A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) (6 page)

‘Don! Are you getting the drinks in then, or not? I’m parched.’ Willie was impatient, he could see this conversation might go
on for an hour or more. Once Don got going, he didn’t know when to stop. He hadn’t been quite the same since his accident, it had addled his brain, for sure.

‘All right, all right.’

As Don headed for the bar counter, in came Harry. He stood looking around as though hoping he’d see someone he knew. Georgie waved to him and called, ‘Good evening!’ and Maggie called out, ‘Come and sit with us, we’re just getting the drinks in.’

Harry gave her a thumbs up and went to the bar to order his own drink.

Maggie leaned forward and whispered, ‘He’s been swimming with Venetia!’

‘No!’ said Pat Jones, ‘Oh, my word! I thought she’d stopped all that? Perhaps there’s nothing in it, maybe it happened by chance?’

Maggie raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

Harry came to their table, and seeing Jimmy’s chair empty, sat down in it. ‘Good evening!’ He raised his glass in greeting and drank a good half of his pint all in one go, wiped his mouth, and looked at Maggie. ‘I don’t know anyone. Maggie, will you introduce me? I’m Harry Dickinson, by the way.’ He smiled at everyone in turn.

His smile was met by frozen faces. Someone had to tell him and, finally, it was Sylvia who plucked up the courage to explain, ‘I’m Sylvia, Harry. Married to Willie here,’ she said, tapping Willie’s arm. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but we’re careful not to sit in that chair at the moment. A dear friend of ours died rather unexpectedly sitting in it only three weeks ago so we’re a bit touchy about using his chair. We’re not being unfriendly, just a bit touchy.’

Harry shot to his feet, white-faced and apologetic. ‘I’m so sorry, I’d no idea.’

‘Of course you hadn’t. Here look, sit next to Don. Anywhere
but there!’ said Sylvia sympathetically, moved by Harry’s obvious distress.

‘I am indeed very sorry. A dear friend, you say?’ Harry pushed his glass of home-brew further along and slipped into the chair next to Don.

Don said, ‘That’s my Vera’s chair.’

Harry shot to his feet again. ‘I’d better sit at another table, I’m so sorry. Has she died too?’

‘My Vera? No, of course not! She’s just having to work late at the nursing home as someone’s not turned in, so she won’t be coming. But it is.’

Willie, unable to cope any longer with the confusion they were causing between them said, ‘Look, Harry, stay where you are. Vera usually sits there, but she’s not coming so it’s fine. He’s being difficult on purpose. You’re very welcome. We’re all friends round this table, believe me. Go on, sit down.’

Don, in a huff, complained, ‘I didn’t mean nothing at all, just mentioned it, that’s what.’ Those who knew him could sense he was brewing for a serious row, sometimes it happened all over nothing with Don.

‘You should engage your brain before you speak, Don.’ Willie reminded him.

‘That’s not very kind saying that. Poor Don.’ said Pat Jones.

‘Are you claiming I’m not right in the head no more? Because I am all right, our Vera says. Ask her,’ Don said with a belligerent tone to his voice.

‘No, I wasn’t, but you should,’ replied Willie.

‘I know I’m not all that good after my accident, but I’m not rude.’

‘I never said you were.’

‘You did.’ Don fidgeted with his glass, straightened the beer mat, ran his fingers through his snow-white hair and, before anyone managed to say something to calm his ruffled feathers, he leaped to his feet, well, as fast as he was able nowadays,
reached across the table and landed a punch on Willie’s nose. Blood immediately streamed from it. Sylvia screamed, Maggie began laughing, Pat Jones searched in her bag for a tissue or two for Willie, and uproar ensued. Georgie came across with a tea towel to catch the flow of blood, except initially it had spurted into Willie’s half-full glass of home-brew. Sylvia then began to cry, she was so upset. Altogether, mayhem had erupted.

‘You can apologise for that, Don, that was unnecessary in the extreme.’ This came from Georgie, who’d had a heavy day brought on by the good weather, which meant that the bar had been extremely busy right from first thing.

‘Not my fault. It was Willie, that’s what.’

