Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (20 page)

‘Hello, darling. I’ve made a start on it, I’m afraid. Long, exhausting day and I needed to relax.’

Peter leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed her several times. This was as far as they had got since he’d come back from Yorkshire. There were times when he felt he was too reserved and more eagerness on his part would bring them closer more quickly, but since her brush with cancer and the need for his reticence because of it, and then Hugo, he’d willingly fallen into the habit of acquiescing to Caroline leading their relationship.

‘Good meeting? Did you get the result you wanted?’ She handed him his glass of wine.

Caroline wagged her finger at him. ‘They could have a point.’

‘They have not got a case. He cannot hold a position of responsibility within the church ever again.’

‘Peter!’

‘He has lied, he has withheld the truth, and he has connived, whatever his reasons for doing so, to assist a drug-pusher to hide his ill-gotten gains, and I’m sorry, but it’s not on. He was an excellent verger, none better, but … I won’t have him back.’

‘Here, drink this. Put like that I’m sure you’re right, but it doesn’t stop him living in the village, does it?’

‘No, it does not. He’ll have to exist on his police pension.’

Peter, sitting in the armchair opposite her, sipped his wine with approval. ‘Good choice this.’ He took a moment to admire Caroline’s beauty. It was the clean lines of her he loved. A tad too thin since her cancer but at the same time it had brought a greater beauty to her face: heightened her cheekbones and brought her jawline into a prominence which flattered. But best of all he loved her dark eyes: her deep compassion for people, her shining honesty were still there in them despite her troubles. She caught his glance and, for a brief moment, he thought he saw her love for him shining out too, but she quickly turned her face towards the fire and the impression was lost. His blood was drumming through his veins though, and to cover his emotions he took another drink of his wine. ‘This is very good.’

Peter nodded his head in agreement. ‘It must put you in a terrible dilemma when you know your wife’s sanity depends on your actions. You know the trashing of Kenny’s house, that wasn’t anything to do with Tom. It was done as a threat to Kenny and Terry, for muscling in on Turkish Delight’s patch in Culworth.’

Caroline burst out laughing, a rip-roaring joyous laugh he hadn’t heard from her in months. It completely took over and she abandoned herself to it. The laughter became so infectious that Peter caught it and joined in.

Caroline hugged her side. ‘Oh dear! I shall have to stop, I’ve got a stitch! I cannot believe I have heard you say that. I thought Big Harry and Mack the Knife and names like it only belonged in nineteen fifties Ealing comedies. Oh, God! I’ve got such a pain!’ She rubbed her side. ‘Is it really true what you said? Do they call them names like that still?’

‘Of course – well, that’s what Tom said anyway. Turkish Delight is very big in drugs.’

‘What I can’t understand is, if you know this then the police must know it, so why don’t they arrest him?’

‘They have.’

‘Oh, right! And Kenny? And Terry?’

‘Tom says they’ll find the pair of them eventually, but possibly under a couple of feet of concrete.’

For such a big man he had very slender fingers, strong but slender, it would be possible to describe them as elegant. She admired his face, half in light, half in shade. She tried to decide which half she admired, no, loved the most. There again that twin impression: his features strong but at the same time so gentle and just lately so vulnerable. She watched him take another sip of his wine, his eyes still closed. Caroline wished he’d open them because she wanted him to look at her. Wanted him to see that all her love for him had mysteriously, and unbidden, come flowing back on Saturday when he’d come through the door and looked for her. Wanted him to see her gratitude for his understanding and, above all, longed for him to witness her bodily need of him.

She poured herself another glass of wine. This was her third, she’d better stop otherwise she’d never get up the stairs to bed. She looked at her watch, half past ten, looked at Peter. Swiftly she got to her feet and gently removed Peter’s glass from his hand for he’d obviously fallen asleep and the remains of the wine were threatening to spill on to his cassock.

Sometimes it might be better if they didn’t expect so much of each other, that they simply came together because they wanted sex with someone, or because of outright lust for each other. Right now a dose of honest-to-goodness lust would fit the bill and they could leave the high and mighty motives of adoration and worship, devotion and loving-till-death-us-do-part for another time.

Caroline looked to see how much wine was left in the bottle. She was reaching out intending to top up her glass when Peter said, ‘Is there anything left for me?’

Startled, having thought him asleep, Caroline looked up at him, her passionate thoughts plainly written on her face. His strangely phrased question didn’t appear to relate to the wine, but just the same he was holding out his glass to her and she filled it for him.

Almost inaudibly Peter asked, ‘Am I to have it all?’

Because at that moment she didn’t want soul-searching between them only plain honest need, she shied away from answering him directly and instead showed him the empty bottle and simply nodded.

