A Village in Jeopardy (Turnham Malpas 16) (28 page)

He smiled. No, he wouldn’t. He’d have gloried in it, gloried in the privileges, the prestige, the power, the old school tie. He gazed round the huge kitchen that Jimbo had installed as part of his contract to cook the meals for the Fitch Construction students. How to do it? Chip pan left on? No, because the kitchen hadn’t been used for several weeks now. Electric ring left on and a tea towel left hanging had slipped off on to it? Same good reason for it not to work. What the blazes could he do?

Log fire. He remembered about poor young Sykes jumping off his knee in panic when the burning log slipped off the sitting room grate. That was it: that was the simplest thing to do.

He went back upstairs into the sitting room in their flat, closed the door, switched on the light and stood contemplating it. Kate had put the guard round the fire as she always did before she went to bed. He moved the guard away. There was a meagre glow coming from the ashes, not enough to start a fire and no logs big enough to roll down onto the rug and really start a blaze.

Craddock knelt on the rug and dragged the log basket towards him. He couldn’t believe it. There were exactly two logs left, hardly enough to set fire to a dog kennel, never mind a house. Where the blazes was the log store? Such trivial housekeeping matters he left entirely to Kate. They simply appeared as though from nowhere, replenished every day. He’d go ask her. Ah! No, he couldn’t, mustn’t, give her the details of the fire because he wanted her to remain innocent. He had to safeguard her; he would be able to tolerate prison but she wouldn’t be able to cope. Would he? He’d have to.

The thought of how low he’d sunk crushed his determination. He went to sit in his favourite well-upholstered armchair. He’d sit and have a think. Somehow he’d come up with the right answer before long. Just as he lowered himself into the chair young Sykes leapt up from it and jumped to the floor. Only just in time, for Craddock was about to drop the last ten inches rather heavily. Young Sykes yelped loudly and landed clumsily on the rug, shaking himself awake. He hastily wagged his tail, as sitting in armchairs was forbidden and he knew it all too well.

Craddock picked him up and tucked young Sykes onto his knee. Gave him a talking to and asked his advice about setting fire to the house. But young Sykes had no solutions for him; he simply looked his favourite human being straight in the eye and wagged his tail, asking to be forgiven for trespassing where he shouldn’t.

The sitting room door was thrust open and there stood Kate, at once frightened yet relieved to have found him. ‘Darling! The lights are on downstairs. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?’

In a voice thick with emotion Craddock asked her to come and sit by the fire with him. ‘We need to talk.’

Kate suggested she should stir the fire up and put a log on. ‘It’s too cold to sit here. Were you about to do that?’

Craddock nodded. ‘Yes.’ Now he’d been reduced to a liar to his own wife, something they’d always eschewed – absolute honesty they’d always said.

‘Talk to me then, Craddock, really talk.’

But he didn’t. So she did. ‘All this anguish could be sorted inside ten minutes tomorrow when the world has woken up. It’s making you physically ill and you know it. Crouched over the fire, your shoulder blades are beginning to stick out. It’s not right what you are doing to yourself, darling. I’m not ready to be a widow yet.’

Craddock, startled by her forthright remark, straightened his back. ‘And I’m not ready to die yet, either. And I won’t. But I am beginning to hate this place. There, I’ve said it. Something I never ever thought I would say in the whole of my life about this house. Kate, my dear, what on earth am I going to do?’

‘Sell it to Johnny. He has the money, he has the will, it is fitting for it to be his. In your saner moments you know I’m right. Then we’ll have a holiday; we’ll rent a cottage by the sea somewhere in England to avoid the pressure of delayed planes and crowded airports and take young Sykes for walks. He’ll love it and so will you.’

‘But it’s winter. We can’t go in winter.’ He grabbed at another valid excuse. ‘In any case you’ve got school; you can’t just take time off in the middle of term, so that’s that.’

He sat back, relieved at finding a cast iron reason for not going on holiday.

