A Village Feud Page 11

  Greta Jones propped herself against the stationery shelves and told all. ‘It arrived this morning at the house by hand. Well, I say this morning, certainly some time in the night, because it wasn’t there when they went to bed. Threatened to blackmail him over something or other that happened years ago, but I wasn’t near enough to hear absolutely everything. Anyway, Harriet and Grandmama have advised him to go to the police. Right to-do there was. I was in the mail order office so I couldn’t hear clearly, but that’s what he’s decided on. Apparently,’ she got squeezed up against the packs of pens as someone tried to get past, ‘hold on a minute, I’m moving, there’s no need to crush me. Honestly, some people they’ve no time. Where was I? Oh, yes. It’s to do with something that happened before Jimbo came here. Something happened that didn’t do his reputation any good, I expect, and this poison pen person knows all about it.’

  Dottie absorbed all she had to say and drew the conclusion it couldn’t be anyone in the village then, could it? For who knew Jimbo all those years ago?

  ‘You wouldn’t think so,’ Greta agreed. ‘It could be any Tom Dick or Harry, couldn’t it? Might be a woman, I suppose. It could be, yer know, woman scorned and all that. Anyway, I’ll let you know if I hear anything. Must go. I’ve a casserole to put on for Vince and Paddy. Bit of kidney in it to make it rich. Tasty, that’s what.’ She bustled out of the door without a minute to spare.

  Dottie arrived home with a tailpiece of smoked haddock Jimbo had let her have at half-price. Nice chap, Jimbo. Pity he was having this trouble. But she’d enough trouble of her own without going looking for it. Poor Beth. Could she hint to the doctor about it? No, she couldn’t, because Beth had been so stern when she’d said no. She couldn’t break faith with her.

  It was true the poison pen letter had threatened blackmail. Money was definitely the one thing which would motivate Jimbo to take steps. It was no longer an irritating little joke; it was way past that. The blackmailer was wanting a regular payment of £200 a month in notes, until they decided when it was to stop. As Harriet said, they’d soon get greedy and start upping the amount every year. Their demands would be limitless.

  ‘So, what was it about, darling, this thing they feel sure they can blackmail you over?’

  ‘Some trivial thing I can’t even remember. You notice they’re too clever to say what my misdemeanour is, or was.’

  ‘I believe you know, but don’t want to tell me. And I feel hurt about that. I thought we shared everything.’

  ‘We do. But not this, right? Matter closed.’

  ‘Are you going to the police?’

  ‘I might.’

  ‘You might?’

  ‘That’s correct.’ He took off his boater and stroked his bald head.

  ‘If you don’t go I shall.’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘I will. If not me, your mother will.’

  Jimbo swung round. ‘She’s not to know.’

  ‘You don’t honestly believe that you can keep this a secret? They all know and if they don’t by now they will by tonight, so she’s bound to find out.’

  ‘You’re not to tell her, please.’

  ‘Well, I’m not hanging around when the balloon goes up, believe me. Oh! She’s here. I do believe she has more bounce in her step.’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  Grandmama entered the house in triumph. ‘Jimbo, my dearest boy, thank you so much for the massage. I’ve never had such an excellent time. I’ll have another for Christmas if you think it a good idea.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune. What happened to the espionage you were about to carry out?’

  Grandmama waved a nonchalant hand. ‘Forget it. She’s a lovely girl and I’m sorry for her, tied to that oaf.’

  ‘So, Jimbo’s not the only one to do a volte-face.’ Harriet folded her arms. ‘What caused this, then?’

  Grandmama removed her coat and gloves. ‘Here, Jimbo, take these,’ she said, disregarding the fact that he was on crutches. ‘I was all set for being very critical – in fact, super-critical – but she is very professional, and dressed like an American nurse. She offered me camomile tea, and while I undressed she put on some beautiful whale music so by the time I was laid on the table, which she kindly lowered so I could get on more easily, I was so relaxed you wouldn’t believe. Then we got talking and I told her things I’ve never told anyone but I felt so much better for it. In fact, I’ve offered to take leaflets round for her in Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett to help push the business on. I said Harriet would give me a lift.’

