Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) Read online

  ‘Don’t see you in the post office often, Fran love. Shorthanded, are you?’

  ‘You could say that. Dad’s out on business, Tom’s ill and I’ve just taken Bel home. Sick as a dog, she is.’

  ‘Oh! Not another one, surely. It’s certainly going the rounds. Little Derehams is rife with it, they say. Louise and Gilbert have three of theirs down with it, and Gilbert wasn’t looking too clever when I saw him setting off for the office this morning. Really seedy he looked and believe it or believe it not he had a cardigan on.’

  ‘A cardigan on?’ This phenomenal piece of news went down the queue.

  ‘Gilbert with a cardigan on?’

  ‘Wearing a cardigan. That must be a first. In fact it is a first.’

  ‘Never! He must feel bad.’

  ‘One third of the children at the school are missing this week,’ said Maggie Dobbs. ‘Been a long time since that happened, believe me.’

  ‘One third. Heavens above! What’ve we done to deserve this?’

  ‘Could be your hubby being fined and banned from driving for three months after he overtook an ambulance on the brow of a hill.’

  ‘Or you, for that matter, when Georgie turned you out of the pub for behaviour unbecoming to a gentleman.’

  ‘No such thing.’

  ‘That’s what I heard. You shouldn’t have attacked poor Dicky. The size of him compared to you. He’s only a little tiddler, is poor Dicky. But powerful with it.’ The customer who said this nudged her neighbour and they both sniggered, heads close together.

  Bel’s sickness had added a new dimension to the conversation in the store and Fran had to smile. At least, thank God, they weren’t gossiping about her and Chris. She laboured away the rest of the morning wishing her dad would come home soon. When he eventually did, he took over the post office and released her so she could take her lunch break. So, for a change, she went home and enjoyed her lunch sitting in the kitchen alone, thinking about Chris and what a brilliant beginning to the day she’d had. Chris really was wonderful in bed, and Fran spent a delicious few minutes recollecting their morning together.

  Chapter 8

  In the saloon bar of the Royal Oak that evening, those who considered the old settle and the table that went with it belonged exclusively to them were somewhat disconcerted to find it already occupied when they arrived around half-past seven. There were four people sitting at the table, all well supplied with drinks, for they each had a full glass already lined up for when they’d finished their first one. And sitting there? Johnny Templeton and his wife Alice, Chris Templeton, Johnny’s brother, plus Peter the rector. They were so absorbed in their conversation that none of them looked up when Greta and Vince, Marie and Zack, Dottie and Vera, and Willie and Sylvia turned away to find another table.

  ‘What do you reckon? Something’s going on.’

  ‘Sit at that table by the fireplace.’

  ‘OK.’

  Dottie muttered, ‘Bit of a cheek really.’

  ‘Tables in a pub are for anybody. After all them chairs haven’t got our names carved on ’em have they?’ reflected Willie.

  ‘But everyone knows that’s our favourite.’

  ‘This table isn’t big enough for eight,’ said Dottie.

  ‘Let’s pull that other one up, then we’ll manage.’ Vince and Zack did as Sylvia suggested, and before long they were all seated with a drink apiece and were ready to hear the latest gossip.

  ‘Me first,’ said Dottie. She took a long drink of her current favourite, a gin and tonic, dabbed her mouth gently, and said softly, ‘Last night that new friend of mine who lives at the back of my cottage, even though she’s in Church Lane and I’m in Shepherd’s Hill . . . you know, the one who—’

  ‘Yes, yes, we know who you mean,’ said Marie impatiently.

  ‘Well, she went to visit a friend of hers and they went to their local pub for a drink, and you’ll never guess who she saw there.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Well, it was someone not a million miles away from us right now.’ She glanced across at the settle and said no more.

  ‘Go on then.’ Sylvia, having spent all day in the house with Willie, and him not speaking much nowadays, was in urgent need of hearing some news; any news, for that matter.

  ‘Chris. Chris Templeton that is.’

  ‘Seeing as he’s the only one for miles around called Chris, then yes it would be.’

  Dottie nodded her head in agreement. ‘In the Wise Man pub.’

