Read Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Trouble in the Village (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (7 page)
‘Please don’t apologise. Your gesture has reassured me that you do have money, for now. So, seeing as you’re a village person born and bred, I’ll let you rent it for six months. After that if you wish to stay longer, then you can,
subject to how you have behaved yourself in the meantime. Is that agreeable?’
Kenny nodded.
‘Nothing is confirmed until you’ve seen the agent, paid the first two months’ rent, or more if you wish, and you’ve signed the contract.’
Remembering his new status as a businessman Kenny asked, ‘If I pay for six months all at once do I get a discount?’ The moment the words were out of his mouth he knew he shouldn’t have asked. He realised by the look of disapproval on Sir Ralph’s face that they had very nearly undone the whole arrangement.
Sir Ralph rose to his feet and said rather coldly, ‘It is not negotiable. If you wish to proceed, then see the agent and get it signed and sealed. If not, someone else will. Rented accommodation hereabouts is hard to find.’
Kenny held out his hand. ‘Thank you for approving of me. I shan’t let you down. I was thinking …’
Sir Ralph shook his hand saying, ‘Good afternoon, Kenny. My kindest regards to your mother.’
It was a dismissal, kindly done, but it was there. Kenny hurtled into Culworth and got it all signed and sealed, using a telephone call to Sir Ralph as his reference. He rushed home to his mother to tell her and to tell their Terry, who nearly collapsed when he heard. Terry’s comment to Kenny was ‘You shouldn’t have.’
Ralph’s comment to Muriel was ‘I can’t help feeling I’ve made the kind of decision I shall live to regret.’
‘I saw him coming out of church this morning, so perhaps he’s turned over a new leaf. You have to give him the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Is this Kenny Jones we’re talking about? The idle good-for-nothing womaniser we all know and love?’ Sylvia asked.
‘The very one, Sylvia.’
‘Well, I never. Where’s he suddenly got money from?’
‘That’s the question, isn’t it? Where has he got it from?’
Vera chuckled. ‘Maybe he’s done someone a good turn and they’ve left him it in their will.’
‘Good turn! He wouldn’t know what a good turn was if it jumped up and bit ’im!’
The four of them roared with laughter.
Jimmy related a story he’d heard about Kenny and so too did Willie, and before long they’d agreed he’d paid his way into the cottage with dirty money but from what source they’d no idea.
Sylvia, having dried her eyes and pulled herself together, said, ‘I’m amazed at Sir Ralph! Letting Kenny have a cottage. We all know his mother’s waited on him hand and foot all his life and that he won’t know where to start with anything domestic. The cottage will be a tip from day one. I reckon Sir Ralph’s made a big mistake.’
‘So do I. So do I.’ Willie nodded his head in agreement. ‘But yer never know, maybe it could be a turning-point for him. Out from under his mother’s wing, fending for himself, it might do him good. It’s not often Ralph makes a bad judgement where character’s concerned.’
‘They say their Terry’s moving in too.’
Vera spluttered into her vodka. ‘Terry! A right den of iniquity that’ll be then. But with Vince having got the push, I expect they’ll be glad to see the back of those two boys.’
‘Either that or they can’t take any more of her bossiness.’
Sylvia, seated alongside Vera on the settle, said, ‘You know, Vera, this is nice having a drink with you, quite like old times. It seems ages since I saw you.’
‘Is it? I’ve been so busy settling in I haven’t had time to think.’
‘You like it then?’
‘Like it! I should say so. What a pleasure it is to go upstairs into that flat after work, all bright and airy!’
Willie asked her how many times she had to get up in the night to give a hand.
‘I suppose it’s about two nights a week on average. So it’s not that bad. They’ve two nursing staff on, you see, so they only want me if they’ve several crises all at once. I change sheets, make tea, ring for the doctor, sit with the old dears when they’ve had a fright, go looking for them when they’ve gone missing, that kind of thing. Nothing medical, thank God!’
‘So it’s been worth it?’ Jimmy wanted to reassure himself that she didn’t regret it.
Vera nodded. ‘Definitely.’ She took a sip of her vodka and tonic and, almost casually, asked how was Don, had they seen him at all?
‘Don’t you worry about him, he’s as happy as a sand-boy. He says. Don’t quite believe it meself but there you are. He mentions you a lot, yer see.’ Jimmy smiled at her.
‘Don’t grin at me.’
‘You were! It isn’t funny. I never thought I’d finish up a single woman after all these years.’
