Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 3

  By twenty minutes to nine Tom Nicholls had his ear to one of the panels of the vestry door listening to the Rector and Willie talking. The door was too thick for him to make sense of what they said, and in any case he remembered there was no need to sneak about, not like he used to have to do. When they paused he tapped on the door.

  ‘Come in!’

  Tom snapped the door open and entered in his usual get-up-and-go style. Peter looked up at him from behind his desk. ‘Good morning, Tom, take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ As he seated himself Tom hitched his trousers at the knee forgetting he was wearing his country scruff outfit. This consisted of a tweed hacking jacket, which had seen better days, fawn cavalry twill trousers, which had also seen better days, a tweed cap at an angle which could only be described as breezy, and well-polished brown oxfords. They were a bit out of kilter with his clothes but he couldn’t abide dirty shoes. His shoulders were too narrow for his height and this made him appear much taller than he was. He had a long pale hollow-cheeked face, and when he took off his cap from his high domed head, a thick covering of larger than life gingery hair was exposed. He put up his hand to tidy his moustache, forgetting he’d shaved it off just before he came to the village. Old habits die hard, he’d have to watch himself.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Tom. I’ve read your letter but I need more details than you’ve put in it. I must be quite frank, yours is the only application and whilst Willie here is prepared to carry on until a replacement is found I’m anxious to find someone soon, even if it’s only temporary. I have to confess I’m somewhat surprised to receive an application from you. It doesn’t seem quite your line of country, if you see what I mean.’

  ‘Hit the nail on the head, Rector, but I’ve decided on a change of lifestyle. Spent too many years dashing here and dashing there, buying this, selling that, and it’s time I gave up this entrepreneurial lark and did something more worthwhile. Something where I can get job satisfaction. So, if you’ll have me, I’m giving all that up. Evie agrees “Tom,” she said “I –”’

  ‘This might sound like an impertinence when I’ve known you for, what is it, three years now? but I must ask, have you any references? A formality, you know.’

  ‘I have. Indeed I have.’ Out of the inside pocket of his old tweed jacket he pulled two spanking new envelopes. Handing them across the desk to Peter he said, ‘You’ll be well satisfied with those, I can tell you. Tom Nicholls can always find people willing to testify on his behalf.’

  Peter opened the envelopes and studied what they said. He handed them to Willie, who read them with a little less belief than Peter had. Willie, having promised himself he’d leave the interview to the Rector, changed his mind and decided to speak up. ‘It’s unrelenting work, yer know. Locking up, unlocking, day after day. Security’s very important nowadays, more’s the pity. Sometimes we have bookings back to back for the hall and they all expect it to be just how they want it. Used day and night it seems, some days. Would you be prepared for that? It’s very tying.’

  ‘Evie’s very amenable. If I got called away, which isn’t likely, she’d stand in, very capable is Evie, she always says –’

  Peter interrupted with ‘If I did agree to recommend you to the Church Council they would have the last word. I can’t appoint you without their approval. Why not have a look around with Willie, let him explain what has to be done, then see how you feel? We’ll meet again at two, here, this afternoon and have another talk. The job is very much concerned with integrity, you know, Tom. There’s things you will be privy to which must not be divulged, like people wanting to get married secretly, or a conversation you unwittingly overhear. The big plus in your favour is that you are, and always have been since you came here, a regular communicant. Nothing less would be permitted.’

  Tom fidgeted self-consciously. ‘Thank you, Rector. I’ll be pleased to go around with Willie, have a look, get the lowdown on things. I just hope that in the future should I have any queries, which I’m sure I shall, Willie will give me the benefit of his experience. He must be a fount of knowledge. That is if I get the job.’ Tom smiled at them both, that disarming smile they’d come to like. You couldn’t help but like Tom: there was that something about him which drew on your sympathy: in a trice you were on his side, and you couldn’t understand how it had come about. ‘And I’m good with people as you know. Old and young. I’ve changed since I came to this village. I don’t know what it is about it but it kind of gets you in its grip and makes you want to be, well, noble. Must be all that history which hits you in the face every morning the minute you open your eyes. Brings out the best in you, kind of. That’s how I feel anyway.’ Tom stood up. ‘Shall we be off then, Willie? Let the Rector get off to Penny Fawcett like he always does on Monday mornings. There, you see? I’m getting into my stride already!’

