Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) Page 10

  ‘I knew he had two sons. But his wife left him and took them with her, and he hasn’t seen them since.’

  ‘Hardly surprising, considering. Miserable old toad that he is,’ said Vera.

  Ford said, ‘Well, he was difficult to get on with. But if you faced up to him and said what needed to be said, he was all right. I got on OK with him once I’d told him I knew he wasn’t superior to me.’

  ‘Whoops!’ said Barry. ‘That was risky ’cos he thinks he is.’

  ‘It was all a front he wore to make himself feel superior,’ declared Willie. ‘He’s better to get on with now his business has crashed and proved him not to be infallible. More normal, yer know.’

  Slyly Zack decided to blow the whole pleasant evening sky-high by saying, ‘Had you heard, Ford, there’s been a load of lead stolen from two churches in Culworth as well as ours here. Made a clean sweep of it. Last night it was. It was me who discovered it this morning, first thing. The rector’s very upset about it and he rang the police straightaway. They said it was the first time it had happened in this area. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t have heard, having been at the races all day.’ With his eyes intensely focused on Ford, Zack awaited a reply.

  Merc nearly died on the spot, her heart beginning to beat painfully fast. Ford went rigid with shock. Before answering he took a long drink of his home brew and then said as casually as he could, ‘No, we hadn’t heard. We were off at the crack of light this morning.’ Ford went right the way round the table catching the eye of anyone who was daring to look at him. ‘If any of you are thinking I’m the guilty party you are very mistaken. It has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all. Pure as the driven snow I am. And always have been.’

  So this, thought Ford, was what had caused the atmosphere to be so unwelcoming when they first came in tonight; he’d sensed it immediately. It was a very different atmosphere from the night they had been thrown the surprise party to welcome them back. So very different. Some people couldn’t even look him in the eye tonight. No one answered him, although a few looked sheepish. Pat leaned forward and patted Merc’s hand to reassure her there was at least one person on their side.

  Ford felt so badly let down he wanted to leave immediately. He glanced at Merc and saw she too was badly affected by Zack’s obvious suspicions. Ford drained his glass, stood up, helped Merc to her feet, and the two of them left the bar, calling out a cheerful ‘Goodnight!’ to Alan and Mary-Lee.

  Arm in arm they silently walked round Stocks Row and into Church Lane. Ford got his key out and they went into Glebe House. Merc retired to the kitchen to make a bedtime drink, but Ford went straight into his study, slammed the door and sat in his chair, braced his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands. He’d thought he’d put all that trouble behind him, and here it was rearing up in the one place he had foolishly imagined he would at last be free of it.

  Merc’s pounding heart began to calm down, but because of Ford’s distress her hands trembled as she measured the spoonfuls of Ovaltine into their mugs, and they trembled even more when she tried to pour the hot milk in and she found she hadn’t enough hot milk to fill the two mugs, so she served two three-quarter filled mugs. She forgot the biscuits and went back to get them. Then she sat in silence in Ford’s study, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘How could they?’

  ‘Not enough to do, that’s their trouble, Ford.’

  ‘I could kill ’em.’

  Merc spilled some Ovaltine down her chin, dabbed it dry and declared she was heartbroken. ‘I do have your word of honour that it wasn’t inspired by you. Just tell me, tell me the truth. I need to know. At the appeal they said the evidence wasn’t enough to declare you one hundred per cent guilty and so they let you out. But you haven’t been daft enough to start up again, have you? Have you? You must tell me.’

  ‘I can honestly say I have nothing whatsoever to do with lead being stolen round here. Nothing. That is the absolute truth. As God is my judge, you have my word.’

  ‘Thank you for saying that.’ Merc was completely satisfied with her husband’s reply, glad that at last it sounded as though he’d learned his lesson. They sat in silence drinking their Ovaltine, with only the occasional smile exchanged between them. Merc, drink finished, placed her mug on the tray. ‘I’m going to bed now, but I doubt I shall sleep. Goodnight, Ford, love. Goodnight.’

