A Village Feud (9 page)

Dottie decided to pretend she’d seen a friend and get herself away. Nasty piece of goods, that Andy.

Jenny stood very hard on his toes with her stiletto heel as Dottie left. Through gritted teeth she said, ‘I told you not to say anything when I was with you. You’re a toad you are. An absolute toad.’

Andy rubbed his stinging toes. ‘You could have broken my toes, you could.’

‘You deserved every squeal you made. She’ll probably tell her cousin whatsit and it’ll make them even more careful. Serve you right.’

The good-looking elderly gentleman came across to speak to them. Andy, unasked, instinctively got to his feet to shake the hand he’d been offered.

‘Good evening. My name’s Ralph Templeton. Welcome to Turnham Malpas. I understand you’re in social work, young man?’

‘Indeed I am. A much-maligned profession at the moment but we try our best.’

‘I’m sure you do, and you must be Jenny Sweetapple. Very unusual name. Whereabouts are you from?’

‘I thought I was from round here and was coming back to my roots, but I’m told Dereham Magna disappeared as a village yonks ago.’

Ralph smiled. ‘Something like six hundred years ago when the Plague devastated the place and killed every one of them. There may have been Sweetapples around then, though I don’t think anyone has bothered to find out. Just the same, you’re most welcome.’ He shook their hands again and went to assist his wife to rise from her chair. ‘Muriel, my dear, this is Jenny and Andy, our new neighbours.’

‘How do you do? I understand you’re starting up a beauty business in the village. That’s an exciting new venture for us all. Are you a hairdresser, too?’

‘Just working towards my qualifications. Won’t be long now.’ Jenny smiled and Muriel thought there was something very nice about her, there must be with that lovely smile.

The two of them left with Muriel hanging heavily on Ralph’s arm amidst a chorus of heartfelt goodnights.

‘That’s another two we can forget about. They tried to be gracious, they
were
gracious, but not in our class.’ Jenny raised her glass to someone who was leaving and waving goodnight to the two of them.

‘You’re always on about class. Categorizing people almost immediately. Everyone’s equal nowadays.’

‘If you think that you’re very much mistaken. That Dottie, for instance, is a tart.’

‘Honestly, Jenny.’

‘She is a tart from top to toe. I
know
.’

‘Well, I’ve just heard someone saying about her starting cleaning at the Rectory on Monday, so she can’t be that much of a tart.’

Jenny nearly fell off her chair. ‘At the Rectory? My God. Well, maybe I’m wrong.’

Andy went on to the attack when he knew her defences were down with the shock of the news about Dottie. ‘What’s this about hairdressing? I didn’t know you were taking a course.’

‘Neither did I, but I knew she liked the idea of me hairdressing so I said it.’

‘What will you do if she comes for a perm?’

‘Make an appointment for her, then buy a drier and some perming solutions, and I’m in business.’

‘But you aren’t one.’

‘I know but I’m a quick learner. You’re not a qualified social worker so that makes two of us.’ Jenny patted his leg and giggled.

Although they didn’t realize it, Jenny and Andy were being scrutinized by everyone in the bar. None more so than by Sylvia and Willie who were sitting on the old settle at their favourite table, waiting for their drinking friends to put in an appearance.

Sylvia nudged Willie. ‘See that, she’s too good for him. She’s got a heart of gold. Such a sweet face.’

‘You’re right there. Think they’ll make a success of it?’

‘The beauty business? Not sure. Might, might not. Tell you what, though, I don’t like him. Shifty, that’s what.’

‘Sylvia! That’s not kind. Anyway, how’re you feeling now, about the Rectory?’

Sylvia didn’t answer until she’d had a long drink of her gin and tonic. A blob of ice floated into her mouth and she crunched it before she spoke. ‘I miss it all, the coming and the going, the people I met, everything, but there’s one thing for certain – I do not miss that great kitchen floor. It seemed to get bigger by the week.’

‘We’re managing OK without the money …’ Willie looked up. ‘Hello, Jimmy. Sit down. I’ll get your drink in.’

