A Village in Jeopardy (Turnham Malpas 16) (17 page)

‘What about all the years they’ve had rent free? Yer forget about that, oh yes! Living rent free all these years and they won’t mend their own winders. Then they blame him!’ This from Willie, who’d recently paid for new windows in his own house and still cringed at the thought of how much it had cost him.

Before the two of them came to blows Vera interrupted their tirade. ‘Calm down or you’ll be getting turned out; Georgie’s on tonight an’ she’s not as tolerant as Dicky.’

Don opened his mouth but Vera banged her hand down on the table and said, ‘Another word and
I’ll
turn you out, and believe me I will, make no mistake!’

‘Me! Turn me out?’

‘Yes.’ She gave his shoulder an affectionate punch, laughing but meaning it. ‘See if I don’t.’

‘You wouldn’t dare, woman. Not me, your dearly beloved.’

Sylvia spoke up. ‘Shut up, Don, you’ve said enough. We’ve been mighty glad of Mr Fitch in years gone past. What about the cricket pavilion, and like Pat said the education sponsorships he’s given? Lynn Patterson wouldn’t be dancing with the Royal Ballet if it hadn’t been for Mr Fitch and his education scholarships.’ There were murmurings of approval from quite a few people round their table and Don knew his moment to shut up had come, but still pursued his point. ‘I still say—’

‘No, you don’t. You get dafter the older you are, Don.’ Vera gave him another punch on his shoulder and this time he retaliated by hitting her across her face, hard. That did it.

Georgie appeared as if by magic. ‘I will not have this kind of behaviour in my pub. Out you go, and I mean it, Don Wright. Out!’ She pointed to the outer door and glared ferociously at him.

‘My!’ Don said, excited by her temper. ‘I like you when you’re angry. Your eyes blaze, you don’t half cut a tempting figure; that Dicky must have some fun with you.’

Angered by Don’s comments, Georgie said loudly, ‘You’re banned! For a week. Don’t you dare set a foot in here until then. Right?’

Willie and Alan nodded in agreement to indicate they were on her side. To Don this provided a further challenge, so he purposely sat tight and ignored them. It was fun being annoying to people; at least they took notice of him.

Willie gave Alan a wink and the two of them stepped forward, one either side of Don. They each took hold of an arm, heaved him to his feet and frogmarched him out of the door with Don protesting all the way. Georgie ran after them with Don’s stick and they all sat back, relieved that he’d been turned out, though they were horrified by him hitting Vera.

But Vera wasn’t. He’d hit her before for much less; the difference was this time he’d done it in public.

Sylvia caught her eye and saw for herself what was written there.

‘Vera! Love!’

Vera burst into tears.

Sylvia put an arm around her shoulders, at a loss for words, patting her comfortingly.

She got no reply because Vera was too ashamed. Keeping it all to herself these last . . . was it two whole years it had been going on? She couldn’t bear to admit it. He didn’t mean it, she was sure, but . . .

Willie leaned across the table to say, ‘Vera, it’s not right.’

Vera nodded. Of course it wasn’t, but what could she do? Bring shame on them both by letting on?

Sylvia, deeply sorry for Vera’s plight, said, ‘I’m so sorry, love. It must be dreadful for you.’

Vera shook her head, and wiped her eyes saying, ‘Got to go. He won’t remember where he left the car.’ She hastened out, leaving the others feeling full of sympathy for her.

Pat and Barry came to their table. ‘Can we join you?’

Willie and Sylvia hurriedly agreed, glad of a diversion. Barry pulled up a couple of chairs and they toasted everyone round the table and immediately asked if they’d heard the news about Mr Fitch.

‘We have,’ said Sylvia, ‘but I bet you know a lot more than we do.’

‘Well . . .’ Barry paused for maximum effect, ‘his business has collapsed. That’s why he wants to sell up. Everything.’

Willie hadn’t realised the magnitude of Mr Fitch’s decision. ‘The whole estate? All of it? Never! Thought it was just the Turnham Malpas bits.’

‘All of it. Every stick and stone. The house, the grounds, the lake, the Old Barn and . . . everything in Sweden and the big offices in London.’