‘Now, see here …’

But Harry interrupted Sylvia by saying, calmly, ‘It was no one’s fault. I was to blame, through ignorance of whose chair I’d sat in, so let me sort things out. Willie, I’m buying you a fresh glass, home-brew, was it? Don, of course you didn’t mean anything by what you said, and I haven’t taken offence. Next round on me. Can Willie have another glass, Georgie, right now?’

‘Of course. Thanks for taking it so kindly. Lovely manners you have indeed. I’ll bring it straight across. All right now, Willie?’

Willie’s nose was still running a little but the flow caused by the initial impact had definitely lessened. ‘Much better.’

Harry spoke again, even more calmly than before, ‘Tell me something about this dear friend of yours who so unexpectedly went to heaven sitting in that empty chair. You must have valued him to feel like you do.’

Harry’s softly spoken request drove them to reminisce about Jimmy Glover and his escapades, which kept them occupied right through the drinks Harry bought for them, and through the next round bought by Willie. Good humour was finally restored when they remembered the story about Jimmy’s dog, Sykes. It took some telling, but Harry appeared to be enjoying it
so they carried on. ‘But you see this dog that turned up
after
the
first
Sykes had died, looked identical to Sykes number one and, what’s more, it adopted Jimmy. It even knew where Jimmy had always put the water bowl and where it was supposed to sleep. It gave us all the shivers cos it seemed as though it was the old Sykes come back from the dead. It even liked going to church, just like the old Sykes did.’

‘I can see why you felt it was creepy. Bit unnerving, wasn’t it?’ Harry declared.

‘It certainly was,’ said Sylvia.

‘Where’s Sykes two now then? Since, you know …’

‘Well, Grandmama Charter-Plackett from next door’s taken him in but, to be frank, dogs aren’t her thing and she’d be glad for it to have a home somewhere else. She only took the animal in because of her fond memories of Jimmy. He was her longtime neighbour …’

‘I see. Poor Sykes.’

‘Yes, poor Sykes.’

Harry had been taken into their circle of friends in the space of an evening and they all went home delighted about him being so friendly and interested in the village.

‘What a grand chap he is,’ said Willie to Sylvia.

‘He’s such a nice man,’ said Maggie to herself, having no one to listen to her.

Don told Vera when he got home what a lovely evening they’d had talking to Harry.

Harry went home almost feeling as if he belonged, which was an emotion he was totally unaccustomed to and he felt pleased … but, at the same time, he knew it couldn’t last. The job with Jimbo would only last two weeks and then he’d be off on his travels. Where though?

But fate took a hand and Harry got a shock the next morning when he found Jimbo waiting for him in the office, his face
drawn and anxious, his eyes glazed by distress and his attitude thoroughly downbeat.

‘Why, Jimbo, whatever’s the matter?’

‘Well … There’s no easy way to say this, but my accounts person, Ken Allardyce, died last night.’ Jimbo took a deep breath to get his voice under control.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry.’

‘Heart, you see. They rushed him back to hospital, but they couldn’t revive him. It’s a terrible shame, he was such a grand chap and a pleasure to work with. He was only thirty-nine. Dodgy, unpredictable things, hearts. He was the apple of his mother’s eye. Lovely chap, straight as a die, and a real friend to me. Thirty minutes with Ken, and you’d be laughing for twenty-nine of ’em. Great chap.’ He went to gaze out of the window.

‘That is so sad.’

‘I’ll be off. I can’t face the day, really. You OK with the accounts?’

Harry nodded. ‘Leave the accounts to me. It’s one less thing for you to worry about right now.’

Jimbo nodded. ‘Thanks for that. Very kind. Perhaps see you later.’ He gathered his bits and pieces together, took a long look round the office as though recalling seeing Ken working there, shook his head, and out he went.

