Jumping to Conclusions (37 page)

This alone was enough to have Bathsheba on her feet. As she trumpeted her opening volley, the door opened. Jemima turned her head and almost laughed. Charlie Somerset had just sidled in.

'I thought I should be here,' he whispered, clattering along the row and sitting next to her. 'After all, if Bathsheba hadn't found that book I gave to Lucinda, none of this would have happened.'

'It probably would,' Jemima whispered back. 'Eventually. Anyway, everyone thinks that book belonged to Maddy and Drew, don't they?'

'Yeah, luckily.' Charlie smiled along the row at Vincent and Maureen. He leaned back in his chair. 'Where's Matt?'

Jemima shrugged. 'Not sure. Still doing something horsy, I would imagine.'

'He should be here chucking in his support.'

Jemima said nothing. She didn't support Matt in his work. Why on earth should she expect any support from him?

The debate appeared to be gathering momentum. Bathsheba was doing much of the talking. It all seemed to revolve around filth and the vilification of women. There was a short outpouring on the hard work of the foremothers of Milton St John who had apparently fought tooth and nail to prevent the corruption of future generations. Gillian, on the stage, spotted Charlie and waved. He waved back.

'Anyway,' Jemima said, 'I would have thought you'd have been otherwise engaged this evening. With Tina being in the village.'

'She isn't.'

'She is. Gillian said. She's at Lancing Grange discussing things.'

Charlie didn't look riveted by this piece of news. Strange, she thought, that he didn't appear to know.

Bathsheba was now waving a Fishnet above her head. 'This is the filth I found in my child's bedroom!'

Charlie groaned.

And,' Bathsheba continued, 'this is what I intend to weed out! Kill the root and destroy the plant! Bella-Donna Stockings writes vulgarity in its basest form! She, and her cohorts, must – and will – be stopped!'

There was a ripple of applause as Bathsheba sat down. Jemima, who was still pretty sure she was going to laugh, didn't dare to look at Gillian.

Glen was on his feet again. 'We've all heard both sides of the argument – and I'm afraid we're no further forward. I can't see that there is anything we can do to stop these particular books being published, or to prevent people who wish to read them doing so. I suggest that we now pray for the matter to be reconciled and –'

'Excuse me!' Charlie grinned towards the stage. All heads turned. Jemima shrank down in her seat. 'Can I just make a comment?'

Gillian, who had been looking depressed, perked up suddenly. Glen nodded. 'Yes, of course. I wasn't sure that there was a lot of point throwing the meeting open to the floor. I thought all of you had made your views known. However – yes, Charlie – if you've anything illuminating to add, then we'd be glad to hear it.'

Charlie stood up. His thighs in tight denim were on Jemima's eye-level. She tried not to look at them.

'I thought that I should put in a word for Jemima.'

Everyone was staring at her now. She fixed a rictus smile and gave a sort of nervous-tic nod of the head.

Charlie carried on happily. 'Well, it doesn't seem fair that a minority want to put her out of business. The bookshop has become a real focal point of the village – there's something for everyone. And that's how it should be. Freedom of choice. I don't think these Fishnet books can harm anyone,' he glanced down at Jemima, 'not that I've read them, of course. Anyone who knows me will realise that I never got further than
Janet and John
Book Two. I just wanted to say that I've been told by people who have, that they're all about women being in control of their own lives. Which is,' he turned the beam to Bathsheba, 'exactly what you're arguing for, I believe, Mrs Cox?'

Gillian led the clapping, which was much louder than Bathsheba had received, as Charlie sat down. Maureen and Vincent leaned across Jemima to congratulate him. Jemima stared into her lap.

'Okay?' he whispered. 'I thought I ought to say it. I've felt so guilty.'

'Thanks – but I wouldn't have thought guilt bothered you too much.'

'It doesn't usually.' Charlie looked a bit perplexed.

Bathsheba had lumbered to her feet. 'I don't want to put Jemima out of business! I don't see why I should be painted as the villain of this piece! All I want is for her to stop selling corruptive material. And if she doesn't, then –' still clutching
Spanky Panky
she held a rather pudgy arm aloft, 'to that end I intend to hold a candlelit vigil outside the bookshop! I shall expect every decent woman in this village to support me – including Mrs Hutchinson.'