Sylvia peered under the settle. ‘Not brought Sykes tonight?’

Jimmy’s long doleful face grew even more sad. ‘No. Just laid in his bed tonight when I said I was coming. I think perhaps he’s older than I realized.’

‘I’m sorry. He’s had a good life, what with you finding him lost and alone and taking him in.’

‘I didn’t take him in, he chose me. Funny, that was. Can’t get over it really. Remember I thought he was a ghost?’

‘I do. Gave me a terrible shock he did. Under this ’ere settle and looking so like your old Sykes. Terrible, it was. But he’s been a good friend to you.’

Jimmy nodded towards the huge fireplace. ‘See that Andy whatsit over there by the fire? Funny chap. Gave him a lift home the other night in me taxi, car broken down he said. But what’s he doing wandering about Culworth that time in the morning? There’s more to him than meets the eye.’

Sylvia nodded ‘She’s nice, though. This beauty business might be a step too far perhaps. Might give her a try. I’ll hold my opinion on ’em both till I know ’em better.’

‘You might be right. Thanks for this, Willie. Now, what’s your opinion about the cricket? Do we have a chance?’

Jenny put her brand-new advertising board out by their front door around lunchtime just as Grandmama Charter-Plackett was approaching the Rectory. Knowing about Jenny’s proposal to begin a business, she took her opportunity to make her feelings known.

‘Hello, there. What’s this you’re putting out?’

‘Hello. My new board. I’m starting up in business.’

‘As a masseuse?’

‘Yes. As well as other things. I do,’ she began counting her skills off on her fingers, ‘reflexology, aromatherapy, massage, sports injury treatments, hairdressing, manicures, pedicures. You name it, if it’s beauty or designed to make you feel good about yourself, then I’m qualified to do it.’ She smiled triumphantly.

Grandmama was determined to take the wind out of her sails, as she said later to Harriet over their afternoon cup of tea. ‘How could anyone genuinely be qualified to do all those things? So I said, “Jack of all trades and master of none.” Of course it was lost on her, her having a brain no bigger than a pea. I told her over my dead body was she starting up. Of course it turned out she hasn’t got council permission, which I imagine she needs to set up in business in a conservation area such as ours.’

‘I expect she does. But does it matter? I’m sure there are more heinous crimes than putting a board out and hoping for the best.’

‘If she makes a go of it, and I understand she’s doing a leaflet drop in Culworth, we’ll have cars nose to tail round the Green. It’s simply not on.’

Harriet inquired gently if she’d done anything about it.

‘Not yet. I’m planning my strategy at the moment. We’ll be having a chiropody clinic and osteopathy and heaven knows what within two years. It’s got to stop.’

‘What’s wrong with extra life and extra money coming into the village? It’s progress, that’s all.’

‘Progress, my eye! What’s more, I thoroughly dislike the man.’ Grandmama waved an arm vaguely about. ‘That whatsit, whatever his name is, he’s up to no good.’

Harriet protested, ‘You don’t know the man. How can you assume he’s up to no good?’

‘He’s shifty and what’s more he’s taken a dislike to Jimbo.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Instinct,’ Grandmama admitted. ‘How could anyone dislike Jimbo? He’s harmless, isn’t he?’

‘He can be stroppy. Look how many times he sacked Linda from the Post Office.’

‘Look how many times he took her back. Very forgiving, is my son.’

Harriet had to smile. ‘You’re right there. However, tread carefully. We don’t want a massive upset in the village when Peter’s not here.’

‘Bless that dear man. Not even he could like that Andy. No, not even he.’

She placed her cup and saucer on the low table by her side and showed all the signs of settling down to sleep. So Harriet cleared the tea things, flung them in the dishwasher and began to make a lemon meringue pie as she’d promised Fran she would.

The flap of the letterbox snapped shut so Harriet went to see what had arrived. There was a flyer about
Cottage Beauty
and an envelope addressed to Jimbo. Full name and address but no stamp. Hand-delivered, then. Harriet turned it over and studied it both back and front. There was something odd about it, curious and disturbing, and she hadn’t even read the contents. Well, she was a partner in both marriage and business so she’d open the envelope.