Sylvia reminded her it was she who’d left him.
‘I know that, but I thought he’d follow meek as a lamb and he didn’t. Right called my bluff he did. But I was determined. I couldn’t take any more of that house. The trouble is he can’t see what I mean. He thinks it’s lovely.’
Willie nodded wisely. ‘It’s a tip. Even I can see that. Mine was till I met Sylvia and I realised I couldn’t ask her to visit me like it was, so I did it up.’
‘Did you? Just for me?’ Sylvia’s face lit up at the thought of what he’d done for her sake. Her lovely grey eyes, which unbeknown to her were what had attracted Willie in the first place, brimmed with tears.
Willie squeezed her arm. ‘Just for you.’
Sylvia stood up and leaned across the table to kiss his cheek. ‘Thank you. I’d no idea.’
Vera watched this private moment between Sylvia and Willie and her heart almost burst. It was Don more than the house that she was sickened of. More loving consideration had passed between Willie and Sylvia in that moment than she’d experienced in years from Don, and she was envious. She looked up to see Don at the bar and his arrival at a moment when she had been made so vividly aware of his shortcomings put her in a steaming temper.
‘Oh, no! Just look! The fool’s come in. What does he want to come in for right now, spoiling everything when I’m enjoying myself?’
‘Comes in a lot nowadays. He must be lonely.’ Jimmy’s wry grin did nothing to assuage Vera’s temper.
Jimmy leaned over and pulled a chair across from the next table. ‘Sit down, Don.’
‘In the circumstances, I won’t bother. Thanks.’ He turned his back and, because all the other tables were occupied, went to perch uncomfortably on a bar stool, drank his juice as fast as he decently could, said good night and left.
Vera watched him depart and very briefly felt sorry for him, then remembered that pigsty of a kitchen; the only shining thing about it was the fridge-freezer which she’d got from the nursing home when they were throwing it out, and even that was speckled with pinpoints of rust. As for the rest, if they needed a kitchen for a museum it would qualify hands down. Victorian most likely, or even earlier. But worse she remembered his unattractiveness, his neglect of her, his disinterest, the boring life his inertia forced her to lead. No. She’d struck out for a better life and if he didn’t want it, well, it was bad luck, Don. She was better off where she was and so long as she closed her mind to what she would do when they retired her, things were pretty good.
Just before he went to bed that first night Kenny stood in the little kitchen drinking his nightly tot from a mug and thought, this is only the beginning. From now on Kenny Jones is on the up. He’d had nothing to buy in the kitchen because it came fully fitted and looked really good. He wandered into the sitting room and his heart sank. There was no two ways about it, he’d have to graft to get this looking anything right. He recollected the feel of Sir Ralph’s leather armchair and yearned for it. His envy set him on a path from which he determined there would be no turning back until he’d achieved his objectives.
Tom, climbing into bed beside Evie that night, said, ‘They’ve no furniture to speak of and no stuff like pans and dishes and such. Just a mug and a cereal bowl each they’ve borrowed from their mother.’ He put an arm round Evie’s thin waist. ‘Like it here, do you, Evie? I do. Like as if I’ve come home, and this job as verger, it’s given us respectability. Lovely that. We’ve been accepted. Haven’t you noticed people’s attitude is different now? We’ve arrived as you might say. They do say it takes fifty years to become a true villager here but, well, I reckon as far as Tom and Evie are concerned we’ve reduced that to three!’
He gave her a squeeze. ‘All those years of worry, all finished with.’ He nuzzled her with his chin. ‘Orchid House. I’m glad we chose that name. Better than Lilac Cottage or Chez Nous. Orchid House. Has a ring to it. And we do, grow orchids I mean. So it’s genuine. Honeysuckle
growing round the door. Like a picture book. Always dreamed of a house with honeysuckle round the door. There isn’t a house in Turnham Malpas with such style as ours. Long may it remain so. Buying all Sadie Beauchamp’s furniture did the trick. We’d never have made it like this, would we, buying the stuff ourselves? We don’t come from the right background, you see, you and me, to know what to buy. It takes class to furnish a place like this is furnished.’
He took his arm from Evie’s waist and lay on his back. In the light of the full moon creeping round the edges of the curtains he surveyed the bedroom and remembered other rooms he’d slept in, and he decided that here in Turnham Malpas, in this room in his dream home, he felt the safest, most secure and happiest he’d ever been for many a year. Yes. Here was pure heaven.
