A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) (5 page)

‘I expect so.’ Barry wagged a finger at Harry and then pointed it at the computer. He left, his laughter curling back up the stairs as he went back to his van.

Harry sat down to begin work, somehow more cheered than for a long time.

He had his swim gear in his backpack so, if he finished at four-thirty like Jimbo had said, he’d go for a swim. After all, Venetia was well worth pursuing. Though he couldn’t decide if it was him doing the pursuing or Venetia … Whatever, she held a lot of promise and it had been a long time.

*

Later that morning, Harriet arrived, introducing herself immediately as Jimbo’s other half. She held out her hand. ‘You must be Harry. How do you do? I’m Harriet, Jimbo’s wife.’

Harry got to his feet and found himself looking into a pair of kindly brown eyes. He warmed to her immediately. She was wearing a kitchen uniform, it was snow white and flattering and her brown hair peeped out round the edges of her black-and-white checked hat.

‘That’s right. Harry Dickinson.’

‘Jimbo was coming to see you at ten, but he’s been inundated with reps this morning and hasn’t been able to escape. Is everything OK, he says.’

‘Absolutely. The system is unbelievably simple and does the trick marvellously. Whoever wrote the program must be a genius.’

Harriet smiled. ‘I’ll tell him, he’ll be flattered.’

‘Jimbo did it then?’

‘He did. Hours of sweat and toil ironing out the gremlins, but got there in the end. Must go. Busy, busy. He told you about lunch?’

‘He did.’

After Harriet left, Harry sat down to contemplate his good luck. Never in the whole of his life had he fallen on his feet to such an extent as now, and how he relished it. Such trusting people, that was what surprised him. They’d never met him before and they hadn’t even asked for references before entrusting all this to him. He looked round the office at the thoroughly pleasant surroundings, the thick carpet, the marvellously contoured chairs provided; he wasn’t going to get backache sitting in one of these all day. Oh no! Top of the range, they were. And that wonderful view from the window, now that he really did enjoy. Back to work.

*

Jimbo came to see him towards the end of the afternoon, apologising for having neglected him.

‘Please don’t worry. I haven’t felt neglected, and I’ve processed three quarters of the pile.’

‘You have! That’s terrific! I thought you said you would be slow to begin with?’

‘I did say that, but I only meant the first hour and since then I’ve been rattling away. I rang Mrs Jones in Mail Order with a query which she was able to sort out for me. Other than that …’

‘She’s usually right. Not always, of course, but more often than not. Works like a slave, does Greta, and well worth her money. Ten pounds an hour, is that all right?’ Jimbo’s eyebrows arched a little as he waited for his answer.

‘That’s absolutely fine. Yes, absolutely fine.’

‘Feels fair?’

‘Of course.’

‘Lunch OK?’

‘Yes, thank you. I paid my pound.’ ‘Did you get a receipt?’

‘No.’

‘Damn. I shall go down there and play hell.’

‘Not on my account.’

‘No, on mine. Four-thirty, it’s time you weren’t here. I don’t pay overtime unless it’s agreed beforehand.’

‘I won’t ask for extra payment, but I want to finish this batch before I go for my own satisfaction.’

Jimbo studied Harry’s expression. ‘Very well then, that’s your choice. Bye.’ He liked the chap, he really did. He’d taken a risk with him, but it seemed to be justified. He liked that phrase of his, ‘for my own satisfaction’.

Before he left, he went into the kitchen to play hell like he’d promised Harry he would. He found a few things he wasn’t exactly pleased with in the kitchen hygiene routine so he was longer than he intended and, when he was leaving, he saw Harry
going into the big house through the student entrance. Now what was he up to? Ah! Yes, just what he’d suspected might happen. Oh, Venetia! Oh, Harry!

But Venetia and Harry were behaving very circumspectly. They were seated on sunloungers after a rigorous fifteen-minute session racing each other up and down the pool. Venetia was fitter by far, and it had been Harry who’d suggested a rest.

‘Terribly sorry, I’ve just not had the opportunity to keep fit lately.’

