Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Village Gossip (13 page)
Caroline’s enthusiastic support for Hugo would have been seriously diminished had she witnessed the conversation
Harriet had with him the following day. Hearing him thumping about upstairs she went up and, looking into the tiny boxroom next to his own room, she saw he was dragging his cases out.
‘Excuse me for asking, Hugo, but what exactly are you doing?’
Breathlessly he replied, ‘Packing.’
‘Packing? Might one ask why?’
He straightened up, pushed his hair from his forehead and announced, ‘My agent, that was him on the phone. I simply can’t turn it down.’
A very nasty, insidious dread invaded Harriet’s brain. ‘Explain yourself.’
Hugo perched himself on one of his cases. ‘He wants to see me immediately. I’ve got the chance of Hamlet at Stratford. I’ve never played Hamlet, would you believe, never. That prize, that glittering, fabulous prize is within my grasp. Agreed I’m second choice, because Sir John is scheduled. But he’s had a heart attack, so they’ve rung me. It should have been me to begin with, but Johnny’s got a thing going with the director so that’s how he got the job. Well, now he’s got his just desserts.’ Hugo shrugged his shoulders then dramatically clenched his fist and stared at it. ‘I simply cannot turn it down. I’ve got to go.’
Harriet went from icy despair to total fury in the space of a moment. ‘You slimy toad. You foul, thoughtless, self-centred pig. How
dare
you? How dare you sit there and say that to me? Now, I really know exactly what you are. Shallow. Vain. Mean. Jimbo’s right, there’s only one person in the whole world as far as you’re concerned and that’s Hugo St John Maude. You’re an overrated, arrogant, egotistical, self seeking, swollen headed exhibitionist. How could you do this to us?’
She stormed downstairs and rang the Store. ‘I don’t care
where he is or what he’s doing, he is to come home immediately.’ She listened for a moment and then shouted, ‘This instant, whether he likes it or not and I don’t care if he’s signing the contract for Buckingham Palace garden parties, he’s to come home
now
. You tell him from
me
.’ She slammed down the receiver and paced up and down the hall, her anger intensifying as the moments passed.
Hugo came slowly down the stairs. ‘Look, I know doing this makes me
persona non grata …
’
‘That’s true! There isn’t a quote in Shakespeare or anywhere else more apt, more apropos … I should have had my head examined for asking you here. Never, never again as long as you live will I ever …’
The front door burst open and Jimbo hurtled into the hall.
‘My God! What is it? What the hell’s happened?’
Harriet turned on him. ‘You may well ask.’ She pointed a shaking finger at Hugo who was sitting on the bottom step. ‘That … snake in the grass is leaving.’
‘Leaving? What’s he done? I’ll kill ’im first and ask questions afterwards, shall I?’ Jimbo’s face flushed an ugly red.
Harriet shook her head. Arms akimbo she said scornfully, ‘Tell Jimbo, then. Go on, tell him.’
Hugo, in a short speech full of self justification, told him why he was leaving.
Jimbo could scarcely contain his anger. In a cold fury, the like of which Hugo had never seen before, ashen-faced and visibly shaking with temper, Jimbo clenched and unclenched his fists, his lips set in a thin mean line. ‘You misbegotten, arrogant, base, self-seeking low life. How can you leave everyone in the lurch like this? Have you any idea how much people are banking on you? You’ve come here, stirred us all up, agreed to produce the play, only a
week to go and you do this to us all?’ Jimbo strode over to Hugo and, grasping the front of his shirt, hauled him to his feet. ‘I’ve a good mind to ruin your good looks once and for all. Then see where you’d stand as Hamlet. You’d be more fit for a second rate Richard the Third when I’d finished with you. You’re despicable!’ He unceremoniously released his hold on Hugo’s shirt front and maliciously watched him clutch the newel post to keep his balance.
Hugo gathered about him the remnants of his self respect; physical violence always terrified him. ‘That’s rich, that is. I’m supposed to give up the opportunity of a lifetime for a
village
play? Come on! Be fair!’
Jimbo, his anger spent, stood surveying him silently. Harriet burst into tears. ‘I feel so responsible! It was me who asked you in the first place.’ Jimbo lent her his handkerchief.
