Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) (2 page)

When he opened the door for her to get out, the bride shook her head. ‘Give me a minute.’

Was she doing the right thing? Should she? She gave a thought to pulling the petals from a rose in her bouquet – ‘Love him, love him not’ – as a test. Just a test. Marriage was a big step. He’d gone on and on proposing until, in the end, she’d had no resistance left. Why shouldn’t she? He was lonely and so was she come to that. At forty-one, decisions needed to be taken. But as she’d said, no children and she wasn’t giving up her work. Absolutely not. He knew that. She opened the car door to say, ‘Drive me back home. It’s off,’ and instead heard herself saying, ‘Hold my flowers, please, while I get out.’

In a dream, she stood in the church doorway, saw Willie Biggs give the nod to Mrs Peel at the organ to play ‘Here comes the Bride’. The organ flared into sound, the
majestic chords booming into the rafters. There ahead of her was Peter in his white marriage cassock and, turning to get a first look at his bride, was her groom resplendent in morning coat. Morning coat! He never said he’d wear one! His light blue eyes were bright with his pleasure at the sight of her. She walked steadily down the aisle, trying hard not to break into a run, placed her cold, trembling hand in his warm grasp, smiled at him and then looked up at Peter.

‘Welcome to you both. God bless you.’

Beside the tinned soup shelves in the Village Store, Greta Jones and Lady Templeton were discussing that evening’s celebrations. ‘Well, Lady Templeton, he’s never invited
all
of us before, has he? I mean, just the nobs, begging your pardon, usually, but this time it’s everyone. Even the Senior sisters. Everyone is going. I can’t understand it.’

‘I’ve no doubt Mr Fitch must have his reasons. I expect he wants us all to share his pleasure in his achievements. He has got something to celebrate, hasn’t he? A major, international civil engineering company in twenty-five years and it all started, he says, with a couple of men, two shovels and a wheelbarrow. What a triumph.’

‘I expect so, and he has mellowed lately, hasn’t he? He gave all those computers to the school – state-of-the-art say those who know what they’re talking about – and he saved us from having traffic lights and what not, year before last. That was a master stroke.’

‘Absolutely.’ Lady Templeton began to study the tinned soups.

‘Is Sir Ralph going?’

‘Of course he’s going. It would be churlish to refuse.’

‘But they don’t see eye to eye, do they?’ A gentle, questioning glance from Lady Templeton made Greta
Jones change her tone. ‘Well, they do these days, see eye to eye, I mean, now he’s mellowed.’

‘He is a changed man, Greta. Those frosty blue eyes of his are not nearly so chilling as they were.’ She smiled, took down two tins of vichyssoise from the top shelf and continued with her shopping. She wouldn’t have said so for the world but Greta Jones was quite right; it
was
surprising. But she was looking forward to it, and had already got out the dress and jacket she’d bought for a visit to Japan and never found a use for since. It was a gracious cornflower blue, which Ralph said brought out the colour of her eyes perfectly. Dear Ralph.

Jimbo was at the till and as he began adding up her purchases, she said, ‘You’ll have a busy day today preparing the buffet.’

‘I should say. Thank goodness for staff who know what they’re doing. Where I’d be without Pat Jones, I do not know.’

‘Don’t forget your good training has helped.’

‘No. Believe me, if the talent isn’t there, no amount of training will do the trick. I’ve got Sir Ralph’s cigars in, the ones he ordered. Will you take them?’

‘How lovely. Yes, of course. They say just about the whole world will be there tonight.’

‘And then some. Not seen anything like it.’ Jimbo gave Lady Templeton her change and winked at her. ‘Bye-bye, Muriel. See you tonight.’

‘Indeed. Good morning, Greta.’

Greta Jones, who was now standing behind her waiting to pay, nodded and smiled, then put her wire basket on the counter, determined to get to the hub of the matter.
‘Seeing as you’re doing the catering, you’ll be the man to ask. What is this do all about? I saw you wink at Muriel.’

‘Just a friendly wink. That’s all.’

‘You know something, don’t you? Out with it.’

Jimbo spread his hands and shrugged. ‘I have no more idea than anyone else. It’s to celebrate his company’s twenty-fifth anniversary and he wants to give everyone a good time. No expense spared. More than that I do not know. Honest. Cross my heart.’

