Talk of the Village (22 page)

Muriel, despite being Lady Templeton, still cleaned the church brass once a fortnight. This time it was three weeks since she'd done the polishing because she and Ralph had been to the south of France for a week. She'd loved Cannes and Monte Carlo and Monaco and had come back with renewed zest to her quiet, country life. She was standing on a chair cleaning the big brass cross above the altar when she saw the sun had come out from behind a cloud and it was shining through the stained glass window covering her with curiously shaped streaks of colour. Her delight in the rich colours made her rub even harder and the old cross gleamed. No one knew how long the cross had hung there but Muriel liked to think it had been there since the Middle Ages and had seen the village through wars and calamities, joys and celebrations, for hundreds of years.

Only the noise of her cloth, rub rub rubbing on the cross disturbed the silence. Satisfied there was no more room for improvement she held onto the altar and stepped down. The chair, given by an ancestor of Ralph's in memory of a young and much loved husband who had died in a hunting accident, belonged at the side of the altar for Peter to use when the choir sang an anthem or a visiting preacher or a parishioner was reading the lesson. She gave it a pat as she replaced it. There was such

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comfort to be had from familiar things. Muriel collected her cloths and the tin of polish and went to clean the brass work on the lectern. It was then she heard the sound of weeping. Seated in the pew in front of the tomb Willie always insisted was haunted, was Venetia Mayer, her head bent, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

For a few more minutes Muriel continued to clean the lectern. Venetia Mayer was not her kind of person and she'd hardly spoken to her in all the time she'd been in the village. What really stuck in Muriel's throat was the damage done by the modernisation of the Big House. She couldn't quite forgive her for that. Eventually her soft heart could ignore the crying no longer. Muriel went to sit beside her. To Muriel's conservative outlook Venetia's apparel seemed hardly appropriate for church. She wore her brightest pink, plush velvet tracksuit with a purple headband and purple slouch socks. Because she was bent over as she cried, Muriel could see the words 'Tumham House Health Club' emblazoned across the back and they caused Muriel pain; it was such an insult to that lovely gracious old house.

Holding Venetia's hand Muriel said, 'Now, my dear, is there any way in which I could help?'

Muriel's sympathetic voice made Venetia sob even louder, so Muriel put her arm around her and rocked her gently saying, 'Hush, hush, nothing can be so bad that it can't be solved. Come, come, my dear.'

The crying lessened and Venetia lifted her head and looked at Muriel. The false eyelashes on her right eye were coming unstuck, her thick black mascara was running down her face in tiny black rivulets. Where the tears had run down her cheeks there were light coloured trickles amongst her tan makeup. Where had the super confident Venetia gone?

'Whatever is the matter? You can tell me, or if not, I'm sure the rector would be only too pleased to help.'

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'Oh no, not him, not Peter, that wouldn't do. No, I don't want him to know.'

Muriel took Venetia's handkerchief from her and tried to wipe her face dry for her, but the streaks became even more pronounced, 'Here, my dear, I have these two clean tissues in my bag, use them.'

Venetia wiped her face as clean as she could without the aid of a mirror, and said, 'Lady Templeton isn't it?' Muriel nodded, 'I'm sorry for making such a fool of myself, but we're in such trouble, you've no idea.' Venetia sniffed into the tissues.

'I am sorry about that.'

'We can't pretend any longer.'

'Can't pretend what?'

'That everything's all right.'

'All right?'

'With the Health Club I mean. We've been pretending for weeks that the clientele was slowly building up, but sod it, it isn't. We're going to have to close. We were so full of excitement, this was really going to be the big deal, the big opportunity and this bloody recession has killed it.' Muriel's embarrassment at her swearing in church showed in her face and Venetia apologised, 'Sorry, sorry for that.'

'I see, so it isn't Mr Mayer that's the problem then?'

'Well, it is, and it isn't. I tell people I married him for his money, well now he hasn't
got
any money, well not much. He borrowed it all and . . . and . . . and . . . ' Venetia broke down again. Muriel hugged her again, puzzled as to what the problem really was. 'Now, now dear, pull yourself together. It's something else besides the business isn't it? You can tell me. A problem shared is a problem halved.'

