‘There’s someone who thinks we need extra help on the catering side,’ Harriet announced. ‘I can’t think why they’ve rung us, can you? That’s their number if you think they’re needed.’
Jimbo kissed her hand as she turned to go. She hesitated for a moment but then went on her way. She’s softening, she’s giving in, thought Jimbo elatedly.
As she had threatened, Betty McDonald started a petition, wrote letters, campaigned and spread malicious rumours in an effort to stop Jimbo opening the restaurant, but it was not to be. Plenty of the inhabitants of Turnham Malpas signed her petition, but the majority liked Jimbo and didn’t like Betty McDonald. The planning committee met only a month after Jimbo’s application had gone in. They could see no reason for withholding their permission and in fact quite welcomed the idea of an up-to-date restaurant, to supply a service to the tourists who visited the village.
Jimbo was beside himself with delight. The three new part-time girls he had employed eased Harriet’s burden, while he flung himself into organising the complete refurbishing of his latest project. The whole building required attention: rewiring, replastering, mains water and electricity, decoration, and of course brand-new kitchens. Jimbo whirled around phoning and writing, cajoling and compelling until within four weeks he had completely changed the cottage both outside and in.
A few people had hazarded guesses as to what it would be called, but he had remained mum on that issue. Harriet knew but she refused to tell. The sign was being put up as Pat Duckett wended her way to open up the school. The transformation from tumbledown house to smart village restaurant in such a short space of time had amazed her.
‘It’s these Londoners, you know. They don’t let grass grow under their feet. Their motto is “Time is money”. Get taking money in as fast as you can.’ Michael Palmer only half-listened to her. He’d had years of Pat Duckett and he knew she’d waste hours talking, so he never encouraged her.
‘He’s calling it Henderson’s, would you believe! Old Phyllis would be tickled pink having it named after her. Fancy Henderson’s. What do you think, Mr Palmer?’
‘Sounds good enough to me. I shan’t be eating there.’
‘Time you got out and about a bit, Mr Palmer. Man your age should be enjoying himself, not be shut up with his books every night. You enjoyed Mr Charter-Plackett’s party, didn’t you?’
‘I did indeed. The children will be here shortly, Mrs Duckett. Could we get on, please?’
‘Has it gone through yet about Mrs Meadows and that playgroup thing?’
‘The committee meet this week. There shouldn’t be any problem. It seemed to meet with a favourable response.’
‘I’m not looking forward to all that mess. All them wellington boots from them farm kids. Stands to reason the toilets will be a mess, with them all being so young. They make all these arrangements but they never think about the school caretaker.’
‘Well, I am right now, Mrs Duckett – and she isn’t getting organised.’
‘Sorry, I must say. Only passing all the news on, like,’ Pat Duckett said offendedly.
‘Thank you.’
Michael stood watching the children arriving in the playground. They really were a good bunch – clean, healthy and eager, except for the ones who came from the Big House. The cards life had dealt them were rotten indeed. He doubted if they would ever get their lives straightened out. Come to think of it, he hadn’t managed it yet and he was forty-five. If Stella had lived, his life would have been hell. People thought they should feel sorry for him when she died, but in truth the opposite was true. He wasn’t any happier since she’d died, but he would have been a sight worse by now if she hadn’t. How he could have married her and not known, he had never fathomed. There was something to be said for living together before marriage. Morally he couldn’t condone it, but in their case it would have saved a lot of heartache.
Now he had this problem of Sharon McDonald. She’d struck him as a sly child when she was in the Infants, and he’d been right. He opened the window and called out, ‘Close the gate after you, please. We don’t want the little ones out in the road, thank you.’ Experience taught you which children were truthful and which didn’t know the truth if it jumped up and hit them, but Sharon had been unfathomable. Now she’d grown up she was still sly. Fancy her seeing Stella in Culworth and following her. She’d harboured the secret all this time. That demonstrated just how sly she was. How to tackle the problem, though? Say, ‘Tell all and be damned’? There’d be no end to it if he began paying her. Or should he give in his notice and disappear? Or have a word with her parents? Then the cat would truly be out of the bag. Betty McDonald would still be spreading gossip from her grave – he might as well put an advert in the paper.