  ‘So, what’s interesting about that? He’s a free man,’ said Marie. ‘He can drink where he likes.’

  ‘It’s who he was with and what they were doing that matters.’

  This statement of Dottie’s finally caught their attention, and Vera declared that if she didn’t find out soon what Dottie was talking about she, Vera Wright, would strangle her.

  ‘Then you never would find out.’ Dottie took a deep breath and revealed all: ‘He was with Fran. Fran Charter-Plackett.’

  ‘So? They’re both free agents,’ said Greta.

  ‘And they were kissing, and he couldn’t keep his hands off her. A full hour they were in that pub, and my friend said they were at it all the time. She was as bad as him.’

  ‘He’s much older than her,’ said Sylvia.

  ‘She’s not daft, is she? I wonder if Jimbo knows,’ commented Marie.

  ‘What d’yer mean “she’s not daft”? I don’t understand,’ said Dottie.

  Marie gave a sly smile. ‘Think about it. He’s so wealthy he can’t spend it fast enough. She’ll do herself a good turn if she marries him. All that money. And he is so good looking, I quite fancy him myself.’ Marie, who from where she was sitting had a clear view of the main door, suddenly covered her mouth with her hand, and muttered, ‘Be careful! Jimbo’s just come in.’

  ‘What did she say?’ Vera asked loudly, and repeated it, even more loudly, when no one answered her.

  Sylvia sitting beside Vera whispered, ‘Jimbo’s just come in.’

  All eight of them covertly watched Jimbo. They saw him go to the bar. ‘Good evening, Georgie. Full house tonight. Whisky please. Make it a double.’ Jimbo paid for his drink, picked up his glass, walked towards the settle and squeezed in beside Chris, saying a bright, ‘Good evening. Sorry I’m late, got caught up.’

  ‘He looks cheerful enough,’ said Willie. ‘I bet he doesn’t know.’

  ‘So anyway, my friend from Church Lane said they were still at it in the car parked outside when she left well over an hour later.’

  ‘I mean, I bet Harriet will be annoyed.’

  Sylvia added her piece of news to the conversation. ‘I know for a fact he’s had lunch at Jimbo and Harriet’s, but I didn’t realise it was because Chris and Fran were courting.’

  ‘Had lunch there!’

  ‘Oh, yes. Last Sunday. I saw him being invited in, and all dressed up he was. I thought he was just visiting Jimbo and Harriet, but obviously it was because of him and Fran. Well, good luck to her.’

  ‘What. Living in Brazil. Wouldn’t want a daughter of mine to be living in Brazil. Not likely,’ Willie declared.

  Dottie, determined to get the most value out of her juicy piece of gossip by aggravating Willie, asked, ‘You contemplating starting a family, are you then, Sylvia?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake. As if.’

  ‘That’s what your Willie seems to be saying.’

  ‘He might say it, but no, we’re not. Well, not with me he isn’t, and if he finds someone else to start one with he’ll be out in the street before he knows it, with all his blessed Second World War memorabilia too.’

  This exchange made the others hoot with laughter, and the whole subject of the conversation changed from the contemplation of Fran and Chris’s romance to matters of a more mature nature. Secretly, they wished they could hear what those sitting at the table with the old settle down one side of it were saying.

  If they had been invited to join that group they would have been
very interested indeed because Johnny was just saying, ‘So, Stock’s day is in June, followed by the village show in July. What goes on after that?’

  Jimbo remembered the big bonfire nights. ‘November 5th, Bonfire Night. Well, the Saturday night nearest to it.’

  ‘Why have a bonfire on November 5th? Is it some sort of winter solstice celebration?’ Johnny asked.

  ‘It’s been one of our big nights. We all come. Massive fire in your grounds, we burn anything and everything: old furniture, whatever you like. It’s commemorating the time when Guy Fawkes and his chums tried to set fire to the Houses of Parliament.’

  ‘My goodness. Tell me more,’ Johnny said.

  By the time Jimbo had finished his graphic description of Bonfire Night in Turnham Malpas, Johnny was aghast. ‘But to celebrate it. It seems to me the maddest thing ever. What happened to Guy what’s-his-name?’

