Read A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) (7 page)
Bryn found himself being turned out, but he didn’t mind. He’d won his case, so another piece of his jigsaw was falling into place. He paused for a moment, watching Jimmy and Sykes wandering off down Stocks Row
towards the spare land. No need for a lead for Sykes, just the right kind of freedom for a dog, but only this village could provide it. Imagine that, no zebra crossings, no one-way signs, nothing to mar the beauty of it. Bryn closed his eyes and felt himself to be back centuries, then the peace was disturbed by the sound of a car. When he opened his eyes he saw it was Sylvia Biggs, driving past the Royal Oak and on to heaven knew where. He glanced at his watch, half past nine, Georgie wouldn’t be downstairs yet, give her another half-hour and she’d be having her morning coffee and he’d join her, with a bit of luck, and they could discuss their plans in more detail. Frankly, at the moment he found her presence enjoyable in a way he’d never found Elektra’s. What a fool he’d been not to have seen the signs earlier and done something about winning Georgie back before it was all too late. Well, in his book it was never too late.
He found himself outside the Store where Jimbo was standing gazing at his new window display. ‘Good morning, Jimbo.’
‘Oh, right, good morning. What do you think then? Give me your opinion.’
‘Absolutely excellent. If that doesn’t empty your freezers of ready meals I don’t know what will.’
Jimbo stepped further back and looked up to assess the impact the headquarters of his empire was making.
Bryn, in order to ingratiate himself, said, ‘It’s so good, I’m surprised you don’t open another one in a similar situation.’
‘With mail order and catering and this, I’ve enough on my plate. Another outlet would spread me too thinly and I’d spend too much time running back and forth, till in the
end I’d finish up doing nothing well. No, we do better with just this. I’ve a couple of sample souvenirs to show you.’ He strode off into the Store without bothering to see if Bryn was following, but he was right behind him, glad Jimbo was so enthusiastic.
When he emerged again into the front of the Store he found Georgie paying for some groceries. Bel had them packed into two bulging bags. Bryn said, ‘Allow me. I was just coming across to see you.’
‘Only to talk business.’
‘Yes, and a coffee. I know there’ll be one going about now. You see, I haven’t forgotten your little ways, have I?’ He heaved the bags from the counter, Georgie opened the door and the two of them went off down Stocks Row.
At that moment Dicky was outside at the front of the pub watering the window boxes with the hosepipe. He bent down to test the compost in the tubs and as he straightened up he caught sight of Georgie’s bright-orange top. He made to wave but saw that Bryn was with her. They were both absorbed in conversation and hadn’t noticed him. Damn him. The two of them had a togetherness he didn’t like. A kind of companionableness which even four years of separation hadn’t dented. Dicky snapped off the hosepipe and began winding it up on to his forearm. He disconnected it from the tap on the wall and carried it into the bar, leaving the door propped open, thinking Georgie and Bryn would follow.
He only had to see Bryn and the few doubts he had about Georgie’s love surged to the front of his consciousness. She’d promised to ask Bryn for a divorce but he knew full well she hadn’t. Dicky went to put the hosepipe away by the back door and found himself an unwitting
eavesdropper. The two of them were standing just outside the back entrance talking.
‘It’s no good, Bryn, I don’t object to doing business with you but as for anything else, well, it’s Dicky you see, we want to marry.’
He heard Bryn gasp. ‘So it’s true, then. What are you thinking of, Georgie? For heaven’s sake. The man is a twat. A runt. He’s got no business acumen, nothing. And what about my share of the business? Eh? What about that? Our partnership has never been dissolved and I know he couldn’t buy me out in a month of Sundays. Come to your senses, woman.’
‘Don’t you “woman” me. The money is no problem, he has the promise of whatever’s needed for buying into the partnership and that’s what I want him to do. Buy you out! Not that you deserve it considering how much money you took with you when you went off with that tart. You can try your best, Bryn, but I am marrying Dicky and I want a divorce
now
, or the lunch business is off.’
Dicky considered coughing in order to let them know he was there but the chance to hear the outcome of this conversation was not to be missed and he stayed where he was.