Between her sobs Venetia said, 'I don't know what I'm doing sitting in a church. I've done something terrible and you'll think it's terrible too and that I don't belong

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here at all.'

'That's not so. Don't let Peter hear you say that. He would say no one is outside God's love.'

'Well, when I tell you what I've done you might think I am.' She hesitated for a moment and then said, 'I'vejust had an ... well, I've just had an affair you see.'

Muriel sat speechless while she absorbed what she'd just heard then she said, 'Oh dear, oh dear, no wonder you're upset.'

'I've been the biggest fool, you've no idea.'

'No, I haven't.'

'He came to the Health Club and I fell for his charm, hook, line and sinker. He was so good looking and I did need cheering up. He gave me a wonderful time, treated me like a queen and then dropped me like a red hot brick. Men can be cruel. Now Jeremy's found out and well, we've had a terrible row.'

'I'm not surprised.'

'Anyway it's over with and I've said I'm sorry, but Jeremy's really cut up about it. I do like excitement in my life you see and with everything going wrong at the Club and Jeremy being so worried I got carried away. I've been such an idiot.' The tears began falling again and Muriel searched in her bag for another tissue. 'Here you are Venetia, another clean tissue. Wipe your eyes, my dear, and cheer up. Hopefully Jeremy will come round.'

'Oh he will, he's such a kind man really. I could kill that man for egging me on like he did. He's a slimeball.'

Muriel flinched at the word. Taking a deep breath she said, 'We all make mistakes at some time or another, so you must learn from your experience and resolve not to make the same mistake again.'

'Yes, you're right, but he was so lovely and so well off. I shall miss him.'

Muriel smiled wistfully at her. 'Time is a great healer you know.'

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Venetia sniffed loudly. 'Still let's face it, he wouldn't really have wanted to take someone like me seriously would he? On top of all that upset and the Health Club failing I don't know what to do anymore. We don't know which way to turn.'

'Mr Mayer must be very upset too, with this . . . well with your problem and then the business failing. Oh dear, I am sorry, so sorry.'

It was Venetia's turn to comfort Muriel. 'Please don't upset yourself, I'm fairly tough you know, I'll get over it I expect. If I could just come up with a solution, you know, find a buyer or something. But what hope is there of that in these times? No one has money, no one at all.' Inspiration came to her and her eyes lit up. 'I don't suppose Sir Ralph would . . . '

'No, definitely not, he hasn't that kind of money.'

'Oh I see, just a thought."

'Come with me to the house and we'll have a coffee and a good think.'

Venetia shook her head. 'I shouldn't really you know. Anyway, I look such a mess.'

'You can have a wash and brush up while I put the kettle on.'

'Righteo then.'

Ralph, who'd been in the bedroom changing into some old clothes in readiness for cleaning his car, emerged to find Venetia coming out of the bathroom. He couldn't hide the shock he felt. To find her in his house at all came as a surprise, more so as it was hard to recognise this drained looking version of the colourful Venetia.

'Oh, beg pardon Sir Ralph, I'm sure.'

That's quite all right . . . Venetia isn't it?'

'Yes, Lady Templeton asked me in. We're just having a coffee. Are you going to join us?' She flicked her hand up to her hair and rearranged her head band. Something of the old Venetia was coming through despite her

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problems.

Ralph hastily declined. 'Thank you, no, I won't. I'm going to clean the car, so I'll leave you ladies to enjoy a good chat on your own.'

Muriel made three cups of coffee and took one out to Ralph as he hosed down the car.

He thanked her and then in a stage whisper said, 'Muriel, what the blazes have you asked that dreadful woman in for? You know I don't like her. She looks terrible this morning. What a sight to find on one's landing!'

'Yes, she does look terrible, but it's because she has a lot of problems and needs help.'

'Whatever you do,
don't offer moneyV

'Of course not. I'll explain later. When she's ready to go would you drive her back to the Big House?'

Reluctantly Ralph agreed, 'Very well, but you're far too soft hearted Muriel.'

When he returned from taking Venetia home Ralph asked Muriel for an explanation.

'So you see Ralph I couldn't leave her there could I?' Muriel concluded.