Just then, Toria Clark rang the school bell and his favourite people began pouring into school, laughing and chattering all ready for another day. Thank heavens he’d chosen teaching; he couldn’t think of a more rewarding job.
Chapter 9
Caroline went into the village store to buy a card and present for Muriel’s birthday.
Jimbo asked her how Muriel was.
‘It’s her birthday tomorrow so I’m getting her a card and taking a present in for her. They’ve put her in a psychiatric ward. I can hardly bear going in to see her. She sits entirely still and speechless. Whoever did what they did to her needs serious psychiatric help themselves. We know about your dear cat, but we think other things happened before that, and Orlando’s death was what finally broke her. What can I buy to take for her, Jimbo?’
‘My present will be one of my special birthday cakes. We have them already made – they do for birthdays, weddings or whatever. I’ll get Sadie to put “Muriel” on one while you wait. Look round while I organise it.’
Caroline chose a card and a box of chocolates. Muriel had lost so much weight perhaps the chocolates would entice her to eat. Jimbo emerged from the back of the shop carrying a smart cardboard box. He showed Caroline the cake before closing down the lid.
‘Why, that’s beautiful, Jimbo. What a lovely idea! She’ll enjoy giving everyone a slice.’
‘Will she be back with us soon, do you think?’
‘Not for a while yet, I’m afraid. She won’t tell anyone what the matter is, you see. She needs to get it all out of her system before she can get better. Thank you for the cake. I’ll remember you when it’s Peter’s birthday. His is in November. Your restaurant will be open by then – we’ll have a meal in it to celebrate.’
‘If you see Harriet, don’t mention it. It’s a sore subject at the moment.’
Caroline laughed. ‘See you, bye!’
‘Good morning, Dr Harris. You’re on the ball this morning.’
Caroline put the carrier bag down on her desk and slid out the box containing Muriel’s birthday cake.
‘I am – I’ve a lot to do. Don’t make it sound as if it’s unusual for me to be here in good time, Anne, I always am.’ She grinned at her secretary.
‘Well, I meant you were bouncing in more energetically than normal. Sorry.’
‘I’ll see to my post and then I’m going down to the psychiatric ward. It’s someone’s birthday and this is a cake for them.’
‘Oh, can I look?’
‘Yes.’ Caroline opened the box and they both admired Jimbo’s cake. ‘It’s from our village store. Albeit a very superior village store.’
‘It looks gorgeous. Your friend no better?’
‘Unfortunately, no.’
‘We’re short-handed today. Two of the technicians have got this ’flu thing that’s going round, and it’s ante-natal clinic day as well, so we shall need to get our skates on.’
‘Right, here goes then.’ Caroline rolled up her sleeves and began opening her post. Samples, drugs, letters, reports … endless paperwork. She loved her work as a doctor. The only event which could stop her doing medicine would be the arrival of a baby. For that she would give up everything. Although Peter reassured her often en
ough that he wasn’t the slightest bit bothered about not having children she knew it would absolutely crown their lives together. She’d just finished her medical training when they met. Full of determination and dedication, having arrived at last at the goal she had pursued for more than ten years, nothing was further from her mind than marriage. On her first day as a GP, taking surgery entirely on her own, he had been one of the patients. The moment they looked at one another she knew he was going to be special. Within three months they were engaged and then married three months later. If he had had a call to go as a missionary to some far-flung primitive corner of the world, she would have followed without a backward glance. When she saw him again at the end of a long day her spirits soared as though she were a lovesick girl instead of a professional woman of thirty-two.
Having sorted through the post and allocated it to different trays she gave Anne her work for the morning and then set off down to the psychiatric ward with Muriel’s cake and present.
The ward had been made more ‘user friendly’ in recent years. The high windows, such a favourite with Victorian architects, had been draped with soft net curtains, each bed had pretty curtains around it, the furniture was modern and one end of the ward had been turned into a sitting area where the patients who felt well enough could sit and talk in comfortable armchairs or watch television.