‘Why, what have you been doing?’

‘That and this, this and that. Very busy doing lots of hours, earning a living wage.’

‘Well,’ Venetia patted Harry’s forearm, ‘You’ve a job now. Paying well, I assume, with reasonable hours, so now’s the time to get fit again.’

‘I’m certainly well paid for what I’m doing.’

‘That’s typical Jimbo. He pays above the odds for the area, so he gets people clamouring to work for him. He never appears to have problems filling vacancies. And what’s more, everyone loves working for him, even if they do complain what a taskmaster he is.’

Venetia’s eyes strayed to Harry’s chest, then his thighs. Then she found that she was being scrutinised too. She was aware that there was nothing but approval in her eyes and hurriedly veiled them in case he …

‘Like what you see?’ Harry asked her.

Venetia’s excuse quickly sprang to mind. ‘I was just thinking what pale skin you have, as if you’ve not been outside for yonks.’

‘I never stay out in the sun because I get sweat rashes if I do, so I always look pale. Obviously you aren’t affected by the sun, you’ve a lovely tan.’

It occurred to Venetia that Harry was as skilled at finding reasons as she was, but she dashed that idea aside because she
liked him and he was the first man she’d properly flirted with since she’d turned over a new leaf after Jeremy’s heart attack. She thought about her Jeremy and how much he loved her, and all the times she’d been wayward in their marriage. Well, she deserved a bit of waywardness now considering how long she’d been faithful to him. Venetia laughed deep down inside herself, and decided: blast it, I’m going for this one, he won’t be staying long. Two weeks of fun, that’s what. Just two weeks.

Harry had identical thoughts and ran the tip of his tongue around his dry lips. He looked deeply into Venetia’s eyes, a half smile on his face. She was brazen with her flirting, totally brazen. She could make the slightest movement of her body into a promise and he sensed she wouldn’t be hurt by the brevity of a whirlwind relationship.

‘Another swim?’

Harry nodded, ‘Leisurely though, not racing. I’ve got to get myself fitter before I race again. Obviously you’re never out of the pool.’

‘That’s my job; teaching swimming, diving and organising leisure time fun for the students. Work hard, play hard is Mr Fitch’s motto.’ She grinned at him, but dropped her glance when he raised his eyebrows. Damn the man, he could read her every thought and it wasn’t on, but at the same time she loved the danger of it.

‘Mr Fitch, who’s he?’

‘The boss. Fitch Enterprises Europe. He’s wealthy beyond belief. All this,’ she waved an arm around the pool complex, ‘is for staff training. My husband runs the estate and I do the leisure and sports bit.’

‘Where do you live then?’

‘We have a maisonette on the premises. Our own front door, but it’s part of the big house.’

‘Very useful, I should think, your own front door.’ He flicked an amused glance at her.

‘You’re flirting with me!’ Venetia leaped up, braced herself on the edge of the pool and dived gracefully into the water, making scarcely a splash but a big impression on Harry as he watched her body curve down towards the water. His eyes scanned the pool until, almost halfway down the length of the pool, her head bobbed up and she rolled over onto her back. My God, she was fit. He guessed she was older than she would like to be, but what the heck! So was he; they made a pair. Harry dropped into the pool and, doing his clumsy front crawl, caught up with her. They both burst into laughter as he caught hold of her round her waist.

Neither of them noticed Jeremy who, having finished his day’s work, had come to look for her. He turned away, silently closing the door behind him, not able to face what he recognised would inevitably happen between the two of them. His heart lay heavy in his chest. This time he couldn’t possibly ignore it, not like he’d done all the other times. Love was the very devil.

Harry might have imagined that no one knew about his assignation with Venetia, but then he’d never lived in a village before. Jimbo knew, and thus Harriet had been informed. Maggie Dobbs, who kept the school clean and sparkling, also knew because she had, quite by chance, met Harry walking back to Laburnum Cottage as she left the school and walked down Shepherd’s Hill with him on her way to Dottie Foskitt’s.