  ‘He was condemned to death by hanging. Did you know about this, Alice?’

  ‘Of course. I like eating scorching-hot baked potatoes by the fire, but we’ve not had a big bonfire celebration for two or three years. I’ve lost count. Not since Craddock Fitch’s business began to go downhill. He provided most of the money, you see.’

  Peter reminded them about the beer tent and the refreshments. Johnny carried on making notes. Finally he looked up. ‘Well, that’s plenty to be getting on with. It seems to me that the first big village celebration will be this year’s Bonfire Night. I shall write a page in the church magazine outlining the starting up of all the village celebrations which have been allowed to lapse. Do we need committees and such? I expect so.’

  Jimbo remembered Louise Johns’ sterling work organising everything when Craddock Fitch had the money to finance it all. ‘Louise Johns is the one to get all the info from. Now the children are growing up perhaps she might have the time to take it all on again for us. Brilliant organiser, she is. There was no one who organised it as well as she did. We had all sorts of different people doing it when she was having all those babies, but none of them were as good as she was. Am I not right, Peter?’

  ‘You most certainly are, and if she doesn’t want to do it, she has all the notes from before which would be a big help. She kept meticulous notes, except for the time when she had two lots of Morris dancers by mistake and they refused to perform together.’

  Peter laughed at the memory of the Morris dancers’ problem.

  ‘Exactly. You haven’t had much to say, Chris. Would you like a word.’

  ‘Does everyone expect to come for free to everything?’ asked Chris.

  Jimbo volunteered to explain. ‘Stock’s Day is free to all comers, and we get a lot of outsiders coming to watch the natives playing at being fourteenth-century villagers. At the village show only people who are officially exhibiting in the different classes get in free; everyone else pays because there’s entertainment to watch. The bonfire is free, except they pay for their drinks in the beer tent and for food in the refreshment tent. Mr Fitch used to pay for the baked potatoes, and the scouts distribute those to anyone who wants one. It’s lovely watching the bonfire while eating a hot potato.’

  Chris had listened carefully to Jimbo and then made his offer of help. ‘That’ll be my contribution, the baked potatoes. I shan’t be here, but I’ll leave money with Johnny for those and I’ll also pay for one of the entertainments at the village show, except I shall possibly be here for that. Or possibly not. But I’ll still pay my dues. English winters I cannot cope with, so I shall be leaving for Brazil shortly, once I can’t go out without a coat on and warm gloves.’ He grinned rather charmingly at all those seated around the table and they couldn’t help but like him, despite his cowardice about the English weather.

  Johnny decided to wind up the meeting by thanking everyone for attending, and for all their advice. ‘I have pages of notes and will study them all, then I’ll type out a proper list for each event, pass that to you, Peter, for correction, and then sort something out for the rest of the village to read so they know officially what is going to happen. We’ve got to get back to how things used to be, and make it a real village with a life of its own, instead of always having to rely on events outside the village to give us all a life. Thank you so much for taking the time to put me in the picture, I’m looking forward enormously to establishing everything all over again. We need it, don’t we?’

  Peter and Jimbo each went home, and so did Alice, who’d worried all the time about her two babies being left with her newly appointed babysitter. But Johnny and Chris stayed for another round of drinks. Jimbo didn’t utter a single word at home about Chris returning to Brazil shortly, because the thought of Fran leaving home for distant shores was more than he could face.

  Chapter 9

  A week after that crucial meeting in the Royal Oak, Chris left for Brazil. He’d found two small chains of country house hotels for Johnny to follow-up on and had left all the details with Johnny, including his thoughts that the owners were in serious financial difficulties. And Chris also left behind a distraught but very self-controlled Fran.

  He told her two nights before he left that he intended going home immediately but didn’t happen to mention he’d booked his first-class seat on the plane that morning. Confused by his shock tactics Fran thought they were talking about her going to Brazil with him, but within moments she knew for a fact she’d misunderstood him. And so poor Fran went from extreme delight to shattering disappointment within seconds, although she was determined to behave like the very grown-up person she had become.