‘I know who could take my place. Peter! With that amazing voice of his, he’d be wonderful. Better still, he’d be freed of all his angst.’
Harriet hurriedly wiped her eyes and said, ‘Angst? What exactly do you mean by that?’
Hugo shook his head. ‘Oh! Nothing.’
‘Explain yourself. Have you really given him cause for angst like they all say?’ Jimbo took a step towards Hugo. ‘I warned you!’
Striking a pose Hugo mockingly answered, ‘Me? The cause of it all? Me? Of course not. As if I would. But when all’s said and done, I’m going.’ He turned to go back upstairs.
Harriet remarked, ‘You’re feeling up to it, then?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘So staying here has done some good then?’
Hugo paused halfway up the stairs. ‘Certainly it has.’
‘You owe us all something then?’
‘Well, repay your debt by staying and doing the play for us. There’s no way Peter can take up the part at such short notice, he isn’t an actor.’
From the top of the stairs Hugo looked down at her. ‘Oh, but he
is
! His oratory from the pulpit and his behaviour towards me, especially, prove otherwise. He’s doing an excellent job of being the supportive husband, the broad minded cleric, the gentle Christian, when underneath he’d like to beat me to a pulp and drag Caroline back to his cave. Believe me. Can’t talk now, got to pack.’
Jimbo discovered he was still wearing his boater. He took it off and smoothed his hand over his bald head. ‘Come here.’ He folded his arms around Harriet and rocked her slowly. ‘There, there. Don’t fret. We’ll have to cancel. It’s unfortunate but we shall. Old Fitch will be bitterly disappointed. He’ll go ballistic in fact, but he can’t do anything about it.’
‘Oh, Jimbo, they’ll
all
be so disappointed. I know
I
am. It’s heartbreaking.’
‘You’ve known for years what he’s like. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.’
‘I shall never, never ask him here again. This is the end of a beautiful friendship.’
‘Oh, good.’
‘Jimbo, you are a baby!’
He gave her a tight squeeze. ‘I know, but I’m nice with it.’
‘For heaven’s sakes! At least you’re
reliable
.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘There. I’ll make a start on ringing everyone up. I can’t bear it. I just can’t. It’s all my fault, I should never have encouraged him.’
Jimbo tapped the side of his nose. ‘I have an idea. Don’t ring yet.’ He left the house.
Linda, who’d answered the phone, avowed she knew nothing of what the trouble was, except that Jimbo had got the contract for catering for the garden parties at Buckingham Palace. That was all she knew, but wasn’t it exciting, they might all get an invite if they played their cards right.
Bel knew nothing either, except she was doubtful about the contract Linda mentioned.
Mrs Jones, who’d been concentrating hard on her mail orders which seemed to flow in ever faster, reluctantly confessed she knew nothing, except that by the tone of the conversation Linda had repeated to her it sounded as though Hugo Maude might have a lot to answer for.
Miss Senior, the woolly hat she wore summer and winter madly askew with the excitement, raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t think he’s been … you know … making lewd suggestions to Harriet? You know what actors are like. First one and then another.’ She rather relished the idea, and put her head on one side and winked knowingly.
Venetia Mayer was on red alert, her ears felt as though they’d grown to twice their size, and jealousy was getting the better of her.
One of the weekenders said, ‘I wouldn’t like to be in Hugo’s shoes if he has. I reckon that Jimbo has a nasty temper when it comes to a showdown.’
Linda agreed. ‘He was very nasty to me once, gave me my notice. Very sarcastic he was. Mind you, he soon took me back when he found he couldn’t manage without me.’
Bel said bluntly, ‘Don’t overestimate your value to him, Linda. He’s clever enough to learn your job in half a day.’
‘Huh! Half a day? I should cocoa. It’s taken me years to get it under my belt.’
Bel looked askance at her and Linda retired behind the grille, hurt and indignant.
Reluctantly Miss Senior left the Store but the little brass bell on the door had hardly settled into silence before she was back in again. ‘The Rector’s just gone across to Jimbo’s, and Jimbo’s coming here. Watch out!’ Determined to hear all the news, Miss Senior pretended to be having difficulty choosing a birthday card.