‘You’re a slyboots, Jimbo, and not half.’

‘Eight pounds, thirty-five, please.’

As Greta Jones sorted out the money for him she said, ‘I reckon there’s a conspiracy going on. There, eight pounds, thirty-five exactly. Well, I expect we’ll all find out tonight.’

‘Best bib and tucker.’

‘What else? See yer tonight.’

‘Definitely.’

They’d opened up the field nearest the Big House for cars and ten minutes before the start of the festivities it was difficult to find a parking spot. But no one cared; they were there to enjoy themselves and eat as much as they could. Everyone always took advantage of anything Craddock Fitch had to offer, then laughed at him behind his back. He’d never been liked. Too high-handed, efficient and lacking in understanding of a countryman’s life, that was his trouble. He thought money could buy everything, but it would never buy their respect. Even so, there were gasps of delight when they saw the fairy lights, which covered the front of the house, hanging like vast curtains over the walls and windows, and draped over
every tree of any size. A long table, illuminated by dozens of candles and bearing an array of drinks, stood on the gravel outside the front door and it felt smart to stand there admiring the lights, looking across Home Park to the floodlit trees, holding a drink in one’s hand, snatching a few nibbles and seeing what everyone else was wearing. Some of the men like Jimbo, Neville and Sir Ralph, for instance, were in dinner suits, which added an extra effervescence to the gathering.

Eventually, people began drifting inside to make room for late-comers and they found the inside of the house was even more amazing. The hall was bedecked with flowers, or maybe, some thought, smothered would be a better choice of word. Swags of them were strung around the walls, columns of them stood beside every door, and the vast fireplace was filled with a magnificent display, backlit and utterly breathtaking.

Ralph Templeton said to Muriel, ‘There’s more than a twenty-fifth anniversary going on here tonight, isn’t there?’

Muriel whispered, ‘I’m sure of it.’

‘He’s in danger of over-stepping the mark, I think. Vulgar ostentation springs to mind.’

Shocked, Muriel whispered, ‘Ralph! Really!’ She smiled. ‘He just tries too hard, desperate to do the right thing.’

‘He wouldn’t know the right thing if he met it in the street.’

‘Ralph! Please. I thought you’d put all that behind you.’

‘I have, until he reminds me. Where is he, by the way? Not like him to miss the fun.’

Peter and Caroline came up to them, drinks in hand.

‘Good evening, Caroline, my dear.’ Ralph greeted her with a kiss on both cheeks. ‘Good evening, Peter. Now you might be the very man to tell us exactly what all this,’ Ralph swept a disdainful hand around the hall, ‘is about.’

Peter smiled and nodded towards the staircase. ‘I think you might be finding out right now.’

Coming down the imposing Tudor staircase was Craddock Fitch, wearing quite the smartest suit and the sharpest tie they’d ever seen him in, but what was more impressive was his smile, which stretched almost from ear to ear and made him look ten or even twenty years younger. The polite hubbub ended as they all had their attention drawn to him and a round of subdued applause rippled through the hall, begun by Muriel and picked up by everyone else. This started a rush inside from the guests still enjoying their drinks on the terrace.

Mr Fitch arrived in the hall and turned to look up the staircase. ‘Is he expecting someone else then?’ asked Ralph, one of the last to join in the applause.

Muriel gasped, ‘Oh look!’ The gasp, like the applause, went round the hall and the people, crowded in the doorway, strained to catch a glimpse. Unbelievably, it was Kate Pascoe from the school, in a
wedding dress
. A wedding dress?
Kate Pascoe?
Was this a joke? Kate walked carefully down the stairs, looking for all the world like a princess, the glass beads on her bodice and her tiara catching the light from the myriads of tall candles, her face radiant, eyes only for Craddock Fitch.

As she reached him, he took her hand and kissed it in the manner of a courtier of old, turned to the astounded guests and said, ‘May I have the pleasure of introducing my wife to you. This is Mrs Katherine Marguerita Fitch.
I hope you will be as thrilled and delighted as I am today. I’m a very lucky man.’ He spoke from the heart, a shock in itself.

No one moved: they were too stunned.

A strained silence fell, which no one dared break.