  Jimbo promptly sat down and waited.

  ‘What are you waiting for, dear?’

  ‘For you to tell us, your nearest and dearest, what it was you’ve never told anyone but you could tell her. Go on, we’re waiting.’

  ‘Certainly not.’ She smiled at them both. ‘I love you both, and that sharp little daughter of yours. Picking me up on being ungrateful for my birthday present. She was quite right, the little monkey. Maybe she’s going to grow up like me.’

  ‘In what way?’ Jimbo asked.

  ‘Daring to speak her mind when necessary.’

  Jimbo groaned. ‘Not another one. I can’t cope.’

  ‘Don’t you like a mother who has something to say for herself? Or would you prefer me to grumble and complain all the time?’

  In the interests of family relationships Jimbo didn’t point out that she did grumble and complain a lot. Instead he patted her hand, kissed her cheek and said, ‘Did you learn anything?’

  ‘Well, yes. While I was standing at the door saying goodbye to Jenny I spotted that Dottie Foskett talking to Beth Harris right outside the church. Why on earth Caroline has employed her I will never know.’

  Harriet put her straight on the matter. ‘Because she cleans exceptionally well, and Caroline told me herself she’s very pleased with her.’

  ‘But does she know that her and Beth are obviously becoming very close?’

  ‘Caroline will be glad for Beth to be talking, no matter who it is to. She’s been too afraid to go outside the house, but Dottie has got her in the garden without even so much as trying and now apparently has got her to go out into the lane, which, as far as Caroline is concerned, is brilliant progress. So I wouldn’t go saying anything to Caroline about Dottie because she won’t thank you for it.’

  ‘But surely a trained psychologist or psychiatrist would be better. I mean, what on earth has a chump like Dottie got to say that could possibly help Beth?’

  ‘I don’t know, but if it works … Caroline is worried to death about the twins. Neither of the children will talk about what happened, you see. Alex won’t open up at all and he’s obviously pushed the whole episode right out of the way, carrying on as though nothing is the matter when clearly it is. At least Beth is behaving oddly, so in some peculiar way she may be getting it out of her system. Frankly, I daresay Caroline would be grateful for Dottie to have a word with Alex, too.’

  ‘I don’t know. In my day, a prostitute counted for less than nothing. Now they’re advising the mentally distressed. What are things coming to?’ Grandmama got to her feet and declared she was going for a rest. She disappeared upstairs.

  ‘Lunch at one, Katherine,’ Harriet called out to her. When she was out of hearing she confided to Jimbo, ‘She isn’t a prostitute any more.’

  ‘Past it, is she?’

  Harriet raised both her eyebrows in disgust at his remark. ‘She told me she wasn’t.’

  ‘God! She hasn’t started treating you, has she?’

  ‘There are times, Jimbo, when you behave like an out-and-out snob. It’s not right and proper, not in Turnham Malpas. Just because she was what she was doesn’t mean she’s insensitive to people’s needs. Maybe she’s even more sensitive.’

  Horrified at the possibility he might be about to hear further revelations about Dottie’s past Jimbo said firmly, ‘Please, don’t let’s go there. Sorry. Sorry. Hand me my crutches, please, I need to work in my office
for a while.’

  ‘Shall I make a window this afternoon to take you to the police station?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m going to ignore that letter. They can’t actually do anything if I won’t play ball.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure.’

  ‘Of course, I could always ask Dottie for advice.’

  ‘She’ll be here tomorrow afternoon; you can ask her then.’

  Chapter 9

  Jenny’s beauty business was coming along apace. She was regularly booked out for the whole of the morning, much to her delight. She was making lots of friendships and learning a great deal more about her clientele than they ever realized. That was the fascinating thing about the beauty business. A beautician became a confidant and best friend if the ambience was right, and Jenny had got it just perfect. The herbal tea, the lighting, the music, and her professional approach did the trick. Of course, all her equipment was of the best, and her outfit smart and almost nurse-like, which inspired confidence, and best of all for Jenny, it bestowed on her clients a willingness to open up.