Muriel sat in one of these chairs surrounded by cards and presents given to her by the staff. She’d lost more weight and her hair hung in lifeless strands down each side of her vacant face. She sat motionless, ignoring the other patients, wrapped in her own world like a very old person who is sitting out the years waiting for death.
‘Muriel – hello. Happy birthday!’ Caroline put the cake on the table beside Muriel’s chair. ‘Jimbo has sent you a cake. Would you like to have a look at it?’
Her head nodded assent. When the lid was off she peered into the box. Tears began pouring down her thin cheeks. Silent rivers of release. She made no attempt to wipe her tears away but let them flood down. It was painful to watch her.
Caroline didn’t try to stop her; she simply held her hand, feeling that the tears were significant and healing.
The ward sister came by and behind Muriel’s back gave the thumbs-up sign. ‘That’s encouraging,’ she mouthed.
When the tears had ceased, Caroline wiped Muriel’s face and combed her hair for her. It was like attending to a very young child. For the first time in days Muriel spoke.
‘It’s got my name on it. It’s meant for me, just me. It’s really meant just for me. How kind of Jimbo, such a thoughtful man. I haven’t ever had a birthday cake. Mother thought they were a self-congratulatory luxury. She didn’t know how much it pained me not to have one. I’ll have a slice right now. Will you have one too?’
Caroline organised tea for the patients sitting round the table and they all had a slice of cake. It was delicious and Muriel enjoyed it more than any food she had been persuaded to eat in all the time she’d been in the hospital.
Muriel leant over to Caroline and asked her if she would get Peter to come in to see her. ‘I’ve got things to tell him I can’t tell anyone else. He hasn’t been, has he?’
‘Yes, he has, several times, but you weren’t well enough to talk to him.’
‘Oh, I don’t remember that.’ The shutters came down and Muriel returned to wherever she had been before Caroline came in.
‘Dr Harris, have you a moment?’
Sister Bonaventure discussed some blood tests she felt one of the patients needed, and then Caroline wended her way back to the pathology lab, calling in at the ante-natal clinic en route to collect any blood samples they might have.
The clinic was busy. Expectant mothers lined the walls, some with little ones in tow, others alone and staring ahead, bored by the waiting. Some of them were exchanging pregnancy experiences, while others read magazines. Caroline stood looking out of the Sister’s office window at the full waiting room wondering whether she might like to change to obstetrics. It would certainly be more lively than pathology. It was then she noticed Suzy Meadows, with Rosie on her knee. Suzy must have sensed someone was looking at her because she glanced up before Caroline could avert her eyes. They looked directly at one another. Caroline raised her hand in greeting and then turned away.
She longed to go and have a word with her but as a doctor, professional etiquette dictated she should remain silent. This was one of the problems of being a doctor in a busy county hospital. One met neighbours and friends but had to keep a discreet silence to preserve their confidentiality. Poor Suzy, with another child to bring up and no husband for support. Still, this one might be a boy and that would be a great comfort. Suzy was a born mother. How sad that Patrick had not lived to see his new baby …
When Caroline got home she told Peter about Muriel wanting to see him and nearly mentioned Suzy’s presence in the ante-natal clinic, but decided against it. Everyone would know soon enough. It wasn’t exactly something which could be kept a secret for long.
Peter went with her to the hospital the next day and called into Muriel’s ward. She was sitting as before, wrapped in thought.
‘Hello, Muriel. It’s Peter come to see you. God bless you.’ He shook her hand and then held on to it. ‘I see you’ve had plenty of cards for your birthday.’
She turned to look at him and slowly recognition came. ‘Would you like a piece of Jimbo’s cake? He sent it for me; it’s the first birthday cake I have ever had. You will have a piece, won’t you?’
‘I can’t wait. If it’s the same standard as that birthday meal of his, then I’m in for a treat.’
‘Oh, it’s every bit as good.’ She waited until he had tasted it and then asked how he liked it.
‘It is excellent, absolutely delicious. Happy birthday to you. Thank you very much.’