  Fran took a sip of wine to steady her nerves and then commented, ‘That’s been a quick decision.’

  ‘Well, you know me, if I make up my mind to do something, that’s it. I’ve done the hotel job for Johnny. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s an English winter: heavy coats, thick gloves, pouring rain, freezing temperatures, umbrellas. Not for me. Sorry.’

  Fran felt justified in protesting, ‘But you don’t know, you’ve never been here in winter.’

  ‘No, but I’ve read about it, watched TV, seen pictures of the snow and the traffic hold-ups. Drivers marooned all night. No thanks. Already it’s getting too cold for me. I’m a shorts and sunshine man. And I’ve missed sailing.’

  ‘I see. Well, I can understand it.’ Fran hadn’t meant to add, ‘I shall miss you.’ But somehow the words slipped out by mistake because the pain was so bad.

  ‘And I shall miss you.’ But there was no pain in the tone of his voice. Chris didn’t say, ‘Will you come with me?’ either. Not a mention of that, and tonight he hadn’t even booked a room at the Wise Man like he had before. That hurt Fran more than she could allow herself to believe.

  She reached across the table and gently touched the back of his hand as he picked up his wine glass. ‘Your mother will be glad you’re going back.’

  ‘Of course she is. Time I got back. Nicholas is a brilliant businessman, but there’s too much work to get through for just one person. Yes. Got to go home.’

  Chris noticed tears beginning to well in Fran’s eyes, but he succeeded in not making a comment about them by asking if she wanted pudding.

  ‘No, thanks. It must be a long flight to Rio.’

  ‘It is, but it’s very comfortable when you travel first class.’

  ‘Of course.’ Rather wistfully Fran added, ‘I’ve never travelled first class.’

  ‘You should one day, just for the experience,’ Chris said, as though money grew on trees.

  ‘No chance of me travelling first class.’ Fran noticed he wasn’t the least embarrassed by his riches; others would have been much more apologetic after what she’d said.

  ‘You never know. Coffee, Fran?’

  There didn’t seem much point in prolonging her agony; all she wanted was to hide under her duvet and cry. ‘I’ve had a busy day so I’d better get home. Be seeing you, Chris, some time when you come back. Have a good flight. Goodnight.’ How she got to her feet, how she managed to kiss his cheek showing
no passion, no regret, she’d no idea. But she did, and Fran left him without offering to pay her share of their bill as she usually did. Without a kiss from him too, Fran thought as she walked firmly away from the loveliest, most wonderful love affair she’d ever had in all her twenty years.

  Chris watched her go, grateful she’d managed not to make a scene in such a busy pub. But she wasn’t the love of his life. He’d known that right from the very beginning. But he’d wanted someone, anyone, to be honest, and she was willing and good-looking and jolly. She was just what he needed. Rio here I come, thank God. Chris decided he’d leave this village without the slightest regret. All he had to do was pay his dues for the baked potatoes – honestly, blasted baked potatoes, of all things. What made him offer to pay for them, he’d no idea. And then he could shake the dust of the village off his feet and get stuck into his social life in Rio once more. With no regrets. None at all.

  Fran managed to get to her bedroom without speaking to either her mum or dad. She locked herself in her en suite, and finally gave way to her feelings. Tears didn’t come at first, but when they did they came in torrents. She felt hard done by. She’d become aware tonight, deep down, that Chris had never had any intention of taking her to Brazil with him, married or not. She was useful, available, convenient, with time on her hands, and maybe for moments together he had been fond of her. But she had sensed as he spoke about going home as though he meant immediately, that most of the time he’d simply made use of her. Or made a fool of her might be a more honest way of putting it.

  Then Fran remembered the beautiful moments they had shared and she wept again. They had shared the same sense of humour, made up silly rhymes together, laughed at the same jokes, hated people who told lies, loved the same films, liked the same dramas on TV. Truly, they’d been very compatible and it would have been very pleasing to go to Brazil, where Fran could have given all those girls – well, women – a run for their money when they realised she had captured their perfect gem, namely Chris Templeton.