  The things she’d heard while massaging and waxing and whatnot were unbelievable. Of course, not a word of the confessions went out of the four walls of her consulting room – except for the titbits she told Andy of an evening.

  Andy. Yes. There’d been a change there. Before he hadn’t cared two hoots that he was doing social work when he hadn’t the slightest bit of a qualification for it, but now, ever since that night they’d treated two of his bosses to drinks, he’d been edgy. So edgy, in fact, that he’d actually begun going in to work more often, but his bouts of anger had become more numerous. Sometimes he was so boiling with fury he would throw things about, especially ornaments that were dear to her heart. It was true, though, that she had a lot of them, lined along shelves, along the dado rails, on the window-sills, in the bathroom and the kitchen. Now and again she was afraid of him, of his seething anger and his frustrations, but tried her best to be cocky and steely with him. When that didn’t work she locked herself in her consultation room and slept on the treatment bed.

  The following morning he would appear to remember nothing about his tirade the previous night, for which Jenny was thankful, though it caused her concern. She hadn’t noticed if he was drinking more than usual; perhaps that was the problem. Whatever, she’d long since fallen out of love with him. She’d been crazy with love when they first married but somehow all that had fallen away and they were left with companionship, friendship, rubbing along together and sometimes outright fighting, which always cleared the air and for a few days afterwards things improved.

  She heard him unlocking the front door now, but didn’t rush to greet him as she would have done at one time. He found her tidying up after a client.

  ‘Hello, then. How’s things?’ Andy flung himself down in one of Jenny’s basket chairs. ‘I’m knackered.’

  Jenny asked with her tongue in her cheek, ‘Busy day at the office?’

  ‘I’m not joking. It’s harder work making it look as though I’m working than it is working properly. I think I’ll give it up and do a hard day’s graft instead, it’ud be easier.’ He began rolling a cigarette.

  ‘Not in here, if you please.’

  ‘If I want to smoke I shall. I’m gagging for a fag. Now the killjoys have voted for the office to be smoke-free, there’s no pleasure going in. Next time you go in the Store, get me some more papers, will you?’

  ‘I won’t. It’s a disgusting habit.’ Jenny stamped her foot when she saw he was ignoring her request. ‘I said – not in here.’

  But still he continued, fiddling with his little packet of papers and the tobacco, dropping bits and having to rescue them from the immaculate floor. For a man who was incredibly careless with his belongings and cared not one jot about keeping the house tidy, he was intensely precise about his cigarettes.

  ‘Andy, I shan’t say it again: not in here, please. I don’t want the smell when my clients come. It’s not a good recommendation for my aromatherapy and my holistic philosophy, is it? Healthy mind, healthy body and all that jazz.’

  But now he was getting his matches out.

  Incensed, Jenny dashed the cigarette out of his mouth and the lighted match caught his wrist as it flew through the air. Andy leapt to his feet, his face purple with anger. Jenny, busy stamping on the match to prevent a fire, didn’t notice that he was raising his hand to her. Completely out of control he thumped her hard in the middle of her back with his clenched fist, which winded her and made her stagger. She grabbed the table and righted herself only to find Andy hitting her again.

  She fled from the room and locked herself in the downstairs loo, which was reserved for her clients. Jenny sat on the toilet lid, very still, very upset. Resorting to hitting her was happening far, far too frequently. So long as it didn’t show, that was important. She twisted round, undid the buttons on her white jacket and examined her back in the mirror as best she could. A bruise was coming up in the very middle, right on her spine. By tomorrow that would hurt.

  Then she noticed another very red patch on the side of her neck where one of his other blows had landed. That would show; everyone would see it.

  Jenny could hear Andy banging about in the kitchen. What was he doing? Surely not trying to make a meal. He never did anything in the kitchen. He’d starve first. Then she heard his voice calling sweetly, ‘Jenny! Lunch is ready.’