  Willie put down his cup, wiped his mouth and said, ‘Question is, is he the man for the job? I can’t decide. What do you think, Sylvia?’

  ‘Oh! I like Tom. You can’t help yourself, and he’s always ready for a laugh. More tea?’

  ‘Yes, please. You see, I’m a steady chap not always gallivanting off, but he’s always off here, there, everywhere, whatever opportunity comes up. How he’s going to settle to a rigid timetable, I’ll never know. Look at Wednesdays. I’m backwards and forwards all day with one thing and another and it’s eleven before I can lock up, nearer midnight sometimes. He reckons he’s changed, but I don’t think he’s going to settle for that. I’m ready for my pud.’

  ‘Last of the strawberries. Ice cream?’

  Willie shook his head. ‘It’ll be nice to have more time for the garden. I’ve often fancied growing asparagus.’

  ‘Then grow it you shall. I’ve no idea how to cook it, but I can soon look it up. If he’s not right for the job it won’t need an Act of Parliament to oust him, will it, so don’t worry yourself.’ Sylvia put a dish of fat ruby red strawberries in front of him, fresh from the garden that afternoon, sprinkled with sugar more than an hour ago so it was melting and making juice in the bottom of the dish. Fit for a king, she thought. ‘Get yourself outside that lot and stop fretting and leave it to the Rector.’

  Not long after Willie had slipped out to unlock the church hall for an evening meeting, Sylvia heard a tap on her back door. When she opened it she found Alex and Beth standing there. A broad smile lit her face, she held wide her arms and they both ran into them and she held them close to her.

  ‘My little darlings!’ They hugged and kissed her and she hugged and kissed them, and then she stood back to admire them. ‘Well, well, what a nice surprise. Does Mummy know you’re here?’

  There came a slight pause before they answered, but then they said confidently that, yes, Mummy knew, and could they come in?

  Sylvia ushered them into the kitchen and asked, ‘Either of you ready for a drink?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  She bustled about getting them drinks and they seated themselves at the table and without speaking drank their orange. Sylvia, her heart melting with love for them, knew she’d have to go back to the Rectory, like it or not: she just couldn’t miss out on their company any longer. She’d never have another chance at having substitute grandchildren and she might as well face the fact that that was what they were.

  Beth wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and said, ‘Sylvie! How’s Willie?’

  ‘He’s very well, thank you.’

  Alex asked, ‘And how are you, Sylvie?’

  ‘I’m very well too.’

  ‘Don’t you miss seeing us every day?’

  ‘Well, Alex, yes, I do.’

  Beth said, ‘We miss you. Are you looking after some different children now?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m glad, because you belong to us and other children wouldn’t be the same, would they?’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t, Beth.’

  Alex finished his drink and wiping his mouth on his handkerchief said, ‘I expe
ct like Mummy said now Mr Biggs is retiring you want more time to spend with him, going out and things.’

  ‘Well, it would be nice.’ She guessed what this was leading up to and felt angry that Caroline had permitted them to come to ask her back instead of asking her herself.

  ‘I expect we shall have to learn to do without you.’ Beth struggled to get her handkerchief from the pocket of her shorts. ‘Mummy’s a doctor again now and it being the school holidays … And we don’t want any mouldy old person looking after us, do we, Alex? We want you!’ Fat tears rolled down her sweet rounded cheeks and she brushed them away with her handkerchief, but they wouldn’t stop coming. Leaping from her chair she flung her arms around Sylvia’s shoulders and wept.

  ‘There, there, Beth, don’t cry, I only live next door and you can come to see me as often as you like. In fact I could invite you to tea sometimes, couldn’t I?’

  Beth brightened up, lifted her head from Sylvia’s shoulder and said, ‘Really?’ Then cold reason made her see sense. ‘But it’s not quite the same, is it? I like it when you meet us from school and we sit in the kitchen at home and talk and things. Next to our mummy you’re my very best person. Except for my daddy, that is.’ Beth looked at her apologetically for adding that.

