Intrigue in the Village (Turnham Malpas 10) (5 page)

‘There’s more custard if anyone . . .’ She held up the jug and the first hands up were Philip and Paul Bliss’s. They gobbled up their extra custard as though the whole jug would not have been enough. Kate made a note to see their mother about free school meals for the four of them.

After school, and before the minibus left, the Bliss twins came into the Store. Tom Nicholls was in charge for the afternoon and took their money for the five bars of chocolate they’d chosen, unaware that they were in truth penniless. He rather liked their good manners and the way they spoke so nicely.

After they’d gone, Linda said to Tom from behind her Post Office grille, ‘Nice kids, aren’t they? New, I think.’

‘Could do with some new clothes. Kate won’t take kindly to them dressed like that.’

Linda said, ‘I know she won’t. She insists on the full uniform right from their first day. It’ll cost a bomb to kit out our Lewis, but I know he’ll look lovely, even if the sleeves on ’is blazer will be too long. I can’t be buying blazers any too often, not with our mortgage. He’s reading already. Can’t think where he gets it from. Alan was a dunce at school.’

Tom laughed. ‘Weren’t we all?’

‘Enjoying working for his nibs, are you?’

‘Grateful, let’s put it that way. I couldn’t bear having to move Evie, she’s so happy here. Jimbo saved my bacon giving me this job, believe me. I like the days driving
round collecting the homegrown vegetables and such from the farms. He’s given so many people a livelihood, has Jimbo. Farmers’ wives making cakes, meals for the freezer, jam for the mail order, pickles, you name it. Cooking hams for the deli. There’s no end to it.’

‘To say nothing of all the people he employs for events. The wedding was a smashing do, wasn’t it? That cake! I’d have given my right arm for it at our wedding. And the food! Jimbo kept that quiet, didn’t he? Eh!’

‘All part of being a businessman, Linda.’

Tom continued serving people, slicing ham, giving change, keeping an eye open for any misbehaviour, and he’d just helped someone to load up their car when his arch enemy appeared from the mail order room to get her shopping before leaving for home. For some reason he didn’t get on with Greta Jones, and he didn’t know why.

Mrs Jones slapped down eight packages on the counter. ‘Here we are, Linda, the last of today’s parcels. What a day I’ve had.’ She absent-mindedly stroked one of the beautifully wrapped mail order packages as though reluctant to let it go. ‘I’ve packaged everything from lemon cheese to pickled onions.’

‘Get on, you know you like it.’

Mrs Jones had to admit she did. ‘Satisfying. I even enjoy admiring the red-checked covers on the jars. They never fail to make me smile! We’ve got a new line starting – bottled peaches. We’re buying them from the greenhouses at the Big House and bottling them ready for the Christmas trade. Wonderful gold labels they’re going to have, but it’s still Harriet’s Country Cousin brand name. Bottled in brandy so God knows how much they’ll cost to buy. Jimbo’s struck a good bargain with old Fitch though.’

‘He’ll have more on his mind than peaches at the moment,’ Linda commented. She and Mrs Jones giggled. Their tittle-tattle, which amounted to nothing in the end, annoyed Tom.

‘Maybe he was feeling magnanimite at the time, as he was courting!’ Mrs Jones bent double with laughter but caught Linda’s warning glance just in time. Linda’s counter faced the outside door and she’d spotted Kate coming in. Mrs Jones straightened up, gave Linda the money for the stamps on her packages and waited for her receipt. It seemed ridiculous, this business of paying to post the mail order packages, robbing Peter to pay Paul as you might say, but Jimbo insisted on it to keep the accounts straight, he said, and to make sure the mail order was paying for itself. Mrs Jones shrugged. If that was how he wanted it, that was how he got it. ‘Why, good afternoon, Kate. Married life suiting you?’

Kate, who was now standing behind her waiting her turn, said, ‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Jones.’

‘I was sorry none of your relatives were there on Friday.’

‘They disapproved.’

‘Ah! That’s understandable.’

Kate looked askance and didn’t reply. She had a pile of small boxes of wedding cake to post.