Gillian nearly tumbled off her chair. Jemima chewed the inside of her mouth to stop the giggle escaping. Glen was nodding. 'Of course. I'm sure my wife will be delighted to lend her support in any tangible way. The least we can do – although I'm not sure that a vigil as such will make any difference

'That's as maybe.' Bathsheba resumed her seat with a crash, 'but it will be a display of purity against sleaze. It may not stop the books being sold – but it will make a point for all
respectable
women! I will be posting notices later regarding the date.'

The meeting came to an untidy conclusion at that point. Desperate to get outside and have a good laugh, Jemima belted towards the door. Watching Gillian join in the candlelit vigil to protest about her own books was going to be absolutely wonderful.

It was raining. The light from the village hall spilled in gleaming puddles. The people following her were pushing up umbrellas and turning up collars.

'Coming for a drink, Jem, love?' Vincent asked. 'That wasn't as bad as it could have been, was it? Silly old bat – who'll want to take part in her vigil anyway?'

'Not many,' Charlie said, joining them and shrugging into his leather jacket. 'I'll have to give Lucinda a ring and tell her how it went.'

Jemima had received a postcard from Lucinda in Spain a couple of days earlier. It had mostly been concerned with how Rebecca Maxwell-Dunmore's older brother was shaping up. Maybe, she thought, Lucinda had written this because Bronwyn Pugh read all the unsealed mail that passed through the Village Stores and this was what she wanted Bathsheba to know. Jemima hoped so. She realised suddenly that she didn't want Charlie to be hurt.

'I won't have that drink, thanks, Dad,' she said quickly. 'I'm sure Maureen will be ample company – and I've got a lot of paperwork to get through. I hadn't realised that it would be so busy. We're getting all the Christmas books in now. I might even have to ask Tracy to work full-time until the new year.'

'Whatever, love. Just don't work too hard.' Vincent kissed her cheek, and linking his arm through Maureen's, headed pubwards. He stopped. 'And you can tell me to mind my own business, of course, but when you see Matt I think you should give him a bit of a bollocking. He should have been here tonight.'

The other villagers also seemed to be making a bee-line for the Cat and Fiddle. Charlie grinned at her. It was a nice grin. Lopsided. And his teeth were crooked. 'Pity you're so busy. I was going to suggest the pub, too. I wanted to ask you something.'

'Can't you ask me out here?'

'It's wet and you'll probably say no.'

'That sounds promising.' She dodged to one side as Bathsheba, Bronwyn and Petunia waddled from the hall, all tying rain-mates beneath their chins. They looked as if they were going to form a three-pronged attack. Oh, God. Why was it always like this? Charlie or the Parish Biddies? She shrugged. 'Okay. Cat and Fiddle it is. But just one drink.'

Avoiding Vincent and Maureen and all other interested parties in the Snug, they settled for the Spit and Sawdust. Jemima had to wipe her glasses on the hem of her skirt while Charlie was at the bar. They always steamed up on wet nights. He carried two glasses of dry white wine carefully to the table, and it annoyed her that she noticed that he was a million times more attractive than any other man in the pub.

'Go on, then.' She sipped the wine. 'Ask.'

'It's to do with Drew and Maddy's wedding.'

She blinked. She'd imagined a million things, but not that. 'It's still on, isn't it? There hasn't been another hitch?'

'God, no.' Charlie pulled a face at his wine. 'They're embarrassingly ecstatic. No, it was more to do with a wedding present.' 'They said they didn't want anything – need anything. Gillian said there wasn't a list. I think we're just going to buy them a vat of Glenfiddich.'

'They'd love that. And no, there isn't a present list as such. And this is not strictly a present. Shit.' He put the wineglass down on the table. 'Look, I've discussed this with Suzy and Fran and Georgia – them being closely involved, and they said I should ask you –'

'Do you want to buy them a book as a wedding gift?' She was a bit doubtful. It hardly seemed appropriate.

Charlie shook his head. 'We wondered if you'd do a turn?'

A what? 'I'm not an entertainer

Charlie had the grace to look embarrassed. 'Gillian said that you took your clothes off and leapt out of cakes.'

Jesus Christ! She'd kill her! She'd emblazon 'Gillian Hutchinson is Bella-Donna Stockings – True!' on every bloody wall in the village! Indiscreet cow!

'I almost leapt, almost dressed, out of one cake. A long time ago. I'll never do it again.'

Charlie looked crestfallen. 'Are you sure?'

'Absolutely positive. It was one of the worst moments of my life. Sorry, no, I won't. And Gillian shouldn't have told you.'