  Sylvia smiled and said, ‘But of course, that’s understood, it’s only right. I’m very proud to be third best.’

  Alex got up from his chair. ‘Come on, Beth, it’s no good. We’ll go.’ He tugged at Beth’s arm, took her handkerchief from her and wiped her eyes. ‘Come on. ’Bye, Sylvie. See you soon.’

  Beth put her hand in his hand and the two of them left the kitchen by the back door, wandering slowly down to the back gate like two lost souls. Sylvia watched them, remembering how many times she’d ironed those red shorts and the red and white shirt Alex was wearing and how she’d had to mend the split in Beth’s shorts because they were her favourites and she couldn’t bear to throw them away. And that little T-shirt Beth was wearing was the one Willie had chosen for her when he and Sylvia had taken a holiday in Spain last year; sunny yellow with a wavy white stripe, it really suited Beth’s fair colouring.

  The two dear little things. It was no good. She’d have to go back: she’d accused Caroline of almost breaking their hearts and here she was doing the very same thing all because of anger and pride. First thing tomorrow she’d go next door and ask for her job back. Yes, definitely she would.

  Sylvia didn’t tell Willie what she intended because if they didn’t want her back she’d look a right fool and she wasn’t having that. But school holidays! Just how would those children cope, passed about everywhere? That mustn’t be allowed to happen.

  Sylvia had had a key for the front door all the time she’d worked at the Rectory but, of course, now she hadn’t and she wasn’t sure if knocking on the front door was quite the right thing to be doing in the circumstances: it made it all official like and one thing she didn’t want was the Rector answering the door and taking her into the study. No, she preferred the kitchen and as it was Tuesday Caroline would most likely be around.

  The back door was standing open when she got there so Sylvia called out, ‘Helloooo! Anyone at home?’

  Chang and Tonga, the two cats, came out of their basket and condescended to weave around her legs mewing. Well, at least the cats remembered her. No one was about so she called out again, ‘Helloooo! It’s only me.’

  The door from the hall opened and there was Caroline. A short silence followed and then Caroline greeted her: ‘Why, Sylvia, how nice. Do come in. I was just going to make coffee for Peter, would you like some? Do you have time?’

  ‘That would be nice. Thank you.’

  ‘Do sit down.’ But Sylvia remained standing, uncertain and nervous.

  They were silent while Caroline filled the kettle and got out the mugs. Sylvia had almost offered to make it, but thought better of it. Take things steadily, she reminded herself.

  With her back to her Caroline said, ‘Lovely long summer we’re having, aren’t we?

  ‘Yes, we are. We could do with some rain for the garden though.’

  ‘We could, you’re right. The pleasure of watering it every evening soon palls.’

  ‘It does. Your roses are looking wonderful.’

  ‘I’ve really made an effort with them this year, pruned them back hard and fed them well. Here we are. I’ll just take this to Peter, won’t be a moment. Please, do sit down.’

  ‘Where are the …’ but Caroline had gone. Perhaps they’d manage better if the issue wasn’t clouded by Alex and Beth being around. When she came back Caroline sat opposite her at the table. They sipped their coffee without speaking. Well, the silence couldn’t go on for ever so Sylvia cleared her throat and said, ‘Are you serious about getting Mr Fitch to change his mind? About the hedge?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I am. It’s tantamount to sacrilege to destroy such a wonderful old piece of village history.’

  Sylvia hadn’t seen it quite like that but she agreed it was. All went quiet again and Sylvia knew she must brace herself and come to the point. She flushed bright red and then out it all came in a rush. ‘I was wondering what arrangements you had made for the school holidays. For the children, I mean.’

  ‘Patchy at best.’

  ‘I see.’

  Caroline looked directly at her and said, ‘What have you come to say? Something special?’

  Sylvia shifted uneasily in her chair. ‘If you can forgive me …’

  Head down so her face was hidden Caroline didn’t answer.

  ‘If you can forgive me and have me back I would be pleased.’