  Ford went up to bed about an hour later. When Merc heard him closing the door of the en suite and felt the mattress move as he climbed into bed beside her, she wiped away her tears and turned over to face him to give him an ultimatum. ‘I really cannot cope with another upset like we had when you were arrested. Those months you spent in prison, the trial, the appeal; all of it was more than I could take. If . . . if it all starts again I think it will, quite literally, kill me.’

  Merc turned over and said not another word.

  Finally Ford said, ‘I promise you that I have no involvement with the lead theft that happened last night. Nothing whatsoever, and I am speaking the truth. I know what it cost you . . . your health, and that . . . and it won’t happen again. I promised that, and I meant it. I still mean it. I love you too much to allow myself to get embroiled in anything the slightest bit illegal.’

  ‘I have your word on that?’

  ‘Absolutely. You have my word.’

  ‘So I can be happy again? Enjoy being back here in Turnham Malpas. Feeling settled. Feeling as though I belong? With no problems at all?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘So I can begin embroidering again?’

  ‘Merc, I never wanted you to stop.’

  ‘No, but what happened with you stopped me.’

  ‘Not any more it won’t.’

  ‘OK. Thank you. I’m glad we’ve got everything straight again.’

  Chapter 11

  The embroidery group still met at 2 p.m. every Monday afternoon. They were expecting to begin work on a tapestry for a church in Culworth. To those outside the group it might have sounded small beer compared to the mural they’d just had hung in a cathedral in Hampshire; but the church was newly built in a stark minimalist style and was proving to be a very difficult challenge. Two designs had already been rejected, and Evie had decided they’d all have to go and visit the church and make their own contribution to the style and colours choices. The church committee wanted to attend but Evie, gentle, kindly Evie, had put her foot down and refused to tell them when they’d be going for their in-depth conference. So, instead of meeting in the church hall to embroider, they got into two cars and went into Culworth, parked outside the gates of the new church, walked up the path to the main entrance and went to stand in front of the piece of bare stone wall where the tapestry would be hung.

  ‘It needs a big statement, something no one can pass without stopping to look. Eye-catching, that’s the word. Eye-catching. Now we’ve got Merc back we can be eye-catching, can’t we, Merc?’ suggested Dottie.

  Merc blushed. ‘Don’t know about that!’ she said. ‘I’ve done no embroidery since I was here last.’

  ‘None?’

  ‘No. I tried, but I couldn’t, with the worry of Ford in prison and that; all my creativity went out of the window.’

  ‘In that case then you’ll be all ready for it to burst out.’

  Merc laughed. ‘It’s wonderful being back in Turnham Malpas, believe me. I love it. Ford’s loving it too. He . . .’ Quite a few of those gathered looking at that bare stone wall looked somewhat uncomfortable when Merc said that, and she noticed, and knew she hadn’t to say that again.

  Evie interrupted, saying, ‘Thank you for coming back, you’re an inspiration, Mercedes, a real inspiration to me.’

  Merc opened wide her arms and enclosed Evie in one of her big hugs. ‘Thank you for saying that. When we heard from Craddock Fitch that he wanted to sell Glebe House and did we want it now Ford was out of prison and not under a cloud, we were absolutely delighted. What a chance to come back to where we felt so comfortable, where we
belong you know.’

  ‘So that’s decided then,’ said Evie. ‘Instead of trying to emulate the contemporary style of the church building we’ll do the saint’s arrival in heaven being welcomed by other saints, and all flamboyant and glorious and colourful, with God as a blaze of light. And if they’re still not satisfied, I shall say we won’t be doing it, but that they’ll have to pay for the designs I’ve already done.’

  Amazed at her standing up to be counted in this way, they all exclaimed with one voice, ‘Evie!’

  ‘Well, we can’t be messed about any longer. I’ve spent hours on the designs already, which obviously they won’t want to pay extra for, and we still have to do the work. I’m beginning to lose my enthusiasm.’

  ‘Well,’ said the weekender, Barbara, ‘I back you up on that. We’d expected to begin embroidering three weeks ago, to us that’s three weeks lost. You do right, Evie. Can I say something?’ They all nodded. ‘Well, this spot they’ve chosen, you do realise that every single person in the congregation will be able to see it, even if they’re sitting on the back row. So, if they get bored with the sermon they won’t want to be struggling to see it, you know, screwing up their eyes to distinguish things, they’ll want to actually see it without having to peer at it. You know, see it. Really see it.’ Barbara paused for a moment.

