Village Matters

by Shaw, Rebecca

  ‘And you’re . . .’

  ‘Dr Caroline Harris.’

  ‘You’re a career woman, then.’

  ‘You could say so. This is my husband, Peter Harris.’ Oriana melted at the sight of Peter. From her five-feet-nothing height she looked up at him, with deep appreciation in her eyes. ‘Considering how far out in the sticks this place is, there are some remarkably attractive people living here. First Jimbo and now you. Craddock, you didn’t tell me how utterly delightful I should find your guests to be. And you, you must be Sir Ralph. Good evening, and good evening to you, Lady Templeton.’ The two of them shook hands with her but from where Jimbo was standing he could see that neither Muriel nor Ralph relished the meeting. ‘It must be terrible for you to come here and see this place when it was once your home, Ralph. You have my every sympathy.’ She beamed understandingly at him, and patted his arm.

  ‘It is a matter of indifference to me, in fact. I’ve created a whole new lifestyle for myself and my wife. and really wouldn’t enjoy the burden of such a large property as this.’ He curtly nodded his head to her and turned away to speak to Peter. Muriel was left to bear the brunt.

  ‘I’m sure Craddock would be delighted to show you round.’

  ‘That’s most kind, but no thank you. Not when Ralph’s not interested.’

  They talked for five more minutes and then Mr Fitch asked everyone to go into dinner. The dining table was round, and beautifully set with crystal and china and a silver candelabra, in the centre a small flower arrangement in subtle shades of green and white. The wall lights threw an apricot glow over the table, enhancing its appeal and setting the crystal and silver twinkling. Muriel was fearful of being placed next to Mr Fitch, and in fact as senior lady guest that was exactly where she was led. A suave, well experienced host, Mr Fitch soon had everyone seated: Oriana on the other side of him, Jimbo next to her, with Caroline on his other side, then Ralph, then Harriet, then Sir Ronald, then Lady Bissett, and next to her Peter made the tenth person. Muriel was so pleased to have Peter on her other side, at least he would help to keep the conversation going. She sat back slightly so that Peter and Mr Fitch had an uninterrupted view of each other.

  ‘Before we commence eating would you be so kind as to say Grace, Rector?’

  Peter bowed his head and said, ‘Ever mindful of your bounteous gifts to us, oh Lord, we thank you for the food we are about to eat. Amen.’

  During the meal the conversation waxed and waned. Mr Fitch did his best to put Muriel at ease by asking her about village life before she and her parents had left all those years ago.

  ‘Oh yes, Mr Fitch, every November there was this enormous bonfire up here. On Home Farm field. Ralph’s father had the estate workers collecting the wood for it for weeks before. He always made sure he was at home for Guy Fawkes night. We always had a guy to burn, and potatoes in their jackets cooked in the big cooking range, and then when the children were going home they were each given a toffee apple. The grown-ups had cider and ale to drink and it all got very merry.’ Her eyes were alight with the joy of recollecting those happy celebrations of so many years ago. Ralph watched her and was saddened by her memories. Mr Fitch encouraged her to reminisce; Jimbo could see his mind storing all this innocently given information.

  ‘Then in the summer there was always the Village Fair. That took weeks to get ready for. That was held on Home Farm field too. Ralph’s father paid for roundabouts for the children, we had coconut shies, and guess the weight of the fat lady, wrestling matches, though my mother would never let me watch those, there were cakestalls and craft stalls run by the ladies from the church. Tugs of war between teams from the Jug and Bottle in Penny Fawcett and our own Royal Oak. The Big House cook made lots of food for us to eat, the Morris dancers came from Penny Fawcett, and then in the early evening there was dancing to a band. They were good times. Of course we still have Stocks Day. Even during the war we always held Stocks Day.’

  ‘Stocks Day?’ Mr Fitch offered her more wine. ‘What is this Stocks Day?’

  Muriel rambled on with Mr Fitch listening intently. Jimbo’s heart began to sink. He suddenly realised what was going on in the razor-sharp brain of Craddock Fitch. A takeover bid, no less.

  ‘Of course, Jimbo here does a firework display for us now, don’t you Jimbo?’

  He nodded, and Mr Fitch said, ‘Charter-Plackett! I’d no idea you were a pyrotechnic expert?’

