The Village Newcomers (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 14

  He stood up, took her arm and, to the astonishment of everyone present, he marched her out of the Old Barn and into the open air. ‘Your car? Where is it?’

  She was sobbing now. ‘Outside the Rectory. I got a lift from the church.’

  ‘Get in my car. Here we are. Get in.’

  Peter drove out of the grounds of Turnham House and down towards the Rectory in absolute silence.

  He pulled up behind her car and went round to open the passenger door for her to get out. She looked up at him with those bright blue eyes of hers, those eyes his Beth had inherited, and for a nanosecond his resolution wavered.

  Standing as close as she could, she whispered, ‘I shall always love you.’ Then she reached up to stroke his cheek.

  He jerked his head away. ‘You’ll never have me, Suzy, so you’d better create a life of your own, and at the same time ask yourself why your girls don’t see much of you. Perhaps you’ve been obsessive with them, like you’re being with Beth and Alex. Think on these things.’

  He made the sign of the cross on her forehead, saying as he did so, ‘God bless you, Suzy. Goodbye.’

  Before she’d unlocked her car door, he’d already got back into his own car. Because of his distress, he revved the engine far too much and drove round the Green like a man possessed, praying as he did so that he was seeing the end to her obsession.

  Chapter 11

  Monday afternoon meant the Turnham Malpas embroidery group was in session, and Zack, though it was autumn now, had decided not to give up calling in for his cup of tea just as he did in the summer when he was grass-cutting. In fact, he made a special point of visiting, because Merc still came every Monday with one of Ford’s tips for him. But what Ford didn’t know was that everyone in the group also bet on his tips and they were having a rare old time winning every week. Some of them were saving up their winnings and even putting on much bigger bets than they’d ever done in their lives.

  Dottie put £100 on one week - stupidly reckless, she knew, but she did it all the same - and what was more, she won! Four consecutive weeks they’d been betting and every time winning. It stood to reason it couldn’t go on, but somehow they pushed that threat to one side and their confidence grew.

  Merc found it hilarious and despite her telling them Ford couldn’t be right every single time, ad infinitum, they persisted. This Monday he had selected Paddy Myboy. They all carefully made a note of the name, the racecourse and the time of the race, and then and only then did they continue with their embroidery. Merc had just finished her special project of doing the flag on the ship and they gathered round to study the effect.

  Evie was delighted. ‘Well, I must say, Merc, it’s fabulous. Just what that bit of the tapestry needs to give it a lift.’ Joking, Dottie declared she wasn’t impressed with that remark as it made her duck-egg blue background sound like a waste of time.

  Evie hastened to reassure her that that was not the case at all, that it was the immaculate simplicity of her beautifully worked background that gave the flag the best possible setting. Dottie puzzled over this and then decided it was meant as a compliment and settled to her work happily enough, thinking as she stitched that she might spend this week’s winnings on a weekend away. And why not?

  Naturally the main subject of conversation was the joint funeral service for Muriel and Ralph.

  ‘It was a beautiful service. I thought the Rector got it just right. Poetic, it was, and very moving. But,’ said Dottie, ‘without them, things won’t feel the same, will they? No lord of the manor, no more—’

  ‘But Ralph hasn’t been lord of the manor since he was about fourteen when his mother sold up after his dad died in the Second World War.’ This remark came from Bel, who could behave uncommonly like a socialist on occasion.

  ‘We know that but he still always had our interests at heart. One trip down to the council and he got his own way, like a real gentleman.’ Sylvia snipped her wool with her special embroidery scissors and added, ‘Which he was.’ She looked up, expecting a protest from Bel, but Bel merely commented, ‘You couldn’t deny that. Lovely man, he was. So sad him joining her so soon. Still, he’d have been no good without her. They really loved each other, didn’t they?’

  ‘Question is,’ said Merc with more practical matters in mind, ‘who inherits?’

  In their deep sadness at the deaths, none of them had got as far as thinking on those lines. This weighty question foxed them all.

  ‘Well, they were childless,’ Barbara the weekender ventured. ‘And he was an only child and so was she, so that rules out immediate descendants. It’ll have to be a cousin or something, twice removed or whatever. Wish we had a family tree, then we could perhaps work it out.’

  ‘How do you know all that?’

  ‘I specialise in genealogy,’ said Barbara, rather self-importantly.

  ‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ asked Dottie.

  ‘Tracing family trees. I did it for a friend once and she wished I hadn’t ’cos I found out that her father and her mother were illegitimate and one of her great-grandmothers. She was furious, but I didn’t make it up. It was all facts. It was on their birth certificates. “Born out of wedlock! My mother? I think not!” she said. Didn’t speak to me for months after. But I was only telling her the truth.’

  ‘Hey!’ said Sheila. ‘That happened with Ralph’s family, you know. I think it was his grandfather who had a son born with his wife and one with a parlour maid from the village the very same night, right in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. The oak on the Green had a whole branch come down and they all said it was the wrath of the gods. Beattie Prior, she was; married, too. Her baby was the grandfather of Arthur Prior, who owns Wallop Down Farm.’ This amazing statement brought a complete halt to their sewing.