‘London, too?’

‘The lot, Willie, the whole blinking lot, and he’s going to live in Glebe House.’

‘He can’t,’ Sylvia declared. ‘There’s people live in there, not that we see them much, well hardly ever.’

‘He’s given them notice.’

‘I can’t believe it. It’s a right come down for ’im, isn’t it? The poor chap.’ There was a small element of glee in Willie’s voice as he said this.

‘All of us out of a job, I expect,’ Pat added rather bitterly. ‘But maybe not yet; they’ll need someone to supervise the gardens and that. He won’t sell an estate the size of his in a moment. It could take some time. My dad’s a favourite of Mr Fitch but he’s far too old now to do a day’s work. He’s all right supervising but someone new wouldn’t want him, and with Michelle not here no more I rather think we’d be out on our ear. I’ve loved that house, I really have loved it.’ Pat sighed. ’I shall be sorry to say goodbye to it. Still, it might be a while yet.’

‘Of course it will,’ Sylvia said sympathetically. ‘Heaven’s above, the money it’ll cost to buy that lot! He’ll have to break it up. His London side in one lot. The Swedish stuff in another . . . how much
is
he asking, do you know, Barry?’

Barry couldn’t resist teasing her. ‘Fancy being lady of the manor do yer, Sylvia? How are you placed with the bank, Willie?’

Sylvia snorted her annoyance at his teasing. ‘Don’t be daft. Of course not. I just wondered if you knew, kind of, you being at the hub of things on the estate.’

‘I don’t think he’ll be advertising any of it in the
Culworth Gazette
, do you?’

They had to laugh at the idea and they all cheered up enormously, but despite all their speculation, they still hadn’t got the answer, had they? Who would buy it and what difference would it make to the village and more important, what would happen to them?

Chapter 13

Johnny had overheard them talking about Craddock Fitch and the collapse of his business in the pub a couple of nights ago but he’d kept a straight face and said not a word. So his opportunity to buy Turnham House, the big house as they all called it, had come. He was standing in the shade of the Old Barn gazing with joy at the house he longed to own. The longing for it surged through him and he knew that no matter what, no matter the price, it was going to be his. In fact, no point in hanging about dreaming; he’d go right now and do something about it straight away. He’d tried Alice out about living there in a teasing tone and she’d just laughed, thinking he was making a joke, but she hadn’t outright objected, so that was something.

As he walked towards the house, he saw Craddock’s car parked outside.

Good! Craddock was home. His driver was giving the car a polish with a huge piece of chamois leather, slowly, almost lovingly, caressing the chrome on the bonnet.

‘Good morning, Ian, nice day for it.’

‘Morning. It is. Love of my life, this car, and it’s going today. Selling it, he is. If it’s him you’re wanting to see, watch your step; he’s not in a good mood. Anyway, it’s going and I’m reduced to driving a four-by-four from the farm.’

‘Whoops! That’s a bit of a come down.’

‘Too right.’ Ian turned back to the car to hide his feelings from Johnny. ‘Then it’ll be me being sold off, so to speak: driving himself, he says he is. Rotten driver, too. Thinks he owns the road and everyone should move out of his way. No patience, you see, none at all, worse since . . . well . . . yer know . . . ’aving to sell.’

‘I’ll watch my step. Thanks for the advice.’

His secretary was still there, her face lighting up like a Catherine wheel when she saw who it was.

‘Good morning, Sir Johnny, lovely morning.’

‘Good morning.’ He nodded his head towards Craddock Fitch’s office door. ‘Is he free?’

‘I feel really sorry for him this morning. It’s all getting him down, but yes he’s free. I’ll tell him you’re here.’

‘Thanks.’

She came back into the hall holding the office door open for him. ‘Please go in.’

Johnny tried hard to disguise the shock he experienced when he saw Mr Fitch. He seemed to have lost weight. Normally bristling with energy, he was sitting lost in thought, slumped in his big leather chair, his eyes downcast, fiddling aimlessly with a ruler.

‘Good morning, Mr Fitch.’

There was no response.

‘It’s Johnny Templeton.’