The door bell jangled furiously as Jimbo slammed the door shut behind him. He surveyed the scene. Not a limb moved, not an eye met his. He smiled to himself, raised his boater, said, ‘Good morning, everyone’, straightened some peaches which had been tumbled into the apples by a careless customer, poured himself a coffee from the machine and, to their extreme annoyance, stepped quietly through into the back.
Peter had listened to Jimbo’s impassioned pleas and at first had declined to offer his services.
‘Look here, Peter, it’s no good me trying. I’ve already had him by the throat … well, not literally, but nearly. We go back a long way he and I, so he’s taking advantage of our friendship and I’m not having any effect. Please.’
Peter was staring out of the study window and didn’t reply.
‘Go over there, cassock and cross, the whole job and do your good Christian bit. It’ll work, I know it will. Please?’
Still Peter didn’t answer him. Jimbo stood waiting. Eventually Jimbo said, ‘I’ll be off, then. We feel so bad about it, Harriet and I. We’re completely to blame, you see. If we’d had any sense we’d have remembered his selfishness and never encouraged him to do the play in the first place.
Thanks anyway.’ He waited a moment wondering whether to say what he had in his mind, and decided it needed saying. ‘Man to man, I can fully understand you not wanting him to stay.’ He opened the study door and closed it quietly after him, just as it clicked shut he heard Peter calling him back.
‘Jimbo! Does Caroline know?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, he’s only just had the phone call. Unless …’
‘No one’s rung here.’ Peter continued staring out of the window.
Jimbo felt himself dismissed. ‘I’ll be off then.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ Peter went to the hall cupboard, took out his cassock and put it on. His cross he took from the pocket, placed the chain around his neck and tucked the cross itself into his leather belt. ‘There, will that do?’
‘Excellent. He’ll love the drama of it, he’s really into costume. Ooops, sorry! That didn’t come out quite right, I didn’t mean your cassock is a costume in the theatrical sense. I didn’t tell you he fancied you taking over his role.’
‘Did he.’ Peter called up the stairs, ‘Caroline, I’ve just got a visit to make, shan’t be long.’
Faintly they heard Caroline call, ‘OK. See you soon.’
Peter explained, ‘Tidying the attic.’
Jimbo nodded.
They had parted company by the pond, Jimbo heading back to the Store and Peter to see Hugo. He was standing by the wardrobe taking clothes off hangers and laying them on the bed. Peter tapped on the door. ‘Can I come in?’
Hugo was startled by Peter’s arrival. For a moment he’d remained silent, recollecting what Jimbo had said about Peter’s fitness and dreading any physical confrontation. Peter filled the doorway, his head bent to avoid the lintel,
silent. Hugo had eventually said jokingly, ‘Jimbo’s brought in the heavy cavalry, has he?’
‘What’s this about you deserting your post?’
‘To be shot for cowardice in the face of …?’
‘No. For greed.’
‘Certainly not, the money matters not one jot.’
‘There are different kinds of greed.’
‘I know of only one.’
‘That’s sad.’
‘Sad? There’s nothing sad about me. I’m on the threshold of …’
‘No, you’re not, you’re beyond the threshold now.’
Hugo preened himself, for he adored praise. ‘Yes, you’re right I am.’
‘You’re so well established you could almost call any tune and they would dance to it, and well you know it.’ Peter moved some of the clothes and sat down on the bed. Hugo dumped them on the chair and sat beside him.
‘That’s right. I could.’
‘Then, Mr Hugo Maude, why are you leaving in such a hurry?’
Hugo didn’t answer.
‘Well?’
‘Got to go. Arrangements to which I have to agree. These theatrical people screw you for the last drop of blood, believe me. There’s no holds barred where contracts are concerned. Yes, must go.’
Peter raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘It’s not because you’ve suddenly realised that you’ll be taking part in a village play which will bring you no prestige whatsoever, which will not further your career, will not enhance your reputation and, if it got into the press, would make you look like someone who’s finally flipped his lid? That couldn’t be it, could it?’