Maggie greeted him by introducing herself and good manners dictated that he should tell her his name. ‘Oh! You’re the gentleman who’s started working for Jimbo Charter-Plackett?’

‘That’s right. First day today.’

‘It’s good working for him. I look after the school during the day but I help Jimbo on the catering side with the events at the Old Barn in the evenings and weekends. It’s a lovely job, it keeps me busy and the money’s very welcome.’

She could smell the chlorine on him and noted his damp hair and backpack. ‘Been swimming?’

‘Yes. I got invited. It’s a lovely pool.’

‘You’d have seen Venetia then?’

‘That’s right. I did.’

Maggie had to laugh. When she did a quick glance sideways, it told her Harry looked a mite embarrassed. She’d guessed, and yes she’d guessed right. There was something going on there. She must be wrong though. He seemed to be a gentleman and Venetia had been behaving herself for years.

Harry, always on the qui vive where his private life was
concerned, diverted her attention by asking her how far down the hill she was going.

‘Right to the bottom, to that very old cottage. Well, three years ago it was improved a bit. Dottie rents it. She wishes she owned it, after all, it’ll be worth a fortune now with the new kitchen and bathroom and the garden made lovely.’ She sounded envious.

‘Like gardening, do you?’ Harry asked.

Maggie stumbled and Harry caught hold of her elbow as her ankle twisted in a hole in the tarmac. ‘Whoops! Thanks. This road is always the very last on the council’s repair list. That hole’s been there for months. You’d think I’d learn, wouldn’t you?’ Maggie rather liked the firm grip of Harry’s hand on her arm, it was the kind of grip that made you feel the owner of it was reliable.

‘OK?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

Harry released his grip saying, ‘Well, this is me. Laburnum Cottage.’

‘You’re lucky. They’re a very nice couple.’

‘You’re right, they are. Be seeing you around, no doubt.’

‘I’m in the Royal Oak in the evenings sometimes. Might see you there?’

‘Very likely. Bye, Maggie. Nice to have met you.’

‘And you. Bye.’ Maggie strode on down the hill to Dottie’s. So that was the Harry Dickinson they were all talking about. Well, she liked him. There was something very pleasant about him, there really was. Gentlemanlike, he was. Consequently, she made a point of being in the Royal Oak that very night. Not to see him, of course, but to relay the information she’d gleaned.

She found herself to be the very first of the group who regularly sat together on the old table with the oak settle down one side of it. She carefully avoided sitting in the chair that had always been Jimmy’s; no one did, you see. His chair was always
felt to be his and no one else’s. Georgie came across to have a word. ‘Hello, Maggie. All alone tonight?’

‘The others will be in before long, I expect.’

‘It’d feel funny if they weren’t.’

‘Has the new chap, Harry Dickinson, been in?’

Georgie nodded. ‘He’s been in a few times. He’s got a job now, I understand.’

‘Accounts for Jimbo, till his accounts person gets over his op. He’s a nice man.’

‘I thought so too. Very polite, almost shy.’

‘Not that shy!’ Maggie laughed.

With raised eyebrows and a grin on her face Georgie said, ‘What do you mean, Maggie Dobbs?’

Maggie tapped the side of her nose, ‘Been swimming up at the big house.’

‘Not …’ Georgie glanced round to make sure she wasn’t overheard, ‘Venetia?’

‘Now, did I say that?’

‘No, you didn’t, but you might as well ’ave. Oh! Here they come.’ She patted the chair that had been Jimmy Glover’s. ‘I miss him. I expect you do, too.’

Pat Jones had arrived, along with Sylvia and Willie Biggs and, trailing a long way behind, Don Wright, but no Vera.

‘No Vera tonight, Don?’

‘No. My turn for the first round. No, there’s been a crisis at the nursing home, all hands on deck job.’

‘Somebody taken poorly?’

‘You’re right there, Maggie. Lovely old chap. My Vera’s right upset, she really took a shine to him she did. Always the gentleman. Lancelot Lewis-Figges is his name. Lewis-Figges with a hyphen. From a posh family, he is and …’