Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) Read online

  Village Fortunes

  REBECCA SHAW

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Inhabitants of Turnham Malpas

  Map

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  Also By Rebecca Shaw

  Copyright

  INHABITANTS OF TURNHAM MALPAS

  * * *

  Ford Barclay

  Retired businessman

  Mercedes Barclay

  His wife

  Willie Biggs

  Retired verger

  Sylvia Biggs

  His wife

  James (Jimbo) Charter-Plackett

  Owner of the village store

  Harriet Charter-Plackett

  His wife

  Fergus, Finlay, Flick & Fran

  Their children

  Katherine Charter-Plackett

  Jimbo’s mother

  Alan Crimble

  Barman at the Royal Oak

  Linda Crimble

  His wife

  Maggie Dobbs

  School caretaker

  H. Craddock Fitch

  Owner of Turnham House

  Kate Fitch

  Village school headteacher

  Dottie Foskett

  Cleaner

  Zack Hooper

  Verger

  Marie Hooper

  His wife

  Gilbert Johns

  Church choirmaster

  Louise Johns

  His wife

  Greta Jones

  A village gossip

  Vince Jones

  Her husband

  Barry Jones

  Her son and estate carpenter

  Pat Jones

  Barry’s wife

  Dean & Michelle

  Barry and Pat’s children

  Revd Peter Harris MA (Oxon)

  Rector of the parish

  Dr Caroline Harris

  His wife

  Alex & Beth

  Their children

  Tom Nicholls

  Assistant in the store

  Evie Nicholls

  His wife

  Johnny Templeton

  Head of the Templeton estate

  Alice Templeton

  His wife

  Dicky & Georgie Tutt

  Licensees at the Royal Oak

  Bel Tutt

  Assistant in the village store

  Vera Wright

  Retired

  Chapter 1

  The news of the arrival of a second son for the Lord of the Manor was round the village in no time at all. The two main centres for spreading the news were the usual Saturday coffee morning in the village hall and Jimbo’s Village Store. Jimbo was mentally rubbing his hands with glee, as the longer customers stayed to talk about the baby, the more they were inclined to shop; and the frequent ringing of the door bell and the pinging of the cash register delighted him. Being in a celebratory mood, the villagers were buying slices of gateaux and some indulged themselves by purchasing sparkling wine to toast the baby. Fran had been twice into the wine store to bring out more bottles, and was as excited by the pinging of the cash register as her father. She gave him a wink and he winked back.

  ‘Dad! What a morning. It’s like Christmas! Want your coffee? We can’t be long though, as Tom can’t manage by himself.’

  ‘Ten minutes. The post office’s not that busy.’

  ‘Or do you prefer a bottle of orange juice?’

  ‘No, I need coffee. It’ll give me a boost.’

  ‘I’ll get it. Dad! If you rush that chocolate biscuit down at that speed, you’ll have indigestion all morning.’

  ‘You’re right. Sorry. Get the coffee, please.’

  Fran had to set up the coffee machine again, and while she did she couldn’t help but hear the conversations going on around her.

  ‘Imagine! Another boy. A pity that. Still, there’s always time.’

  ‘So long as he’s healthy, that’s what matters.’

  ‘He couldn’t be more beautiful than little Charles. I’ve never seen a more beautiful baby than him.’

  ‘Oh! I know, but there’s always that fragile look, round his eyes.’

  ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

  ‘Oh! There is.’

  ‘But he’s full of life and walking really early.’

  ‘I know he is, and I’m glad. I wonder what they’ll call this new one? In the past it’s always been Tristan, Ralph or Bernard. I don’t like them names, but it’s all about tradition with these old families, isn’t it?’

  Fran didn’t like the family names either, and when she handed her dad his coffee she said as much. ‘They’re still talking about the baby. They’ve moved on to names now. The traditional ones are dreadful. No self respecting baby would want them, not nowadays.’

  ‘Ralph wouldn’t be too bad. It could be pronounced Rafe if they want to be really posh.’

  ‘I don’t think “posh” bothers Johnny at all. He’s the nicest man anyone could hope for. I could marry him myself.’

  ‘I thought you always said you wouldn’t get married. “I’m not having a man telling me what to do,” you used to say.’

  Fran grinned. ‘Still do. Another coffee?’

  ‘I’ll get back to work and give Tom a chance to take a break.’

  ‘I’m coming; I’ll eat this gateau later.’

  ‘No need for you to slave like I do, Fran.’

  ‘Ah! But there is. I want a viable business to take charge of if I finally decide to take it over.’

  Jimbo paused and turned back to ask, ‘Decided not to go to university after all, then?’

  ‘Thought about going, but no. Waste of time. Then I think . . . maybe . . . perhaps.’

  ‘It’s not been a waste of time for the others.’