'No, in all honesty you couldn't, but there is no way that you and I could buy it back. It makes me very sad to see my old home receiving such cavalier treatment. I expect really it's ruined forever. Wars have repercussions one doesn't always bargain for don't they? If my father hadn't been killed in Malaya the Big House would have been as it always was. Ah well, much as I should like to live there it is quite impossible, my dear. Still, thank you for being kind to her. I don't like the woman but she obviously needed your help. Now, afternoon tea in Culworth I think. I have a mind to buy my wife, my one and only wife something special to celebrate her kind heart.'

'Ralph, you indulge me far too much.'

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'Why not? I love you. It was the best day's work I ever did coining back here to live and finding you.'

'Thank you, dear. I think you can buy me that suit I saw in Fisk's. It's terribly expensive but I do love it and it's my size. Let's go now Ralph, buy the suit and then have lunch at the George. I have a feeling it might be sold ifl don't hurry.'

Venetia had waved an exaggerated farewell to Ralph as he swung the Mercedes round and headed back to the village. Now
he
really was something despite his years, and so charming. She found Jeremy seated at his desk, head resting on his arms fast asleep. He'd obviously been working at some figures as his calculator was still switched on, his glasses carelessly flung aside and a pen lay between his fingers. His pudgy fingers, his thick wrists, his balding head, his fat ears, his solid shoulders, his suit with flakes of dandruff scattered on the collar, revolted her; whatever had made her fancy him in the first place? Was there any point in staying with him? The debts were all his, her name was on nothing at all. He'd lost all his capital. All he had was the home he'd used as collateral for some of the borrowings. Even that was rented out so they couldn't live in it. Get a job in a beauty salon, or a leisure centre? Only trouble with getting a job was it wouldn't keep her in the manner to which she had become accustomed since she'd teamed up with Jeremy. It would have to be the fire idea after all. But how dangerous. Found out, and she'd be in prison. In any case you couldn't do that to such a lovely old house.

He stirred, opened his eyes and stared vaguely round. He patted amongst the clutter on the desk, found his glasses and put them on. 'Oh, Venetia, you're still here. I dreamt you'd left me. It was a terrible shock. I wept, in my dream, I really wept. You wouldn't leave me would you? I love you, ducky. I know I don't show it, but I do.'

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'I know you do.'

'Feeling better now old girl?'

'Better?' Venetia looked up questioningly. 'Oh, yes.'

'You don't look it, in fact, you look quite odd.'

'Thanks. I've been having coffee with Lady Temple ..."

'Lady Templeton! She didn't offer . . . '

'No. Neither did he.'

'Oh well. 'Jeremy hesitated and then said, 'I've let you down badly.'

Venetia looked shamefaced for a moment and then patted his hand. 'I've let you down badly too, and I'm sorry. I shall go see Jimbo. Maybe he might have some bright ideas, he's the only business man hereabouts.'

'It's my place to go.'

'No, I'll go. Jimbo is very susceptible to feminine charm.'

'So am I.'

'Yes, but you haven't the money, have you Jeremy dear?'

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Peter drove to Little Derehams not expecting to hear a very accurate recollection of the story behind the Charity Fund. One couldn't expect an old lady in her nineties to be able to recall all the details. Nevertheless he'd no alternative. He wasn't sure where she lived as the Gotobeds didn't come to church and he'd never had the opportunity to meet them before. Along the Turnham Road he saw a girl playing with some children in the garden of a neglected cottage. He realised he knew her. Peter got out of his car and went to speak to her.

'Good morning Mrs Paradise, how are you?'

Simone stopped pushing the home made swing and lifted the baby from the seat.

'Don't be polite Peter, get round it by calling me Simone.'

'Right, Simone then. Young Valentine is looking better than when I saw him last.' Simone pushed back her long brown hair from her eyes and agreed. 'Valentine's coming on fine now, Peter, thanks. The operation's been a complete success. Say "Hello" to the rector, Valentine.' Simone held his plump brown arm and waved it up and down, then grinned engagingly at Peter. 'How are your two coming along?'

'They're both doing fine, thank you.'

'Good. Mrs Gotobed lives at Weavers Cottage, last

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one on the right before the T-junction.'

