A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) (9 page)
Read A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘Thank heavens you haven’t, I don’t think I’d have coped. Think of the ironing.’
It was almost possible to hear the workings of Beth’s mind. ‘Did you work at the Rectory
before
we were born?’
There was a cautious note in Sylvia’s voice when she replied, ‘No, I started when you were about four weeks old.’
‘So you remember us being born, then?’
‘No. I’ve just said you were about four weeks old.’
‘Does Willie remember?’
‘They’ll be needing a saw for them thick branches. I’ll go and get one for ’em.’ Willie beat a quick retreat, and Alex in his absence dropped down off the wall and went to help Bryn with the fire.
Beth turned her guns on Sylvia again. ‘Did you know my mummy isn’t my mummy?’
‘Yes, but if you’re going to ask me if I knew your real mummy, I didn’t. It’s like I said, you were four weeks old when I came to live in. Now watch the fire, it’s getting bigger and bigger, isn’t it?’
Beth agreed. She felt the urge to know about her mother much more than Alex did. They’d discussed it a lot these last few weeks when no one was about and he’d refused to try to find out. But she couldn’t help herself. Something kept rising in her chest, something she couldn’t make go away, a need to
know
, a need to feel, a need to talk about her real mother. Daddy was Daddy and Alex was like him, so much like him it was unbelievable and the bigger he grew the more like Daddy he looked. But Beth Harris didn’t look like anyone she knew. It certainly wasn’t Harriet or Miss Pascoe at school, or any of the mothers who gathered at the school gate or taught in the
Sunday School or helped with the Brownies or walked the streets of Culworth. She was always on the lookout and had not yet seen anyone with her rounded cheeks, her fair skin, or her thick ash-blonde hair, or her sturdy legs, no one at all. So where was she, this mother of hers and Alex? Maybe she’d died when they were born. That could be it! Having twins must be hard work. As Miss Pascoe had said in those lessons they’d had, mothers had to push their babies out and she’d had it to do twice!
Willie came back with the saw but took care not to stand anywhere close to Beth. She knew why. He didn’t want to tell her anything if he could avoid it. Nobody did. She wasn’t a logical person at all, she left all that to Alex, but like a flash of light she realised that the only, only person she could ask who really would know and would give her a truthful answer was her daddy.
So one day she would take her chance. He didn’t bath her any more now she was grown-up. In the past that had always been a good time to talk, so she’d … the fire was out of control, smoke was billowing and blowing straight at her, Sylvia was coughing and waving her arms, shouting, ‘Children! Come with me. Alex! Where’s Alex?’ It caught the lower twigs of a tree growing inside the churchyard wall, the breeze aiding and abetting its spread. ‘Alex! Where are you?’
Beth stood up on the wall and screamed, ‘Alex! Alex!’
Sylvia pulled her down and hurried her away, insisting she stood by a gravestone well away from the fire and didn’t move. Then Beth saw flames leaping, smoke rising in great clouds, voices shouting; that was Willie, that was Bryn, that was Sylvia. Flick and Fran joined her and they stood huddled together, horrified; the tree which had
given up its lower branches to the scorching heat now took on a fire all of its own and the flames crackled and licked up the branches.
Willie raced by calling, ‘Go home, out of the way.’
Flick tried to move her away but Beth refused to go. ‘Alex! Alex!’ she kept shouting. ‘Alex!’ Great sobs exploded in her chest. ‘Alex!’
With her eyes squeezed tight with fear she didn’t see him come running through the little gate. ‘Isn’t it a great fire? It’s caught two trees in the churchyard now.’ His face was aglow with excitement. ‘Willie’s gone for the hose.’
Beth opened her eyes, truly saw him standing there in front of her, unharmed and ready to burst with excitement and, fuelled by relief, all the fear balled up inside her went into the beating she gave him. Her fists flying, her feet kicking, her voice hoarse with shouting, she charged him time and again, and it wasn’t until Caroline came running and took hold of her that she stopped.