‘I can’t go back to my house. Not ever again. Not after the cat … and the other things.’ There was a long pause while Muriel found her handkerchief. ‘I’m not fit to live by myself, you know. I’m doing such silly things. I know it must have been Pericles who ate the cake but I did— Oh, Pericles – where is he? I haven’t thought about him once while I’ve been in here. Has he been shut in the house all this time? Oh dear, how could I have forgotten him? You see, it is my mind that’s going, it is, it is.’ The tears began again.
Peter leant towards her and said clearly: ‘Your Pericles is having the time of his life. Sir Ronald has taken charge of him and he takes him and Lady Bissett’s Pomeranian for long walks every day. The two dogs are the greatest of friends so you’ve no need to worry on that score. And Pericles hasn’t eaten the cake because it’s here.’
‘I don’t mean this cake, I mean the one I baked at home. I put it out to cool and when I came back it had disappeared. Then I didn’t make the bed and I knew I had. Then the ornaments were all turned round and put in the wrong places. It was one thing after another – such silly things I was doing. It all started the day Pericles ran away because I’d left the back door open. I lost my keys and since then I’ve been soft in the head. Yes, soft in the head. Mother went like that – didn’t know what she was doing. But she still kept her sharp tongue. To be truthful, she didn’t really want me. Having me spoiled her figure and she never forgave me. She was mean, so mean. Sitting here I can remember things she did.’
Muriel put up the shutters and Peter, after praying aloud that God would make His face to shine upon her and give her peace, left puzzled but at the same time relieved that at last Muriel had spoken – even if he couldn’t understand her.
That evening when Caroline came home they exchanged information about their respective days. Peter told her about Muriel.
‘She seems to have been doing such foolish things. Yet it all must have happened very quickly because the night of Jimbo’s party she was perfectly all right, in fact on top of the world. She natters on about cakes being eaten and ornaments being moved. I can’t understand her.’
‘Look, I’ve got
her keys. I’m going to have a look in her house when we’ve eaten. What shall it be – Spanish omelette or fish with chips, or shall we be completely disgusting and have Chicken Kiev out of the freezer?’
‘Nothing you could do would be completely disgusting, so we’ll have Chicken Kiev. I wonder if they do eat it in Kiev? Bet they’ve never even heard of it.’ Peter laughed and Caroline, catching his mood, flung her arms round him and kissed him. She chattered on about her day while she cooked and Peter sat on a kitchen chair enjoying her gaiety. They’d promised right from the start that they would be completely truthful with each other, but it wasn’t always the best thing to be completely truthful to one’s beloved. Sometimes one needed to be deceitful in order to save them pain, and that left one bearing the pain alone. Peter didn’t like himself.
After they’d washed up, Caroline went over over to Glebe Cottages. As she turned the key in the front door of number 1, she thought she heard a noise inside the house. She stood listening in the little sitting room. There was only silence, that kind of hollow silence peculiar to an unoccupied house. She went straight to the back door and opened it. As she looked into the garden she thought she caught a glimpse of something moving swiftly over the wall into the churchyard. Caroline hurried to the wall and looked over, but there was no one in sight. She waited for a moment and then shook her head and went back into the house.
One of the cupboards in the kitchen was open, and as she went to shut it she noticed that there was hardly anything on the shelves. She opened the door wider and saw that it was the cupboard where Muriel obviously had kept her tinned food. Sitting alone was a tin of grapefruit, one of the tiny ones people on their own buy, and a small, partly-used jar of mint sauce. Surely Muriel wasn’t so short of money that that was all she had in store? Something told Caroline to search further. The pedal-bin had empty tins in it and an empty biscuit packet. Caroline went into the sitting room and opened the cupboard where Muriel kept her sherry. There was only a drop left in the bottom, yet Caroline knew that when they’d had a drink together the night she’d lent Muriel a dress for Jimbo’s party, the bottle had been nearly full. This all seemed very odd. Back in the kitchen she found two cups standing in the sink; she smelt the remains of their contents and recognised the smell of sherry.
The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 9