Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) Read online

  Teeth clenched, Caroline ground out, ‘I can’t believe it of her.’

  ‘She might not come.’

  ‘She will. She wants to see them.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be that thoughtless.’

  Caroline looked him straight in the eye. ‘You know that for certain, do you?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Having sex with her doesn’t mean you know her mind. Her mind, at the time, was the last thing you thought of.’

  ‘Caroline!’

  ‘You don’t like the truth about this matter, do you, Peter?’

  Peter didn’t answer immediately. He tried to pick his words very carefully, striving not to distress her any more than need be. ‘I’m sorry. Of course I don’t know her mind, but I would imagine that at the last moment she will decide not to come.’

  ‘You told me she begged to see them that time when she thought we were on holiday and you were saying prayers in the church and she came across you by chance. Remember? It’s only natural. Any mother would. I would. But then, I wouldn’t have given my own children away. Never. Understand? Never.’

  Caroline lay back in her chair, her eyes shut, trying to bear the pain without flinching. Peter leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands in front of him. ‘You’ve always valued the generosity of her spirit, giving us the children. It was what we both wanted, don’t forget that. Both of us. We’ve had twelve years of happiness caring for them. Surely we owe her something for that? One glimpse. That’s all. In twelve years.’

  Caroline leapt to her feet. ‘Just whose side are you on?’

  ‘Yours, of course, it goes without saying.’

  ‘Her own girls will be leaving home shortly. Maybe she needs to fill the gap? She’s not having them. She’s not.’

  ‘No way. She can’t have them. In any case, they won’t want her.’

  ‘We don’t know what their reaction might be.’

  ‘I do. They’ll be staying here. Believe me.’

  Caroline went to the window. She stood staring out at the darkening sky, daring herself to think of Peter and that woman making Alex and Beth. ‘How could you do it to me? Have sex with her on a whim?’

  ‘I can never find the words to apologize. There are no words big enough.’ He went up to stand behind her, his arms around her waist. ‘Shall I write and ask her not to come?’

  Caroline asked, ‘Do you have her address, then? You haven’t been in touch all this time, have you?’ He felt shocked by the accusative tone in her voice.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘I hope not.’

  ‘Kate will know it. Obviously.’

  Caroline studied his suggestion and dismissed it. ‘No. That would be pathetic. We can’t do that. Hold me tight. Tighter than that.’ They stood there for quite a while, each lost in thought, watching the sky darken to night.

  It was Peter who broke the silence. ‘Time for bed.’ He released her. ‘The two of us, together, can cope, you know.’

  ‘I’m so damned jealous.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘That in one wild moment, she was able to give you children and I, who love you so, can never. And,’ she added, so softly he could scarcely hear her, ‘I’m jealous of the passion you shared.’

  This statement humbled Peter more than anything she’d ever said before about this situation. All he could think to say was, ‘But we share passion, you and I.’

  She was standing so close to him that he could feel her slight nod. ‘Yes, we do.’

  Caroline made no offer to move so they stood, his hands on her shoulders, staring out at the night sky. ‘Don’t write. She can come. I’m not saying I shall be able to manage to speak to her, because I can’t even say her name out loud, but the twins should see her. After all, I’m so lucky. Not only do I have the children, I have you, so by comparison I am doubly more blessed than she. But it still hurts. Very badly indeed. I’m dreading the day. Should we tell the children of the possibility?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘Nearer the time, maybe.’

  ‘Alex will be angry. Beth will be curious about her.’

  ‘Perhaps. We just don’t know.’ He bent his head and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘Love you.’

  ‘She won’t want them, of course she won’t, I’m being ridiculous.’

  ‘She can’t anyway. They’re ours by law.’

  ‘You’re right, I’m not being ridiculous, just normal.’ She caressed his hand where it lay on her shoulder.

  ‘Absolutely.’ Peter went to bed, leaving Caroline to follow when she was ready.

