The Village Newcomers (19 page)
‘It’s not much to ask for a chance to get to know my twins. That’s all it is. I know what’s making the two of them refuse me.’
‘You do?’ Peter sceptically raised his eyebrows.
‘Yes. Caroline is putting every possible stumbling block in my way. She’s been viciously against me having contact with my twins ever since the beginning.’
Alex sprung to his mother’s defence. ‘That is absolutely not the case. Mum has never tried to influence how we think about you. Never. We have not heard from you for over sixteen years. That letter you sent each of us was the very first communication we’ve had from you. How’s that for caring? Just because you have a great gap in your life now does not justify opening up old wounds. Beth and I have talked long and hard about this situation, and neither of us wishes to get to know you better. We know how hard it must be for you, but it’s also hard for the two of us. We are perfectly happy to be with our dad and our mum, and that’s how we want it to stay. Trying to tear us apart makes us even more determined.’
‘But that is ridiculous—’
‘No, it isn’t, it’s what we want.’
‘But it isn’t what
I
want.’
I
want.’
‘No, you want
us
, but we don’t want to be four people. Alex and Beth who belong at the Rectory . . . and . . . Alex and Beth who belong to you. Will you not understand? Please?’ He gazed steadily at her, his eyes frank and honest, his face passionate, and sounding more like his father than she’d thought possible.
us
, but we don’t want to be four people. Alex and Beth who belong at the Rectory . . . and . . . Alex and Beth who belong to you. Will you not understand? Please?’ He gazed steadily at her, his eyes frank and honest, his face passionate, and sounding more like his father than she’d thought possible.
Suzy laid a gentle hand on his forearm. ‘I’d be content with just a teeny-weeny bit of you.’
Alex got to his feet. Leaning his hands on the table, he bent over her and said, ‘Not even a teeny-weeny bit, because then you’d want more. I’ve listened to boys at school who have divorced parents. They say they belong in two houses all at the same time, and neither of them feel like
home
, and when they wake up each morning they have to remember which house they’re actually in. It makes them two people all wrapped in one, and the opportunity for playing one set of parents off against the other is just too tempting, and they blatantly admit to doing it. Beth and I are
not
putting up with that.’
home
, and when they wake up each morning they have to remember which house they’re actually in. It makes them two people all wrapped in one, and the opportunity for playing one set of parents off against the other is just too tempting, and they blatantly admit to doing it. Beth and I are
not
putting up with that.’
‘You don’t know what Beth wants, not deep down.’
‘I most certainly do and I’m not having her upset any more. This is our final word.
Our . . . final . . . word!
In the unlikely event of us changing our minds we’ll be in touch. Until then, just bloody well stay away!’
Our . . . final . . . word!
In the unlikely event of us changing our minds we’ll be in touch. Until then, just bloody well stay away!’
‘Alex!’
But Alex had rushed away, deeply angry and seriously distressed by what he’d said, and he went to sit out in Turnham House Park by himself under the trees until he’d calmed down, leaving Peter with a distraught and horrified Suzy.
‘How could he? How could he speak to me like that?’ Out came her handkerchief.
‘Because he feels passionately about what he said, and you’ve to
let them go
. You don’t listen because it’s simply not what you
want
to hear. I’m sick and tired of this whole business. The children have told you that at this moment they don’t want to get to know you, and as far as Caroline and I are concerned that’s how it is. It’s their decision, not
ours
. Do as he says and bloody well stay away.’
let them go
. You don’t listen because it’s simply not what you
want
to hear. I’m sick and tired of this whole business. The children have told you that at this moment they don’t want to get to know you, and as far as Caroline and I are concerned that’s how it is. It’s their decision, not
ours
. Do as he says and bloody well stay away.’
He heard her sharp intake of breath when he swore, but he didn’t care.
‘Peter! Please!’
‘Has the message not gone home, then? Are you still going to keep persuading them to build a relationship with you? Despite Alex’s anger? Despite Beth’s tears?’