Willie fastened the hose to the tap in the wall, Bryn and one of the students heaved the reel over into the field and unwound it as fast as they could, Willie turned on the tap but the flow from one hose made little impression at first. Gradually it began to get the fire under control. By then, though, everyone from the coffee morning and most of the villagers living around the green were in the churchyard watching.
Caroline was sitting apart on a flat gravestone, hugging Beth, with Alex standing beside them, puzzled by her onslaught. ‘I didn’t do anything, Mum, honestly I didn’t. It was her.’
‘I know you didn’t. She was frightened, that’s all.’
‘It’s a brilliant fire, isn’t it? It happened whoosh! Just
like that. I was throwing twigs and things on and then whoosh! Up it went. I was there right in the middle of it all. Did you see the flames?’
‘All right, Alex, that will do. Yes, I did, that’s why I’m here.’
Beth wriggled free of her mother’s arms and looked at Alex through her tears. ‘I thought you’d been burned up.’
‘No-o-o. Not me. I was too quick.’
‘I shouted and shouted.’
Brimming with excitement, Alex told her he couldn’t hear her shout for the crackling of the flames. ‘You should have seen it.’
‘I did!’ Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. She put her arms round Caroline’s neck and buried her face in her shoulder. ‘Go away, you
stupid
boy.’
Caroline began to laugh, as much with relief as anything else. ‘Oh, darling, I do love you. I’d have wanted to do just the same.’
‘Hit him?’
‘Well, perhaps not quite so hard as you did, but yes. It’s being glad they’re all right, isn’t it? After being so frightened.’
‘I thought he’d b-b-burned up like a guy.’
‘Here, let’s wipe your face.’ Caroline took out a tissue and dabbed Beth’s face for her, smiling with love while she did. ‘There we are, you’re all presentable now. Better?’
Beth nodded. There was nothing quite like a good hug when you’re frightened and Caroline knew just how to hug her to make her better. Perhaps she’d leave finding out about her own mother till she was bigger. Then, looking over Caroline’s shoulder, she saw her daddy
striding between the graves towards them, looking both relieved and angry at the same time. He’d given her his blue eyes, she could see that. She squeezed Caroline’s neck more tightly. There was no doubt that he was their daddy. He came over and gave them both a hug and a kiss. ‘I couldn’t get off the phone. Thank heavens you’re all right. Where’s Alex?’
Beth answered him, ‘The stupid boy is in the field.’
‘Whose fault is this?’
Caroline, her hand cradling his as it gripped her shoulder, said, ‘No one’s. I think it just happened.’
‘I’ll go and see. Coming, Beth?’
She shook her head in reply and held tight to Caroline, content to wallow in security and love for a while longer. ‘You’re the best mummy ever.’ Gradually the excitement of the fire got to her and, filled with curiosity, she disentangled herself and stood up. ‘I’ll just go and see what he’s up to, the stupid boy.’
He was standing by, listening to his father tearing a strip off the students and Bryn.
‘Didn’t it occur to you that the fire should have been made much further away from the wall. I am surprised at you. Where is Gilbert?’
‘Coming.’
‘Is he indeed. Well, I suppose we have to be thankful it didn’t spread to the church hall. There’s one thing about it, you won’t have to clear the Dell any more, the fire’s done it for you.’
Deadman’s Dell was now a charred mess. The trees were only blackened and scarred on their trunks, leaving the twigs and leaves more or less untouched and would soon recover, but the undergrowth was totally burned
away exposing rich-looking soil undisturbed for centuries and, once the sun had done its job and dried the blackened grass and weeds, digging would be easy.
Peter stood gazing down at the soil wondering what secrets it might or might not reveal. He turned his attention to Alex. ‘You’ve learned a lesson this morning. Tell me what it is.’
‘Fire’s dangerous?’
‘And unpredictable.’