  Was there never to be an end to this problem? She rather thought not. The children didn’t appear to be any different since they’d known about their natural mother, seen her photograph, talked about her, but that was seeing an image. What might happen when they saw the real thing? In flesh and blood, moving, speaking, smiling, and heard her, watched her, touched her? Caroline shuddered. If it had never happened, if they’d never come here, if he’d never seen her, their lives would be so . . . barren now. And that was the crux of the matter. She was barren. Caroline clutched at her stomach and could have torn the offending organ out with her bare hands she was so angry; this place where babies should grow.

  Taking in a deep breath and determining not to rail against something that couldn’t be changed, she turned her thoughts to Alex and Beth. For their sakes she had to be brave about this situation, to appear in control of herself and to sound pleased they were having this opportunity to meet their mother, even if she was writhing with anguish inside.

  She stayed by the window, looking out at the village, loving every cottage, every tree, every blade of grass and wondering when they might have to leave. They couldn’t stay here for ever, that wasn’t the course Peter’s calling would follow. One day they’d have to go, and she might be able to put all this behind her. If he did get a call to go elsewhere, she would welcome it. He’d spoken briefly about leading a church project in Africa. She’d go with him willingly if he got the chance, but for the moment she still had her problems in Turnham Malpas to face. And Peter to face too.

  Caroline sighed, turned from the window, checked Peter had closed windows, locked doors, and went up to look at the children before she went into the bathroom. Alex was laid on his back, arms outflung, fast asleep. She bent to kiss him and thought for the millionth time how like Peter he was. In Beth’s room she stumbled over some books flung on the floor by her just before she fell asleep. Beth was curled foetus-like, her fair hair tousled, eyelids fluttering as though she dreamed. So like Suzy.

  When she entered their own bedroom she looked straight at Peter. He was fast asleep. He was lying on his front, his head turned to the right, both his arms straight down by his sides, the duvet pushed down around his waist. She slipped quietly into bed and rested a hand on his bare back to enjoy feeling him breathing. She smoothed her hand across his shoulders, ran her finger down his spine, sensed him stir slightly, and loved the strength of him, physical and spiritual. His skin felt chilled so she pulled the duvet up over his back and tucked herself in at the side of him. Close up, warm and safe. Nothing and no one could take this away from her. Whatever storms life might throw at her, she was secure with him, and just for a moment she felt triumphant. Suzy might have given birth to his children but she hadn’t got them – or him. They all belonged to Caroline Harris, who hadn’t enough words in her vocabulary to describe how much she loved them.

  In Turnham House Kate and Craddock were discussing the situation at the Rectory.

  ‘I am so glad you told me. I’d no idea. Absolutely no one has even hinted at it.’

  Craddock put down his glass of whisky. ‘They’ve all been tight as clams about it once they all knew.’

  ‘Amazing how they can keep secrets when they want to. But Peter, falling to temptation like that? It’s hard to believe.’

  ‘How about poor Caroline?’

  ‘She must be . . .
well . . . I don’t know what to say. She must be so lovely in her heart, so totally Christian to have forgiven him.’

  ‘One assumes she has. But then, when we did that play, “Dark Rapture”, she very nearly ran off with someone else.’ He related the whole story to Kate and she was shocked.

  ‘Well, well, is there anything else I ought to know?’

  Craddock smiled. ‘No, that’s enough for tonight, except to say Mrs Bliss’s cottage is finished and she’s out gardening, which is good. And,’ he puffed a cloud of smoke into the air, ‘I’ve given my land agent a long list of repairs for Little Derehams.’

  Kate leapt to her feet and went to kneel in front of him. ‘That’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased you’ve decided to listen to them. That protest the other night frightened me to death.’ She kissed him. ‘You taste disgustingly of whisky and smoke.’

  ‘Would you rather I didn’t smoke? I’ll stop if you wish.’

  ‘No, don’t. You smoke with such style, it’s really very sexy.’

  ‘Sexy? My God! How do you make that out?’

  Kate had to laugh, he seemed so horrified. ‘I don’t know, it just is.’

