The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Read online

  Caroline supplied the answer. ‘He’s just introduced himself to Peter. He’s one of the Templetons who used to own the Big House. Apparently, Sir Ralph has retired from the Diplomatic Service and is coming back to live in the village as soon as he can find a house he likes. He’s rather nice, isn’t he?’

  Harriet agreed. ‘Nice? He’s gorgeous. I would never have dreamt of calling her Moo.’ Lady Bissett wasn’t sure she approved of someone she looked down on suddenly having such aristocratic connections. It rather put Ron’s life peerage in the shade.

  The news about the return of Ralph Templeton spread through the area in a flash, and there was much speculation about the difference it might make, having a Lord of the Manor in the village again. Would he buy back the Big House? And wouldn’t it be a bit of a comedown, living in an ordinary house after having been abroad, and after growing up on a country estate?

  Tucked up safely in bed that night, Muriel gave herself time to think about Ralph Tristan Bernard Templeton. Ralphie was the only one who called her Moo. Her mother used to get furious when he called her that. ‘Your name’s Muriel and a very pretty name it is, too. Tell him, go on – you tell him not to call you Moo!’ she used to nag. But Muriel never did. It was their own special link. They did have something between them, even though they were only children. They were just in their teens when his mother sold up and he went away for ever. She remembered how they’d held hands, on the last bonfire night that there’d been at the Big House. With his father gone, Ralphie had had to light the bonfire himself; the older people, Muriel recalled, had had difficulty in not shedding a tear when they thought about his father, dead in some Burmese jungle and his body not brought home for burial with his ancestors. The two of them had kissed when he left – just a little youthful peck on the lips, but she had carried the memory of it for years. She had been leaving, too, at the time and in the turmoil it had never occurred to her to ask for his address. It all seemed so final, that moving away from their roots. Fancy – she hadn’t thought about him for years – and then out of the blue he turns up!

  They’d had a lovely lunch, in that posh restaurant overlooking the Cul. He asked the restaurant manager for some bread and they’d gone out to feed the swans when they’d finished their meal, just like they used to when they were children, feeding the swans on the lake at the Big House with bread Ralphie had pinched out of the kitchen.

  She wondered if the colleagues who’d seen him as a pillar of the Foreign Office all these years knew what a naughty boy he’d been when she knew him. There was that time when he started the farm tractor and drove right up to the front door of the House, with her stood up on it clinging to his shoulders. Or that time in the war when he switched on all the lights and opened all the blackout curtains as a gesture of defiance to Hitler. The butler had been furious. Until he was eight, Ralphie had gone to the village school. She remembered he’d been very quick to learn but such a trial to poor Miss Evans. He was far too inventive and all the children had followed his lead.

  ‘I shall have to get up and have another cup of Ovaltine,’ Muriel murmured. ‘I’m not going to get to sleep, I’m in a whirl.’

  As she got warm in bed again and began relaxing, Muriel thought about the thick scratchy tweed jacket he wore and how it had rubbed on her arms when he’d kissed her as he left. There was that slight perfumed smell about him, as if he kept himself particularly clean, and she liked that in a man. Scrupulous attention to cleanliness was a commendable trait.

  Next morning, she popped into the store. It was her cousin’s birthday and she needed a card.

  Jimbo was serving. He raised his straw boater to her and said, ‘Ah, good morning … er … Moo. You’ve got back home, then?’

  ‘Good morning, Jimbo, of course I have.’

  ‘What a send-off! I don’t think there could have been many more people to witness your departure. Did you have a good time?’

  ‘I did, thank you.’

  ‘Shall we be seeing more of him?’

  ‘He’s looking for a house to buy, but of course there aren’t any in the village at the moment so I don’t know what he’s going to do.’

  Harriet came in. ‘Hello … Moo. What a sensation! The whole village is agog to hear how you got on.’

  ‘We had a lovely lunch at the George in Culworth and then we drove around a bit for Ralphie to see how things have changed – or not, as the case may be. Then we had afternoon tea at that new café by Havers Lake and then he brought me home.’

  ‘I’m so glad you had a good time. He seems very nice.’

  ‘He is, just like he was as a boy except he’s calmed down a lot.’