‘Oh! They’re going all over the world! How wonderful.’ Linda enjoyed herself weighing them all and working out the value of stamps needed for each one. ‘Three to Africa! Of course, that’s where you worked before you came here. They’ll be surprised.’

Rather tartly Kate replied, ‘I haven’t put our ages on the cake, Linda.’

‘Oh! I didn’t mean that. I meant surprised at you getting married. You know with you being . . . a bit older than usual. They’ll be pleased though, I expect.’

‘I hope so. I’d like a receipt, please.’

‘Of course. A receipt. Got to watch the housekeeping, eh? Don’t expect old Fitch lets anything slip through; mustard on accounts, I understand. Must have had to be, the way his business has taken off. Look after the pennies and the pounds look after themselves, eh?’ Linda printed out the receipt for her and pushed it under the grille.

Kate felt as though she’d been beaten with a meat tenderizer. It really was abominable the way this woman gossiped. She wondered why Jimbo kept her on. She caught Tom’s eye watching them and saw he too was annoyed.

As Linda dropped Kate’s boxes into the postbag she said, ‘We’ve had some lovely children in from the school. They must be new. No uniform, I noticed. Very well spoken.’

‘That’ll be the Bliss children. Yes, they are new, started today. Thank you, Linda.’

‘Someone said there were new people in Simone Paradise’s old house so it must be them. I saw them getting on the Little Derehams minibus when they left here. Bet it’s in a mess. There’s been no one in there since she . . . got burnt up, and it wasn’t up to much even then.’

‘Time you learnt to curb your tongue, Linda.’

Linda puffed up like a disgruntled turkey cock. ‘I’m not a kid in your school.’

‘Pity. I’d soon have you knocked into shape.’

‘Well! Really!’

Kate slammed out of the Store, furious with herself for
having allowed Linda to anger her, but it was a shock learning that the Blisses were living in Simone’s old house. In her heart, she had grieved for Simone for a long time. But her death had brought to an end an episode in her life of which she was not proud. Black magic! She must have been a complete idiot. She drove up to the Big House, hoping Craddock would be home early and she could heal herself by telling him all about her day.

The same thing happened each day that week. Immediately after school finished, the Bliss twins came into the Store, made a rapid choice of five bars of chocolate and then ran hell for leather to catch the minibus.

But the following week they didn’t come in. Both Tom and Jimbo noticed them dithering by the school wall, as though making up their minds whether or not to come in the Store, but instead reluctantly climbing on to the bus with their sisters.

They’d told their mother that Mrs Fitch was giving everyone a bar of chocolate each day to celebrate her wedding. Mrs Bliss knew that wasn’t true, but who was she to chastise them for stealing, when she’d done the very same thing each day to put food on the table? In any case, they were so transparently honest it hadn’t occurred to them that five bars gave their game away. Mrs Bliss knew they’d either shoplifted the chocolate or stolen the money for it. Bless their dear hearts, thinking of her. How bad had things got that she was blessing them for stealing, when all their lives, honesty had been their watchword.

But on the Friday, the bell jingled and all four of them came in to the Store. Una and Della wandered off on their own, while Philip and Paul kept Jimbo in conversation.
The two little girls then headed for the outside door and the two boys abruptly ended their conversation and dived out after them. They rushed on to the bus and were gone.

‘Mr Charter-Plackett! I think those girls have—’

‘Thank you, Linda, I guessed.’

‘But don’t you want to—’

‘I said thank you.’ Jimbo’s dismissive tone smarted. Honestly, thought Linda, for years he’s been glad for me to tell him if I suspected shoplifting.

‘I was only doing my duty as you see it.’

‘I know.’

‘But, you’ve always said—’

‘Linda!’ Jimbo thundered. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s an example to set our Lewis. I’ll let him come and watch how to do it. He likes chocolate.’

Jimbo marched over, removed his boater and pressed his face to the grille. In a stage whisper he said, ‘Will you leave it to me? I saw what happened, I have got eyes, and I shall deal with it. Right?’