  ‘Well, I never. Time for bed. I’ve an early start. Am I earning respect, do you think, by doing all these repairs and whatnot in Little Derehams? Is that what you want?’

  ‘It will go a long way towards changing their attitude to you, believe me. Bed, now, before you get carried away with self-satisfaction.’

  ‘Me? Self-satisfied? Never!’

  Chapter 13

  Maggie Dobbs left school by five o’clock, went home, made herself a cup of tea and sat with her feet up on her little coffee table to contemplate the school anniversary weekend. When she thought of the work entailed she could have cried. All them feet tramping across her clean floors and people leaving rubbish. It simply wasn’t fair. She wondered if she should ask for extra money for working overtime. After all, she wasn’t a charity, was she? By the time it was all finished she guessed she’d have put in ten hours and then some.

  Tonight they’d all be expecting a seance and she hadn’t yet plucked up the courage to tell them she wasn’t doing it any more. Her plan was to lock up, something she rarely did, and keep quiet upstairs till they’d all knocked and given up and gone home. Then she’d have to say sorry, she’d forgotten all about it and wouldn’t be doing it again. Wild horses couldn’t make her.

  Tabitha leapt on to her knee and settled down to sleep, purring like a coffee mill. She was a good friend was Tabitha. In fact, when she thought about it, she was the best friend any woman could have. Not counting Dave. Maggie rubbed behind Tabitha’s ears, ran her hand all the way down her back from her head to the very end of her tail, gave some time to thinking about Dave and then lifted Tabitha on to the floor and, springing to her feet, said to herself that she’d have to tell them.

  But leaping up from her rocking chair, intending to go, was as far as she got. After all, old Fitch was still here. He hadn’t died. She wasn’t a real medium; Angie Turner happened to win on the lottery by chance and it was a happy coincidence that Mrs Jones had had a letter from their Terry. She’d let anyone come, half the village if they wanted to, and she’d give them the night of their lives. She cleaned her living room at the speed of light, wiped the black vase with the dishcloth, blew the dust from the black tulips, put them in the vase and placed it in the middle of her gleaming oak table, collected the chairs together from the bedroom and the kitchen, rushed upstairs and washed her face, and in a rush of enthusiasm her hair too, and changed her dress. Her resolve wobbled while using the hairdryer but she pulled herself together when she thought about the money in Dave’s fairground jug.

  She’d do her trance rather than the Ouija because she had control over that. She burned the last incense stick from a bundle her cousin Joanne had given her years ago and wafted her arms about to spread the smell, ate a hasty sandwich in the kitchen because she didn’t want any nasty food smells spoiling the incense, and finally sat down at five minutes to nine to await her guests.

  She wasn’t disappointed. It was a good thing she wasn’t doing the Ouija wine glass because there wouldn’t have been a glass big enough to accommodate all their fingers.

  ‘Not the Ouija board? We had such a good time with that. My heart didn’t stop beating for ages after last week,’ said Greta Jones.

  Maggie replied, ‘I should hope it didn’t or you’d be dead.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’ Mrs Jones sat down on her favourite chair.

  Every seat was occupied. The Senior sisters arrived, eager with anticipation, plumped themselves side by side at the table, stuffed their five-pound notes into Dave’s jug and waited breathlessly for the seance to begin. Venetia arrived in a whirl, spreading waves of cloying perfume that almost drowned the incense. Sheila Bissett also came, in what she thought was an appropriate gypsy-type outfit more suited to the occasion than her usual glitzy clothes. But the paisley scarf she wore on her head only made her look as though she was about to clean the house from top to bottom. Maggie suppressed a giggle.

  Angie Turner arrived last. ‘Oh no! I thought it might be the Ouija board.’

  ‘Well, it isn’t. I’m giving it a rest. Sorry.’

  ‘My friend’s just coming.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were bringing someone.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind. It’s Linda Crimble; she’s been before.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right.’

  Finally they were all seated. Maggie settled her mind, closed her eyes and waited just long enough to make them impatient.