‘And
strong
. Whooosh!’ Alex imitated the flames with his hands, swooping them here and there in wild, excitable gestures.
‘Powerful’s the word. Never to be tampered with. Never to be regarded lightly.’
‘I see that.’
‘Good. So long as you’ve learned to treat it with respect. Like the sea, when it’s out of your control it’s your master not your friend.’
‘Fire’s a friend when it keeps you warm. Fire’s a friend when it cooks your dinner. It’s a friend for a blacksmith … and a glass blower.’
‘Because they don’t let it get out of hand, do they? Life’s precious and you’re precious. I wouldn’t want to make you afraid of life, but if you take risks, Alex, then make sure they’re calculated risks.’ Peter put a protective arm round Alex’s shoulders.
Taken off his guard by finding himself unexpectedly in the midst of a confidential talk, Alex took a step he never intended to. ‘Man to man, Dad, are you my dad?’
‘I am.’
‘Then who’s my mother? It’s not Mum, is it? I remember she said so years ago.’
‘All right. But …’
Seeing Beth skipping towards them, Peter answered sharply, ‘Enough, Alex.’
‘But …’
‘Enough.’ He despised himself for not being truthful, he who valued truth so highly in all his relationships. ‘If you want to see the start of that film, we’d better go home for lunch right now. Has Mummy gone home, Beth?’
Beth nodded. ‘Will they really find bones, Daddy?’
‘Gilbert hopes so.’
‘I shan’t be a bone person.’
‘Neither shall I. I’m going to be a fighter pilot.’ Alex zoomed off, arms outstretched whirring about Rector’s Meadow lost in thought.
Beth shouted, ‘Come back, you stupid boy.’ Staring scornfully at him as he wheeled about she said, ‘You wouldn’t think he was ten, would you, Daddy?’
Peter looked down at her and thought, she’s older than we realise. She’ll have to be told. They’ll both have to be told and the innocence of childhood, which he and Caroline had striven so hard to preserve for them, will be gone for ever. And worse, what would their opinion be of him? As he’d said to Caroline that night when they’d discussed what Harriet had told him, their opinion of him was a burden he had to bear.
Alex came back to join them and they made their way home, along with the people who’d rushed out of the coffee morning to see the fun.
One said, ‘That was a fire and a half, wasn’t it, Rector? You didn’t see the worst of it.’
Another said, ‘Wouldn’t mind, but they haven’t even lifted a trowel yet and it’s caused trouble. They shouldn’t be doing it.’
And yet another, ‘Don’t be daft. It wasn’t them bones that caused the fire.’
‘I’m surprised at you, Rector, encouraging ’em with promises of a service and burial and that.’
‘So am I. Downright asking for trouble.’
‘Downright irresponsible of you, Rector, if you ask me.’
Peter stopped to confront his accusers. ‘When they died they were deprived of the services of a priest and of burial in consecrated ground, so I shall see they get it, just as I shall make sure, if I am still here, that when you enter eternal life you too will have a service in this church and be buried here as is your right.’
Gasps of astonishment at his forthrightness could be heard, but Peter ignored them and continued home through the lych-gate.
Alex muttered, ‘Good for you, Dad.’
But they weren’t to escape because just as Peter put his key in the door of the Rectory Bryn hailed him.
Peter said, ‘Go in, children, I won’t be a moment. Yes, Bryn, what can I do for you?’
‘Just want to say thanks for standing up to them, and for promising to support the dig. I’m all for it. Important for the village and all that.’
‘No, Bryn, be honest, important for
you
and your tourist scam. My motives have nothing whatsoever to do with that. It would be a whole lot better if you paid
attention to the matter I discussed with you the last time we spoke. If you’ll forgive me, my lunch is ready.’ Peter went inside leaving Bryn angry and upset.
Jimmy called across from his front door, ‘Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Bryn Fields. Serves yer right.’ He went into his cottage, hooting with laughter.
Bryn made a rude gesture at him and went back to Glebe House to lick his wounds.
