Talk of the Village

by Rebecca Shaw

his thank you speech. Remember that Willie?'

  'I do. I looked forward to that from one Christmas to another. And then Bonfire Night. Remember the cook used to do dozens of baked potatoes and yer ate 'em with yer gloves on 'cos they were that hot. Them bonfires were grand. That high they used to be, yer don't get bonfires like that nowadays. I could just fancy going this November to one o* them fires. Remember Sir Tristan used to come out and give each one of us a toffee apple to take home? Say what you like they were special people up at the Big House.'

  'And where is it all now? Madame Butterfly won't be dishing out toffee apples, more likely condoms.'

  'Shut up, Jimmy, what are yer thinking of?' Willie glanced round to make sure Jimmy hadn't been overheard.

  'Well, I'm right. Everybody thinks the same; the good old days are dead and gone.'

  "Ave you got that Sykes in 'ere? Yer know Bryn doesn't like dogs in.'

  'Doesn't matter. I don't care. He never makes a sound, nobody knows 'e's 'ere.'

  'I do 'cos I can smell him.'

  'That's only 'cos he's drying out, he's been out in this old rain and he got soaking. In any case 'e's partial to a drop of Guinness as you well know, so we share a glass.'

  'All right, all right. You're soft in the head where that dog's concerned.' Willie put down his pint of Tetley's and waved to Pat Duckett, beckoning her across to join them. 'Sit 'ere Pat and tell us the latest from the school. Still wearing you out, is it?'

  Pat carefully placed her plump behind on the settle and launched into the story of Venetia's visit to Mr Palmer.

  'Headmaster, I ask yer and there she is prancing about in the playground demonstrating some exercises he could do to correct his stoop. "Come up and see me

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  sometime", she says, sounded like Greta Garbo in that film. Or was it Marlene Dietrich? Anyways them children were all gathered round with their mouths open listening to all this. I had the kitchen window open on account as I was washing up in there and it was steamy. I could hear every word what she was saying. I heard Mr Palmer say, "I'm afraid the subscription would be beyond my teacher's salary, Mrs Mayer." "Oh," says she, "call me Venetia do." Waggles her bum and dances off.'

  'Been making eyes at the rector an' all,' said Jimmy determined to inflame Pat's wrath.

  'Never. That's it then, she is a tart. Whatever would Mrs Rector think if she knew?'

  'She does.'

  'Never. The poor dear. She might be a Doctor and well brought up but she is pleasant to everybody. No hoity toity with her. Tell you what, I wish Sir Ralph was up at the Big House and it was like my mum remembered it before the war. The Village Flower Show in the grounds, all them side shows and the flags flying . . . that's how it ought to be, not all tarted up like she's making it. Our Dean went up there on his bike the other day, says it's like a building site. That Jerry Mayer bossing 'em all and diggers and machines all about. It'll never be the same again. Never.'

  'It's what's called progress,' Willie moaned. 'But it will mean jobs. They've been advertising.'

  Pat banged her lager down. 'If she offered me a king's ransom I wouldn't work up there. All them bare folk plunging about, it's not decent. My Duggie would turn in his grave if I worked up there, God rest his soul.' She raised her eyes piously to heaven and sketched a cross with the hand that wasn't holding her glass.

  'Your Doug didn't have much time for God when he was down here Pat. Reckon he went up there do yer?'

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  'That's enough from you Jimmy Glover. Yer'll be civil when yer talk about my Doug. He was always kind to me.'

  'I could tell that by the black eyes he kept giving yer.'

  'That's as maybe, but he didn't mean it.'

  They were sitting right by the door so they had a full view of the stranger when she walked in. She had a kindly fresh country face, with twinkling eyes. Well, they had the potential to be twinkling, but she was nervous just now. She wore a royal blue coat and smart high heeled court shoes which helped to increase her height. She went to the bar and asked for a white wine.

  'Who's that?'Jimmy asked.

  Pat nudged him and said, 'Isn't it Sylvia Grossman that was? Worked over at Culworth Hospital for years as a cleaning supervisor. Wonder what she's doing here?'