'How did you know that was what I was going to ask?'

'I'm a mind reader didn't you know?'

Simone laughed and popped Valentine back on the swing. Peter said goodbye and returned to his car. He shook his head in disbelief, one really couldn't catch a cold in this parish but they all knew before you did.

The door knocker at Weavers Cottage was a bright brass Cockington elf rubbed almost smooth with years of polishing. A sprightly woman in her seventies opened the door. She was like an elf herself, so tiny was she, with bright, shining brown eyes and a mass of snow white hair.

'Oh good afternoon, Rector, how nice to see you, do come in.'

Peter shook hands, 'Good afternoon to you Miss Gotobed.'

'I'm Primrose and this is my sister Lavender just coming from the kitchen.'

Though older by some years, Miss Lavender Gotobed was very like her sister, a round chubby woman with round chubby cheeks, sparkling brown eyes and a mass of curly, undisciplined, snow white hair.

'Mother's having a cup of tea, she will be pleased to see you. Would you like a cup too?'

'Yes, please, I would. I'm sorry for calling unexpectedly.'

'That's quite all right, we're always ready for visitors.'

The tiny cottage sitting room was furnished as it must have been some eighty years ago. Clean to within an inch of it's life the room was welcoming with, despite the warmth of the day, a fire blazing in the hearth.

Mrs Gotobed, with her apple cheeked face, looked the epitome of a lovely ancient country woman. Her fine white hair now grew so sparsely, her pink scalp could be seen through the well washed strands. She struggled to

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rise from her chair to greet him.

'Please, please, stay where you are Mrs Gotobed. Don't get up on my account.'

She ignored him and stood to shake hands. 'In my day the rector was given great respect in this parish and you still are as far as I'm concerned, sir. I don't hold with all this Christian name business for the rector, it's not right. Now sit down. I hear you haven't been well.'

'I have had a bad dose of something or another, but I'm much better now thank you.'

'Lavender, where's the rector's cup?' Mrs Gotobed's thin piping voice penetrated every corner of the tiny sitting room. 'That girl is just as slow as she's always been. I don't suppose I can expect any improvement now, it's much too late. Now, sir, have you a special reason for coming to see me.'

He knew by the intonation of her voice that she was aware of his mission. He explained the curious coincidence of both the book and the bank statement turning up on the same day and how Sir Ralph had suggested she would be able to tell him the whole story. Mrs Gotobed interrupted him, 'And as soon as you found them you had your accident and then you've been very poorly. No wonder they're all getting in such a state.'

'Can you explain what it's all about?'

'Well, I will, because I'm old and if I popped my clogs tomorrow it would be a blessing for all concerned. So I'm not afraid you see. Now drink that tea and have a piece of Primrose's parkin, it's about the only decent thing she bakes, while I tell you what happened.'

'It all started with those Glover boys. They didn't want to know about hard work. A bit of labouring here and there, poaching, helping put up the roundabouts when the fair came, helping at harvest time, working in Culworth at Christmas, anything and everything so long as it wasn't sensible work needing application six days a

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week. Well, of course, the war was on, that's the first one you know, and not one of'em was in the army. Caused a lot of ill feeling that did, but they didn't care. Somehow they'd managed to avoid it even though they were all fit as lops.

'They were that handsome, those boys. I quite fancied Cecil myself except Jonathan Gotobed had decided I was marrying him. Sixteen, that's all I was, but he was determined. I used to laugh, I was much too young to be settling down and those Glover boys did have a lot of dash especially Cecil.'

She paused for a moment and smiled secretly to herself. Then recollecting her story she went on, 'Then late in 1916 they got their call up papers. They were always short of money and when the time came for parishioners to apply to the rector for some help for Christmas from the fund, they applied. Said they needed it to set themselves up with stuff for when they went off to war. Well, of course, it wasn't for young men who could fend for themselves and the rector told them so. But one night after they'd been in The Royal Oak and drunk far more than was good for them, they called at the rectory, all four of them, and threatened the rector and made him give them the money. The verger was there too. Now what it was the Glover boys knew I can only guess at, like all the rest of the village did. But they must have had some sort of hold over the two of them, because they didn't harm the rector nor the verger, but before you could say knife the four of them emerged from the rectory each with a pound in their hand.