  Jimbo, stacking shelves from the top of a stepladder, called down, ‘He could always rent until a house comes up for sale. Those people from London who have the cottage behind the pub are off to South Africa for six months soon. They might be willing to rent to such a nice tenant.’

  ‘That would be a good idea, Muriel, wouldn’t it? Which one is it, Jimbo?’

  ‘Number three.’

  Harriet suggested ringing up Ralph to tell him about the cottage.

  ‘I mustn’t presume to ring him up,’ Muriel demurred. ‘I don’t really know him very well. No, I won’t ring.’

  ‘Well, if you do decide to ring, come here and use our phone. Don’t use the public one – it’s always so smelly.’

  ‘I’ll put some money by the phone if I do use it.’ Muriel left in haste to avoid being persuaded.

  ‘Now who’s playing at Charity Hall?’ Jimbo said from the ladder.

  ‘This is a good cause. In fact, a very good cause. I’ve half a mind to have another dinner party. What excuse could I think up?’

  ‘Too late, Caroline’s already arranging one. She has the date to fix, that’s all. She’s planning the menu with me ’cos she’s no time to cook herself at the moment.’

  ‘Who’s she inviting?’

  ‘Yours truly, “Moo” and “Ralphie”, Liz and Neville, and you if you behave yourself.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘Come here and I’ll show you.’

  He leant down from the ladder, clutched hold of Harriet’s hair, turned her face up towards his and began a lingering kiss which would have lasted much longer if Muriel hadn’t come in and interrupted.

  ‘Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m so sorry. I left the card on the counter. I’ll be off now.’ She hastened out covered in embarrassment.

  ‘Tell you what, a good kiss like that is just what Muriel needs. It wouldn’t half widen her horizons.’

  ‘Jimbo, not everyone is sex-mad like you.’

  ‘N . o . o . o . o . o . ?’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be fun if the two of them got married?’

  ‘Getting like a typical villager you are, a finger in every pie.’

  ‘I shall pull the stepladder away in a minute.’

  ‘Don’t you dare! How is the menu for that Twenty-first coming along?’

  ‘Not too good. The mother likes everything I’ve listed but the son wants something less traditional. I’m waiting to see who wins. There’s another two weeks yet.’

  The door burst open and in dashed Linda. ‘Sorry I’m a bit late, roadworks for miles. Have you been busy?’

  ‘No. The birthday-card order came in first thing and there’s a big envelope of instructions from the post office. It could take all morning, working out what they mean. Something about changes in procedure to make things simpler but it looks a lot more complicated to me.’

  ‘Thank you, Jimbo. Just what I need on a Monday morning.’

  Linda’s first customer was Sharon McDonald.

  ‘Ten first-class stamps, please, and be quick. I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Have you got the right money? I haven’t unlocked the till yet.’

  ‘No. That’s all I’ve got.’ She handed Linda a five-pound note.

  ‘Rightio then, half a mo.’ Linda got the keys from Jimbo’s pocket, unlocked the till and to
re off the stamps.

  ‘There yer go, Sharon. Ten first-class stamps and two pounds sixty change.’

  ‘And then some.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You gave me a five-pound note, the stamps cost two pounds forty, and I’ve given you two pounds sixty change.’

  ‘I gave you a ten-pound note – you know I did. Come on, Linda, pocketing the takings, are you? Nice little earner if it comes off. Jimbo, this Linda of yours is lining her pockets.’

  Jimbo strode across the store, his moustache positively bristling. ‘That’s not a very nice accusation, Sharon. In any case I know exactly how much we leave in the till ready for the day so I can count the notes and tell you what you gave.’

  Linda tried to signal a message to Jimbo which, in his annoyance, he failed to interpret.

  He sprang open the till and realised that it had not been cleared on the Saturday night, so he couldn’t prove anything. He made a pretence of counting up and said, ‘Well, by the looks of it the customer’s always right. Here you are Sharon, another five pounds.’

  ‘You’ve been caught with your fingers in the till, haven’t you, Linda?’

  ‘It was a genuine mistake. I’m very sorry.’

