A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) (16 page)

Jimbo slammed the rectory door shut behind him and marched across to the Royal Oak steaming with temper. He couldn’t really understand
why
he was so angry, but angry he was, and he charged into the bar still seething.

‘I’ve been to see him.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Some ridiculous story about how if we let the church fall down through neglect there won’t be any point to the silver anyway. I’ve warned him that nothing must be done. The silver must not be sold and I’ve told him that the whole village will be up in arms if he goes ahead with this ridiculous scheme. OK. I’m leaving you all responsible till I get back. Right?’ Jimbo glowered at everyone in the bar, then left in an angry flurry. But more than one person had avoided his eye. It seemed like a blinking good idea to some, and why not? Better the silver got sold and the church was still standing. After all, where would they all get buried or married, come to that. Or the grandchildren christened? Just exactly where? Definitely not in that grim barn of a church they politely called Culworth Abbey. They shuddered at the prospect.

After the initial silence while the shock wore off, a great hubbub of noise broke out of conflicting opinions and at the table where the old settle was, a distinct feeling that ‘subtle and educated’ had completely gone out of the equation. They trembled at what they had begun.

Sitting at the table close to the hearth where Georgie’s flower arrangement sat, Tamsin and Paddy were far too engrossed in each other’s company to worry about the anger swilling around the bar. ‘Tamsin, did you know about this?’

‘Paddy, I’ve known a while, but I thought it would all blow
over. Apparently it hasn’t, but I’m keeping out of it. Right out of it.’

Paddy nodded his head. ‘That’s for the best, let it all flow over your head. There’ll be a big dust up and then everything will settle down. Peter will change his mind, the bishop will say no, or the village will get their way. I’ve practised that piece you gave me, by the way. I think I’m sending Greta mad with it but I can’t stop.’

Tamsin grinned at him. ‘Good. I’m so pleased. Do you enjoy it though? Because that’s what music is for.’

‘If I don’t enjoy something, I don’t do it. I got a craze on fishing once and, being a bit flush at the time, I bought all the gear, fished every day for two weeks, then gave it up. I haven’t fished since. It’s an idiotic sport is fishing. In fact it doesn’t even earn the name sport. Waste of time.’

Paddy didn’t notice the amused grin on Tamsin’s face until she replied, ‘I love it, to be honest.’

‘Oh! Sorry. I didn’t …’

‘Only teasing, Paddy! For heaven’s sake, you try too hard, you know.’

‘Try too hard?’

‘Yes. I’m well aware you think your education and your life before you came here is beneath mine. It isn’t. Honest. Your origins don’t matter at all, it’s what you are now that counts.’

Paddy was mortified. She’d understood what he’d wanted to keep hidden and he felt a fool. An uncomfortable silence followed this statement of Tamsin’s and Paddy couldn’t find the words to fill the gap. But then the outside door opened and in came Gilbert Johns.

It was very chilly for a summer’s evening, but that didn’t faze Gilbert at all. He was wearing his usual year-round outfit; a shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow and open almost to his navel, crumpled cotton trousers, hefty sandals on his bare feet, and his hair was wild and unkempt-looking. He was tanned
the year round and, although men never noticed, he did have tremendous sex appeal. It must have been the combination of deep-set nut-brown eyes, hollowed cheeks, and a strong jaw that emphasised his attraction. He spotted Tamsin as soon as he walked in and he raised a hand and gave her a nod of his head before going to the bar to buy a drink.

Paddy knew Gilbert was no competition where Tamsin was concerned, as he was happily married with five children, but it seemed to him that it would be easier just to disappear and leave them together. He wouldn’t even finish his drink.

Gilbert came over, nodded at the spare chair, and Tamsin agreed that he could sit down.

‘Good evening, Paddy. How’s the flute going?’

So he knew. ‘Fine, thank you.’

‘Enjoying it? Tamsin said you were learning. Nothing like music for healing the soul, it lifts you away from the mundane tasks. Well, anyway, I find it does.’

‘That’s right.’ Paddy nodded and sat awkwardly, wondering how he could escape.

‘I’ve come having heard about the sale of the church silver. Where do you stand on it, Tamsin?’