Mrs Jones, getting her shopping after finishing her stint in the mail order office, had decided to treat Vince, now he was working, to a nice tin of cream of chicken soup. She browsed along the shelves debating whether or not to pay over the odds and get a really tasty one with white wine in it, or whether his doorstops and picture frames really did merit such madness. Behind her she heard footsteps and turned to see who it was.
Linda Crimble was doing her shopping.
‘Who’s looking after the post office, then?’
Linda sprang indignantly to her own defence. ‘Mr Charter-Plackett. It is my lunch hour you know.’
‘Who’s rattled your cage?’
‘Nobody.’
‘Somebody must have, snapping at me like that. I only asked a civil question.’
Linda put her wire basket down on the floor. ‘Sorry, it’s Alan, he’s all at sixes and sevens.’
Mrs Jones raised an eyebrow and waited.
Linda drew closer. ‘Heaven alone knows what’s going on at the pub; Alan can’t make it out. Every night when he comes home he goes on and on about it.’
Mrs Jones’s eyebrow rose a little further.
‘Bryn’s …’
Someone brushed past in a hurry, snatching a Scotch Broth as they went.
‘Bryn’s causing such ructions, you wouldn’t believe.’
‘With Dicky you mean.’
Linda nodded. ‘Well, Bryn’s like … courting Georgie.’
‘Courting?’ Both Mrs Jones’s eyebrows went the highest they ever could.
‘Sh! He’s making up to her like nobody’s business; there every night, flirting and that. Dicky’s fit to boil.’
‘No!’
‘He is. Bryn never gives him a chance to talk with Georgie, private like.’
‘But I thought Georgie was wanting a divorce.’
‘She is. But he’s so charming to her, is Bryn, you wouldn’t believe.’
‘Well I never.’
‘Alan says you could cut the atmosphere with a knife some nights and Georgie’s been quite sharp with Dicky a time or two.’
‘Well …’
‘Alan says one night there’s going to be a bust-up, and you can’t quite forget, you know, that Bryn did try to …’ Linda drew a finger across her throat.
‘Exactly. Well, you never know, do you?’
Mrs Jones folded her arms across her chest, her big brown eyes agog with interest. ‘Really! Yes, well, I dare say he can be a charmer when he wants, though I’ve never noticed it. It must be difficult for your Alan, being in the middle of it all so to speak.’
‘It is. Alan reckons there’ll be murder done there before long.’
‘Does he really?’ Hoping to learn more, Mrs Jones bent her head a little closer to Linda and prompted her with a question. ‘Bryn doesn’t stay the night, does he, by any chance?’
They both heard Jimbo clearing his throat and Linda looked at her watch. ‘Whoops, that’s me. Time’s up.’
‘Keep me posted.’
Linda winked. ‘I will.’
That same night Dicky was at Scouts so Bryn saw his chance. He’d been working up to it for days and now was his moment to take steps. He didn’t know where they would lead him but he knew where he wanted them to lead: straight into Georgie’s bedroom. He debated the choice of cravat or bow tie and decided that the cravat in Turnham Malpas would look out of place, but would give a more relaxed impression. He smoothed the grey hairs above his ears, wondered if he should dye them, but decided the grey added a touch of dignity and authority,
checked his trousers were pin neat, notched his belt a little tighter, thrust back his shoulders and decided that, yes, how could she possibly resist him. He’d noticed a definite softening in her attitude over the last few days and …
When he’d tossed back his second whisky he leaned confidentially across the bar counter and said to Alan, ‘Georgie?’
‘Broken a nail. Won’t be a minute.’
‘New girl working out OK?’
Alan’s habitual deadpan face broke into a slight grin. ‘Trish is great. Thumbs up, as you might say.’