  Sylvia looked around the bar for a table but they were all occupied. Pat caught her eye and, hitching further along the settle, invited the newcomer to sit down.

  'You're Sylvia Grossman that was, aren't you?'

  'Yes, I'm Sylvia Bennett now.'

  Jimmy introduced the three of them to her and then followed it up by saying they hadn't seen her in the bar before.

  'No, well, I only moved into the Rectory this week. Dr Harris needs help, what with that big house to run, and the twins, and helping the rector and answering the phone all day long. I rented a little cottage over at Penny Fawcett for years but the landlord wants it for himself now and I couldn't afford a bigger rent, everywhere I looked the rents were far too high, so Dr Harris suggested I lived at the Rectory for a while till I find something. I've got a lovely room and I have my own bathroom too. They're both so pleasant to work for. Do you know them very well?'

  Willie didn't answer so Jimmy answered for him,

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  'Willie 'ere, who seems to have been struck dumb, is the verger at the church.'

  'Oh well then, you won't need me to tell you how nice they are. Those babies are a delight. I love looking after them. Dr Harris feeds one and I feed the other and we sit chatting, or watching the TV. It makes a real change from supervising at the hospital, I can tell you. I've never been in here before.'

  'We all know one another and we get on fine. Some of the newcomers are a bit pushy . . .'

  'Who had you in mind Pat?' Jimmy asked, knowing full well to whom she would be referring.

  'Well, that Sir Ronald and Lady Bissett. Ron and Sheila really, but they stand on ceremony a bit. Think they're somebody special 'cos he's on telly now and again. Most folks is all right. Funniest folks is Gwen and Beryl Baxter. They've lived here all their lives, if yer can call it living.'

  Pat, sensing a chance to pass on some local gossip, hitched herself closer and began regaling Sylvia Bennett with the story of Gwen and Beryl. Willie hadn't spoken because he couldn't. He felt as though he'd been pole-axed. He stole glances at Sylvia when she wasn't looking, and found himself more delighted with her than he could possibly have imagined. Every move she made fascinated him. He'd been around a bit, but it was the first time he'd ever met a woman who had affected him in this way. One glance from her lovely grey eyes and his insides melted. He felt ridiculous. His heart was racing, his blood pressure seemed to have gone clean through the roof and he was sweating as though it was high summer and he was hay making. At his age . . . fifty eight and his heart beating twenty to the dozen. It must be this new beer the landlord was selling. That was it, it was the drink. He stood up pushed back his chair and, cutting across Pat's monologue, said abruptly, 'I'm off home.

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  Goodnight.'

  'What's up with Willie?' Jimmy inquired as Willie pushed his way past a crowd coming in. 'He's in a hurry.'

  Willie went home to his little cottage between the church and the rectory, bewildered by his reaction to Sylvia Bennett. He took one look around his sitting room and his heart sank to his boots. He saw everything with new eyes as if he'd never been in his own cottage before. He'd never noticed how awful it was. Something would have to be done. If ever he plucked up courage to invite Sylvia in he'd be mortified. In fact he couldn't invite her in. It was all too dreadful. He'd do what he'd been promising himself for years, dip into his savings and get it done up. He needed a new bathroom for a start. Couldn't ask Sylvia Bennett to go up the garden to that old privy when she got caught short.

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  Chapter 6

  The news about Willie's improvements not only to his cottage but to his general appearance too, caused a great deal of interest in Turnham Malpas. The first meeting of
the newly inaugurated Flower Festival Committee provided a good moment for an exchange of views, as Willie, co-opted onto the committee to advise on the feasibility of their plans, was unable to attend due to a severe cold. Peter had arranged the chairs in a circle to give the impression that no one person was in charge though nominally it was himself. Harriet Charter-Plackett, Mrs Peel the organist, Lady Bissett and Sylvia Bennett with Peter and Willie constituted the committee. Their speculation as to the cause of Willie's sudden burst of activity drawing no conclusions, they had to reluctantly begin the business of the meeting.

  Lady Bissett removed her imitation Burberry and got down to brass tacks immediately. 'I'm full of ideas for this Flower Festival. We did one in Culworth Church, and it was compliments all round. Good organisation is the key.' Sheila Bissett had a vision of all white arrangements punctuated here and there by soft green foliage.