‘I’m not blind.’ Even his voice had lost its vibrancy.

‘Come to see you on business.’

‘Come to gloat, then.’

‘No, not gloat; that wouldn’t be gentlemanly.’ Instantly Johnny regretted using that word. It implied . . .

‘You’ll know all about that, being an up and coming fly-by-night from the seamier side of South American business life.’

Johnny was furious. ‘Not up and coming; we’ve
arrived
, my brothers and I. We own the largest and the best hotel chain in South America.’ He found he was trembling at the slur on his character, but his business brain controlled any further outburst.

‘So what are you doing here in this village, then?’

‘Taking up my inheritance. That’s why I’ve come to see you on business matters.’

‘You’re very like him. Same aristocratic nose from which to look down on everybody, same fair hair, same nut-brown eyes. God! I hated that uncle of yours. Got his own way about everything because of his title, and never needed to hand over a sweetener.’ Somewhat wryly he expanded on his statement. ‘Oh! No, not Sir Ralph! It would be beneath him. Not the action of a true gentleman. I expect your family persuaded you to come and take up your inheritance, did they? I bet their eyes glistened at the thought of a title in the family. Must have been very tempting.’

Johnny pulled out a chair and sat down, ignoring Mr Fitch’s anger at his familiarity. ‘They tried hard to dissuade me. Why go to a third-rate country; stay here where it’s all happening, they said!’

He thought Mr Fitch was going to explode.

‘Third-rate country! England! A third-rate country! How dare they. Us? A third-rate country! My God! What arrogance.’

‘From where we stand, it is.’

‘You’ll be saying next that you want to buy the estate!’ He peered at Johnny through screwed up angry eyes and realisation dawned. ‘My God! I’m right, you damn well do! That’s why you’re here. Blast you for your temerity!’

‘Yes, you are right, I am.’

‘I wouldn’t sell it to you if you were the last man on earth. I wouldn’t soil this hallowed place with a jumped up . . . with a jumped up . . .’ Lost for words he got to his feet and shouted, ‘Get out. Go on, out!’

Johnny calmly stood up and leaning his hands on Mr Fitch’s impressive desk he said softly, ‘You know where I live when you’ve reached the end and need my money. I’ll pay whatever price you ask, but don’t go to excess. I’m not a fool.’

Johnny went out, closing the door softly behind him. He’d seen desperation before in a strong man’s face and he’d seen it again this morning. His heart went out to the man. He sensed the shame of the collapse and that it was killing him from the inside and he sensed the fear. Poor old Fitch, now no longer the generous benefactor. Johnny clenched his fist and shook it at the sky. ‘Yes! Yes!!’ he said quietly so Ian wouldn’t hear. ‘See you around, Ian. It’s rather good fun driving a four-by-four. You might find you enjoy it.’

‘Not the same as driving the finest car in the district.’

Johnny stopped for a moment. ‘No, you’re right, it isn’t. Treat him with care. It’s a stupendous blow for him.’

‘You’re a gentleman, just like Sir Ralph. Did you ever meet him?’

‘Never. I wish I had.’

‘Lovely man, gracious you could call him. Yes, that’s right, he was gracious was Sir Ralph. No one has a wrong word to say about him. He’d have liked you, and you’d have liked him. I remember once he gave—’

Mr Fitch shouted from the front door as he emerged from the house, ‘I’m ready to set off, Ian. Right now. This minute.’

They left in a swirl of gravel and squealing tyres, leaving Johnny to stand alone admiring the house he hoped, no
knew
, would soon be his. That modern extension that housed the swimming pool would have to come down; how he’d ever got permission for it Johnny couldn’t begin to imagine – it was so ugly, so out of character. It must have been a sizeable sweetener to achieve that. The temptation to go back inside and persuade the secretary to take him on a tour of inspection was so great his feet took him inside again before he knew it.

‘I can’t show you his flat, you know. His wife is at home today. Half term.’

‘You mean he has young children?’ The surprise in Johnny’s voice amused the secretary and she giggled.

‘No! She’s the headteacher at the village school.’

‘Oh! Right, of course, I’d forgotten. I just want to see the historic parts.’