  Before he could answer Sheila Bissett interrupted. ‘Oh yes, Mr Fitch, he’s marvellous at it. When Sir Ralph and Lady Templeton married he did a wonderful finale with catherine wheels in the shape of their initials. It was brilliant, wasn’t it, Sir Ralph?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Are firework displays a hobby of yours, then?’

  Jimbo agreed they were. Muriel remarked, ‘And I’d forgotten the children from the school always did a PT display on the day of the Village Fair, and my husband’s father always presented each of them with a small gift for being so clever. One year I got a mouth organ, I loved it, but the noise I made annoyed mother and I had to put it away in a drawer. I have it somewhere. Yes, definitely somewhere. Small things mean so much to a child, don’t they?’ Muriel realised she was verging on the ridiculous in such sophisticated company. She blushed and fell silent.

  Sheila Bissett filled the silence with, ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if we had a Village Fair and a bonfire now? Don’t you think so, Sir Ralph? You’ll have to give it some thought, Mr Fitch. Don’t you think, Sir Ralph?’

  Ralph dabbed his mouth with his napkin and said, ‘Ask Mr Fitch.’

  So Sheila did.

  ‘I had been thinking on those lines myself. Of course, I’d need someone to advise me on how to go about it, someone who remembers.’ He looked questioningly at Muriel, eyebrows raised, face full of anticipation. She looked up and was about to nod her head in agreement when she caught Jimbo’s eye. He quickly signalled a warning to her, and she glanced across the table at Ralph before replying. She had seen him angry before but never like this. It flashed through her mind how she’d persuaded him to come against his better judgement, and she saw clear as light the trap into which she’d fallen. Knives and forks were still. Jaws stopped. Wine untouched. Only Sheila Bissett moved; she was draining the last dregs of her wine. When she put down her glass she looked around the table.

  ‘You’d be glad to help wouldn’t you, Sir Ralph too? You both remember, don’t you?’

  Ralph put his napkin down beside his empty plate. In a voice full of barely controlled anger, he replied, ‘I’m afraid Muriel and I will be too busy supervising the building of our houses in Hipkin Gardens to be free to act in any kind of an advisory capacity to anything at all. The houses will take priority over any other pettifogging concerns.’

  Mr Fitch allowed a small smile to hover on his lips. ‘How very disappointing. You’ve got permission to build then?’

  ‘Yes, we have.’

  ‘I’d be delighted to see your plans. I trained as an architect, a highly desirable qualification for the chairman of a major building company, is it not?’ He smiled at Muriel inviting her approval, but she didn’t look up. ‘We don’t want the village spoilt in any way, do we, Rector? You must have a specially close interest in these houses.’

  Peter, anxious to defuse the overwrought atmosphere, assured Mr Fitch that Sir Ralph always had the interests of the village at heart and he was absolutely confident that the houses would be built in very good taste. Sheila, having got the bit between her teeth, wouldn’t let the matter of the Fair and bonfire rest.

  ‘How about it then, Mr Fitch? Can we look forward to a bonfire night this year? There’s still time.’

  ‘I think it would be absolutely perfect to have a Village Fair here and reinstate the bonfire night. Charter-Plackett, you have the kitchens and the staff, you would cater for it, wouldn’t you? And I’d want a firework display to round off the evening.’

  Jimbo, thinking on his feet, knew he’d no alternative but to
agree and at the same time wondered how his relationship with Ralph would suffer. Before he could reply, Oriana gazing adoringly at Mr Fitch said, ‘Oh, Craddock, could I be the one to light the bonfire?’

  Muriel, without pausing for thought, said decisively, ‘Oh no, I’m sorry, Ralph would have to do that, it’s always a Templeton who lights the bonfire.’

  It was only Ralph’s innate good manners which prevented him from making a biting riposte to Muriel’s announcement. Humiliation sat badly on his shoulders, and that was just how it felt. Total humiliation at the hands of this – this upstart. Under his eyebrows he shot an angry glance at Mr Fitch, and then said smoothly, ‘I’m quite sure that Mrs Duncan-Lewis would make a much more decorative igniter of the bonfire than myself, and I shall gladly relinquish my time-honoured post to allow her to perform the ceremony.’ He raised his glass in salute to her. Jimbo mentally applauded Ralph’s adroit escape.