  'Why all white, Sheila?' Harriet asked.

  'Because it is restrained and tasteful.'

  'Downright boring if you ask me,' Harriet retorted. 'There's no variety in that. I'm not much of a flower

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  arranger but even I know there's not much to catch the eye if every arrangement is white.'

  'Believe me I do know,' Sheila bridled. 'I've been a member of the Culworth Flower Arranging Society for the last five years. They did a very effective one in the Cathedral only two years ago. The variety comes in all the differing shapes of the petals and the foliage.'

  Harriet pressed her point, 'The Cathedral is very light though, full of huge windows, while our church is small, dark and mediaeval. We have those beautiful murals and the painted tombs. Surely it would be better to echo the colours in those?'

  'I agree,' Sylvia said. 'I think the colours of the murals and the tombs would look good. Rich reds and purples and pinks and blues. Quite excellent.'

  'Who's the one with the experience here? Me. I'm the only one who is even a member of a society. Please allow me to know what is best.' They could see Sheila was beginning to lose her temper.

  Adept at stepping in when storms were brewing, Peter cleared his throat and said, 'Were we celebrating Easter, marriage, baptism or confirmation then I'm quite sure Lady Bissett, that your idea of an all white display would be highly appropriate and very effective, but we are celebrating summer and the beauty of our church. Mrs Peel and I have been planning some very buoyant and cheerful music for our recital and I think that coloured arrangements would be more suitable at this time. We'll let the committee vote, shall we? Those in favour of coloured arrangements please signify.'

  Every hand bar Lady Bissett's went up.

  'That settles it then: arrangements reflecting the colours of the church. Now Lady Bissett, do you think that your society would do us the privilege of arranging the flowers? We would foot the bill for the flowers of course. Their expertise and your flair would I am sure provide a

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  wonderful display. The money we raise will go towards urgent church repairs. I wish we were well enough off to give it for charity, but I'm afraid that's not possible. I think cups . . .'

  'Just a moment Mr Chairman, I haven't said yes.'

  'I'm so sorry, I thought you'd accepted the decision of the Committee.'

  'I have not. The way I feel at the moment I could very well say that I won't have anything to do with the Festival at all.'

  'Come now Sheila, you can't have everything all your own way,' Mrs Peel objected.

  'If it's about flowers I can. I've worked my fingers to the bone over the church flowers and now when it comes to the best bit, my wishes are completely disregarded. It's not fair. I think all white arrangements would set off the colours in the church beautifully.'

  Peter, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, argued that the committee had voted and they had to take the decision of the majority.

  Sheila drew herself up and said with tight lips, 'I know why they voted like they did. It's not because they didn't want white flowers, it's because they don't want me.'

  'That's hardly fair, Sheila. We all know we couldn't manage without you,' Harriet protested.

  'Well Rector, the decision is yours. Either we have all white flowers and I do it or you have coloured ones and someone else does it. I would have thought that you of all people would have backed me up.'

  'We are doing this to help the church, not to satisfy our own egos, and I feel that . . .'

  'Are you saying I'm wanting my own way for the glory of it?'

  'No, not that at all. It's just that ..."

  'Oh yes, you are. Well, that's that then. I shall have nothing to do with your festival at all. You can organise

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  it all by yourselves and then we'll see what a mess you make of it. You'll soon be crawling to me to do it for you, but I shan't. I wash my hands of it completely.' Sheila stood up, pulled on her raincoat and stormed out of the vestry.

  'Sheila won't you recon . . .' But Peter's words went unnoticed.

  The remainder of the committee sat silently for a moment gathering their thoughts.

  'We've done it now, Peter,' Harriet murmured.

  'It looks very much like it. But it's no good, I don't honestly think all white would be a good idea.'

  'Neither do I. I have a friend,' Sylvia said quietly, 'who is a member of a flower arrangement society and I'm sure she would be delighted at the opportunity to organise a festival in such a lovely church as we have here. She would accept it as a real challenge and she's very talented. Would you like me to put it to her?'

  'That sounds a very good idea, don't you think so Mrs Peel?' Harriet said, seeking support.