Bryn began laughing, that head-thrown-back, loud, mocking laugh he’d used before. When he calmed down he said, ‘You wouldn’t do that to me. Not to me! We mean too much to each other.’
‘Now I know where you are I shall instruct my solicitor. I’ve plenty of evidence. I want a divorce immediately. Then Dicky and I can marry. He’ll move in
here and Bel will go to her house, which she longs to get back to. I can’t wait to get my life straight. OK?’
‘I don’t want a divorce.’
‘Well, you’re getting one.’
‘So where’s he getting the money from to buy my share?’
Quickly Dicky dropped the hosepipe on the stone floor, swore loudly, picked it up and meandered through the door as though he’d just that moment arrived. He’d always known he was cut out to be an actor. He smiled at Georgie and said, ‘Alan’s made the coffee, when you’re ready’ and brushed past Bryn as though he didn’t exist, hung the hosepipe on the bracket ready for another time and calmly went back into the bar. So she did want him. She did. He punched the air, triumphant. A triumph tinged with a bitter hatred of Bryn.
But Bryn wasn’t aware of the rage burning in Dicky and after he’d had an enjoyable chat with Alan and a quiet word with Georgie he set off back to Neville’s to use his computer for writing some business letters. On the way he noticed the church door was open so he decided to go in and have a look around to value its potential for a conducted tour. As he went up the church path he felt goosepimples coming up on his skin and didn’t look up at the church tower. He must have been mad at the time, absolutely mad. He went in and began walking about. There appeared to be no one around so he assumed he must have the church to himself.
Some long forgotten memory surfaced as he looked at one of the tombs. Surely tombs were supposed to lie from east to west in a church, but this one lay north to south; how odd. He’d get Willie to look it up, there was
definitely some history attached to it. He studied the carved screen, stood for a moment in the war memorial chapel looking at the names on the roll of honour. My God! Biggses and Joneses and Neals and Parkins, and
four
Glover brothers, and that was the list for the First World War. Sobering thought. He made a note in his little book to remind Willie to point out to the tourists about the four Glovers and then they’d meet one of their descendants on the green. What a touch. They’d be eating out of his hand in no time. Brilliant! On a special plaque of its own he read of the Templetons of Turnham House who’d also given their all for their country; in the American War of Independence, the Crimea, the Boer War and the two World Wars. What a history! What a sacrifice! For one brief moment Bryn wondered if he really should be making money from such tragedy, but quickly comforted himself with the thought that as they were all dead, and had been for years, they wouldn’t be any the wiser.
The lights were on, but it was gloomy in the church because the storm clouds, which had been gathering over and beyond the bypass all morning, had finally arrived. The rain began clattering against the windows above the altar, beating a strange rhythmic tattoo on the stained glass, then lightning filled the church with a blaze of startling blue-white light, followed by the most enormous clap of thunder Bryn had ever heard in his life. Directly overhead, it appeared to make even the foundations of the building shudder. It was closely followed by another flash of lightning, which illuminated the whole of the window behind the altar and made the figure of Christ appear to move. In horror, Bryn sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. Thunder followed immediately, just as
loud and close as the first clap. Bryn, who couldn’t remember having been as frightened ever before, not even as a kid watching a horror film, grasped the end of the nearest pew for support. For the first time in years he prayed. For the first time in years he felt a need to cower and hide. However, in the nick of time the man in him resisted. But the storm didn’t abate for ten whole minutes by which time he was a wreck. The thunder and lightning passed over, the glowering skies lightened, gradually the rain reduced to a gentle pattering and the church once more became the friendly, secure place it always was. He sat down in a pew, wiped the sweat from his face and hands, and pulled himself together.
‘All right, Bryn?’
Bryn almost shot out of his skin at the sound of the voice so kindly enquiring after his health. He turned, dreading whom he might see. It was Peter. Relief. What a relief. That was odd, Peter was completely dry so if he’d only just come in how could he be …?
Bryn held out his hand. ‘My, what a storm! Never known the like, not even a tropical storm.’
Peter shook hands saying, ‘How are you? I’ve been going to call.’
‘I’m well and you?’
Peter nodded. ‘Fine, thanks. You’ve come back to make things right for Georgie then?’
