Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Village Matters (18 page)
‘Your apology! Ralph, it’s myself who should be
apologising. I let my tongue run away with me without a single thought for how you must have been feeling. I shall never forgive myself.’
He pulled up outside their garage, turned off the engine and switched on the courtesy light. He sat gripping the steering wheel. ‘No, Muriel, you’re not at fault. Not at all. You are so straightforward, you haven’t a devious bone in your body, so you can’t be blamed for becoming embroiled by a cunning swin . . . cunning specimen like Fitch. It was for me to have dealt with the situation much sooner than I did. My fault lay in allowing my pride to overcome my common sense. There is no way that I could possibly buy back and maintain a property of such a size as Turnham House. I wouldn’t want to anyway, there wouldn’t be any point. But it bites right into my innermost soul to see a monied upstart like Craddock Fitch lording it up there, in my father’s house, where I grew up. I came close to walking out. But that would have been a betrayal of all my family have stood for. A betrayal of good breeding. Something Craddock Fitch, with all his money, will never have. I’ve sorted my feelings out now, and accepted the position.’
‘Oh Ralph!’ He put his arm along the back of her seat and bent his head to kiss her. Full of gratitude for the generosity of his spirit in not blaming her for what had happened, she turned to face him and as he kissed her she experienced an uncontrollable surge of passion. And Ralph rejoiced that his patient loving of her had at last reaped this rich reward for them both.
A few minutes later Peter and Caroline drove past up Pipe and Nook Lane to their garage. They both stared straight ahead, not wishing to embarrass the occupants of the Mercedes.
‘Well, really! And illuminated too!’
‘You’re being stuffy again, Peter Harris. I keep telling you about it. Let’s be glad they’re all right with each other. I feared they would have a row to end all rows, because she really did put her foot in it.’
At a quarter to ten Sadie arrived. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You’re privileged I work on Saturday mornings at all.’
‘My God, Sadie, you look terrible.’
‘Thank you. That’s a very unkind and thoughtless remark to make.’
‘You do, though. Hell’s bells.’
‘Lack of sleep. It was four o’clock before I got to bed.’
‘Four o’clock?’
‘Yes. Craddock and I sat up till half past three talking. I realise now I’m much too old for such juvenile capers.’
‘May I ask how you come to know him?’
‘We knew each other in our teens. In a fit of pique, I threw him over for Harriet’s father. Had I had an old head on my young shoulders, I would have given her father the order of the boot and married Craddock instead.’
‘Wow! He obviously isn’t married now.’
‘Oh, he was, but it’s a long, very sad story. If I tell you, you mustn’t tell anyone else, please? Promise?’
Jimbo drew a finger across his throat. ‘Cut my throat and hope to die.’
‘He told me that within three months of me finishing with him he met and married someone called Annette. He was just twenty and she was eighteen. They had four very happy years together and produced two sons. Apparently Henry, or rather, Craddock, felt that the two boys were his crowning achievement. He positively gloried in them.
Unfortunately
, dear Annette met this dashing army major and before you could say knife he resigned his commission and she hopped off to South America with him, where he became something big in polo. Consequently Craddock has not seen his boys since then. It’s a continuous throbbing pain for him, and gets no better as the years go by. So he’s thrown himself into his work. So now you know, Jimbo dear, and not a word to anyone. Busy, busy. Must get on. Coffee please. Black!’
He’d just returned from delivering Sadie’s coffee when Pat Duckett came in. She wandered round the shelves putting a few items into her wire basket and frequently glancing at him. Eventually she came to the meat counter where he was topping up the display of joints of beef.
‘Jimbo, could you give me some advice?’
‘Of course, if I can. Willingly. Fire away.’
‘This letter came through my door this morning. I ’aven’t told Dad, but it’s to do with him really, but I’m not going to say anything to ’im till I’ve decided what I want to do. Read it and see what you think.’
The letter was from Craddock Fitch, suggesting that Pat and her father go to live in the old Head Gardener’s House at
Turnham House, and her father could be in charge of the gardens on a permanent basis. He realised this would give her the problem of what to do with her cottage, but he would be more than willing to purchase it from her at its proper market value. Would she like to take time to consider the matter.
Jimbo folded up the letter when he’d read it and replaced it in the envelope.
‘Well, what shall I do?’
‘My word, Pat, it’s a big decision and no mistake. First, does your Dad want to be up there permanently?’