  'Indeed I do. We've all had enough of being bossed about by Sheila Bissett.'

  'I don't think we should be too critical. She has put in a lot of work while I've been here.' Peter shuffled his papers together and suggested that Sylvia should contact her friend and perhaps could let him know the outcome as soon as possible. With that the meeting closed.

  Sheila spent the next morning in readiness for Peter coming to apologise and agree to her suggestions. She'd plumped the cushions, vacuumed the carpet, rearranged the flowers, and given her houseplants a spray of leaf shine. She'd dusted the coffee table, left a few of her flower magazines on it and put some new drops of essence in the pot pourri on the bar. Should she offer him a drink or would it be better just to offer coffee? Coffee

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  would be best. Sheila got her best coffee set out in readiness.

  When it got to one o'clock and he still hadn't come she knew she'd lost. 'Ron, who else could they get to do it? They'll be cancelling the whole thing next, just you wait and see.' But in the church newsletter the following Sunday the date and details of the festival were announced. Sheila seethed with annoyance. 'I shan't be going to church any more. That's the thanks you get for being a stalwart. Christian indeed! Some Christian that Peter Harris is. That's definitely settled it. I'll get my own back and I know how.'

  She didn't tell anyone how she intended doing this, but the very next morning she was in Harriet's tearoom nice and early. She settled herself at the table in the window, waiting for a suitable listener.

  She didn't wait long. Before the morning was out a considerable number of the villagers were convinced that Peter was the father of the twins whom he and Caroline were adopting. Sheila had started it off by questioning the babies' parentage. 'Isn't it odd how much like the rector little Alexander is? It's a funny coincidence isn't it, seeing as how Suzy's husband had dark hair? Before it had been passed on more than a few times it had become a fact.

  Harriet overheard two of her customers talking about it in the Post Office queue.

  'And Lady Bissett says that she knows for a fact that the twins are the rector's own.'

  'No! Well, I don't believe that. Surely to goodness, it can't be true.'

  'Well, she says it is. Says how little Alex is so like the rector they can't deny it. And he is yer know.'

  'Well, he is the sa
me colouring I expect. Well I never, whatever next.'

  'Rector having a bit on the side, takes some swallow—

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  ing that does.'

  'It's Dr Harris I feel sorry for. If it's true I think she's been very brave taking them on.'

  'So do I.'

  'Question is, who do we really want, a lovely young rector who's strayed a bit or that Lady Bissett as she likes to be called. I know who I prefer.'

  'Well yer right there, that Lady Bissett isn't half a pain in the arse. He's lovely and he's worked so 'ard since he came, what with the Cubs and the Brownies and the Women's Meeting and the pensioners' Luncheon Club. I don't know how we managed with that old faggot Mr Furbank. It was time the good Lord gathered 'im to His bosom and no mistake. My turn is it Linda? Two second class stamps. Thanks.'

  Harriet at her first opportunity went in search of Jimbo. He was sitting worrying over his accounts.

  'It's no good you know. The restaurant is not pulling its weight. I shall have to think seriously about . . . Why whatever's the matter?'

  'Jimbo I don't know what to do. Two of the customers have been saying that Sheila Bissett has said that Alex and Beth are Peter's.'

  'We know they're Peter's; they're adopting them.'

  'No, they mean actually Peter's. You know, that he's the real father and that's why they've adopted them.'

  'You mean Suzy Meadows and Peter . . . No, no, no. I don't believe it. That can't be right. Peter would never let Caroline down like that. I mean God, he's the rector. No, of course he wouldn't. Absolutely not. I'll have a word with Peter, man to man when we go for our run in the morning. Devil of a job bringing up the subject though. But this gossip will have to be stopped. I can't believe it's true. Spreading lies like that. The woman's malicious.'

  'I know why she's done it, it's because we wouldn't do

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  as she said about the Flower Festival. She expected Peter would go running round next morning and apologise and beg her to run it, but he didn't because Sylvia Bennett asked a friend of hers to do it and she's jumped at the chance.'

  'I feel desperately sorry for Caroline. Do you suppose it really is true and she doesn't know it?'