  Someone said impatiently, ‘Yes, so?’

  ‘Well,’ said Barbara, ‘it needs to be colourful and obvious, not hiding itself in pale colours and full of teeny tiny things, so as no one can distinguish anything unless they’re standing within two feet of it. Bold, kind of; strong and dazzling, kind of.’ Barbara went to hide behind Dottie as she was so embarrassed by her own outburst.

  A silence greeted this statement of Barbara’s as it was very rare she said anything inspiring because she was always so downbeat and critical about everything.

  Evie agreed. ‘You are absolutely right, Barbara. Bold. Strong. Obvious. Colourful. Mind-grabbing.’

  ‘I don’t know about the rest of you but, frankly, after all this thinking I’m in need of refreshments. Cream tea, everyone, in the abbey coffee shop, like we said we would?’ said Sheila, who’d agreed with every word Barbara had said, but couldn’t for the life of her have found the words as Barbara just had.

  The coffee shop, winding down towards closing time, was not as busy as they had expected. The best tables, the ones that caught the afternoon sun, were occupied but others in the shade were free. They found one they liked, ordered their teas and began chatting.

  ‘Apparently we’ll all be getting some info about the reestablishment of the village show, and Bonfire Night. Johnny’s organising it all,’ said Dottie. ‘I’m so glad. It’ll be like old times, and I can’t wait.’

  Barbara agreed. ‘The village show, I love that. All the infighting and the secrets about how they grow such good garlic or something or other, confident they’ll win first prize, and then their faces when they don’t. I’ve decided I’m going to enter a few things. My Victoria sponge has to be seen to be believed.’

  Evie interrupted the ensuing discussion about the person who always won the Victoria sponge class and did she actually make the cakes herself, by saying, ‘I’ve asked to have some embroidery classes. Why not? I can’t judge them myself, that wouldn’t be fair. But I know someone in Culworth who would.’

  ‘Oh, great,’ said Sheila, ‘just what we want. We’ll run away with all the prizes!’

  ‘It’s Bonfire Night I like the best,’ said Bel.

  ‘And me,’ said Evie. ‘I like Bonfire Night the best too. The heat of the fire and the chill of the wind, and everyone so happy, and “oooh!” and “aaahh!” when the fireworks go up. And I love making the guy. I wonder if Jimbo will do the fireworks again?’

  ‘I understand that Johnny is footing the bill for that. A professional company is going to be in charge,’ said Sylvia. ‘More tea anyone?’

  ‘Jimbo always did a brilliant job, they couldn’t do better than he did.’

  Sheila said she’d like another cup too. ‘He did, but he says he’s too busy nowadays. The Old Barn is doing wonderfully well but, Dottie, you know more about that than me?’

  ‘It certainly is. Three events last week and three this week. I’m not complaining. Fran had to help out last week it was so fraught. But seeing as Chris has gone back to wherever he came from, I expect she’s glad to be busy. She’s so good with people is Fran, she has them eating out of her hand in no time at all, especially if they’re complaining about something. She smoothes their ruffled feathers and has them smiling and apologising to her for being awkward in next to no time. Though what there is to complain about I really don’t know.’

  Sheila raised her voice slightly so everyone could hear her saying, ‘I felt quite sorry when Chris went back to Brazil without her. I thought they looked lovely together. We saw them just once in the Wise Man pub. They’d obviously been upstairs to the loo, don’t know why they don’t make the pub loos downstairs, it would be so much more convenient, and they looked so lovely coming downstairs, not hand in hand, but very close. His blond hair and her dark hair and just the right height for her. They made a very nice pair.’

  ‘I bet Jimbo didn’t think so,’ Dottie declared.

  Surprised, Sheila replied, ‘Whyever not?’

  Dottie pulled a disapproving face. ‘Too old he was, too sophisticated, too, shall we say . . . well . . . experienced, for want of a better word.’

