The New Rector (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Page 7

  Peter and Caroline were seated opposite Muriel, and on either side of her she had Suzy and Katherine. Next to Caroline was Lady Bissett, with Sir Ronald next to his wife. It seemed an unfortunate choice to have Sheila and Caroline together, but Harriet wasn’t to know they didn’t get on. Jimbo sat on one end, with Harriet and her mother at the other. In between were Michael Palmer and Liz and Neville Neal; Neville being Jimbo’s accountant.

  The food was unusual and quite superb, and by the time Muriel had chosen hazelnut meringue for her dessert she’d no idea how she would find room for it. Three different wines at one sitting had made her very talkative and the wine had also loosened the tongue of Lady Bissett.

  ‘We shall be very busy next weekend, shan’t we Ron … ald?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. We have Neil and Glenys coming for the weekend, you know.’

  Caroline stopped eating her zabaglione and, all innocence, asked: ‘Neil and Glenys? Should I know them?’

  ‘Of course you know Neil and Glenys Kinnock! He’s going to be the main speaker at the Labour Party rally in Culworth. We suggested they stayed with us – typical English country weekend and all that. Give them a chance to relax.’ Sir Ronald had answered her in all seriousness, but Lady Bissett guessed Caroline was being provocative.

  Peter gave Caroline a nudge but she ignored it, continuing: ‘I do hope there won’t be an overspill in the village, and that we shan’t be inundated with banners and marchers. I understand that the rally is quite crucial as far as the Party is concerned.’

  ‘No one will even know they’re here – it’s being kept secret. Well, the police know, of course. Thanks to his position in the Party they have to check out where Neil is.’

  ‘I see.’ Caroline put down her spoon and leaned over towards Lady Bissett, enquiring confidentially: ‘Do they have any particular quirks which Central Office have had to tell you about?’

  ‘Quirks? Certainly not. They’re very nice people.’ Lady Bissett turned to Peter. ‘We do hope that now you’re settled in here we shall soon be hearing the patter of tiny feet at the Rectory, Peter.’

  After a short pause Caroline answered on his behalf. ‘That you will not be hearing … Sheila.’

  ‘Oh, you’re one of these modern women who doesn’t believe in having children, is that it? You’re a career woman then?’

  ‘It is a matter entirely between my husband and myself, and no concern of yours. I think you are being offensive.’

  Peter interrupted with a kindly, ‘To our great regret we are unable to have children, Lady Bissett.’

  ‘It will soon be the Village Flower Show, Lady Bissett. What do you have in mind for it this year?’ Muriel strove to change the conversation, but Sheila Bissett would have none of it.

  ‘Being a doctor I would have thought you would have known what to do about it. There’s all kinds of ways nowadays, you know. I don’t know where I’d be without my Bianca and Brendan.’

  ‘I have no need to resort to having children in order to justify my existence.’

  Caroline was dangerously near to tears and Jimbo, receiving distress signals right down at his end of the table, sprang to his feet and offered Sheila Bissett more wine, thus diverting her from Caroline. Katherine Charter-Plackett intercepted a glance between Suzy and Peter. She leant towards Muriel and whispered in a loud voice: ‘What’s between the gorgeous Rector and that red siren? There’s something going on.’

  Muriel was horrified. Fortunately Caroline was occupied getting her feelings under control and missed Katherine’s comment, but Peter didn’t. He looked very distressed.

  Neville sat back, well satisfied with his meal. ‘Harriet, that was wonderful! You ought to open a restaurant, you know. You’ve got the talent and the experience.’

  Harriet playfully put her hand over his mouth, as she spotted a sparkle come into Jimbo’s eyes when he overheard the remark.

  ‘Be quiet, Neville. Don’t put any more ideas into his head, there’s enough there already. No, Jimbo, down, boy, down. I’m not falling for that one.’

  Neville continued making his point. ‘There’s that cottage next to Sadie’s house going for a song, and it’s got spare land at the side for a car park. Sadie would be very handy for keeping an eye on it, wouldn’t you, Sadie? It would make an excellent restaurant, right opposite the village green and all.’ They all burst out laughing but Jimbo didn’t laugh; he made a note of it in the filing cabinet he called his mind.