  The situation was rescued by the waiters coming to clear away the dishes and serve the pudding. This provided a welcome break and the conversation broke up. Peter began discussing Trades Union business with Ron, Sheila leant across to speak to Caroline about the twins, and Ralph and Harriet began a discussion about the level of trade in the Store. Mr Fitch and Oriana discussed the best method for lighting bonfires, leaving Muriel and Jimbo talking about Flick and her two cats. When the pudding was cleared away Mr Fitch suggested sampling the cheeseboard, but his guests declined so they retired to the drawing room for coffee.

  Sadie chose to bring it in, sensing that for the waiters, serving at table was one thing but serving people seated in armchairs and sofas would be too much of a challenge. Unruffled and looking elegant in a black tailored suit, she began pouring coffee. Only Sheila Bissett made a fuss. ‘Sadie! how kind of you to be helping out. I didn’t realise you were slaving away in the kitchen on our behalf.’

  ‘All part of the Charter-Plackett service, Lady Bissett.’ She served Oriana and then Mr Fitch. He looked up at her to say thank you, and stopped in his tracks.

  ‘Why, you’re . . .? Isn’t it? It is. It’s Sadie Chandler, isn’t it?’ Sadie put down the coffee pot, handed him the cream and then said, ‘Well, yes I was Sadie Chandler but . . . oh! my word! You’re not? No, you can’t be. Yes, you are. Surely you’re Henry Fitch. Aren’t you?’

  Mr Fitch stood up, put down his coffee cup, took her by the forearms and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You knew me as Henry, but I’ve used my other name for years.’

  ‘Isn’t this amazing. How long is it since . . .’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll go into that. Let’s say it’s a long time since we met. How do you come to be here?’

  ‘I have the honour to be Ji . . . Mr Charter-Plackett’s mother-in-law.’

  ‘My word! As they say, what a small world. I really can’t believe we’ve met up again after all this time. What a coincidence. Oriana, may I introduce Sadie Chandler, of course that’s not your name now, is it?’

  ‘No, I’m Sadie Beauchamp now.’

  ‘Introduce Sadie Beauchamp. We knew each other in our teens. Sadie this is Oriana Duncan-Lewis, a friend of the family.’ Oriana shook hands with Sadie, in the manner of one unaccustomed to shaking hands with a minion. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she murmured.

  ‘I must finish serving coffee. I don’t normally do this, but Jimbo wouldn’t have enjoyed himself if he was fretting about the food, so I volunteered to step in.’

  ‘We’ll talk later, shall we? We mustn’t bore my guests recalling past times. Would you join us?’

  ‘Love to! What fun! I’ll get myself a cup.’

  Ralph’s Mercedes roared down the drive just before midnight. Muriel sat miserably beside him, torn to shreds by remorse. If only she could put back the clock. Not just to seven o’clock that evening, but about three years. Then she would be living in her neat little Glebe Cottage, with her dear Pericles, with her dear little garden wearing its autumn clothes and absolutely no problems of any kind at all. She’d be sitting at the till in Harriet’s tea room with nothing more challenging than handing out menus and taking money. She’d be lonely and life would be dull, but how blessedly unruffled compared with now. It wasn’t that she regretted marrying Ralph, it was just that she knew she’d in-advertently roasted him on a spit tonight at the dinner. Not only roasted him but served him up, trussed, on a plate for Mr Fitch’s consumption. She owed him a hugely enormous apology, but the right words wouldn’t come. What was worse, Ralph wasn’t even speaking to her.

  She peeped at his profile as they surged through the gates. He looked grim. Yes, that best described him. Grim. Heaven alone knew how she would make amends. As they passed the church he spoke.

  ‘My dear. Am I forgiven?’

  Startled, Muriel said, ‘Forgiven?’

  ‘Yes. I have behaved like a complete boor this evening, all I can hope is that you will accept my apology.’

  ‘Your apology! Ralph, it’s myself who should be apologising. I let my tongue run away with me without a single thought for how you must have been feeling. I shall never forgive myself.’