  ‘Go and relieve Tom, Dad, and leave my life to me.’ Fran laughed and pushed him out of the door in front of her. All the same, she thought, three years enjoying life might be a good idea before she fell under the spell of retail business. But one glance round the storeroom with its carefully organised stock and her dad’s straw hat abandoned on top of a pack of jars of marmalade showed Fran this was where she belonged. She picked up Jimbo’s straw hat, put it on her head at a jaunty angle and marched back into the front of the store to roars of laughter from the customers. Their laughter was music to her ears. She was good at customer relations, and getting people to buy was seventy-five per cent to do with relationships in a village store.

  ‘Next!’ Fran called out from the till.

  ‘Just like your dad you are, Fran. Always got an eye for the money.’

  ‘But I’m lovely too, Mrs Dobbs. Always friendly, never snappy, always got a smile.’

  ‘Just like when you were at the village school, such a happy little girl you always were.’

  ‘Is it still as lovely at the school as when I was there?’

  ‘As the school caretaker, I can honestly say we miss your lovely smile. Don’t you ever lose it. That my change? Thanks.’ As Maggie Dobbs strode off she remembered Fran’s first day at
school with her scrawny pigtails and her uniform too big for her, and she smiled. Fran had got into more scrapes than any child she knew. She was always in the kitchen having her knees cleaned up or her elbows and once they’d had to ring her mother, Harriet, to tell her Fran had broken her elbow. It took a long time to heal and hours of physiotherapy to get it functioning again. As Maggie wandered back to her cottage with her shopping she recollected when Fran fell from the top of the climbing frame in the school playground. That was a worry; a huge lump came up on her head and they thought she was unconscious for a while. That was another hospital job, but Fran always kept that lovely smile of hers, a smile that made Maggie smile too when she thought about it.

  Now she must be nearly twenty. Surely not. No! She was . . . she was almost twenty-one! How the years had flown by. She was the one most like her dad. Keen on the business, and had the right attitude too. Not a bit of edge to her; Fran was always courteous and helpful, eager to go to any lengths to get you what you wanted. Lovely she was. The other three were off out into the world without a backward glance at their dad’s business. Would Fran stay with him? Was that what she wanted? If Maggie had asked Fran the answer would have been, ‘Yes!!’

  Now she could drive, Fran had been secretly looking in other towns and villages for premises where her Dad could start up a new business and put her in charge. That was what she wanted. A village store with herself in charge. But she felt too that she’d better hold back her ambitions for now and get more knowledgeable before she struck out on her own. Fran had considered doing a course of some kind, or working for a big company like Marks and Spencer to learn their trade secrets. She imagined her own smart stores all over the country, selling good food at reasonable prices. Bur for now she had to be practical. Jimbo’s Village Store was busy and Fran knew she was a vital cog in the machinery.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Fitch. Long time no see. How are you?’

  ‘How am I? All the better for seeing you. When you go to university we shall miss you. Or at the very least your dad will. When do you go?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I will. All I want to do is work alongside my dad, and so maybe I shan’t bother. Some degrees nowadays aren’t worth the paper they’re written on, I hear.’

  ‘It isn’t set in stone that you should. I never did and it done me no harm.’ Mr Fitch hesitated. Perhaps if he had he wouldn’t be living in that appalling Glebe House, all of it designed in such terrible taste that it made his flesh creep. Even the utility room hadn’t escaped the vast slabs of garish marble that featured in almost every room. And now he faced the pain of seeing what had once been his very own absolutely beloved Big House being restored by an incredibly wealthy young man, namely Johnny Templeton. Mr Fitch’s heart lurched at every bit of restoration that was being done. If only he’d been more sensitive to the needs of the Big House . . . He’d always known that dratted swimming pool was a mistake and that he’d only gone for planning permission for the pool because he liked the idea of getting his own way despite the enormous opposition there was to it. Those days were well and truly over. The cut and thrust had gone from his life now, no business, no Sir Ralph to get the better of; just himself, Henry Craddock Fitch. The only delight in his life was his darling wife Kate. Just the thought of her made him smile.

  ‘Don’t forget your shopping. Mr Fitch?’ Fran’s voice brought him back to earth.

  ‘Sorry, dear, day-dreaming. Thank you.’ Mr Fitch wandered off towards home, and on passing the school on his way to Glebe House he hoped he might get a glimpse of Kate, but the school was quiet, with not a soul in sight. A sudden shout of laughter came from one of the classrooms and the spontaneous, joyous outburst warmed him.

  His Jack Russell, Sykes, was waiting for him behind the front door, dark brown eyes full of joy and his tail wagging. While Mr Fitch put his shopping away in the fridge, Sykes went to get his lead and stood as close to Mr Fitch as he could, which meant Sykes frequently got his feet trodden on, but he didn’t care. The trick worked and within minutes Sykes and Craddock Fitch were walking down Jacks Lane and on to the field alongside the beck which led them through the woods. Sykes scampered about, loving every moment while Craddock, lost in thought, plodded steadily on. He decided to go through Sykes Wood and then into Home Park past Turnham House and down the mile long drive, before turning home towards Glebe House. If it did nothing else a long walk would keep him fit and Sykes would love him for it. It was months since he’d been all the way round, and Craddock felt it would do him good.