  After coffee and liqueurs they retired to the sitting room, where Jimbo had two bottles of champagne on ice. They all sang Happy Birthday to him whilst he opened the bottles.

  ‘Your very good health, Jimbo. Here’s to your fiftieth!’ Peter said and they all applauded. After that they danced, played games and had a thoroughly riotous time. At midnight Peter said he really must go as he had early service tomorrow, and he and Caroline offered to escort Muriel home. Jimbo went with them to the door. He took Muriel by the shoulders and gave her a huge kiss.

  ‘Thank you so much for my splendid pen. I shall treasure it as a gift from a lovely lady who did herself proud tonight.’ Muriel felt bold enough to kiss him back.

  Jimbo then kissed Caroline and whispered in her ear. ‘Take no notice of my old hag of a mother. I don’t. She isn’t worth the candle – OK?’

  She smiled, took Peter’s hand and they went off into the night. The moon shone and the sky was full of stars bright and clear, a perfect ending to a lovely evening.

  ‘Good night, good night and thank you for seeing me home.’

  ‘Good night, Muriel, see you tomorrow.’ Both Caroline and Peter waved to her as they turned down Church Lane towards the Rectory. Peter was gripping Caroline’s hand tightly. Caroline remained silent. She knew how Peter longed for children and she longed for them, for his sake. The hurt engendered by Sheila Bissett was beyond endurance.

  When they were safely tucked up in bed Caroline in a small tight voice offered Peter a divorce.

  He sat up, shattered by what she had said. ‘A divorce! Why?’

  ‘Because you want children and I can’t give them to you, that’s why. Then you could marry someone who is able to give you children. How I would live without you I don’t know, but for your sake I would have a jolly good try.’

  There was a moment’s silence before Peter answered.

  ‘Caroline, I’m not worthy of you. I married you because you are the light of my life, not for the sole purpose of procreation. You make me feel very small. Don’t ever dare suggest such a thing again. That is, unless you yourself truly want a divorce, though heaven help me if you did. Who’d want me anyway? There’s only a saint like you could put up with me.’

  ‘That’s not true, you’re very eligible. In fact, you’re really rather superb. I saw Katherine Charter-Plackett looking you over!’

  ‘Her tongue’s too sharp. It’s time she engaged her brain before she speaks. I’m giving you a good night kiss and then I’m going down to my study to have a word with the Lord.’

  ‘You can have a word with Him here, if you wish.’

  ‘No, you’ll distract me. I need to think. Good night, my love.’

  Peter went down to his study and wept.

  Muriel, having waved them goodbye, unlocked her door and found Pericles looking worried. She hurriedly popped him into the back garden and left him there while she made herself a cup of Ovaltine to help her sleep. What a wonderful evening she had had. The food, the company, the wine, the kindness, everything. She’d never forget it. She opened the drawer to get a teaspoon out and found the cutlery in disarray. The knives were where the forks usually were, and the spoons where the knives ought to be, and the forks where she kept the spoons. How ridiculous! She must have been so excited about the party that she’d mixed them all up. It left an odd feeling in a corner of her mind.

  Chapter 7

  Mrs Duckett the school caretaker was the first one in the village to voice an opinion about the change in Muriel.

  ‘Failin
g, that’s what she is. Never seen such a change in a person. One minute as fit as a lop, bit too prim and proper, mind, but still fit as a lop – and now what is she like? I reckon she’s got that disease Asmizler yer read about in the papers. This Tuesday she couldn’t play a right note to save her life. Mr Palmer looked real fed up.’

  Her neighbour Vera Wright nodded in agreement. ‘She was in the store the other day and couldn’t remember what she’d come in for – and I’ll tell you another thing. I think she’s neglecting herself.’

  ‘Neglecting herself? What do you mean?’

  Their heads drew closer over the fence. ‘Haven’t yer noticed she’s losing weight?’

  ‘No I hadn’t, but come to mention it you could be right.’

  ‘She’s never been the same since that Jimbo’s party you and I didn’t get invited to. Good customers we are as well.’

  ‘That dog of hers needs putting down. He’s getting old and smelly. Mucky things, dogs. Perhaps she’s got a disease off ’im. No self-respecting dog would want to be called Prickles or whatever his name is. Going round The Royal Oak tonight?’