  ‘So you should be. Don’t try it on with me again. It might work with the old bats collecting their pensions, but it won’t wash with me.’ Sharon bounced out of the shop, her high heels click-clacking on the red tiles.

  Linda was very upset.

  ‘Mr Charter-Plackett, I know, I positively know she gave me a five-pound note.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Linda. I know she did, too, but I couldn’t prove it. It was my fault – I forgot to clear the till on Saturday when you were away. It won’t happen again, I can assure you. Don’t let her upset you, she isn’t worth it.’

  ‘She’s so rude. One day she’ll get her comeuppance.’

  Chapter 16

  The police sergeant had never really given up on the murder of Toria Clark. As he said to his wife, his gut reaction was that it was someone local, so he wasn’t surprised when he saw what Jimmy Glover brought into the station one day. The sergeant had been watching the news on the television and, through the open door, been keeping half an eye open on the station desk. That was one of the advantages of having the police station and his own home all in the same building.

  ‘Now then, Jimmy, what’s this?’

  ‘A rounders bat, Sergeant. Found it hid behind the Methodist Chapel in that long grass that never gets cut. I’ve handled it careful, like, on account of there being blood on it, like they does on the telly.’

  ‘And what were you doing messing about behind the chapel? Not you been stealing the Scout money, is it?’

  ‘I don’t steal from the church. That’s lower than low, that is. I was wandering along enjoying the sunshine and decided to sit down on that low wall that’s all that’s left of the old boiler-house. There it was, tucked down in the corner. Thought your men had searched every inch?’

  ‘We did. I’ll enter this incident in my book and pass it on to forensic. Thank you for being so alert and spotting it, Jimmy.’

  ‘I liked that Toria Clark. She allus had a kind word for me, which is more than some people I could mention. If this is what killed her, perhaps it’ll help you find who did it.’

  ‘What’s that hidden in your coat, Jimmy?’

  ‘Never you mind. I’m off.’

  ‘Hope you haven’t been poaching, old son?’

  ‘I have not.’ Jimmy was indignant but could not meet his eye. The sergeant laughed. He hadn’t been the village bobby for twenty years without knowing about Jimmy Glover’s noctural activities.

  The rounders bat proved to be the murder weapon all right, but there were no fingerprints on it. Mr Palmer had checked the rounders bats on the night of the murder but had forgotten that Toria had brought her own to school until the office had supplied a spare. That had meant there were two in the stock book but three on the premises.

  This find supplied the regulars of The Royal Oak with further fuel for their small talk.

  ‘Here, Betty, you heard Jimmy’s found the murder weapon?’

  ‘Yes I have, Willie. Just wish them lazy beggars ’ud find the murderer. We pays their wages, it’s time they got off their backsides and earned ’em instead of catching me for speeding last week.’

  ‘Now, Betty, they ’as tried, can’t say they haven’t. They questioned every living person for miles around. It was made more difficult with it being Stocks Day – there was that many strangers hereabouts. If it’d been an ordinary day, there would have been only a tenth that number about. Seems funny to me that whoever it was knew where to find the rounders bat. Makes me think it’s someone local.’

  ‘Local? For heaven’s sake, Willie, don’t put the wind up us all.’

  ‘Stands to reason. If you never went to the village school, how would you know where to lay your hands on a rounders bat? Especially if you were worked up.’

  ‘Just think, there’s someone here in this village who might be coming into this bar night after night and they’ve got that on their conscience. They might strike again.’

  ‘Well, Betty, you’d better not make too many enemies. Yer never know, it might be you next.’

  Jimmy Glover laughed at the prospect. ‘Fat chance they’d have of killing Betty. It’d take more than a rounders bat to see her off.’

  ‘Here you, Jimmy, just mind yer manners or I’ll turf you out.’

  The bar burst into corporate laughter. ‘Watch out, Jimmy. She’ll be clasping you to her bosom next and out you’ll go.’

  ‘Cor, it’d be worth it, though, eh?’ someone well out of Betty’s reach shouted.

  The door opened and everyone’s attention was taken by the man who entered.

  Jimmy shouted, ‘Well, if it isn’t Ralphie! I’d heard you were about. How do you do, Ralphie, remember me?’

