Village Gossip (17 page)

‘I did.’

‘Therefore when I got information regarding the disappearance of a quantity of crazy paving, an Edwardian wrought iron table and two chairs, and several Victorian garden pots of considerable value, I apprehended the guilty party and they are being prosecuted. The case comes up on Monday and I am giving evidence.’ Relieved to see an element of agreement in Mr Fitch’s face he began to lower himself into a chair.

‘Just a minute!’

Jeremy straightened himself up. ‘Yes?’

‘Who exactly is involved?’

Jeremy counted them off on his fingers, then while he waited for Mr Fitch to speak he got out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

‘Have you interviewed these people?’

‘Of course. I’ve seen Vera and …’

‘What did she have to say?’

‘She said she would return everything and pay for the crazy paving and the cement if I would drop the prosecution, but I said no, I was under your strict instructions …’

‘And Rhett?’

‘Well, he said something about his grandmother needing cheering up and …’

‘And Greenwood?’

‘Stubbs agreed he’d used Jones’ van for an hour to transport all the stuff, and that he’d been a party to the theft.’

‘Knowing this village like I do, has anyone been up to speak on their behalf?’

‘Now see here, Mr Fitch, I was only carrying out your orders. You said quite categorically that …’

Mr Fitch tapped the desk with his pen to stop the tirade and bellowed. ‘Who?’

‘The Rector.’

‘You sat here in this chair and …’

Jeremy, clutching at straws, protested, ‘Not that chair, my chair.’

‘It bloody well doesn’t matter which chair, what matters is you don’t know when to let things go. I’ve spent years now building up a relationship with these people – why, I’m not quite sure, but it’s something I know I have to do – and in one fell swoop you’ve destroyed all my work. When the Rector came you could have given in very gracefully indeed, made him think it was him who’d changed your mind and honour would have been satisfied, not just with him but the entire village. They set great store by that Rector. Come to think of it so do I. That would have been the end of the matter.’

‘But you said …’

‘Never mind what I bloody well said, you fool. It’ll look fine, won’t it? Every newspaper in the county will be running the headline about greedy landlords and homeless workers.’

‘Homeless?’

‘Barry Jones is an idle layabout. If I didn’t keep hounding him …’

Mr Fitch rose to his feet. ‘That’s your job, to keep him on his toes! He’s a craftsman and there’s not many of those about. To say nothing of Greenwood. I can’t afford to lose him. There’s no man alive who would keep those glasshouses in such tiptop condition for the money I pay him. He’s a brilliant asset I can ill afford to lose. No, he’s not the one to go, it’s more likely to be you who goes. You’re expendable.’ He leaned across the desk as he fired this salvo and Jeremy could see the whites of his light blue eyes and the slight flush on each of his thin pale cheeks. His snow white hair appeared to crackle with anger.

‘Me? What have I done?’ The pitch of Jeremy’s voice rose higher and higher. ‘All I ever do is what you want, every decision, every letter I dictate is at your bidding … what more can I do?’

‘For a start you can cancel that court hearing,’ Mr Fitch snapped.

‘If I do that I’ll have no credibility left.’

‘You have no credibility and never have had, that’s why I need to tell you every move you make. You … bloody, blithering idiot.’

Jeremy opened his mouth to protest at Mr Fitch’s ungentlemanly language but no words would come.

‘You couldn’t organise a chimpanzees’ tea party, I should never have given you the job in the first place.’

‘I … I … I …’ Jeremy clutched at his shirt collar and tried to drag it away from his throat, but his fingers had no more mobility than a bunch of carrots. He couldn’t breathe and the sweat poured in rivers down his putty coloured face.

It was Venetia who rushed in first as soon as Jeremy began choking. The choking ceased, he gave three deep rattling breaths, then fell over backwards to the floor with the most tremendous crash and lay quite still.

‘Oh, God! He’s dead! He’s dead!’ Venetia knelt on the floor beside him, fitfully pounding his chest and then breathing into his mouth.

Mr Fitch went white and dropped like a stone back into his chair.

Later that evening Mr Fitch sat down at Pat’s kitchen table. Pat, worried beyond belief by his unexpected arrival, inquired whether or not he would prefer to sit somewhere more comfortable.

‘No, thank you, Pat, this is fine.’

‘It’s terrible news about Mr Mayer, isn’t it? Have you heard any more? Is that what you’ve come to tell me?’

Mr Fitch studied his hands while he answered quietly, ‘It’s touch and go I’m afraid.’

‘He’s a bit of a chump but you can’t help feel sorry for him with that Venetia … It can’t be easy her being like she is.’

Mr Fitch didn’t bother to ascertain whether or not Pat was scoring a point against him. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘Barry, Dean and Michelle are at the dress rehearsal and Dad’s upstairs in his room watching telly.’

Greenwood Stubbs came downstairs and stood in front of Mr Fitch. ‘Well, then, sir, what have you come for?’