‘It’s so lonely, you see, with my three girls away from home. They hardly ever come to see me. And Beth and Alex are the children of the man I love. Had you forgotten that? What love did I ever get from Patrick? None at all. From Michael? Huh! I should have known not to marry a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor. But you . . . I have loved you ever since that day we made love, every hour of every day.’
Peter was devastated. A declaration of love from her was not what he wanted after the week he’d had. He didn’t want confrontation and protests and promises of undying love, not today. What he wanted was Caroline’s common sense, Caroline’s uncomplicated love and understanding, not the over-the-top emotional desire of this apparently obsessed woman. What he’d done that day long ago was to answer her need as well as his own; that the twins had been the result was both shocking and wonderful, but for certain he wanted an end to this.
He stood up, took her arm and, to the astonishment of everyone present, he marched her out of the Old Barn and into the open air. ‘Your car? Where is it?’
She was sobbing now. ‘Outside the Rectory. I got a lift from the church.’
‘Get in my car. Here we are. Get in.’
Peter drove out of the grounds of Turnham House and down towards the Rectory in absolute silence.
He pulled up behind her car and went round to open the passenger door for her to get out. She looked up at him with those bright blue eyes of hers, those eyes his Beth had inherited, and for a nanosecond his resolution wavered.
Standing as close as she could, she whispered, ‘I shall always love you.’ Then she reached up to stroke his cheek.
He jerked his head away. ‘You’ll never have me, Suzy, so you’d better create a life of your own, and at the same time ask yourself why your girls don’t see much of you. Perhaps you’ve been obsessive with them, like you’re being with Beth and Alex. Think on these things.’
He made the sign of the cross on her forehead, saying as he did so, ‘God bless you, Suzy. Goodbye.’
Before she’d unlocked her car door, he’d already got back into his own car. Because of his distress, he revved the engine far too much and drove round the Green like a man possessed, praying as he did so that he was seeing the end to her obsession.
Chapter 11
Monday afternoon meant the Turnham Malpas embroidery group was in session, and Zack, though it was autumn now, had decided not to give up calling in for his cup of tea just as he did in the summer when he was grass-cutting. In fact, he made a special point of visiting, because Merc still came every Monday with one of Ford’s tips for him. But what Ford didn’t know was that everyone in the group also bet on his tips and they were having a rare old time winning every week. Some of them were saving up their winnings and even putting on much bigger bets than they’d ever done in their lives.
Dottie put £100 on one week - stupidly reckless, she knew, but she did it all the same - and what was more, she won! Four consecutive weeks they’d been betting and every time winning. It stood to reason it couldn’t go on, but somehow they pushed that threat to one side and their confidence grew.
Merc found it hilarious and despite her telling them Ford couldn’t be right every single time, ad infinitum, they persisted. This Monday he had selected Paddy Myboy. They all carefully made a note of the name, the racecourse and the time of the race, and then and only then did they continue with their embroidery. Merc had just finished her special project of doing the flag on the ship and they gathered round to study the effect.
Evie was delighted. ‘Well, I must say, Merc, it’s fabulous. Just what that bit of the tapestry needs to give it a lift.’ Joking, Dottie declared she wasn’t impressed with that remark as it made her duck-egg blue background sound like a waste of time.
Evie hastened to reassure her that that was not the case at all, that it was the immaculate simplicity of her beautifully worked background that gave the flag the best possible setting. Dottie puzzled over this and then decided it was meant as a compliment and settled to her work happily enough, thinking as she stitched that she might spend this week’s winnings on a weekend away. And why not?
Naturally the main subject of conversation was the joint funeral service for Muriel and Ralph.
‘It was a beautiful service. I thought the Rector got it just right. Poetic, it was, and very moving. But,’ said Dottie, ‘without them, things won’t feel the same, will they? No lord of the manor, no more—’
‘But Ralph hasn’t been lord of the manor since he was about fourteen when his mother sold up after his dad died in the Second World War.’ This remark came from Bel, who could behave uncommonly like a socialist on occasion.
