‘Vaguely. Seen him in church on Sundays.’
‘Thinks he’s got power – well, he’s seen nothing yet. Get my MP on the phone pronto.’
‘The one in London or the one here?’
Mr Fitch snorted. ‘Both!’ He stalked into his office and shut the door.
All week Mr Fitch struggled to make some common sense out of the situation. To Louise’s dismay, it was Gilbert who came with a team of people to start the dig. Every morning Mr Fitch stood at the window nearest the reception desk watching and waiting.
‘I’ll get the measure of this chap before the week is out. Bloody man. Never argues, never shouts. I could deal with him if he did. Just gets on as if I haven’t spoken. Never been ignored like this in all my life. He’s a menace or a maniac, I don’t know which. Married, is he?’
‘No.’
‘Thought not. Divorced?’
‘No, never married at all.’
‘Oh I see, he’s one of those.’
‘He most certainly isn’t.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Well,’ Louise thought quickly but couldn’t come up with anything more decisive than, ‘he isn’t, that’s all.’ Then she blushed. Mr Fitch eyed her curiously.
‘Where’s he live?’
‘Just outside Little Derehams, I think.’
‘Rented?’
‘No idea. I’ve said I don’t know him that well. I’m sorry.’
‘Choirmaster?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll get him somehow. I know – do the boys need new surplices?’
‘Sir Ralph bought them some a while back.’
Mr Fitch impatiently turned away from the window. ‘He would! Is there anything else t
hey need? Anything I could buy to put pressure on him to do as I say? Organ need repairing, updating – you know the sort of thing. I’ll buy this or that if you’ll …’
‘Not that I know of. I could always ask.’
Mr Fitch looked speculatively at her and made a decision. ‘You do that.’ He approached her and, staring her straight in the eye, barked out: ‘But remember whose side you are on. Mine!’
Louise quailed a little at his threat. It wasn’t often she was intimidated by a man, but Mr Fitch could do just that. She made up her mind that in her coffee break she’d go and have a word with Gilbert.
‘Here! Take a look at this.’ Louise looked down into the trench where he was working. He’d cleared an area about three feet square, and exposed an almost intact piece of mosaic flooring. ‘Brilliant, eh?’
‘Definitely!’ The colours weren’t distinct because the soil was only partially cleared away, but she could see heavenly rusty red and a kind of grey-white colour in the pattern.
‘Gilbert.’
He looked vaguely up at her and said, ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Fitch wants to know if there’s anything you need for the choir. Like new robes or music or anything, or the organ updating.’
He stopped his gentle scraping of the mosaic, wiped his hands on his trousers and gazed at her. ‘I hope he doesn’t imagine he’s dealing with a fool.’
‘Oh no, nothing like that, but that’s the message. He asked me to enquire.’
‘There’s nothing, thanks all the same.’ He called an instruction to one of his team working just beyond him in the trench, then said to her, ‘There’s no way he can stop this work going ahead, you know.’
‘Yes, but when will it be finished? We need to know. I need to know, not just Mr Fitch. All our plans are on hold, you see.’
‘Have your Show next year instead then.’
The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 19