Bryn was about to say yes but as always Peter’s blue eyes saw right through him and he couldn’t tell a lie – well, not a serious one anyway. ‘I’ve come back to help make amends, yes.’
‘Good! May I sit down? Have you time to talk?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He moved down the pew a little and Peter sat beside him.
‘What do you propose?’ Peter rested his elbow on the back of the pew and waited for a reply.
Bryn knew all about Peter’s ability to leave a silence, which one felt compelled to fill immediately and which often made one fall right into a trap of one’s own making, but he thought for a while before answering. ‘I’m bringing some business to Georgie and the pub, and the rest of the village if they want it.’
‘This American tourist business.’
‘That’s right.’ Bryn got carried away explaining his plans, embroidering his spiel here and there to make it more appealing, mentioning the tour of the church and his hope that the tourists might contribute to church funds. He’d thought about a collection plate or something …
‘I’m not sure I like the idea of people paying to enter a house of God.’
‘There wouldn’t be a fixed charge, just …’ He searched for the word. ‘Donations.’
‘I’ll think about that. Sounds an excellent idea, but I wasn’t meaning your business plans at all. I meant making things right so Dicky can marry Georgie.’
Again that dratted silence of his.
This time Bryn had no defence against it and, fumbling in his mind for a reply, said the first idiotic thing that came into his head. ‘Let’s be honest here, padre, she won’t do herself any good at all marrying that little squirt. What does he know about business? He’s a non-starter, he is. No, I’m doing her a favour by
not
divorcing her.’
‘I don’t believe in divorce, Bryn, but I have come to realise that if life is hell then something has to be done
about it. I can think of not one single thing in your favour that could persuade me you are not under a moral obligation to release Georgie.’
After he sorted out what Peter meant, Bryn’s jaw dropped open.
Peter got to his feet. ‘I mean it. In my view the cards are all stacked against you. Give it some thought. If you need someone to talk it over with, my door is always open.’
Bryn watched Peter walk towards the choir vestry and hardened his heart to his advice. Divorce? Not likely. Perhaps things wouldn’t get back entirely to what they were – after all, he’d be travelling to the States drumming up business and then he’d be going round England escorting his tours – but divorce was out. Bryn stood up and decided to go into the churchyard for a breath of air now the rain had virtually stopped.
He stood under a tree and looked over the wall towards Turnham House. Magnificent building, that. One day, you never knew, he might be living in such a house. He mused on the subject for a while, realising that it would be no fun without Georgie.
The moral dilemma Peter had presented to him niggled away at the back of his mind. What the hell, she was still his legal wife and he would resist divorce with every fibre of his body. Her marrying that … he cringed at the prospect of Dicky being Georgie’s husband. It was like something out of one of Dicky’s joke books. He focused his eyes on the figure crossing the field between him and Turnham House. It was Jimmy returning from his walk. Way behind him came a flash of white and black: Sykes hurrying to catch up. Bryn thought, he’s going to get back
into the village by crossing Rector’s Meadow and then climbing the gate into Pipe and Nook.
But Jimmy changed direction and appeared to be heading for the little gate in the churchyard wall. Well, he couldn’t be bothered with Jimmy at the moment, he’d too much on his mind, so Bryn set off down the church path, into Church Lane and turned through the gates of Glebe House.
Jimmy had changed his intended route because he’d seen some people emerge from the little copse which backed up to the churchyard wall and wondered what they were up to. There’d been gypsies about for a while and he thought maybe they were them, making a reconnaissance of the church with a view to theft. But as he drew closer he recognised Gilbert Johns. Jimmy waved. Gilbert called out, ‘Hi!’ The three young people who were with Gilbert also waved. They were carrying papers and clipboards and measuring tapes and, despite sheltering in the copse, were soaking wet.
‘What you up to, Gilbert? Thinking of buying this place, are you?’ He jerked his head in the direction of the Big House.
Gilbert laughed. ‘No. No. These three are archaeology students; they’re working in my department for a few weeks. We’re looking for the possible site of a plague pit somewhere close to the church wall. We know there is one and we think it might be in this copse.’