The challenge in his next question was unmistakable though. ‘Are you sure?’ This question was not begging a reply it was demanding one. Now he was gazing steadily at her and somehow it unnerved her. There could be no pretending he was talking about the wine. Now she had to say it and say it she did, eagerly. ‘Yes, I am.’

Peter came to kneel in front of her. Lifting her bare feet, one in each hand, he kissed them in turn, savouring the way the heat from the fire had warmed her flesh. With the same heat burning the skin of his back through his shirt, and with his eyes on her face, he slowly began to unfasten the row of buttons that ran from hem to neck of her dress.

‘Caro! You’re stark naked underneath!’

‘I was determined there would be nothing to prevent me having my wicked way with you tonight.’

‘You wanton woman, you!’

Caroline was in the kitchen making breakfast when Peter came back from his morning run. He stood in the kitchen doorway breathing heavily, rubbing the sweat from his face with the hem of his running vest. ‘I’m back!’

Beth moved her mouthful of Weetabix to one side and mumbled, ‘We know, Daddy, we can hear, and we can smell all that sweat.’

Alex smacked his spoon down in his empty dish and said, ‘Wait till I’m old enough to go running with you, Dad! I’ll get home first.’

‘I’ve no doubt you will! I shall be past my prime by then.’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing. Just, darling.’

‘I see. Be down in ten minutes.’

‘Your dutiful wife will have your boiled eggs done to a turn.’

‘Think I’ll have scrambled this morning.’

‘Scrambled? Why break the habit of a lifetime?’

Peter shrugged his shoulders, winked at her and disappeared upstairs.

Beth, having closely observed the exchange between them, said, ‘Daddy’s happy this morning.’

‘Isn’t he always?’

‘No. Not lately.’

Caroline recognised a woman’s intuition in Beth’s comment. ‘Well, he is and let’s be thankful.’

‘I don’t like it when Daddy isn’t happy.’

Alex cleared his mouth of marmalade and toast and said, ‘I don’t either.’

Acutely aware that the children had sensed all too well that the atmosphere between their parents had not been of the best these last months, Caroline remained silent. When she heard Peter walk into the bedroom overhead Caroline began to cook his scrambled eggs.

He returned to the kitchen dressed and shining new. Beth lifted her face for a kiss. ‘That’s nice, Daddy, I don’t like you when you smell.’

‘Honestly! Good honest sweat never did anyone any harm. Good morning, Alex.’ Peter bent to kiss the top of his head.

‘Morning, Daddy.’

Beth protested, ‘I always do.’

Alex answered, ‘You don’t.’

‘I do.’

‘You only brush at the front.’

‘I brush longer than you do.’

‘You don’t.’

The sound of their bickering trailed away up the stairs. Caroline went to stand behind Peter’s chair. She placed her arms around his neck and with her cheek resting against his head she hugged him.

Peter put down his knife and fork and bent his head to kiss her wrists. ‘My darling girl.’

‘You haven’t said Grace.’

‘So I haven’t. I’m topsy-turvy this morning.’

‘So am I. That’s what happiness does for you.’

Peter looked at the clock. ‘You’re going to be late for surgery.’

‘I know. Give me a kiss before Sylvia comes.’

‘I’m wishing it wasn’t Sylvia’s day.’

‘So am I.’

‘I’m wishing we had the house to ourselves for the day. Hang the parish for once.’ Peter glanced at the clock, contemplating the possibility of holding back the hands. ‘Much as I regret it, you really must go.’

Caroline grunted her agreement and bent to kiss him once more. ‘You do realise I’ve fallen in love with you all over again?’

The front door clicked shut and they heard Sylvia calling out, ‘Only me.’

While Sylvia hung her coat in the hall cupboard and put on her apron, Caroline kissed Peter yet again, said, ‘Love you,’ and went into the hall. ‘Hello, Sylvia, I’m running late, I’m afraid. Can I leave everything to you?’

‘Of course, it’s what I’m here for. Nice morning.’

‘Oh, it is. Wonderful! You’d never think it was almost the end of October, would you?’ Caroline raced up the stairs and Sylvia went into the kitchen.

‘Good morning, Rector.’

He looked up at her lost in thought, a forkful of scrambled egg half-way to his mouth. She saw that the terrible strain, which had been evident in his face for months now and which he’d striven so hard to disguise, had utterly vanished and been replaced with profound happiness. Sylvia rejoiced.

Peter, in his endeavours to swing the tide of opinion towards preventing Tom continuing as verger, wandered into the Store later that morning.

Jimbo looked up from the till as Peter’s tall shadow fell across the counter.

‘Why, good morning, Peter, what can I do for you?’

‘Have you a minute? To spare for a chat?’

‘In five minutes Bel will be here and then I shall. Is it important?’

Peter nodded. ‘I’ll pour myself a coffee, may I, while I wait?’

‘Of course, help yourself.’