‘Oh yes, he loves it. He’s got all sorts of plans and he’s itching to get cracking. Worked like a slave since he started and Jeremy’s delighted with him. I ’ave ’eard the house has been done up something wonderful, all new fully-fitted kitchen and bathroom and that and painted throughout, and there’s even a downstairs lav. Apparendy it’s ’ardly had anything done to it since Muriel’s father left, so yer can imagine, Gawd ’elp us, it was a tip. Four bedrooms, there is. Imagine that. We’d all have one each. And Barry’s mother says central heating too. Her Barry fitted the kitchen so she knows all about it. Bliss. Total bliss. Course we’d need new furniture. My stuff’s rubbish. But then I’d have the money to buy it, wouldn’t I? And there’s Dad’s redundancy money as well. It’s bloomin’ tempting, believe me.’
Jimmy Glover came to the counter to choose his meat for the weekend.
‘You two plotting something, are yer?’
Pat shook her head. ‘No, no, just ’aving a business consultation.’
‘Spect it’s about whether you’re going to accept old Fitch’s offer.’
‘That offer to buy your cottage. His typist was telling me about it last night when I took her to the station.’
‘She’d no business discussing my private affairs with you, Jimmy Glover.’
‘Great friends we are. She’s bought this car and it’s never been right since the day she got it, always in for something or another, and I’ve got to know her really well with keeping on giving her lifts. Any news I want to know about up there she tells me. It doesn’t take much to egg her on to reveal all.’
‘Well, honestly. What a cheek.’
‘So you’re taking it up, are yer?’
‘Mind yer own business!’
‘Yer’ll be a traitor if yer take him up on ’is offer.’
‘Traitor? Don’t you call me a traitor, Jimmy Glover. You’re rare an’ glad to ferry people back and forth to Culworth Station in your taxi, I’ve noticed. You don’t call that being a traitor, then?’
Jimbo intervened. ‘In purely hard cash terms, it would be a good bargain for Pat. She could invest the money and have a nice little nest egg growing against the time when her father retired. Think about it over the weekend, Pat, and we’ll have another talk on Monday. Yours truly would be glad to help with investments if you would like me to.’
Jimmy chose a pork chop and half a pound of braising steak. ‘Tell yer what, yer’d need a bike. Kill yer, running up and down that drive to the school three times a day.’
Pat laughed. ‘It’ud be worth it! Can yer imagine, a whole big beautiful house for us. If our Dean gets to university, I wouldn’t mind ’is friends coming to a house like that. I couldn’t ask ’em to my old cottage. Oh! no! Things are looking up for me, aren’t they Jimbo?’
‘They certainly are. And I’m glad. Must press on. Lots to do. Come in Monday after you’ve talked to the noble parent. We’ll have another discussion.’
Pat gave him the thumbs-up sign and said to Jimmy, ‘And you keep your trap shut about this. You’ve ’ad plenty of luck with your big win, this time it’s my turn.’ She spun on her heel and headed for the till.
Jimbo reflected that this was another move in Craddock Fitch’s master plan. He hoped Ralph would be astute enough to accept what he couldn’t change and still manage to maintain his place as the benevolent figurehead of the village.
Later that same day Ralph and Muriel were making the best of the autumn days by drinking their afternoon tea in the garden. The sun came round at just the right angle at this time of year and made a lovely pool of sunlight around four o’clock by their garden table and chairs.
‘A biscuit, Ralph?’
‘No, thank you dear, you have one though.’
‘Yes, I will. Do you remember how Pericles used to love a corner of my biscuit?’
‘Yes, or the whole biscuit given half a chance! Have you thought about getting a replacement for Peric . . .’ They became aware of shouting out in the lane.
Muriel said, ‘What’s that? Who’s shouting?’
He was opening the front door when she entered the hall. Through the open door she could see banners. She called anxiously, ‘What’s happening, dear? What is it?’
Ralph stood four-square on the stone step. Facing him was Arthur Prior, holding a banner. Behind him was an assortment of villagers mostly holding banners, all of them chanting. The banners read:
‘NO MORE HOUSES IN TURNHAM MALPAS’
‘GREED! GREED! GREED!’
‘WE SHALL APPEAL’
‘OUT! OUT! OUT!’
‘WE SHALL OVERCOME’
Beyond the crowd were the onlookers, some watching gleefully, others apprehensively. Ralph, so boiling with anger he could recognise no one but Arthur, thought, Well I’ve won, so it’s all a waste of time. The fools. He waited for the shouting to stop and then, addressing Arthur, said quietly: ‘Kindly remove yourself and your band of followers from outside my house.’
‘Public road, can stand where we like.’
‘You’re causing a public nuisance.’
‘Who says?’
‘I do.’