  Ralph held out his hand in greeting. ‘Why, it’s Jimmy Glover! How are you, Jimmy? I’d know you anywhere.’

  ‘I’m fine, how are you?’

  ‘In the pink. What are you drinking?’

  ‘Best bitter. Thank you.’

  ‘Best bitter and a double whisky, please, landlord.’

  Mac attended to his order and welcomed Ralph to the bar. ‘I hear you’re thinking of coming to live in the village, sir?’

  ‘I am indeed. I’m hoping Jimmy here will be able to put me up for a while.’

  Jimmy’s head jerked up. ‘Eh, what was that?’

  ‘Only joking, Jimmy. Come and sit over here and we’ll talk about old times.’ They sat at the corner table Ralph had chosen and enjoyed an hour’s chat. The rest of the bar marvelled at the sight of smelly Jimmy being made a fuss of by such a personage as the son of a past Lord of the Manor.

  Finally, Ralph rose to go. ‘I’m off to see if Muriel will come in for a drink, Jimmy. I’d ask you to join us if you were a bit, shall we say – tidier? I’ll be back shortly.’

  Muriel answered the knock at the door wearing an old jumper and skirt she’d put on to do her gardening earlier in the day.

  ‘Oh dear, I wasn’t expecting visitors.’

  ‘I’ve come to ask you to join me in a drink at The Royal Oak. How about it, Moo?’

  ‘I’ve never been in the bar before. I don’t really think I could, anyway I’m not dressed properly. I’ve got my old gardening skirt on.’

  ‘Well, pop upstairs and get changed. I’ll wait here.’

  ‘Shall I? Perhaps another night.’

  ‘Don’t turn down the chance of an hour on the tiles. Please come.’

  ‘Very well then. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  Ralph waited, sitting in the most comfortable armchair in the room, while Muriel dithered about upstairs deciding what to wear. Should she put a touch of that lipstick on that Caroline gave her for Jimbo’s dinner party, or would Ralph prefer her without? Which shoes should she wear – her 1960s court shoes or her Clark’s walking shoes? Oh dear, oh dear. All
these decisions when what she had originally planned was to simply collapse in front of the television and watch that nice play.

  Ralph stood as she came down the little spiral staircase.

  ‘Come along then, we’ll give the bar a big surprise.’

  He chatted to her as they strolled through the village, knowing full well she was feeling apprehensive. Sure enough, the company fell silent as they walked in through the door. Miss Hipkin in the pub, whatever next? Jimmy had disappeared.

  Muriel allowed Ralph to choose where to sit, and what she should drink.

  ‘’Evening, Muriel.’ ‘’Evening, Miss Hipkin.’ She nodded to them all, hoping she wasn’t as red in the face as she felt. Why did she never have the courage to face new situations?

  Ralph put her Snowball down on the little mat and sat beside her. ‘You have nothing to fear, you know. You’re with me and I have been in bars all over the world so I know what’s what.’

  ‘Have you really been all over the world, Ralphie?’

  ‘Not far off. You get sent to all the worst places when you first start in the Foreign Office and then once you’ve proved yourself and you have a few strokes of luck, like being in the right place at the right time, you find yourself in the better places. Rome was my favourite, I think.’

  ‘Have you been to Rome? Oh, I would love to go there! I always feel it’s larger than life.’

  ‘That’s a good way of describing it. “Larger than life” – yes, I like that.’

  Sharon came into the bar, having been press-ganged by her mother into clearing the tables. She went round languidly picking up empty glasses and limply wiping up any spills.

  ‘Our Sharon, look lively! I need those glasses pronto.’

  She queezed between the tables and stopped by theirs. ‘Finished, ’ave yer?’

  Ralph looked up at her. ‘Neither Miss Hipkin nor I have finished, as you can well see.’

  ‘All right, all right, keep your shirt on, only trying to help. Surprise seeing you in the bar, Muriel. First time in yer life, I reckon.’

  Ralph showed his anger by snapping, ‘Miss Hipkin to you, if you don’t mind, young lady,’

  ‘Miss Hipkin then, Sir Ralph. She’ll need more than a Snowball to get her going, yer know. A stiff whisky would do better.’