  Sykes Wood. Haunted, they all said; more so since Venetia’s body had been buried there. Maybe he ought not to . . . No, he was being ridiculous. He’d only been her lover for what? Perhaps two or three months, and then it had all fallen apart when he found out he was playing second fiddle to that rogue – what was his name? Couldn’t remember! But Venetia was found buried in the deepest depths of the wood, stabbed times without number, and at the thought Craddock found his eyes brimming with tears. He shrugged his shoulders to pull himself together. That was no ending for the feisty sexy woman she was. She wasn’t worth his grief though; she’d betrayed her husband with numerous lovers time and again, and she was without a conscience. But she had been beautiful nevertheless.

  The extreme cold penetrated Craddock’s Barbour jacket and he wished he’d put on a sweater underneath. Passing Turnham House he spotted Johnny getting out of his 4×4.

  Craddock hurried to catch him before he disappeared inside. ‘Johnny! Johnny! Any news?’

  Johnny cheerfully shouted, ‘A lovely son arrived safely during the night.’

  ‘Wonderful news! Wonderful! So glad for you. My best to Alice.’

  ‘She’ll be home tomorrow, if all goes well.’

  ‘Good! Good!’ Craddock waved his goodbye, Sykes stopped his enthusiastic greeting of Johnny and hurriedly followed after Craddock, and the two of them set off down the drive towards home. Lucky man, two sons, Craddock thought.

  It occurred to him that one day long ago he’d been lucky too and had two sons. Why had he never kept in touch with them? How old must they be now? They were born not long after he stole that shovel that had become the start of his empire, and so they must be forty or so. Just as they reached the first of the beech trees that lined the drive Craddock was overcome with a powerful longing he’d never experienced before. If he could find them, if only he could find them. Perhaps they’d be married by now, or at least living with someone; and perhaps there might even be grandchildren he could cherish. His heart felt as if was almost bursting. He must try to find them. After all Craddock Fitch wasn’t a common name, not like Jones or Smith, and so it should be easy to search for. Craddock knew the dates of his sons’ birthdays; they were written down in an old diary he’d never thrown away. Now, he thought about that diary and wondered why he’d kept it all this time. Had he secretly been longing to find them but never acknowledged it before? Well, this time he would look for them. He couldn’t let Johnny have everything, and he himself be left with nothing. Johnny with his money, Johnny with his vast hotel business, Johnny with the house that Craddock had loved so passionately (and still did) and now Johnny with his two sons. Craddock decided he wouldn’t tell anybody about his search, although he would tell Kate as soon as he had any luck. The very second he had any luck.

  Usually he had coffee before trying to find something to keep him busy until lunchtime, but today he didn’t need to look for something to do as now he had an important mission to accomplish. He was going to find his two sons.

  Chapter 2

  After Craddock Fitch had left the store, Fran had worked all day alongside her dad and Tom, keeping the customers happy and satisfied. She could never understand why she found working in the store so satisfying. Maybe her genes were predominantly her father’s and that was the reason; but whatever it was she loved the cut and thrust of the store, and the gossip.

  But was she now also the target for gossip? Had someone seen her out and about with the new man
in her life? Perhaps someone had seen her tonight, and then the balloon would go up. Please God, no, not yet.

  Fran glanced at the clock on her dashboard and knew there would be an inquisition the moment she opened the front door. Her father appeared to be totally unaware that although she still lived at home she was an adult and could come and go as she pleased. Fran saw it was even later than she’d thought, and so she pressed a little harder on the accelerator. He’d be up, waiting, pretending he was working late on the accounts and that her arrival was a matter of no significance whatsoever. But her dad couldn’t fool her. She knew him inside out. It was all because he loved her, she knew. He loved all of them, but the ones who’d left home and were out of sight didn’t bother him so much now. But Fran Charter-Plackett still lived at home; she was the youngest, and because of that . . . Two more miles and she’d be there. Why was she worried? She told herself she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. She was doing nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

  She parked the car in the drive, locked it, opened the back door to find her father waiting. ‘I heard your car. Do you know it’s two o’clock?’

  ‘Yes.’ Fran kissed his cheek to help calm the situation, but tonight it didn’t work.

  ‘It’s a working day tomorrow. How can you possibly be ready for a good day’s work when you arrive home at this time?’ Jimbo rubbed his hand over his bald head and waited. She was special to him, so special he hardly dared let her know how much.

  ‘Dad. I’m almost twenty-one. I can do as I like. Have I ever let you down? Not been there when the store opens? Made mistakes? Been rude to a customer because I’m too tired to care? Never. When I let you down you can sack me. And quite right too, as I shall deserve it. Goodnight, Dad. These late hours won’t do you any good either, you know.’ Fran stretched her mouth into a smile, kissed his cheek again and fled upstairs before he could ask any more questions.