'Probably not – but I wish I'd been there.'

Jemima clutched at her wineglass and took a huge mouthful. She'd suddenly come over all hot. 'You'll have to think of something else.'

'I can't – Oh, you mean for Drew and Maddy? Oh yeah, I have.' Charlie gave up on his wine. 'But it won't be half so exciting. You leaping out of a mock-up cake would have added tons of Pizzazz.'

'I'm sorry to disappoint you.'

'You don't.'

She laughed and finished her drink. 'I'll have to go. I honestly do have a lot of work to get through. If I'd known tonight's meeting was going to be such a damp squib I wouldn't have even come –' She stood up. 'Thanks for your contribution, though. I'm glad someone's on my side.'

Charlie stood up too. 'Most people are. Your shop has added a lot to the village.'

'And my kitchen and my erstwhile assistant even more?'

'Dunno about erstwhile.' Charlie grinned. 'If it means dead sexy, then yeah.'

She laughed again – then stopped. 'Bugger.'

'What?' Charlie followed her eyes. 'Oh, yeah. Double bugger.'

Matt and Tina Maloret had just walked into the pub. Vincent and Maureen must have got it wrong, Jemima thought. They must have been talking tactics. They looked as though they still were.

'I'm going out the back way through the kitchen,' Charlie said. 'I really can't cope with bondage and torture this evening. See ya.'

She watched him go. Was he joking? She couldn't imagine for the life of her why Tina Maloret would even contemplate hurting him. Still, maybe he enjoyed it. What did she know?

'Jemima!' Matt's smile was plastic. 'I wasn't expecting to see you in here. The meeting over, then?'

'Obviously.' She was annoyed that he hadn't asked how it went, and knew that she shouldn't be. It must be how he felt every day when he'd been hurtling over hurdles and she never even mentioned it.

Tina, turning heads in sprayed-on leather jeans, a transparent shirt, and a fur jacket – Jemima hoped it wasn't real – frowned. 'Were you with Charlie just now? I thought I saw him.'

Jemima shook her head. Matt's laugh came as an either-end-of-the-mantelpiece pair with the plastic smile. 'Hardly. Jemima doesn't like jockeys, remember?'

'Who does?' Tina nudged him.

It was quite a familiar nudge, Jemima thought. Was this developing into another of those Milton St John-type Shakespearean: romantic tangles? Did she care? Would Charlie? Coming up with two maybes and a don't know, she shrugged. 'I was just leaving. I've got tons of orders to catch up on. I still haven't got used to dealing with reps yet – and I'm not very good at saying no. I'll probably have enough books to stock Hatchards.'

Neither Matt nor Tina seemed to find this in the least interesting. She picked up her patchwork jacket. It was still damp.

'I'll – er – run you home,' Matt said. 'Tina and I had finished talking business. And I'm sure she's dying to find Charlie.'

There was a lot of eye-meeting going on between them. Tina nodded. 'I hope I come as a pleasant surprise. He doesn't even know I'm in the village. 'Bye then, you two. Be good.'

Her laugh followed them out into the car park.

There was no need at all to run her home, Jemima said. They could walk it in two minutes. Matt said they'd get wet and to get in, so she did. They parked outside the back door of the Vicarage.

'Do you want to come up to the flat?' She knew it sounded as though bubonic plague would be more pleasant. She couldn't help it. She was completely knackered. 'For a coffee or something?'

'There isn't a "something" on offer though, is there?' Matt's face looked very pale beneath the Vicarage's security lighting.

There wasn't. They both knew it. Feeling very tired, and fazed by the hours of paperwork ahead of her, Jemima touched his cheek. 'Maybe another night?'

Matt grabbed her hand, holding it trapped against his face. His eyes were almost sad as he bent to kiss her. 'Yeah. Maybe.'

The kiss became suddenly more intense. Jemima started to kiss him back, and immediately realised it wasn't right. She began to push him away. 'Sorry – Matt – no, I can't –'

'Won't.' His voice was bitter as he fumbled with the buttons on the patchwork jacket. Being damp, they gave littlle purchase. 'Why not? Am I that repulsive?'

'No – of course not.' The buttons had given way. 'But not like this – not now.'

'Now or never.' Matt lunged at her again. 'Come on, Jemima. Stop playing at being the Virgin Queen – or aren't I good enough?'

He was hurting her. She wasn't afraid. Just angry. 'Matt – you're great. We just can't – I can't –'