‘We know that but he still always had our interests at heart. One trip down to the council and he got his own way, like a real gentleman.’ Sylvia snipped her wool with her special embroidery scissors and added, ‘Which he was.’ She looked up, expecting a protest from Bel, but Bel merely commented, ‘You couldn’t deny that. Lovely man, he was. So sad him joining her so soon. Still, he’d have been no good without her. They really loved each other, didn’t they?’
‘Question is,’ said Merc with more practical matters in mind, ‘who inherits?’
In their deep sadness at the deaths, none of them had got as far as thinking on those lines. This weighty question foxed them all.
‘Well, they were childless,’ Barbara the weekender ventured. ‘And he was an only child and so was she, so that rules out immediate descendants. It’ll have to be a cousin or something, twice removed or whatever. Wish we had a family tree, then we could perhaps work it out.’
‘How do you know all that?’
‘I specialise in genealogy,’ said Barbara, rather self-importantly.
‘What’s that when it’s at home?’ asked Dottie.
‘Tracing family trees. I did it for a friend once and she wished I hadn’t ’cos I found out that her father
and
her mother were illegitimate
and
one of her great-grandmothers. She was furious, but I didn’t make it up. It was all facts. It was on their birth certificates. “Born out of wedlock! My mother? I think not!” she said. Didn’t speak to me for months after. But I was only telling her the truth.’
and
her mother were illegitimate
and
one of her great-grandmothers. She was furious, but I didn’t make it up. It was all facts. It was on their birth certificates. “Born out of wedlock! My mother? I think not!” she said. Didn’t speak to me for months after. But I was only telling her the truth.’
‘Hey!’ said Sheila. ‘That happened with Ralph’s family, you know. I think it was his grandfather who had a son born with his wife and one with a parlour maid from the village the very same night, right in the middle of a massive thunderstorm. The oak on the Green had a whole branch come down and they all said it was the wrath of the gods. Beattie Prior, she was; married, too. Her baby was the grandfather of Arthur Prior, who owns Wallop Down Farm.’ This amazing statement brought a complete halt to their sewing.
Sylvia, thrilled by being reminded of this old story, burbled excitedly, ‘My Willie knows all about that. Maybe Arthur Prior might inherit. Not the estate obviously and not the title, but I bet there’ll be an awful lot of money somewhere laid about. Think how the price of his cottage will have gone up since he bought it, and that’s just for a start. Mind you, Arthur is knocking on so I expect his eldest son will benefit most. Won’t go far, though, will it?’
Sheila giggled. ‘Not with all those daughters he has, and only one boy. I say! Perhaps the boy, Sebastian, will get all the money. You never know, do you? Like a kind of grandchild in a way? ’Cept, of course, we’ve forgotten his cottage is in ruins with the fire, so there’ll be no counting on the money for that.’
Evie didn’t like this kind of tittle-tattle and did her best to stop it. ‘There’s no point in us speculating. There might be a nephew in some distant place like Canada or Peru or somewhere who’ll inherit the money. There must be other Templetons somewhere. Now, about this next bit after the ship—’
‘There will be,’ said Sylvia, ‘because I remember Willie saying that the Sir whatever-his-name-was at the time that had a baby with Beattie Prior had two other boys after with his wife, so there must be someone somewhere. They might even come to live in the village.’
‘About the next section, I’ve been thinking—’
But Sheila asked Merc what the youth club was doing this week, so Evie had to wait her turn.
‘This week? Which red should I use for this bit, Evie?’
‘Scarlet.’
‘Right.’ Merc threaded her needle and looked up at Sheila. ‘It’s the ghost hunt week - bring your own candle.’ She didn’t know why but that phrase, bring your own candle, fired her imagination. It spoke to her of long stone passages and arch-ways, of patches of light and then incredible darkness, and the heart-twitching screech of owls in the depth of the night.
Bel nodded. ‘I thought so. They’ve been in the Store buying candles as if there was going to be a power cut. They’ll have a great time. The twins are going and Fran Charter-Plackett and loads from Penny Fawcett.’
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