‘Can’t I just. I have someone who would be glad to take over while I’m away and—’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘It’s true. I shall take unpaid leave and she’ll take over.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘Zoe Phillips. I was at college with her. She’s been widowed and desperately wants to get back into teaching; she stood in when Hetty had that operation in the summer. Remember?’

Craddock nodded, thinking, damn the woman.

‘So, sell to Johnny and let’s have no more of this anguish, please.’

Kate waited patiently for his reply. He blew his nose, stroked young Sykes’s head, stared at the fire, made himself more comfortable by resting his head on the back of his chair and then said, ‘I’ll have one more go at advertising and then . . . I might, might sell to him if I don’t get a buyer. But only might.’

‘You will. You’ve promised just now, and there’s no going back on it. Come to bed. This minute. Sykes, come on, in your bed. Now!’

Young Sykes obeyed her, trotting obediently into the flat kitchen without protest and curling up in his basket, but Craddock delayed, thinking only Kate could have trapped him like this. He couldn’t even remember saying he would sell to Johnny. What were the words he used to make her think that? He hadn’t said it, but . . . this could be his escape route if he did change his mind. My wife insists I sell to a Templeton. What had he come to? Hiding behind a woman’s skirts?

He heaved himself out of the chair, put his arm around Kate’s shoulders, gave them a squeeze, placed a kiss on her cheek and humbly made his way to their bedroom. In his head he knew that the idea of the burning log falling on the rug was still the best route to take. In the cold light of morning Craddock realised that one fire in the flat would not suffice to spread to the whole house and destroy it beyond all hope. It was too big, too lofty, so he decided to wait until after Christmas, hoping a better idea might present itself or a buyer might miraculously appear on the horizon.

Everyone else, blithely unaware of his torment, put their minds to enjoying Christmas. It was always a happy time in Turnham Malpas, for not only were there beautiful and inspiring church services to attend, for Peter had not lost his magic touch, but endless parties. The one at the Rectory was top of the list for most people. Caroline had given a Christmas party each and every year once the twins were any size at all and it was much coveted. It was on the basis that whoever was free on the night was most welcome to turn up, but some people got invitations and that meant they could arrive by eight o’clock. At ten o’clock it was a free-for-all.

This particular Christmas Beth had her own guests, namely Jake and his father, and this made her more than interested in the food being provided. About half of it was bought from the village store and the rest Caroline organised. When ten o’clock struck she replenished the food on the buffet table, laid out fresh glasses and drinks, paper napkins and cutlery and waited for the invasion. She needn’t have worried that perhaps this might be a year when those expected simply wouldn’t turn up. They came in droves and the food and the drinks rapidly dwindled. By midnight, when the church bells began to ring to welcome the birth of Jesus, an annual tradition not to be missed, Jake and Beth were sitting in his dad’s car outside the Rectory talking.

In the peace that followed the final peal Jake said, ‘You know, don’t you, that you’re very special to me. I’m very sorry if I ever gave you cause to be distressed by anything I did. You know what I mean . . . with Janey. At the time I didn’t see anything wrong in having two girls in tow, except you were special even if I never said so to you. I can’t believe how cheaply I treated Janey. I’m ashamed about the whole episode.’

‘She’s in a scruffy flat in Culworth; I saw her a few weeks ago. She seems happy enough. With a scruffy boyfriend who’s out of work, so she’s the wage earner.’

‘Beth! No! Where’s she working?’

‘She’s a skivvy in the kitchen at that pub at the bottom of Micklegate. Working very long hours.’

‘That makes me feel guilty.’

Beth turned to face him. ‘Did you send her there? She’s a free agent, free to do whatever she likes. Just like you. And me.’

‘I know she is, but I still feel guilty. Have you thought any more about . . .?’

‘I know what you’re going to ask and I have thought about it and I am going back next October. I’ve decided I must. For my own sake and no one else’s.’

‘Not because I said you should?’

Beth smiled into the dark night. ‘Absolutely not! It’s my decision.’

Jake kissed her. ‘I’m glad; I know it’s right for you.’ They both heard the front door open. Disappointed their time together was being cut short, Jake muttered, ‘There’s Dad wanting to be off. I’ll go in and say my thanks. Have a wonderful Christmas Day, Beth.’