‘Shall we start doing a bit of entertaining? Ask people round, casual-like for a meal. Let’s see. I know, we can start with Sheila and Ronald. What about it? Eh? What do you say? They’re our kind. Cut our teeth a bit with someone we feel happy with. Ask them for Friday night, Evie. Just knock and ask. If they say, “No,” well, OK, it’s not the end of the world. Who else could we ask? I know: Vince Jones and his missus. They’re our kind. But we’ll start with Sheila and Ron. Sir Ronald and Lady Bissett, oh, yes! I’ll look forward to that. Something special to eat. Yes, that’s what we’ll do. You do the food, I’ll see to the drinks. We’ll show ’em!’
Tom rolled on his side and put his arm round Evie again, kissed her earlobe, pulled the duvet up around her shoulders seeing as the night was chilly, and fell asleep. But in the small hours of the night he woke sweating and fearful. Kenny! Oh, God! Kenny. Kenny was his only threat.
Ron handed over a bottle of wine. ‘Thought it might be useful. I know a little man in London, you see, and he always makes sure I buy only the best.’
‘London! My word! We are privileged! Do come in. Evie’s busy in the kitchen, she won’t be a moment. Come in, sit yourselves down.’
Sheila took a brisk look around the sitting room. Just as she’d thought, they’d bought Sadie’s furniture and pictures and done nothing at all to imprint their own taste on the house since they’d moved in. Oh, well! She would have liked the odd little touch which said, ‘This is mine and this is how I like it.’ She seated herself carefully, hoping not to crease her skirt. This suit was an absolute pest for creasing. She’d worn it to a dinner with Ron and when she got home she’d realised she must have looked a perfect ragbag all evening. Ron was looking quite handsome tonight. His dark lounge suit, with that tie with the hot air balloons on it that added just the right touch of colour, made him look debonair. She looked at Tom and decided he’d gone a bit over the top with his smart country suit like Sir Ralph wore sometimes but not a quarter the quality of his, oh, no! You couldn’t fool Sheila Bissett where clothes were concerned.
‘Thank you, Tom.’ The sherry was just how she liked it. Sweet and cloying and restorative. What she was waiting for
was a sight of Evie. Evie the silent. Evie the elusive. Evie the shadow.
‘Can I give Evie a hand in the kitchen at all?’
‘That’s very kind but she’s happier coping on her own.’
‘I had hoped Evie would join the village Flower Club. Is she a flower person?’ Privately Sheila thought Evie wasn’t a person at all.
‘No, not really. Embroidery, yes. But not flowers.’
‘Embroidery! Oh, my word. I wonder if we could start an embroidery class. Culworth is such a long way to go for things like that. A class here in the village would be excellent. I’ll ask her.’
‘I don’t think …’
At this moment Evie came in carrying two dishes of nibbles. Sheila often categorised people by naming the animal most akin to their personality. Evie was definitely a little dormouse. Or could it be she was more like a shrew? No, a dormouse: she hadn’t got it in her to be a shrew.
At a signal from Sheila, Ron, reminded of his manners, stood up to greet her. He’d intended giving her a kiss like Tom had Sheila but Evie shrank away and he ended up with empty arms, kissing the air.
Evie placed the two dishes of nibbles on the coffee table beside Sheila, then with a nod at Tom, she scuttled out. He apologised and darted after her.
They were left to themselves for such a long time that Sheila began to wonder if she should alert the rescue services. She and Ron tried to make conversation but it was difficult as all Sheila wanted to talk about was their hosts and to question whether or not Evie would ever be heard to speak. She’d known right from the start when Tom first
knocked on their door to invite them that they should have trumped up an excuse, but taken unawares they hadn’t thought fast enough.
Tom reappeared. ‘Right, we’re ready. Do come through.’
Sheila noted that the dinner service was a popular line in Boots kitchen departments, but even her sharp tongue couldn’t fault the laying of the table, nor the presentation of the starter: pâté with small green bits of salad, a thin quarter of tomato on top and tiny triangular pieces of toast. Very tasteful.
Tom and Ron talked trade-union affairs almost continuously and left Evie and Sheila to make the best of it. Sheila began by saying she’d heard Evie was an embroiderer. Evie nodded.
‘I was wondering if you might be able to start an embroidery class in the village? Although we’re all busy people a class like that would create a lot of interest.’
Evie looked up startled, as though confronted by a large and threatening cat. After a pause she answered, ‘I could.’ Sheila was surprised by Evie’s voice. For such a small, quiet person it was amazingly deep and strong.