Then Muriel, entirely due to her kind heart, squeezed through the guests in front of her, took the bride’s hand, kissed her on both cheeks and said for all to hear, ‘My dear, how absolutely wonderful. You look . . . perfectly gorgeous. Yes, indeed. A princess to behold. And you, Craddock, much love. You’re right, you are a very lucky man.’ Muriel kissed him on both cheeks too and took hold of his free hand and shook it. ‘Congratulations, from all of us.’

Mercifully, Muriel’s actions broke the spell. There was a rush of those nearest to the bridal couple to shake hands and offer their best wishes and congratulations. But they were scandalized. Old Fitch, with the emphasis on the
old
, marrying a slip of a girl like Kate Pascoe? She was still a newcomer to the village, but it felt as if they’d known her for years. Fancy her marrying that frozen old toad! She’d done it for the money. Oh yes. There couldn’t be any other reasonable interpretation put on this wild venture. He must be mad. To say nothing of
her
mental state. She’d gone completely crackers. That brush with death and black magic years ago had finally done for her.

‘Wouldn’t mind getting
my
hands on his money though,’ said Greta Jones, out of the corner of her mouth, to Grandmama Charter-Plackett.

Grandmama was having great difficulty restraining herself from protesting out loud at this utter folly. Grimly,
she forced out the words she would later come to regret. ‘I give them three months.’

‘Well, fair’s fair, I’ll give them six months. But I must say she makes a beautiful bride. Very beautiful.’ Greta continued to watch people wishing the bridal couple well, thinking Kate might as well make the best of it while she could. But the alimony . . . my God, she was no fool. Greta, who’d struggled all her married life with the family finances never stretching as far as needed, envied Kate with heart and soul.

Grandmama Charter-Plackett felt disgust. What was that ridiculous man doing marrying a mere girl? Kate was old enough to make up her own mind, she supposed, but really . . . If ever there was a recipe for disaster, this was it. She’d always known Craddock Fitch hadn’t come out of the top drawer, much as he might like to think he did. He didn’t quite carry it off. There were a few little cracks in his attitude that spoke volumes, and this was one; quite a big crack, actually. Still,
she
wouldn’t want him, certainly not, and
he
definitely wouldn’t want her. She smiled ruefully and said to Greta, ‘Well, we may as well get what we can while the glow lasts.’

Greta nudged her and laughed. ‘You’re right there.’ They helped themselves to a glass of champagne each as a waiter in tails and bow tie passed between them.

Then Jimbo stood on a chair and proposed the toast to the happy couple.

Greta’s mouth dropped open. So, he
did
know all about it. Damn him! The secretive sod. She’d give him a piece of her mind when she went to work on Monday.

Everyone raised their glasses to the happy couple. Muriel toasted them with tears of happiness in her eyes.
She looked at Ralph and said, ‘Oh, Ralph, isn’t it lovely? I’m so pleased for them both. They make a shining couple, don’t they? I’ve never seen her looking so charming, in fact beautiful. It must be love.’

Ralph downed his champagne and took a second one from a passing tray. ‘Exactly.’

But there was something in his tone that alerted Muriel. ‘Ralph?’

‘She’s married him for his money, my dear, make no mistake about that.’

‘Shush! Ralph!’

‘Believe me. No woman would want him for himself. It’s the millions she’s after.’

Muriel opened her bag to search for her handkerchief. ‘Ralph! I’ve forgotten my . . . where is it?’

‘Here you are.’ Ralph gave her the handkerchief from his jacket pocket. ‘Don’t upset yourself. They’ve made their own bed and so far as I am concerned, they can lie in it.’ He picked up a third glass from a passing waiter and sipped it with relish.

‘Ralph! I’m ashamed of you. How very ungenerous. It’s not like you at all.’ She wiped her eyes, but before she’d managed to regain control, she saw to her horror that Mr Fitch and Kate were making their way between the guests, speaking to people right and left, and heading apparently straight for her and Ralph. Oh no! She so hoped there wasn’t going to be a scene. Someone turned and knocked her glass with their elbow. Champagne ran down Muriel’s bare wrist and up her sleeve. She dabbed at herself, desperate not to be looking a fool when the bride and groom reached them. The glass was almost empty. Ralph took it from her and picked up a second glass for her from
yet another silver tray making its way round. Well, he’d say this for him, he was more than generous. Ah! Here they come. He’d better not gloat, hadn’t old Fitch. He, Ralph, had better take the initiative.