  ‘Might. See how the money stretches when I’ve done me shopping. Our Rhett’s eating me out of house and home. Must be ’aving a growing spell. Yer bring yer own up and then get landed with bringing yer grandchildren up as well. It’s not right. Our Brenda was sex-mad and look what that got her – our Rhett.’

  Mrs Duckett locked her back door and went off to put the hall to rights for school dinners.

  Muriel was just finishing putting the music away.

  ‘Got yer keys have you, Miss Hipkin?’

  ‘Oh yes, thank you, Mrs Duckett. I’m much more careful than I was. Now, where’s my cardigan? Oh, here it is.’

  ‘Tell yer what, Miss Hipkin, I don’t think you’re looking too good. Aren’t you well?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’m quite well, thank you. Yes, quite well.’

  But she wasn’t and Muriel knew it. And she knew why. It was the worry that her memory was going. It had started with little things, but they were a matter for concern. First there was the cutlery. Then another time she’d put a cake out to cool on the rack and when she came back home it had gone. She blamed poor Pericles but she knew he couldn’t have reached it. Then she always made her bed when she went upstairs to clean her teeth after breakfast. One morning she came back from school and the sheets and blankets were all pulled back as if she’d just got out of it. Another time she came home and her ornaments had been changed round. Mother’s delicate china figures were all back to front and her own little cottages, lovingly collected these last three years, had been arranged along the edge of the hearth instead of being on the shelves she’d bought specially for them.

  True, these were only minor incidents but she had come to the conclusion that her brain was softening, as her mother used to say. Before she knew it she would be in a home and her lovely life which seemed to be perking up at long last would be finished.

  Muriel went to church and prayed about it. Peter had been playing the organ when she got in there, so she’d let his lovely sad music carry her along. Eventually, he switched it off and came to sit beside her. He took her hand and said, ‘God bless you, Muriel. Are you happy to be by yourself or would you like some company?’

  ‘I’d like you to stay and talk if you would.’

  ‘I have the feeling that things are not right at the moment. I was so glad when you agreed to give Mrs Meadows—’

  ‘We all call her Suzy.’

  ‘—Suzy, help with the playgroup. It doesn’t do not to be busy, you know.’

  ‘I know that, Peter, and I am busy with one thing and another, but just lately things haven’t been right for me.’

  ‘Can you tell me about it?’

  ‘It’s all silly, just women’s talk. I’ll be off now.’

  She picked up her bag and fled from the church. Willie Biggs, cutting the grass in the churchyard, watched her escape. Something funny there, he thought, something funny. Peter emerged from the church and made his way down the path to the Rectory.

  ‘Rector, I got some nice geraniums. What do you say I make a flowerbed hereabouts and put ’em in? They’re all pink-coloured. Can’t abide them bright red things – go against nature, they do.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful, Willie. How’s the back?’

  ‘Fine, sir, thank you. Fine. That stuff Dr Harris recommended is grand. Will you thank her for it? I’m not troubled at all now – which is more than I can say for that Muriel Hipkin. What’s up with her, do you reckon?’

  ‘Don’t know, Willie, and she won’t tell me.’

  ‘We went to school together, yer know. We were in the Infants. Her father was head gardener at the Big House. Married above himself, and Muriel was the result. Used to play with Sir Tristan’s boys when she were young. Pretty little thing she was. Now she’s all spinsterish and that. Pity, really. So, geraniums it is, sir, then?’

  ‘Yes, please. Could I buy some from you for the Rectory garden as well? My wife thinks it’s time I made inroads into the weeds.’

  ‘If you’re in need of help there, Rector, we might be able to come to some arrangement the two of us?’

  ‘I’d be very glad if you could spare the time, Willie. I’m getting much too involved with the parish to find time to do it. Some amicable agreement could be reached, I’m sure. By the way, that shed in the graveyard needs clearing out. Could you put it on your list?’

  ‘Anything for you, sir. Top of the list it will be. Morning to you.’

  ‘Good morning, Willie.’