To her embarrassment he kissed her with his dad waiting outside, right by the driver’s window. Beth got out and said, ‘Happy Christmas, Mr Harding.’ His dad shook her hand saying, ‘Thank you, Beth. We’ve had a lovely Christmas Eve, Jake and I. It’s been perfectly splendid. Tomorrow is Christmas Day with Granny, like it’s been since Jake was born. Thank you again.’ He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, whispering, ‘Keep that boy of mine in check. He does like his own way far too much.’ They both laughed.

Beth went to bed happier now that her mother knew the truth about Africa. It somehow had brought them even closer, but her puzzlement about her feelings for Jake still lingered.

While listening to the church bells, Johnny was walking up and down, up and down with his son propped against his shoulder, trying to get him to sleep. He didn’t mind because he loved the feel of this new life laid so helplessly against him. They’d had him home, entirely reliant upon them, for exactly twenty-four hours and he already felt a powerful attachment to him. Charles Ralph Templeton they’d finally decided upon. It had been James, then out of the blue Alice changed her mind and asked him if he liked Charles better. ‘We could call him Charlie for everyday and Charles when he’s been naughty, or Charles all the time. Charles Templeton. It sounds rather grand, doesn’t it?’

At the time Johnny would have said yes to any name, he loved her so much, and as for their baby son . . . he couldn’t find the words to describe his joy at his arrival. The sooner they had another one the better, or Charles would be spoiled to death. He felt Charles’s soft breath on his bare shoulder and thought there was no feeling anywhere in the world as beautiful as that: nor the sweet smell of him, nor his tiny hands softly clenched, nor his weeny toes resting on his chest. Was this paradise? Very gently he laid him in his cradle, pulled his blankets up round his shoulders and tucked him in. Johnny climbed into bed, into the waiting arms of his soon-to-be-wife and felt the happiest he had ever been in the whole of his life.

There was one more thing to achieve and then his life would be complete, and Johnny fell asleep with a vision of him swimming in the lake, with Alice standing beside it holding on tightly to the handle of Charles’s pram. He couldn’t wait for that day.

Finally at half past one the last light in the houses around the green was switched off and the whole village slept. The geese round the pond were silent and still; the only discernible movement was a small swirl of smoke curling upwards in the chill night air from the Charter-Placketts’ chimney. They’d been the very last to go to bed because Grandmama was spending the night with them and she’d kept them up when they got back from the Rectory party telling them tales of Jimbo’s father in his salad days. Her grandchildren loved the stories she told about him, but at the same time couldn’t forgive his treatment of her and their dad. How could he have what amounted to two wives and two families and keep his integrity? So they loved the stories but thoroughly disliked the man. Yet Grandmama spoke of him with humour and contentment; only very occasionally did the bitterness show through.

Chapter 22

The post held up over Christmas came early on the first day back at work and Craddock Fitch was in his office as though everything was fine and dandy when he knew full well it wasn’t. He hadn’t set fire to the house as he’d promised himself, because he knew his chances of getting away with it scot free were very slight.

The first letter he chose to open had a thick, expensive envelope and the letter was written on thick, expensive paper too. It was an enquiry about his newest advertisement from a company that owned . . . well, let’s be honest, thought Craddock: homes for elderly people. Except these elderly people must be well-heeled, for it mentioned two in the south-east they already ran, and Craddock knew from the addresses they were stately homes that had been sold because the owners could no longer sustain them. And if anyone knew what that meant it was him. He assumed they were hoping he would be ready to end his days in one of their properties. The insolence! He wasn’t ready to give up like that! No, sir, he was not!

Then he sprang to his feet faster than he’d done for weeks. My God! They wanted to come to see Turnham House with a view to buying it? Within the week! Why hadn’t he thought of it? But he hadn’t, but they had. His mind raced through the facilities available and he realised that what had once been for students and promising employees would easily convert to a home for the elderly. Well, the rich elderly. The brochure wasn’t for him personally, but enclosed so he could gauge for himself what was on offer.