'It might seem a small thing in itself, but it was as though the results of their badness were never ending, like the ripples on a pond when you throw a stone in.

'The verger was a widower and his only child died of diptheria on Christmas Day that year. He saw her buried decent and then gassed himself in his kitchen, where

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Willie Biggs lives now. Then, would you believe it, on New Year's Eve the rector, what was his name? my memory isn't what it was, was coming home from Penny Fawcett. In those days of course he rode in a carriage, little it was, just big enough for a lone bachelor. Just by Havers Lake Woods his horse took fright at some gun shots and it bolted. He was thrown out and killed. No one put two and two together then, it all just seemed like dreadful coincidences and after all we had so much else to worry about, what with the war and the food shortages and young men dying right left and centre. There seemed no end to the horror.' Mrs Gotobed stopped for a moment lost in thought.

Peter sat patiently waiting, wondering if she'd fallen asleep.

'Where was I, oh yes, so the worst was yet to come. All four of the Glover boys were at the front by the following summer. Within the space of three weeks their parents received telegrams, one by one, informing them that they had all been killed. Went down like ninepins they did. Terrible. Terrible. Turnham Malpas almost died too. It was a dreadful blow. None of us could hardly lift our heads to the light of day for months. Then as people talked about it, all the tragedies seemed to come together and everyone became convinced that the deaths were caused by the Glover boys getting money from the rector by force. Since that Christmas of 1916 not a single person hereabouts has dared to ask for a penny from the Fund, for fear of what might happen. Blighted it is, blighted. Christmas 1917 the new rector tried to distribute some money but no one applied and it's been like that ever since.'

'If all the Glover boys died who was Jimmy Glover's father?'

'Ah well, there were the four boys who died, they were the eldest, and then came three girls and then

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Jimmy's dad. He was only eight when it all happened. How they all squeezed into that little cottage of Jimmy's I'll never know.'

'Thank you for telling me all that. I don't know how you remembered so clearly. I won't stay any longer, I don't want to tire you.'

'You won't try to use the money for the church will you? The village won't tolerate it, you know. Heaven alone knows what might happen if you do. You're a grand young man with a lot of good work still to do, and we don't want anything to happen to you. It nearly did you know, you've come very close to it killing you.'

Somewhat shaken by Mrs Gotobed's warning Peter laid his hand on her head and gave her his blessing. As he finished making the sign of the cross on her forehead, she smiled up at him and took hold of his hand. 'And when my time comes, you make sure my funeral service is a happy one, don't want everyone sat there looking glum, they've to sing Hallelujah! After all, I've gone to my reward.'

'I'll remember, I promise.' Peter turned at the door and said, 'So why did the Gotobeds come to live in Little Derehams?'

'Because my Jonathan was too frightened to live in Turnham Malpas any more, so we moved here when we married, and I've never been in Turnham Malpas since that day. What's more I shan't, so you'll have to hold my service in Culworth, and I want you to do the service, not that young whippersnapper of a curate they've got there now, all microphones and guitars. And I'm to be buried there too, alongside my Jonathan. Right!'

'Right!'

When Peter got home for lunch he told Caroline the full story.

'In that case then Peter, leave well alone.'

'You're as bad as Mrs Gotobed, threatening dire

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consequences if I so much as mention the Fund.'

'Have you seen the local paper today?'

'No, I haven't had the time.'

Caroline put the Culworth Gazette on the kitchen table. She pointed out a news item with the headline
'local bank manager dies'.
Peter went very quiet. '
The new manager of the Culworth Branch of the County and Provincial Bank collapsed and died of a heart attack in his office, early yesterday . . .'
he read.

'The poor chap, such a nice man too. This is pure coincidence though and you know it. It's quite preposterous to imagine there is any connection. How you, level headed and thoroughly sensible, can imagine that there is anything . . . '

'Peter! Take note. Please take note. I
know
it's silly but . . . well, anyway, I don't often insist about matters which are rightly your own concern, but just this once do as I say, please, and be thankful you've been spared. I know I am.' She reached across the table to kiss him.

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