  Sylvia, thrilled by being reminded of this old story, burbled excitedly, ‘My Willie knows all about that. Maybe Arthur Prior might inherit. Not the estate obviously and not the title, but I bet there’ll be an awful lot of money somewhere laid about. Think how the price of his cottage will have gone up since he bought it, and that’s just for a start. Mind you, Arthur is knocking on so I expect his eldest son will benefit most. Won’t go far, though, will it?’

  Sheila giggled. ‘Not with all those daughters he has, and only one boy. I say! Perhaps the boy, Sebastian, will get all the money. You never know, do you? Like a kind of grandchild in a way? ’Cept, of course, we’ve forgotten his cottage is in ruins with the fire, so there’ll be no counting on the money for that.’

  Evie didn’t like this kind of tittle-tattle and did her best to stop it. ‘There’s no point in us speculating. There might be a nephew in some distant place like Canada or Peru or somewhere who’ll inherit the money. There must be other Templetons somewhere. Now, about this next bit after the ship—’

  ‘There will be,’ said Sylvia, ‘because I remember Willie saying that the Sir whatever-his-name-was at the time that had a baby with Beattie Prior had two other boys after with his wife, so there must be someone somewhere. They might even come to live in the village.’

  ‘About the next section, I’ve been thinking—’

  But Sheila asked Merc what the youth club was doing this week, so Evie had to wait her turn.

  ‘This week? Which red should I use for this bit, Evie?’

  ‘Scarlet.’

  ‘Right.’ Merc threaded her needle and looked up at Sheila. ‘It’s the ghost hunt week - bring your own candle.’ She didn’t know why but that phrase, bring your own candle, fired her imagination. It spoke to her of long stone passages and arch-ways, of patches of light and then incredible darkness, and the heart-twitching screech of owls in the depth of the night.

  Bel nodded. ‘I thought so. They’ve been in the Store buying candles as if there was going to be a power cut. They’ll have a great time. The twins are going and Fran Charter-Plackett and loads from Penny Fawcett.’

  Sheila raised her eyebrows in surprise. ‘Just the kind of thing they�
�ll enjoy, I bet. I don’t think it’s quite what they should be doing.’

  ‘But,’ said Evie, ‘the twins will keep up good standards. With parents like they’ve got they can’t do any other.’

  Rather darkly Sheila remarked that she wasn’t too sure about that. Immediately everyone pricked up their ears and needles were idly poised above the tapestry . . . waiting . . .

  ‘Not sure? What do you mean?’ asked Barbara, scenting a story she could tell her neighbours when she got back home.

  ‘I was in my car going down Shepherd’s Hill with a message about the flower festival and I saw Beth and that Jake from Penny Fawcett popping into Sykes Wood. He’s that handsome boy, the one who’s always after the girls. Then, on my way back, she came racing out of the wood up the hill heading for home and she looked almighty scared. I saw her in my rear-view mirror.’

  Dottie, her head down, employed her needle rather rapidly, desperately hoping no one would ask her anything about it. What was Beth thinking of? Still, let’s face it, she was almost seventeen and lots of girls weren’t even virgins by then . . . but Beth! That Jake was a fast one. She’d heard tales about him, but my word he was good-looking. By the time she’d come out of her shock they were discussing the ghost evening as though it were the most depraved happening anyone could imagine. She noticed that Merc stayed silent, then suddenly she burst out, ‘Don’t anyone go blaming my Ford for it. He didn’t choose where they went. Oh no! Pay for it, yes, though Mr Fitch pays for the transport . . . Oh! By the way, I have your invitations to the banquet in my bag. When we have our tea, remind me and I’ll get them out.’

  This closed the speculation about the ghost evening, and as there were one or two sly hints that a cup of tea would be welcome, Evie gave in and made the tea and the invitations were revealed.

  Merc fished about in her over-large bag. ‘You’ve got yours first. The others are going out by post today.’

  If the invitations had been to a banquet at Buckingham Palace they could not have been more glorious. Fabulous, they were, gilt-edged and very stiff card with a kind of silvery white marbled effect. Big, too, and instantly the wedding anniversary celebrations became the event of the year.

  ‘Oh my God! We’ve to dress up! I shan’t know what to wear!’ Dottie quaked at the prospect of thinking up fancy dress.

  ‘Not fancy dress, Dottie, Elizabethan dress,’ said Merc. ‘We want it all to look genuine.’

  Sylvia began to laugh. ‘Wasn’t that when the men wore tights? I can’t see my Willie in tights.’

  The vision this prospect conjured up sent them into hysterics.

  ‘Nor Jimbo!’

  ‘The Rector will look stunning!’ said Dottie, and they all agreed.

  ‘What about your Ron, Sheila?’ This came from Bel, with a grin. She remembered how rotund Ron had become now he’d very little gardening to do in the house in Little Derehams.

  Sheila had had the very same thought and was angry beyond belief at this snide remark. ‘He most likely won’t go. He’s not really into dressing up.’