‘Really? Would you? That would be wonderful! Have you got some embroidery I could see? Just to look at.’
‘Yes.’
‘After we’ve eaten then?’
Evie nodded.
When Evie took her into the study which had been converted into a workroom Sheila was astounded. She’d been expecting only mediocre talent or even none at all and perhaps having desperately to wriggle out of her idea about
the embroidery class. But no such thing. The walls were hung almost from floor to ceiling with embroidery. Well, was it embroidery? Sheila asked herself. Evie had used lots of fabrics to make the pictures, sewn it down with embroidery stitches and in some places padded it for extra effect. Some framed, some used as simple wall hangings but each and every one an outstanding example of the craft. The colours she’d used almost made Sheila’s head spin. They were strong and vibrant but so subtly chosen that they didn’t clash at all.
‘Why, Evie, they’re wonderful! Such skill. You’re an artist. This one, and this one, and
this one
! They’re wonderful. Quite wonderful! Did you design them all?’
Evie shook her head. ‘That’s a copy, and so’s that.’ She pointed to two wall hangings, which appeared to Sheila to be medieval originals. ‘The rest are my design.’ She stood hands clasped in front of her with no emotion showing on her face.
Sheila, stunned by the sheer beauty of the work, said, ‘Why have you never let on about all this?’
Evie shrugged her shoulders.
There was a large, square, floor-standing antique embroidery frame to one side with a white cotton cover over it. Sheila pointed to it and said, ‘May I?’
Evie nodded. Two-thirds finished, it was a religious collage depicting the Nativity. The glorious choice of fabrics, glowing and almost sparkling in the intensity of their colour, was stunning. The robes of the Three Kings were superb, their crowns and their gifts padded underneath to make them stand out, and with gold thread embellishing them. Yet the rough simplicity of the manger and the animals, and the dryness of the spiky hay so cleverly
depicted and the tiny mouse going about its own affairs were captured quite beautifully. And Mary, so cool, so still, dressed in a soft pale blue gown, which might have been overshadowed by the richness of the colours about her, but which actually drew the eye as much and more as the vivid colours did. Joseph, still to be finished, was already looking homespun and earthy.
‘What’s this for?’
‘Church.’
‘Our church?’
Evie nodded.
‘When the Rector sees this he’ll be amazed. Absolutely amazed. Such talent, Evie.’ Sheila patted Evie’s arm. ‘Talk about hiding your light under a bushel. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. How do you do it?’
Evie simply smiled, pulled the cover over the frame and invited Sheila to return to the sitting room, to join the two men.
She’d enthused to Ron and Tom before they’d decided to started to play a game of cards but that was nothing to her enthusiasm when they got home.
‘How can such a mousy person produce work like that? If it was in an exhibition up in London it wouldn’t go amiss. It is sensational! I wish you’d seen it, Ron, I was speechless with admiration. All that from a … well, let’s face it, she’s as mad as a hatter, isn’t she? Hardly a word for the cat. Not exactly someone you’d choose as a dinner guest. I wonder if she’d do something for me? I’ve that space in the hall between the kitchen door and the cloaks, wouldn’t have to be too big or it wouldn’t fit, and the colours would have to
be just right, I wouldn’t want it to clash. I’ll ask her. But what a triumph for us if I can persuade her to do a class.’
Riffling through her handbag looking for her reading glasses, Sheila clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘Drat it, I’ve left my reading glasses in the chair where I sat. It’s too late to go knocking now! I’ll go back tomorrow to get them and make it a chance to thank them again for a nice evening. And such good card players too!’ The doorbell rang. ‘Oh, that must be Tom bringing them for me, how kind of him. Such a very nice man, so thoughtful. You go answer the door while I put the kettle on.’
From the kitchen she listened to Ron answering the door, and hoped he’d demonstrate real gratitude to Tom; sometimes he could be so off-hand. She heard the door bang shut, then heard Ron grunt, and after that a thud as though something heavy had crashed to the carpet, breaking by the sound of it her entire collection of delicate glass ornaments that had taken so long to get together.
‘What on earth –!’
But by then two men, with black balaclavas over their faces and evil menacing eyes peering through the slits, were in the kitchen wielding their coshes on her and she went down, the kettle bouncing across the rush matting, spewing its contents as it went. Before she fell unconscious under their repeated blows Sheila squinted a floor-level view of black trainers and, mysteriously, drops of blood spraying across the floor close to her eyes.