  He pulled up outside their garage, turned off the engine and switched on the courtesy light. He sat gripping the steering wheel. ‘No, Muriel, you’re not at fault. Not at all. You are so straightforward, you haven’t a devious bone in your body, so you can’t be blamed for becoming embroiled by a cunning swin . . . cunning specimen like Fitch. It was for me to have dealt with the situation much sooner than I did. My fault lay in allowing my pride to overcome my common sense. There is no way that I could possibly buy back and maintain a property of such a size as Turnham House. I wouldn’t want to anyway, there wouldn’t be any point. But it bites right into my innermost soul to see a monied upstart like Craddock Fitch lording it up there, in my father’s house, where I grew up. I came close to walking out. But that would have been a betrayal of all my family have stood for. A betrayal of good breeding. Something Craddock Fitch, with all his money, will never have. I’ve sorted my feelings out now, and accepted the position.’

  ‘Oh Ralph!’ He put his arm along the back of her seat and bent his head to kiss her. Full of gratitude for the generosity of his spirit in not blaming her for what had happened, she turned to face him and as he kissed her she experienced an uncontrollable surge of passion. And Ralph rejoiced that his patient loving of her had at last reaped this rich reward for them both.

  A few minutes later Peter and Caroline drove past up Pipe and Nook Lane to their garage. They both stared straight ahead, not wishing to embarrass the occupants of the Mercedes.

  ‘Well, really! And illuminated too!’

  ‘Caroline!’

  ‘You’re being stuffy again, Peter Harris. I keep telling you about it. Let’s be glad they’re all right with each other. I feared they would have a row to end all rows, because she really did put her foot in it.’

  Chapter 20

  Sadie was late the following morning. There was a stack of mail orders to be attended to, and Jimbo was wanting to get them ready for the twelve o’clock post. If she didn’t turn up soon he’d have to ask Harriet to come in to help. Then he remembered: of course it was Saturday and the children were at home. Damn and blast. Where was the woman?’

  At a quarter to ten Sadie arrived. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You’re privileged I work on Saturday mornings at all.’

  ‘My God, Sadie, you look terrible.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s a very unkind and thoughtless remark to make.’

  ‘You do, though. Hell’s bells.’

  ‘Lack of sleep. It was four o’clock before I got to bed.’

  ‘Four o’clock?’

  ‘Yes. Craddock and I sat up till half past three talking. I realise now I’m much too old for such juvenile capers.’

  ‘May I ask how you come to know him?’

  ‘We knew each other in our teens. In a fit of pique, I threw him over for Harriet’s father. Had I had an old head on my young shoulders, I would have given her father t
he order of the boot and married Craddock instead.’

  ‘Wow! He obviously isn’t married now.’

  ‘Oh, he was, but it’s a long, very sad story. If I tell you, you mustn’t tell anyone else, please? Promise?’

  Jimbo drew a finger across his throat. ‘Cut my throat and hope to die.’

  ‘He told me that within three months of me finishing with him he met and married someone called Annette. He was just twenty and she was eighteen. They had four very happy years together and produced two sons. Apparently Henry, or rather, Craddock, felt that the two boys were his crowning achievement. He positively gloried in them. Unfortunately, dear Annette met this dashing army major and before you could say knife he resigned his commission and she hopped off to South America with him, where he became something big in polo. Consequently Craddock has not seen his boys since then. It’s a continuous throbbing pain for him, and gets no better as the years go by. So he’s thrown himself into his work. So now you know, Jimbo dear, and not a word to anyone. Busy, busy. Must get on. Coffee please. Black!’

  He’d just returned from delivering Sadie’s coffee when Pat Duckett came in. She wandered round the shelves putting a few items into her wire basket and frequently glancing at him. Eventually she came to the meat counter where he was topping up the display of joints of beef.

  ‘Jimbo, could you give me some advice?’

  ‘Of course, if I can. Willingly. Fire away.’

  ‘This letter came through my door this morning. I ’aven’t told Dad, but it’s to do with him really, but I’m not going to say anything to ’im till I’ve decided what I want to do. Read it and see what you think.’

  The letter was from Craddock Fitch, suggesting that Pat and her father go to live in the old Head Gardener’s House at Turnham House, and her father could be in charge of the gardens on a permanent basis. He realised this would give her the problem of what to do with her cottage, but he would be more than willing to purchase it from her at its proper market value. Would she like to take time to consider the matter.