‘Like that, is it?’ Bryn looked across and watched her weaving between the tables, wiping spills and collecting glasses. Trim bottom she had, no sagging there. Mm … he could see what Alan meant. Bright as a button she looked, so they weren’t all dunderheads in Penny Fawcett, then. He ordered a third whisky while he waited for his prey to return to the bar.
When she did, Bryn was overcome with genuine admiration for her. Tonight Georgie wore a black suit, with a white shirt in a fine material which had a soft, frilly, waterfall sort of collar. Her blonde hair, mercifully still not needing assistance from a bottle, was kind of bubbly and frothy around her still pretty face and he felt a gut-wenching he hadn’t felt in years. The cold, scheming plan he’d had back at Glebe House fell apart; just as he had when he’d very first met her, he fancied her like hell. A lump came into his throat at the memory.
He held up his half-empty glass and toasted her, calling out, ‘Pretty as ever, Georgie, I don’t know how you do it.’
Georgie, who’d thought she had the problem of Bryn
well sorted in her mind, noticed the jaunty cravat below the well-tanned face and thought how handsome he looked. Such presence he has tonight. I’ll have to watch my step. She answered, ‘Less of your cheek, Bryn Fields. How many of those have you had?’ She nodded towards the whisky he held in his hand.
‘My third.’
‘Didn’t know you drank at this pace. Nothing to do?’
‘Plenty, but I try not to work in the evenings. Too much work makes Jack a dull boy.’
‘We can’t have that, can we?’
Bryn smiled at her, sensing again the softening of her attitude. ‘Quiet in here tonight.’
‘Often is, Mondays.’
‘I see Georgie’s little helper isn’t about.’
‘No. Scouts.’
‘You’re looking very attractive tonight. Haven’t seen that outfit before.’
Surprised to find that the mild flirting they were doing was exceedingly welcome, Georgie said, flicking a finger at the waterfall collar of her shirt, ‘It’s new, glad you like it.’
‘Oh, I do. That collar softens the severity of the suit.’
‘Just what I thought.’
‘A feminine touch, so to speak.’
‘Exactly.’
Georgie realised that the few customers at the tables had gone very quiet and were avidly listening to them. She flushed at the thought that they were giving their audience such entertainment.
Bryn noticed her blush and felt elated. ‘I’ll give you a hand at closing, I know how much there is to do.’
A week ago she would have refused him point blank but not tonight. ‘Thanks.’
‘My pleasure, I assure you.’
Georgie served a lone customer who’d strayed in and as she slotted the money into the drawers of the till said, ‘Alan! You and Trish can manage for half an hour, can you?’
‘Of course.’
‘Just need to talk business with Bryn about the tourists.’
Alan gave her a wink, which Georgie didn’t find amusing. She unlocked the door marked ‘Private’ and nodded to Bryn to follow her.
Bryn carried his whisky through into the sitting room but didn’t sit down. He waited for Georgie to invite him to, feeling it looked more gentlemanly, which was the approach he’d planned before he came but which now came naturally because of the sudden eruption of his feelings for her. More than he ever had, he regretted neglecting Georgie to the point where she fell out of love with him. ‘Georgie, I …’
She gave him the full treatment of those large blue eyes of hers and his insides melted. ‘Yes … you were saying …?’
Bryn cleared his throat. ‘I was going to say that I hope for your sake as well as mine I pull off this tourist business.’
‘So do I.’
‘Did you know they’ve found what they were looking for in Deadman’s Dell? Bones and bits and pieces. I’ve been to have a look. A bit gruesome, but I’m thrilled. Really thrilled. It’ll make all the difference for my groups. These idiots who say we shouldn’t do it, the worst will happen et cetera, they’re mad. Completely mad.’
Bryn somehow, but he didn’t know how, began to tell her about life on board a cruise liner and before he knew it they were both laughing their heads off, pouring another drink, wiping tears of laughter from their eyes and enjoying themselves so much they didn’t notice the time. Georgie crossed those elegant, slender legs of hers and Bryn caught a glimpse of a lacy petticoat.