  Inside herself Sheila was bitterly disappointed. Of course he wouldn’t go, except she longed to attend more than anything in the whole world. She simply couldn’t miss it, not the social event of the year. But knowing Ron, he’d dig his heels in and there’d be endless rows. The invitation, propped up against an ornament on the mantelpiece, would look so impressive, but if they wouldn’t be going, what was the point?

  They’d exhausted the subject of the banquet by the time their cups of tea were finished, and it was then that Dottie had her inspiration. Somehow the invitation had opened up her mind to new horizons.

  ‘Why don’t we use our winnings to go away for a girls’ weekend?’

  ‘A girls’ weekend!’

  ‘Why not? If the young ones can have a night ghost-hunting, why can’t we go away for a weekend? We’re not exactly decrepit, are we? And we’re not senile.’

  ‘No, we’re not!’

  ‘The men’ll think it funny us having money to go away.’ Dottie grinned. ‘So, like me, you haven’t let on we bet each week, then?’

  Sheila agreed she hadn’t. Bel declared she hadn’t told her Gary, nor her brother Dicky. Barbara confessed she hadn’t told her hubby. Evie said she hadn’t mentioned a word to Tom. Vera declared she definitely hadn’t told Don. Sylvia hadn’t spilt the beans to her Willie. And Dottie said she’d not told nobody.

  Merc spoke up. ‘If you don’t mind, I shan’t be going because we’re going to visit an old aunt of mine - on her last legs, poor thing, ready to die any minute, but you have my word that I have not said a word to anyone about the betting you’ve been doing, so your secret is safe with me. Enjoy, as they say.’

  ‘We can afford it, can’t we? And if we win this week as well . . .’ Barbara giggled.

  ‘We very well could,’ said Sylvia.

  Caught up in the excitement, Barbara declared, ‘I tell you what: I could book it on my computer. I’ve done it for our holidays more than once.’

  ‘London, eh?’ Dottie suggested. ‘We might as well do it right.’

  ‘London! I second that,’ agreed Sheila, trying hard to sound very cosmopolitan, as though she frequently popped up to London for her shopping.

  ‘Oh!’ said Evie, feeling slightly shocked by the prospect.

  But they all agreed that London it was, and no husbands allowed. With the discussion it entailed they were half an hour late packing up, and Barbara drove home that same afternoon with a list of their telephone numbers in her bag and a ceiling price for accommodation above which she must not go. She rang each of them that night. She had found a bed and breakfast package with theatre tickets thrown in for less than two hundred pounds this coming weekend. It was a special autumn offer, you see, and the hotel even had its own casino! It sounded perfect. They all agreed. Next thing was to tell their husbands. Only Dottie felt no obligation to anyone at all.

  The departure of the embroidery group for London took place at 10.45 a.m. on Friday. They all squeezed into Ford’s 4x4 with much excitement, and much in the way of misgivings on the part of the husbands left behind.

  Nobody in the 4x4 had any qualms about their adventure. After all, they had a posh afternoon tea to look forward to, as well as a leisurely stroll around the shops on the way to the theatre and The Sound of Music, which they were all longing to see. It might not be Julie Andrews playing Maria but they knew it would be good, and full of memories with perhaps a few tears. Then they were planning to hit the hotel casino! Saturday morning they were going to the Portobello Road market, which Dottie was particularly thrilled about as she considered herself A1 at finding bargains, then sightseeing in Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s, followed by a meal in a steak house and the cinema. Afterwards, the more daring were off to the casino again, if they’d had success the night before. They didn’t intend going to bed on Friday until 1 a.m. at the earliest. They had to be up early for their Saturday sightseeing but they didn’t care. They felt abandoned, released and free! Turnham Malpas had been left far behind.

  The embroidery group agreed on the train on the way to London that they were going to have the most wonderful weekend of their lives. The nervous ones like Evie were egged on by the more carefree ones like Barbara and Dottie to actually allow themselves to enjoy everything instead of worrying about the time and the traffic and the milling crowds, and with encouragement they all did truly revel in the excitement of the weekend. The casino was not altogether as successful as everything else because losses were enormous compared to what they’d won on the gee-gees (with Ford’s assistance). The first night was reasonable but by the second night their heads, dizzy with all the excitement, didn’t allow them to concentrate properly. Dottie lost £40, which was a lot to her, and Sheila lost £55, which made her look over her shoulder once or twice, fearing Ron might miraculously materialise beside her.

  The worst moment of the weekend was when Evie and Bel got separated from the others in the Portobello
Road market. They’d all been together one moment and the next the pair of them were nowhere to be seen. They’d never thought to specify a meeting point in case they got lost - after all, they weren’t children - and there was an anxious twenty minutes of standing on tiptoe, peering through the crowds, until they heard Evie’s voice calling and there they both were!

  Evie was as white as a ghost and trembling. Bel was trying hard to look calm when she very definitely wasn’t, because there were beads of sweat on her top lip. There was a unanimous vote to find somewhere for lunch to calm everyone’s nerves.

  But even the worry of that incident didn’t mar their enjoyment of the entire weekend, and they went home on the train still buoyed up with delight at their adventure and promising to do something same-but-different in the immediate future.