Harry worked all day without giving a thought as to what this sudden death might mean to him. He couldn’t grieve, after all he hadn’t known the man, but he felt impressed that Jimbo, as an employer, was so upset. It said something rather special about him. It wasn’t until he was clearing up at half past four that it occurred to him that this might be a fortuitous occurence for himself. Might Jimbo ask him to stay on? If he did, he couldn’t stay at Marie and Zack’s. One hundred and fifty pounds for a week or two, yes, but not indefinitely. He checked the clock. Four thirty-one. Better be off. Venetia would be waiting. God,
she was an exciting woman. He found her utterly irresistible. She doubled, no trebled, every emotion he had ever experienced with a woman. His mother would have described her as a real cracker of a woman and, what’s more, she was just what he needed right now, this very minute, this very day.

Harry went straight up there but today, instead of going so publicly into the leisure centre part of the building, he went round the back to knock on the front door of Venetia and Jeremy’s maisonette. She’d said he could and he knew exactly where that would lead him; straight into her bed.

Venetia opened the door so quickly that she must have been standing behind it waiting for him. She drew him into her arms and they were kissing before the door closed. They stripped off as they finished their first kiss and were upstairs in the bedroom in far less time than it takes to tell.

Breathless, the two of them eventually rolled apart and Harry’s first words were, ‘What about Jeremy?’

‘He’s out for the day with Mr Fitch, looking at a new place he’s thinking of buying. In any case, don’t worry about him, he lets me do as I like in all matters. We have that kind of a marriage.’

Harry, for a reason quite unknown to him, suddenly went on red alert. ‘I can’t believe that. If you were married to me, you wouldn’t have carte blanche, not likely.’

Venetia turned towards him saying, ‘What would
you
do if you caught
your
wife in bed with a man?’

‘Cut his throat.’

‘Well, Harry dear,’ she stroked his throat with a lingering finger, ‘no need to worry about your throat because Jeremy wouldn’t do a thing. He never has done, and he never will, believe me. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, would our Jeremy.’

The wickedness of her attitude thrilled Harry. It made her even more tempting than she already was. ‘He’s caught you before?’

‘Not
caught
me, no, but he has known what was going on and he didn’t say a word.’

‘A very tolerant man, then.’

‘He loves me, you see. Strange, isn’t it? Perhaps if he
didn’t
love me, he’d have cut my throat long ago.’

‘Not this perfect, perfect throat?’ Harry said, even though he could see the wrinkles starting to appear.

‘Even this perfect throat. You are such a handsome man, Harry. So perfectly mannered and so confidence-boosting. Shall we?’

He couldn’t resist her, but he wouldn’t come to the house again. Taking a quick passionate moment in the changing rooms round the pool was fine, but this was altogether too risky. He also felt bad doing it in the excessively tolerant Jeremy’s own bedroom. One had to have some standards.

‘See you tomorrow?’ she asked as he was leaving.

‘Possibly. It just depends. You’ve heard Ken Allardyce has died? It might mean extra work for me. I don’t know, Jimbo’s very upset.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘He’s not … ?’

Venetia roared with laughter. ‘That man is so moral it’s unbelievable. I had high hopes, with all that money, but no, he’s strictly off limits.’

Harry humbly remarked, ‘I’m glad I’m not.’ Then he kissed her luscious red mouth and left with a spring in his step and a smile on his face. Best keep her guessing a bit, he thought to himself. If he fell completely under her spell she’d be capable of making his life hell, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. A nice kind of hell, though.

He became aware of someone following him as he passed through the village down Jack’s Lane and turned to make sure it wasn’t Jeremy Mayer, bent on throat-cutting.

It was, however, a Jack Russell terrier. He stopped when
Harry stopped and when he began walking again, so did this strange little dog. The story about Sykes, owned by the now-deceased but greatly lamented Jimmy, came into his mind so he turned round and bending down said, ‘Hello! Sykes, is it? Are you Sykes?’ The dog’s tail wagged furiously, in fact, almost all of his body wagged too and it made Harry laugh. Sykes allowed him to stroke his head and they had a pleasant few minutes making each other’s acquaintance. But Harry needed his evening meal, which Marie had kindly started making for him now that he was working. He checked his watch. He mustn’t keep Marie waiting, so he set off at a good pace, hoping that Sykes’s short little legs wouldn’t be able to keep up and he’d go home. But he arrived at Laburnum Cottage with Sykes close at his heels.