  Caroline still didn’t answer.

  ‘I should never have shouted at you nor deserted my job so abruptly. I can only say I’m very sorry.’ Was Caroline even listening to her? She really couldn’t tell. ‘I was so worried, you see, about you and the children. And the Rector, come to that. I thought you were going to leave them, you see, and I couldn’t bear it. We’d all been so happy.’

  Caroline’s head came up and Sylvia was appalled by the drained look of her face. ‘We were, weren’t we? If you will come back it will be such a relief to me. I just didn’t know what to do about you.’

  ‘Then I will. Three days, is it?’

  Caroline nodded. ‘That’s right. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, all day in the holidays, of course. But schooldays perhaps you could pop home for a couple of hours in the afternoon.’

  ‘Then you can rely on me. I shall be glad because seven days a week living hand in glove with Willie now he’s retiring … much as I love him, absence, you know. Doesn’t do to live too close, you lose the spark if you’re not careful.’

  Caroline stood up. ‘When shall you start?’

  ‘How about tomorrow? Eight o’clock?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sylvia smiled, warmed and thankful that peace had been restored between them.

  ‘Friends again then?’ Caroline came round the end of the table and stood in front of her.

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  ‘You’ve no idea how pleased I am. All water under the bridge. Eh?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll give you your key for the morning.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Tears came into Sylvia’s eyes as her fingers closed over the key that had been hers for so long. It still had her name on it so … ‘It’s the children, you know, I have missed them. I love them dearly.’

  ‘I know you do, and I’ve missed you. And thank you for coming to heal the breach between us, I’m so grateful, please believe me, I really am. It puts my mind completely at rest.’

  Chapter 3

  To get on to the estate land Muriel used the small gate at the back of the churchyard instead of walking all the way down Church Lane and in by the main gates. No one was supposed to take advantage of the short-cut, but this morning, somehow, it was all part of her defiance to do so. In any case Mr Fitch wouldn’t know, he scarcely ever used it as his short-cut to church because he hardly ever atte
nded.

  The morning was cloudy and chill, and a stiff breeze came up once she had left the shelter of the trees which ran along the church wall. Muriel was wearing a jacket and skirt, having decided that a skirt and cardigan would categorise her as a country woman, when this morning she couldn’t have felt less like one. She’d rehearsed her approach to him time and again, but knew full well that despite her preparations she would say the first thing that came into her head at the time. She’d have to tread softly: Mr Fitch was an intimidating man, and a head-on confrontation would be the last thing that would achieve her objective.

  The grounds were looking particularly beautiful this morning but then so they should for Mr Fitch spent thousands on their upkeep. Thousands more than Ralph would ever have been able to find. In the distance she could hear a mower swirling about cutting grass but here where she was it was peaceful. Into view came the Big House, amazingly immaculate, almost too immaculate: it rather took away from the ancient beauty of the building.

  She crossed the Tudor garden and reached the gravel laid to make a car park immediately in front of the house. How incongruous. Muriel, concentrate, she told herself. The huge ancient front door stood open, and Muriel walked straight in savouring the beauty of the door by trailing her fingers along the old weathered wood as she went.

  The receptionist recognised her. ‘Good morning, Lady Templeton. Mr Fitch is ready for you. I’ll take you straight through.’

  Muriel, though she knew which way to go, allowed the girl to lead her and inform Mr Fitch she’d arrived.

  He got up from behind his desk and came round to greet her. Taking her hand in his he didn’t shake it but held it between both his own, saying, ‘My dear Muriel, what a pleasure. May I offer coffee? No, don’t answer that. I have no other appointments this morning so I think we’ll be much more comfortable upstairs in my flat. Charlotte! Ring my housekeeper and tell her coffee for two immediately.’

  This morning he was dapper in the shining black shoes on his small feet, the light grey pinstripe suit, the white shirt, putting the seal on his efforts with a remarkable tie which, for some reason, reminded her of Isadora Thingummy who used to dance with scarves. He was still as lean as the day he arrived in the village though the hair was whiter than ever, and the blue eyes still as icy.