Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10)

Kate watched the unnatural colour in his face settle to its usual pallor.

‘I don’t need to say this to you, but there is
nothing
between Mrs Bliss and me. All I wanted to do was to please you.’

‘I feel ashamed that you feel the need to reassure me. Of course I know there isn’t, it never crossed my mind. But I’m grateful that you are attending to her house. It will make such a difference and I love you for it.’

‘I didn’t mean you to know until it was finished. You see, when I went to the house and saw . . . Anyway, that’s for another time. If there’s something you’d rather be doing, I’ll sit here a while longer.’

‘If it’s all right, I’ll stay with you.’

There was nothing more to say on the matter without repeating herself so she sat silently, thinking. That he’d done as she asked amused her. Secretly repairing the house wihtout telling her was, in its own way, an acknowledgement that he had heeded her good sense and her compassion. But there was something more behind it, a further reason to do with his past perhaps, the past he didn’t feel able to tell her about.

Tales from Turnham Malpas

REBECCA SHAW

Cover

Title

Also by the Author

About the Author

Inhabitants of Turnham Malpas

Map

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Copyright

INHABITANTS OF TURNHAM MALPAS

The bridegroom walked undetected down Church Lane, cursing the gaggle of geese engaged in their early-morning circling of the Green in the hope of being fed. He tried to squeeze past them but they hissed, stretched out their necks, spread their wings, and took rapid, threatening steps towards him. Softly he cried, ‘Shoo! Shoo!’ but they ignored him and continued their lordly procession. He never had and never would have this animal thing. He reached the lychgate, silently undid the catch and turned in. Should he wait here or go up to the church porch? He snapped back his impeccable white cuff and looked at his watch. Only fifteen minutes to go. Where was she? Where the devil were Peter and Mrs Peel? Surely they should be here by now. The bridegroom checked to make sure no one had seen him, then walked softly up the path to the church door and tried the heavy iron handle. It was open! He went inside, still unseen, except by the geese and they wouldn’t tell.

The front pew was where bridegrooms sat awaiting their brides. She’d taken some persuading, and even now he wasn’t sure he should have persisted in proposing. But she was just what he needed; whether he was just what she needed was another matter, but he had to have his own
way, that was how he was made. She’d be dressed in a light grey suit, she’d said, no hat, hats weren’t her thing, matching shoes and a small spray of flowers made by the florist in Culworth. He wished, briefly, that she’d be wearing a real wedding dress, romantic you know. He adjusted the rose in his buttonhole and checked his pocket for the wedding ring. Quiet, she’d said. No best man. No bridesmaids. What do either of us want with all that carry on? The fewer people who knew the better.

He’d been too long without a partner. Ghastly word that. Been too long without a
wife
. He daren’t count how long, because it reminded him that he was much older than her. He certainly didn’t behave like an older man, and she claimed she never noticed his age. There’d been a twinkle in her eye when she’d said that and it had boosted his ego, not that it needed boosting, that had never been a problem with him. He checked his watch again. A chill ran down his spine. Where were they? And more so, where was
she
?

The bride was sitting on the dressing-table stool in her bedroom, putting on her cream satin shoes. Had she got the right shade? She held the shoes, one in each hand, against the skirt of her wedding dress. Yes, she had. Exactly right. She put them on, stood up and went to the long mirror to examine herself now she was fully dressed. From head to toe she looked the perfect bride; hair held in place by a kind of fledgling tiara, classic high-necked, long-sleeved dress, with heavily beaded bodice, the glass beads catching the light each time she breathed. The skirt was slender with short slits each side at the hem so she was able to walk freely. Her bouquet! She picked it up from
the bed and assessed the finished article. Yes! She’d got it right. Perfect! He’d love her in this. Grey suit indeed! For such an intelligent man he was easily fooled. So . . . within the hour she’d be married. It still wasn’t too late to say no. Did she want to? No to all that money? No to limitless foreign travel? No to no expense spared? No to having anything she wanted? Worse still, could she say no to love? He loved her far more than she loved him. Was she being fair marrying him knowing that? She’d told him time and again and he’d listened, but he hadn’t heard. There was the sound of a car engine. She walked sedately down the stairs and out of the door, put her house key under the flowerpot and graciously stepped into the car. The chauffeur held her flowers while she settled herself, returned them to her and they drove the few yards to the church at a stately speed.