  That was a first. Tentatively she let herself out and went into the kitchen. He’d even bothered to lay the table. Sandwiches, crisps, fruit, coffee.

  Jenny was determined not to say anything that might set him off again. She meekly sat down and helped herself to a sandwich. He kindly poured her some coffee and passed the mug across the table to her, smiled and offered her another sandwich. ‘Crisps, Jenny? Your favourite, Jenny.’

  His thoughtfulness felt very odd. It was strangely frightening, too. She remembered how those two bosses of his had used his name time and again when they spoke to him. What was running through his head? How could kind words be so alarming?

  ‘More coffee, Jenny?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘There you are, Jenny. More milk? Mmm? Jenny?’

  ‘No, thanks. That’s enough. I said that’s enough. I don’t want any more.’

  He kept pouring the milk though, until it reached the rim and began sliding down the side of the mug.

  ‘Stop it, Andy. Stop it. Look at the mess.’

  He grabbed her wrist with one hand, still letting the milk pour out of the jug with the other. ‘See my wrist? See the burn you made. Shall I burn yours like that?’

  ‘Of course not. No.’

  ‘What do you say, then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You say, “Sorry Andy, sorry about your wrist.”’

  Afraid he might burn her wrist in revenge Jenny repeated his words as he’d asked. She didn’t mean them but she knew he meant what he said.

  ‘Easy to do. Right there, look.’ He put down the milk jug with a deliberate bang. It was a delicate china one that had been her godmother’s. It broke in half, the dear little hand-painted violets on the side falling in two pieces. But Andy pointed at her wrist at the very point where her hand joined her arm and he pressed down hard with his fingernail to show her where he would burn her if he chose. His nail left a thin red line on her flesh.

  ‘You’ve broken my godmother’s jug. I loved that jug.’

  ‘Oh, dear, poor godmother. She didn’t think of you when she died, did she? All her money went to the cats’ home. Oh, yes. Not a penny for her goddaughter, even though you’d spent hours caring for her when you should have been caring for me. That money could have made us very comfortable. Don’t think I don’t know why. It was cos she didn’t want me to get my hands on it. Never liked me, she didn’t.’ He lit another cigarette, taking care to make a point of touching Jenny’s wrist with his little finger, the lighted match still in his hand.

  ‘I’ll clear up.’


  ‘No. no. You do enough. I’ll clear up. Any clients this afternoon?’

  Jenny shook her head.

  ‘Then we’ll go out. Bickerby Rocks, how about it?’

  ‘OK.’ Both puzzled and frightened by his rapid changes of mood, Jenny left the table to find some warmer clothes to wear, knowing it would be windy up on the Rocks.

  It was the kind of place Jenny loved. A wonderful view over the surrounding countryside, a pile, literally, of great rocks standing up out of the earth like some primeval worshipping place. She stood at the highest edge of the rocks, the wind blowing her hair, tugging at her skirt, threatening to blow her away any moment. It was magnificent. She turned to see where Andy was and found he was right behind her.

  ‘Isn’t this fabulous, Andy? All this space. Look at the sky. Brilliant blue and not a cloud in sight.’

  Andy nodded his agreement. He peered over the edge and said, ‘Long way down. You’ll have to mind the wind doesn’t blow you away. It’s very strong.’

  The wind was so loud they could barely hear each other speak. It whistled and howled, buffeted and swirled around them. Finally Jenny had had enough of it. Her nose was beginning to run, her cheeks felt like ice, and the temptation to allow herself to be whisked away over the edge by the wind was becoming harder to resist. Briefly she pondered on the idea of flying away into that beautiful sky. But she resisted, turning to leave before the temptation overtook her. She found Andy blocking her way, looking at her with the strangest expression on his face.

  ‘Well, let me come past.’ She was out on the extreme point of the highest rock with no space to put her feet to get round him. ‘Move!’

  Andy backed off slowly and deliberately and, for a single blinding second, she felt sure he was thinking of pushing her over.

  It passed.

  He smiled.

  He gripped her elbow so she couldn’t fall and they retreated from the edge together.