‘Not got an opinion either way, actually. We hardly ever see it, so what’s the point?’

‘Ah! Right. And you, Paddy?’

‘Don’t have a say, I never go.’

‘Well, that’s honest anyway. So at this table, I’m the only one who’s going to fight for it? To keep it, I mean.’ Gilbert nodded his head in the direction of the table in front of the old settle. ‘Bet they object to selling it.’

‘They do. From what we can hear from this table, they’ve sent Jimbo across to see Peter. Jimbo came back here afterwards and told them straight from the shoulder that nothing was to be done while he was on holiday. Well, he told all of us nothing had to be done and was he in a temper? He was. Wasn’t he, Paddy?’

Paddy agreed he was by nodding his head and saying nothing. Why Gilbert made him feel so useless he couldn’t explain, because he was the most kind and understanding man you could ever hope to meet, but he did. Gilbert and Tamsin could converse but Paddy, Gilbert and Tamsin couldn’t. It struck Paddy very forcibly that they all spoke the same language, but theirs was on a different level from his, it was even a different vocabulary. He guessed that if they began speaking about music, it would be double Dutch to him. He wouldn’t know the composers, nor the music, nor the musicians, nor the places they spoke of. What a fool he’d been, dreaming of him and Tamsin being … He got to his feet and interrupted them by saying, ‘Sorry, got a few things to do, must go. Goodnight.’ Then he left.

Gilbert half stood up, intending to encourage him to stay, but there was a determination in Paddy’s stride that changed his mind. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘That’s Paddy for you. He has this inferiority complex. It’s very sad really, he’s a lovely chap.’

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at Tamsin, but she wasn’t going to be tempted into any confessions and quickly asked him if he had any ideas for thwarting Peter’s plans for the church silver. ‘I shall write to the bishop first. No demonstrations, no confrontations, no protests for Gilbert Johns. A letter written and posted tomorrow, explaining very succinctly that the wishes of the village will brook no opposition. As church choirmaster, I feel I have a right to say how I feel.’

‘You sound very confident.’

‘I am. He’s a great chap is Bishop Simeon Julian Thomas Cartwright, a man after my own heart. We understand where each other is coming from and I shall trade on that.’

‘Does Louise feel the same?’

‘My beloved and I are of the same mind, yes.’

‘Good. Well, I’m off down Shepherd’s Hill to Greta Jones’s to see Paddy. Good luck with your campaign.’

‘Not a word. OK?

‘Promise. See you Sunday, Gilbert. I’ve got your music list.’

Gilbert nodded. He was very aware he’d interrupted a happy tête-à-tête and he said softly, ‘Hope I haven’t … upset the apple cart.’

‘There’s nothing to upset.’ Tamsin grabbed her bag and disappeared.

She arrived at Greta and Vince’s cottage in a state of turmoil. She’d no idea what her interest in Paddy amounted to, but she did know she didn’t want him hurt. She knocked on the door and waited. Slow footsteps could be heard approaching the door and when it opened, there stood Paddy.

They looked long and hard at each other until Tamsin felt foolish. ‘Is it possible I could come in?’

He opened the door a little wider. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Have I upset you? If I have, it’s the last thing in the world I want to do.’

He ignored her question. ‘Greta’s just making a cup of tea.’

‘Oh! Right. Another time then.’

Greta shouted from the kitchen. ‘I’ll make one for you if you like, Tamsin. It is Tamsin, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

Paddy jerked his head in the direction of Greta’s voice so Tamsin followed him into the kitchen. Greta had her back to them as she was filling the teapot with boiling water. Paddy pulled out a kitchen chair, but Greta said, ‘For heaven’s sake, Paddy. Company goes in the lounge. Vince has gone to bed and I’m about to. Come on, Tamsin, follow me, Paddy seems to be dumbstruck.’ She collected a third cup and saucer, put them on the tray, and bustled past the two of them, leading the way into her lounge.

‘Sit down, dear. Strong, medium or weak?’

‘Medium, no sugar. Just milk.’

‘Right you are.’

Paddy still hadn’t spoken. He accepted a cup of tea and began to drink it. ‘Manners, Paddy. That was for Tamsin.’