  ‘O-o-h! Do you know something we don’t know?’ asked Bel.

  ‘I don’t know nothing.’

  ‘If you don’t know nothing then you must know something because two negatives make a positive,’ pointed out Bel.

  Dottie refused to rise to the bait and excused herself by saying, ‘I’m off to the loo.’ Then she left and didn’t come back, and eventually they found her waiting by their two cars in the abbey car park.

  ‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ was the indignant reply to Dottie’s humble apology.

  Sylvia guessed it was something she’d heard in the rectory and that she had stopped herself from revealing it just in time. She squeezed onto the back seat beside Dottie and patted her forearm and smiled at her to show her approval of her reticence.

  Dottie didn’t speak all the way back to Turnham Malpas, fearful she might let out what she’d overheard Caroline and Peter talking about the other morning while she’d been digging about in the hall cupboard searching for the box of cloths for her cleaning, a box that had apparently gone walkabout. By staying silent she couldn’t let out what she knew by mistake. It was nothing really but she’d overheard the doctor telling Peter how almighty glad Jimbo was that Chris had gone back to Rio, and that apparently the relationship was getting much too close for their liking; and how pleased they were that Fran had not been asked to go with Chris to meet his family. If Dottie had told them that they’d have all immediately come up with all sorts of gossip, of which possibly ninety per cent would be untrue. And she, Dottie Foskett, liked Fran and didn’t want her to be upset by anything she’d done. How far had it gone then? All the way by the tone of the doctor’s voice. And the reverend had nodded his agreement so positively that she guessed he knew more than he’d let on.

  Chapter 12

  The punters who sat so regularly on the table with the ancient settle down one side would have been fascinated to learn exactly what Craddock Fitch was doing all these days he’d been, as they described it, doing research.

  He’d found himself tortured by being what his mother would have called being at a ‘loose end’. After thirty and more years slaving hard to build his business, expanding it to a size he’d never even dreamed of in the beginning, nowadays he found his compulsory idleness very hard to tolerate. His bones longed for the daily grind, the cut and thrust; even the severe exhaustion he’d had to face on a daily basis would have been welcomed. Passing his time shopping for Kate in the village and walking his dog in no way compensated him, although he found the absorption his ne
w project brought him scarcely filled the gap. Except he did miss Kate in the evenings, a lonely dinner in a hotel no matter how tasty, or how beautifully presented, was no match for her presence.

  But today Craddock Fitch had made progress. At last. His two sons had had their names changed from Fitch to Patterson in 1981. So now they were Graham and Michael Patterson, and their mother was Stella Patterson. Their stepfather, whom he loathed even though he’d never met him, was Cosmo Patterson. Of all the names. Cosmo! What on earth did that mean? Was his father an astronomer? Did it have any connection with the universe or was it something entirely different? He sneaked into the local library and went to the reference shelves and found a huge Oxford Dictionary, but the nearest he could get was cosmos and that referred to the universe, so Cosmo must be the same, perhaps. Daft name. Daft man. What on earth had he done to his two boys with a name like that? Perhaps he’d sent them to a public school? Briefly Craddock Fitch swelled with pride, and then worried himself sick that he, their real dad, might not fit in with them. He hadn’t enough polish, not enough learning, not enough savoir faire. His self-esteem took a staggering blow, almost as bad as the day he realised his business was about to fold.

  It was only when Craddock was desperately trying to fall asleep (and had been for well over an hour) that it occurred to him that when he’d found the papers about the boys having their names changed along with preliminary papers regarding a divorce, it was a solicitor in Leeds whose address was on the paperwork. Maybe then . . . Craddock got up and by the light from his bedside lamp he hunted through his briefcase and found he was right. Leeds then was where he would go tomorrow. With his mind made up he fell asleep within minutes of turning out the light.

  A bright new Craddock bounded down to reception the next morning, informed them he would be leaving immediately after breakfast and wouldn’t be staying on for that extra night he’d asked for. Breakfast had never tasted so good. He had a full English, knowing he shouldn’t but he did, and he enjoyed every single mouthful. He left the hotel, woke up his satnav, and headed for Leeds.