There was something about the authoritative manner in which he clapped his boater back on that angered Linda. How was she to know? More loudly than necessary she said sarcastically, ‘You’d better give me a list of who can and who can’t shoplift, then I shan’t make any more mistakes.’

Jimbo, already going back to the till, paused, recollected he’d decided not to sack Linda again because of the humble pie he’d have to eat to get her back, then continued on his way, fuming. For two pins he’d stop the Post Office; it was more of a service than a moneyspinner after all. But then he remembered it drew shoppers in, and that otherwise the superstore on the by-pass would get
their trade. No, he’d keep the Post Office, but pray he’d come across someone with Linda’s skills. If he did then, bang! Out she’d go. He found it incredible that pathetic, gossipy Linda was indispensable to him. Still, her intimate knowledge of the goings-on in the village was a valuable asset. The customers all loved her for it, unless the gossip was about themselves. But he’d have a word with Kate on Sunday. Something had to be done about the Blisses. He couldn’t afford to have both mother and children stealing, much as they might need it. Jimbo was convinced they were grindingly poor and, in addition, unaccustomed to it.

Maggie Dobbs threw her shopping bag on to the floor and swore, roundly and loudly, as her cleaning shoes and apron fell out of it. There was no one to hear so it didn’t matter. Her outdoor shoes she shoved off her feet and let them drop on to the tiles along with her coat and scarf. She’d have to give up this school job. It was more than a Christian soul should have to tolerate.

It was a wet day and the kids would kick off their wellingtons but not before they’d plastered her nice clean floor with muddy footprints. Anyone would think they’d done a day’s work on a building site before they arrived at school. Thick mud here there and everywhere. So what does her nibs Kate Pascoe or rather Fitch, decide? ‘Mrs Dobbs,’ she’d said. ‘This floor will have to be cleaned before you go or it will be all over the school.’ She’d added please but only as an afterthought. Maggie hated wet days, because if the floor needed cleaning, which it always did, it meant moving all the boots and some of the children didn’t have them named so how the heck was she supposed to know whose boots went under which peg? She wasn’t a mind reader.

Maggie heaved herself up and went to switch on the kettle. Entering her kitchen always gave her heart a lift. It
was so spanking smart and up to date it was unbelievable she was renting a cottage at least four hundred years old. Don Wright – and . . . Vera was it? – who’d rented it to her had done a great job of modernizing the place. The bathroom was to die for, you felt cleaner just walking into it. White from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Wonderful! Such a pity that her Dave had died two weeks before they’d been due to move in. He’d have loved it here, after that ghastly flat they’d rented for fifteen years.

Maggie sat back with a cup of scalding hot tea and allowed herself to think for a moment. Feet propped on the coffee table, she ruminated on her job. It was very trying. Every morning by eight o’clock she was at the school sorting out the day for them all. Back at eleven-thirty to take delivery of the hot school dinners from the caterer’s van, put out the tables, and keep a watchful eye on the ladies who served the dinners to the children, to make sure they cleaned up their own mess of spilt food before they went. She conducted a vicious war with them day in, day out.

Home again and then back at three, to begin cleaning ready for the next day. Then, lo and behold, there were sometimes evening classes. Like that embroidery group that rented a classroom once a week in term-time. She’d warned them about leaving needles around . . . There came a knock at the door.

She opened her front door to find a woman standing there. She pretended not to recognize her. She wore thick mascara and her hair was blacker than the night. She was slim too, like Maggie would never be in a month of Sundays.

‘Yes?’

‘Maggie Dobbs?’

‘I live here, yes.’

‘Can I come in?’ The woman looked almost furtively around as though making sure she hadn’t been seen knocking on Maggie Dobbs’s door.

Maggie opened the door wider and let her in. A strong waft of a cloying oriental perfume hit her nostrils. She’d have to open a window when this woman left.

‘I’m Venetia from the Big House.’

Unimpressed, Maggie nodded.

‘I run the leisure centre for the staff training college there.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Oh! Right. I wondered if I’d be welcome . . . you know.’ Venetia winked knowingly. ‘I’d be very discreet.’