‘My God, Georgie, you still have that something that makes a man’s insides turn to liquid gold.’
‘Bryn!’ She sat up straight and uncrossed her legs.
‘I mean it. How about it? We’re still man and wife you know.’ He bent forward and gently caressed her right knee with his thumb.
She pushed his hand off her leg but understood what he meant by liquid gold. At the same time her brain said no. No! No! ‘This won’t do, Bryn.’
‘Why not? Both you and I still have rights. There’s no one to say we shouldn’t, now is there?’ The persuasive tone of his voice was almost her undoing.
Georgie hesitated and then remembered Dicky. ‘There’s Dicky.’
Bryn sat up. ‘Dicky!’ He only just managed to keep the scorn out of his voice. ‘Come on, Georgie. He’ll never know if you don’t tell him and I certainly shan’t.’
Georgie smiled. ‘You wouldn’t be able to resist! A feather in your cap you’d see it as.’
Bryn saw he might be in with a chance. ‘No, not a feather in my cap, not a conquest, just the need of a man
for his lovely wife. It’s been a very long time, Georgie, love.’ He placed his hand on her leg just under her skirt hem and found she didn’t resist. While he talked he rubbed her leg with his thumb. ‘You have to admit to a certain feeling for me tonight. I’m no longer the thieving blackguard you saw me as at first, am I?’
‘There’s Dicky,’ Georgie protested and found herself weighing up how she’d feel about Dicky if she did fall for Bryn’s charms just this once. As he rubbed her leg she knew he was a very different man from the one who’d left her four years ago. Very different, and she seriously fancied a taste of this very different man. She leaned towards him meaning to kiss him but somewhere a door banged and a voice called out, and she drew back.
Bryn’s hand stayed on her knee, though, caressing and enticing, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Come on. Upstairs. Eh?’ Georgie half rose as though intending to lead the way, Bryn leaned over and kissed her lips and she returned the kiss in full measure.
Georgie murmured, ‘This is not on.’ And kissed him again. ‘We mustn’t.’ He stopped her protests with another kiss, gentle and yet urgent. He took her elbow, helped her up and held her close, enjoying the smell of her hair and the feel of her body pressed so willingly against his. ‘Oh, Georgie, I’ve been such a fool. Such a fool.’
Like the crack of gunfire the door burst open and there stood Dicky, his face flushed with anger. In his hand was the cricket bat Georgie kept for emergencies. He held it with both hands as though about to hit a six, and silently lunged towards Bryn. Georgie screamed, ‘No!’ She sought to release herself from Bryn’s arms, he began to lose his balance and, as he tried desperately to regain it, Dicky
swung the cricket bat at Bryn’s head and felled him like an ox.
Georgie didn’t know she was still screaming ‘No! No! No!’
Dicky let go of the bat and it thudded to the floor.
Bryn lay in a tangled heap between the cupboard and an easy chair, the whisky decanter and two glasses splattered across the carpet around him.
The only sound was that of Georgie’s breath racing in and out of her lungs in great noisy, hysterical gulps. Dicky was carved from stone. Alan and Jimmy stood in the doorway also carved from stone.
It was Jimmy who broke the spell. ‘What the hell’s going on here?’
‘I said I’d do for ’im and I have.’ Dicky’s voice was grotesquely unlike his own.
Georgie knelt down, her breath rasping in her throat, and felt for Bryn’s pulse.
‘Is he dead?’ Alan asked.
Georgie shook her head.
‘I’ll go for Dr Harris.’ Jimmy fled on winged feet.
Georgie nodded.
Dicky dropped into a chair, all the fight gone out of him.
The three of them remained speechless, frozen in their positions, staring mutely at Bryn until they heard a woman’s swift footsteps.
Georgie sat down, Dicky stood up and Alan moved away from the door so Caroline could get in. She knelt down beside Bryn and as she did so Bryn began to stir. ‘Bloody hell! Ah! My head!’