  Come Saturday afternoon, Willie began clearing out the shed. It was surprising what had collected there. Gardening tools that would have done well on the ‘Antiques Roadshow’. Old buckets, old vases, string, old wrapping paper from flowers and – surprise surprise – a plastic container from supermarket sandwiches. Who in their right mind would want to have a picnic in this old shed? There were also two Coke tins and two empty crisp packets. ‘Well I never, what next?’ muttered Willie. By the time he’d finished there were two full bags of rubbish for the bin men. He stood them out on the path, straightened his back and then noticed Mr Palmer from the school filling his vase at the tap.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr Palmer. Don’t usually see you here on a Saturday.’

  The headmaster looked up, startled. ‘No, you’re right, Willie. I thought I’d come earlier this week.’

  ‘Sunday as regular as clockwork you are, sir. Wish some others would care for the graves like you do. It’s a pleasure to look at your wife’s. Three years it is now, Mr Palmer. She’d have wanted you to find someone else, you know.’

  ‘That’s as maybe. Good afternoon, Willie.’

  After he’d gone Willie perched himself on the edge of a tombstone and lit his pipe. He rested his elbows on his knees like he did when he was going to have a good think. Three years. He remembered the fuss there’d been. It was the Saturday of the Village Show. Boiling hot day it’d been. Sun beating down, one of the best attended for years. The flowers in the marquee had been wilting with the heat. Lady Bissett had upset all the flower arrangers by taking it upon herself to spray their arrangements with a secret concoction of her own to freshen them up. There’d been some very unpleasant things said that afternoon. Tempers got even more frayed when the ice cream ran out and the little steam train they’d hired had blown up – something to do with the pressure gauge. And it wasn’t only the pressure gauge on the train that had got steamed up. Revd Furbank had had the money from the coconut shy stolen from under his very nose. Nice gentle old chap, but he didn’t know what made the world tick nowadays. Can’t leave a thing about, not even in old Turnham Malpas. Willie blamed the boys from the Big House. A leopard won’t ever change its spots.

  The late Mrs Palmer had been in charge of the maypole dancing. She’d brought a group over from her school in Culworth, as the village school couldn’t muster enough children. Muriel Hipkin had seated herself at the piano which the men had drag
ged out of the school and into the field, right job that was. She was warming up with a few of her jolliest tunes, the maypole was in place, the children were all ready in their costumes, and the crowds awaited the start. Muriel played a few more tunes, and still Mrs Palmer hadn’t appeared to set the ball rolling. The children were getting restless. All apologetic, Mr Palmer went home to see if he could find his wife – and he’d found her, all right. Hanging from the big beam in the school hall. If Stella Palmer had set out to cause a sensation she couldn’t have chosen a better moment. And nobody ever found out why. He was a decent enough chap, Michael Palmer. Mightn’t set the world on fire, but you can’t have everything. He was kind. Maybe that was it – he was too kind.

  Willie saw Muriel come out into her garden. He went and leaned over the church wall.

  ‘Them daffodils is finished now, Muriel. They wants tying up.’

  ‘Thank you, Willie, that’s my next job.’

  ‘You’ll never guess who I met in Culworth the other day.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You know where the Market Square just bends a bit and there’s that dentist’s surgery right on the corner? Well, I’d been ’aving another fitting for me new teeth and who should I bump into on me way out, but Sir Ralph Templeton.’

  Muriel perked up a little at this. ‘Really? How on earth did you recognise him?’

  ‘He recognised me. Said I ’adn’t changed a bit, but since it must be more than forty years since he last saw me I must be wearing well. He’s still got all that thick bushy hair ’cept it’s snow-white now. Tanned he is, been out in the Far East for years and now he’s retired and come back to live in England. In all those years he’s never married. Remember that time he put a jumping cracker inside Miss’s boots when she’d put ’em by the stove to dry out? He were a lad, he was. Didn’t we laugh!’

  ‘What was he doing in Culworth?’

  ‘Visiting some friends, he said. Wanted me to go for a drink but I knew I’d miss me bus if I did. I’ve been clearing out the shed – amazing what yer find in there. Rector wanted it doing. He’s a grand chap, he is. Yer know where yer are with ’im. Mr Furbank couldn’t talk to yer, somehow – he never had that touch. Rector’s worried about you, Muriel. He reckons yer not yerself at all these days.’