  Linda said then, ‘Just a minute, we’ve forgotten to draw the curtains.’ Being the nearest she got up to close them. Just as Maggie got going again, Sheila remembered she hadn’t got her handkerchief with her and got up to dig in her handbag for one. Maggie began again and this time there was a knock at the door. Everyone jumped. Thinking it would be another person for the seance, Maggie shouted, ‘Come in,’ before remembering the door was locked, so Sheila got up again to open it. There, on the doorstep, was Muriel Templeton, chirpy and happy as usual, with that special look of innocence she always wore.

  ‘Oh hello, Sheila. I’ve called to collect Maggie’s charity envelope. I left it last week.’ She had her charity badge secured to her cardigan, and a leather bag into which she was putting the envelopes.

  ‘Lady Templeton! Right, I’ll ask Maggie.’ She half closed the door so Muriel couldn’t quite see in, whispering, ‘Where is it, Maggie?’

  ‘Behind the clock.’

  But before Sheila could find it in the dark, Muriel pushed the door open again and came in. Reassuringly she said, ‘If you can’t find it I do have some spare ones in my bag.’ Through the gloom she spotted faces she knew. ‘Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were having a meeting. Is this something I should be attending? I’ve completely forgotten if it is. But I could always collect the envelopes another evening.’

  She stood in the doorway smiling brightly while Sheila shuffled through the various pieces of paper Maggie had stored behind her clock. ‘Ah! Here it is. All ready for you, Muriel.’

  Apart from Sheila, none of them uttered a word. Maggie was dumbstruck, sitting foolishly with her head resting against the back of her chair, her mouth as wide open as her eyes. The others were paralysed with embarrassment. Muriel looked smilingly from one to the other, waiting for a reply, but none answered her and Sheila was obviously anxious to close the door again. So she stepped out on to the road and left them to it.

  Maggie came back to life and said firmly, ‘Lock it! Lock it! If anyone else knocks, we’ll take no notice.’

  A sigh of relief went around the table. Maggie strove to recapture her mood but found it hard. God! They’d all be wanting their five-pound notes back. She dropped her head forward and tried once again.

  Slowly, she began moving her head, first right back, then circling round so her head dropped on her chest, then round and round. The groaning
began, the howling started and she was away. ‘Who’s there?’ she called. ‘Who’s there?’

  Apart from the small reading lamp on the table by the hearth with the red cover over the shade, there was no other light, not even from the grate still piled with the logs Maggie had put there at the start of the warm weather. If anything, the strange reddish light was more spooky than the flames, and several guests shivered.

  Maggie said ‘Evadne?’ Her voice rose almost an octave and they all thought she really was away this time and it was going to be a good night.

  ‘Oh God!’ Mrs Jones whispered to herself. ‘Not Evadne.’

  In Evadne’s sepulchural voice Maggie said, ‘Whose mind is troubled tonight? There’s someone here afraid and anxious. No? Then it’s someone close by. Very troubled. Ve . . . Ve . . .’

  Venetia whispered, ‘It’s not me.’

  ‘It’ll be Vera,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Evadne’ continued to moan. ‘He dices with death. He’s so very close. Welcome! Welcome to you!’

  Linda trembled. ‘Does that mean Don’s just died?’

  ‘Oh God! I hope not.’

  Then Maggie’s voice changed again. ‘Is that all you have to tell us?’

  Back in Evadne’s voice she replied, ‘I’m going now to welcome him. Au revoir!’ Her voice floated up half an octave and Maggie waved goodbye, her white hand glowing pink in the red light from the lamp.

  Linda smothered a shriek.

  The Senior sisters held hands.

  Angie Turner’s face went a strange shade of greenish white. ‘Do you suppose Don really has just died? Is that what it means?’

  Sheila Bissett asked in a high-pitched voice if she should get Ron to get the car out and go to the nursing home to tell Vera?

  One of the Senior sisters said, ‘No, no. We mustn’t. It may not be true.’

  Angry that they doubted Maggie’s word, Angie said, ‘Of course we must tell her. It’s only right. It’ll be true. What about my win on the lottery?’