It was, well, yes it was, but it couldn’t be … was it what they called a poison pen letter? Quite definitely it was. The letter wasn’t signed but that was neither here nor there because it was the content of it that was horrifying:

Jimbo Charter-Plackett
,

The rubbish you serve in your Store, dressed up as gourmet, organic, or home-produced, is nothing more than an absolute sham. Animal fodder tarted up to look like first-class food. You should be prosecuted for offering it for sale. You do not deserve success and I shall make certain you don’t achieve it. I shall make sure you are bankrupt before the end of the year. Be warned!

When she’d finished reading it Harriet flung the letter down on the kitchen table, then picked it up and decided to act. It must have been delivered at the same time as the flyer and she guessed who’d delivered that.

She leapt across the Green and straight to Jenny and Andy’s door. She’d sort this matter out! Oh, yes. As of now. But there was no one answering. She hammered again and again and still no response. It was damned annoying. What next? Jimbo!

She charged round the Green having realized too late that her shoes were covered with mud by taking the short cut, and straight into the Store shouting, ‘Where’s Jimbo?’ But she was through and in the back before anyone could answer her.

‘Jimbo? Jimbo?’ He wasn’t in his office nor in Greta Jones’s mail order office. The kitchens! All was busy in there. They’d begun making the first batch of Christmas puddings and the air was redolent with spices, dried fruit soaked in brandy and joyful busyness which should have cheered her. But not today. Waving the letter in her hand, Harriet said ‘Where is Jimbo?’

‘In the storeroom, Harriet, getting us more dried fruit out.’

He was there, standing on a ladder and reaching well above his head for a box of Californian raisins. ‘Jimbo! There’s something you must see.’ Harriet waved the letter at him. He glanced down, wobbled a bit, dropped the box as he tried to steady himself – it missed Harriet by a hair’s breadth – then the ladder began rocking, and down came Jimbo with an almighty thud, landing awkwardly on the stone floor of the storeroom. The ladder followed him in slow motion and Harriet had to jump out of the way. Jimbo had fallen with his right leg twisted beneath him and was suddenly hit by searing pain.

For a moment Jimbo didn’t move or say a word then he let out an epithet which would have done credit to a ship’s captain about to take his ship onto the rocks in a Force Eight gale. He writhed with the pain and didn’t know how to control himself and behave like a man. All he wanted to do was lash out against the agony of it all.

Harriet looked at his face and saw the grey sweating skin of a man in terrible pain.

Jimbo snarled at her. ‘Don’t touch me. I think I’ve broken my right ankle. It’s a damn lot more than a sprain. It’s hellish painful. Get an ambulance right now. Don’t touch me! Whatever you do, don’t touch me!’

‘Oh, Jimbo! I could drive you. I will. It’s all my fault.’

‘No, It isn’t. There’s no way I can get up and you can’t lift me, and I can’t get to the car. Argh! Just get an ambulance. Argh!’ Jimbo shuddered.

So Harriet rang for an ambulance, got Jimbo a glass of water, dispersed the crowd now standing at the storeroom door asking anxiously about Jimbo, dashed about telling everyone what had happened and what were they all going to do, and generally behaved like a woman who’d taken leave of her senses.

Sweat was now running down Jimbo’s face, and Harriet rushing about did nothing to alleviate the agony. With a great effort Jimbo said, ‘Harriet, Harriet! Please. Calm down.’

‘Calm down? How can I with you in such pain?’

‘Please, calm down. It’s not terminal.’ But he didn’t know about the letter they’d received.

‘OK. OK.’ She took a deep breath, and placed the folded letter underneath a box so she wouldn’t put it down within his reach. Today was not the day for him to be reading it. ‘Don’t move. Please don’t move an inch.’

Jimbo said rather weakly, ‘I’ve no intention of moving anywhere, it’s too bloody painful. What did you want me for anyway?’

‘Doesn’t matter. It can wait. I’m coming to the hospital with you. I can’t let you suffer all by yourself.’

‘You’re not, you’re needed here.’