‘Oh, well,’ Arthur said, ‘in that case we’d better listen.’ He turned to the crowd behind him and shouted, ‘The Lord of the Manor has spoken, doff your caps everyone,
Sir
Ralph has spoken.’ He took off his corduroy cap and stood humbly holding it in his hands, head inclined in submission.
Raising his head slightly and looking at Ralph somewhere at the level of his top waistcoat button, Arthur said, ‘We’re not going to let this go through. We intend to appeal.’
‘Appeal all you like. What’s done’s done and you won’t alter it. Eight houses for rent in a village this size is just right. Your sons won’t need them but there are plenty of villagers who will.’
‘And what about
your
sons? Will they be needing a house to rent?’
The crowd tittered. Ralph stared silently at Arthur. The demonstrators began tapping the ends of their banners on the ground, tauntingly keeping time with their chanting. Arthur waited on a reply.
‘There’s no more to say. The houses will be built and there’s an end to the matter.’
Arthur raised his banner and shook it in time with the chant. ‘GREED! GREED! GREED! MONEY! MONEY! MONEY!’
Some of the spectators joined the ranks of the protesters and swelled the shouting. Others, like Alan Crimble and Georgie, simply observed.
Georgie nudged Alan and whispered, ‘There’s going to be a fight!’
‘No, not them, two old geysers like them’s not going to fight.’
Alan stood on tiptoe and saw Ralph take a step forward. Arthur, mistaking his intentions, raised the banner in self defence. Ralph stepped back and stumbled against the edge of the stone step. The colour of his face changed instantly to
a deathly grey, his hand went to his chest, and then he clawed at his throat as though trying to undo his collar to get more air. Beads of sweat appeared on his face and it went even more grey. The crowd fell silent. Muriel, who was still standing in the hall, and trembling from head to foot, didn’t realise that Ralph was ill and it was only when he began to crumple to the ground that she let out a screech of terror. ‘Ralph! Ralph!’
He fell partly on the road, partly on the stone step, his head missing the boot scraper by inches. Muriel rushed to his side, loosened his tie and undid the top button of his collar; she shook him and shouted his name over and over again, but he remained silent, his grey, grey face glistening with sweat. ‘Do something, do something for him, please, please,’ she pleaded. In a harsh whisper Alan said, ‘God, Georgie, he’s had a heart attack!’
‘Do something! Alan! do something! Go on, you know what to do. That massage and breathing. Go on!’
‘I can’t, I’m scared.’
‘Go on, it might be too late if you don’t.’
Alan pushed his way through the crowd and shouted, ‘Get an ambulance, go on, get an ambulance, someone get Dr Harris!’ He roughly pushed Muriel out of the way and knelt down beside Ralph. He felt his neck where he knew the pulse would beat most strongly and, finding no pulse, began chest massage. One, two, three, four, five, then tilting back Ralph’s head he pinched his nose and bent down to blow into his mouth. Then both hands to pump his chest. One two three four five. Then blow, blow, blow, blow, blow. Someone said ‘There’s no one in at the rectory,’ and Alan thought ‘Hell’s bells, it’s up to me.’ The only movement was him working on Ralph. The crowd was silent and afraid. Muriel stood on the step weeping
uncontrollably. Georgie, inspired by Alan’s competent manner, went to comfort Muriel.
In a shocked, quiet voice Arthur said, ‘God help us, is he breathing?’
‘Not yet.’ Alan continued working on him. After one more try he stopped and checked his pulse. ‘He’s got going again.’ A rustle of relief ran around the crowd, now swelled to twice it’s size with people who’d come out in surprise at the sudden silence and were standing on tiptoe at the back trying to see what had happened. Those who’d been demonstrating quietly put their banners out of sight.
Someone had brought out a blanket and Alan covered Ralph with it and stayed kneeling beside him, monitoring his pulse. Someone else brought a brandy for Muriel, and Arthur got a kitchen chair out of her house so she could sit down.
‘I never meant this to happen, Muriel.’ Arthur pleaded with her for forgiveness. She ignored him and kept her eyes on Ralph.
Alan, on his knees beside Ralph, waited desperately for the ambulance to arrive, constantly checking him, and worried sick that he shouldn’t die, at least until the ambulance arrived. He’d never prayed in all his life, but he did at that moment. The ambulance came. His prayers had been answered, Ralph was still breathing.
Muriel went with Ralph in the ambulance and as soon as it had moved off with its light flashing, Alan felt a tremendous surge of relief and his legs went to jelly and he felt sick. Georgie flung her arms round his neck and kissed him in front of the whole crowd.
‘Wonderful, Alan, you were wonderful! If it hadn’t been for you he would have been a goner.’
‘Thank goodness you were there, Alan!’