‘Oh! Sorry, here you are.’

‘Not that one, Paddy, you’ve been drinking from it.’

‘Oh! Right.’

‘Honestly, you’ve had one too many, you have.’

‘He hasn’t, Greta, he’s only had one tonight.’

‘Oh! Right. Sorry.’ Greta picked up the third cup and said, ‘I’m off to bed, don’t forget to put the lights out and lock up.’ She left, closing the door firmly behind her.

All Paddy wanted to do was lie in his bed feeling sorry for himself.

Conscious her hair was blown all over the place, Tamsin tried to bring some order to it. Paddy noted the long artistic fingers and the beautifully kept nails and longed to have her hand touching his hair in exactly the same way. Unaware Tamsin had seen the longing in his eyes he muttered, ‘Sorry for leaving so suddenly, but I can’t … I couldn’t.’ His lips closed tightly. He couldn’t finish his sentence.

‘Look. I know you feel you can’t talk about music like Gilbert and I can, but you seem to forget I can’t talk about gardens like you can. I know nothing. I don’t even know the difference between weeds and real plants. Nor their names, nor where they belong for the best in the garden. I couldn’t look after a vine successfully, nor grow peaches like you can, not for anything. So both of us have our own expertise. Mine is music. Yours is gardens. They’re both beautiful passions.’

He didn’t answer.

‘So what’s the difference? We both make a contribution to beauty in the world. Don’t we? In our own way?’

Paddy still didn’t answer.

‘I’d better be going.’ She put her cup down on Greta’s tray, picked up her bag, and said, ‘Goodnight, Paddy. Sleep tight.’ As she passed close to him, she bent her head and gently kissed his
lips. Then she saw herself out. She didn’t see him reach out to touch her as she passed, nor did she see his hand touch his lips where her lips had touched, nor the smile that flooded his face with joy.

It felt very odd for everyone who worked for Jimbo that neither he nor Harriet were there to refer to for two whole weeks. He’d deliberately not allowed any big catering event to be booked at the Old Barn so that was one worry off their minds, but they still had the day-to-day running of everything else to deal with. Greta, in the Mail Order office, scurried about wishing she had extra help because, since Jimbo had set up his website, her workload had doubled. In fact, some weeks she did extra hours just to keep up with the orders, never mind any extra chores like checking her stock. In fact, she was working hand to mouth with the stock, as Tom had to go out to collect all the jams and chutneys and things from the people who made them in their own kitchens now that Harriet wasn’t doing her usual collection rounds.

‘Tom, you’ll have to go round tomorrow, else I shall be out of all the popular lines by lunchtime. I need all the pickles, chutney, and the new season strawberry jam from Hazel Whitehouse in Penny Fawcett. Can you go?’

‘I might be able to. I’ve everything to do you know.’

‘I know, but I can’t go to collect it, can I? I don’t drive.’

‘I’ll try to squeeze it in.’

‘Could Harry go? He’d be willing, I’m sure. Or could he do something for you while you go?’

‘Greta! I’m serving. Leave it with me.’

‘Well, when Jimbo comes home and sees my sales have slumped, I shall tell him why. It’s not part of
my
responsibilities to be collecting the supplies.’

Greta turned on her heel and went back to the Mail Order office in high dudgeon. But Tom came up with the best idea yet. He’d ask Harry to cash up and prepare the banking while he took the opportunity to go round the farms to collect Greta’s stock. That would be best. He was sure Harry wouldn’t mind. After all, he couldn’t be in two places at once, even Jimbo couldn’t do that. Relieved he’d found a solution, he rang Harry when he had a lull and they agreed that he would come to the store early tomorrow morning and sort out the banking himself before going with it to the bank first thing. That would allow Tom to do Harriet’s collection round tonight instead of staying on to add up the cash. ‘I open up at seven-thirty, Harry, so you can come as soon as you like after that.’

‘Right. I’ll do that. Don’t forget to put the contents of the till in the safe tonight will you, before you set off? I’ll come round at eight-thirty tomorrow morning instead of going to the office, do the banking, and then take it straight to the bank. Then I’ll drive back and begin work. Glad to be of help. Bye.’