‘Sit down, man. Sit down. Tomorrow morning I am going personally to the court in Culworth and doing whatever is necessary to withdraw the prosecution against you. You must clearly understand that I do not approve of stealing, most especially from myself. If I had been asked, then I would more than likely have said yes, Vera could have all that stuff, but I wasn’t and Mr Mayer acted on my instructions. He is completely exonerated on that score. I know I said I wanted all that rubbish clearing away, but, well, I didn’t realise it was antique stuff – not being well up in that area. But taking it and using it and pinching the crazy paving isn’t quite the same thing, is it? Don’t let it happen again Greenwood, will you? Wait and ask
me
first. Right?’

‘Very well, Mr Fitch. I much appreciate your understanding …’

Pat, hope rising in her chest, asked, ‘Does that mean we shan’t have to leave? Does it?’

‘Of course it does.’

‘Thank you very much, Mr Fitch.’

Making up an excuse for his change of heart he answered, ‘No, thank the Rector. If he hadn’t been on your side, neither would I.’ Mr Fitch stood up and looked around Pat’s cheerful kitchen, admiring the sunny yellow walls and the bright flowers on the sill. ‘You’ve made a lovely home here, Pat. Lovely.’

‘Thank you, we love this house. You’ve just no idea how grateful I am. It would have broken my heart if …’ Pat smiled at him nervously.

‘Oh! But did you know Vera’s moved to the nursing home in Penny Fawcett? She’s got promotion and a flat goes with it. She moved in today. Oh no, I’ve just thought. She’s helping at the dress rehearsal. She’ll be at the Church Hall.’

‘I’ll see her there, then.’

Greenwood reached out to shake hands. ‘Thank you, Mr Fitch. Thank you very much. I can’t say how grateful I am.’

‘Not at all, not at all. The least I can do. Can’t lose hardworking skilled people like you, Greenwood. Don’t worry about Dean’s scholarship. If he gets in, the money will be in place like I promised. I’ll be off, then, to see Vera.’

Mr Fitch stood at the back of the hall while he accustomed his eyes to the darkness. The stage was brightly lit, the body of the hall empty except for Barry, Sir Ronald and Willie Biggs who were conferring quietly in the far corner away from the stage. Barry was pointing something out to the other two concerning the stage, it involved a lot of arm waving and apparently denial on Willie’s part. Mr Fitch became absorbed in the argument. He smiled to himself. It wasn’t just big business, then, which caused serious disagreement. It happened in two-bit places like Turnham Malpas over a two-bit play. When he heard the powerful persuasive tones of Hugo Maude his attention was drawn to the stage.

‘
My dearest! That’s the tune they played for us in the restaurant
!’

Hugo crossed the stage and stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders, his lips raining kisses on her head, tiny trembling kisses. His hands roved over her shoulders and arms. She looked up at him and, seeing him upside down, said, ‘
Dearest, you look quite strange this way up. I’ve never seen you like this before
.’

Hugo captured her hands and raised them above her head so he could kiss them. ‘
Beloved
!’

She clasped her hands behind his head and drew it down so they were cheek to cheek. His hands began roving over her, down to her hips and back up along her arms until he unfastened her hands from behind his neck. He pulled her to her feet, pushed the piano stool away and they stood locked together, kissing.

In the dark Mr Fitch found himself blushing: not because the acting was bad but because it was so good. Too good. He was stunned. Moved might be a better word to describe how he felt. He noticed the three arguing in the corner had stopped to watch, and no wonder.

Mr Fitch was spellbound.

‘Will you never realise that I am not the person you left behind in 1914? You’ve come back to a new me. I’ve changed utterly and completely. That’s what the war has done to me. Changed me for ever. But it doesn’t seem to have changed you. You still have the same expectations of me.’

Neville Neal shook his head and wept.

Mr Fitch cleared his throat. It was all too realistic for words. He became convinced it was all true. Then he pulled himself together and remembered it was only a play. But what a play! Caroline was clinging to Hugo, her dress half off her shoulder, Hugo’s arm around her waist, knee to knee, hip to hip, standing there watching Neville.

Rhett and Neville left the stage. Caroline and Hugo kissed passionately and the curtains closed.

Mr Fitch crept out before anyone could see him. Vera would have to wait. He lit a cigarette, and stood outside looking at the stars and going over in his mind the tremendous excitement of the last few minutes. This only a village play and he’d financed it! Just showed what money could do. He walked down the path to the road to get in his car. Mr Fitch was well aware he was insensitive to other peoples’ feelings and the incident with Jeremy that afternoon had proved that all over again, but right at this moment, excited by the play, he had a flash of insight and thought about how Peter would feel when he saw it. The light was on in Peter’s study. He wondered if Peter knew what was going on? The Rector’s wife acting her knickers off in a dodgy play in the Church Hall. Such good acting you thought it was real! Heaven’s above. It wasn’t, was it? Were they really having an affair? Surely not. They couldn’t be
. Or could they? He’d better warn Peter. The poor man. They couldn’t cancel it now, it was all too late, but he’d better know, better be forewarned.

Peter answered the door. ‘Why, good evening, Mr Fitch, how nice to see you. Do come in.’ He led the way into the sitting room and invited Mr Fitch to sit down. Mr Fitch was glad Peter was in mufti, it made it easier somehow to talk man to man.

‘I’m sorry, I know it’s late but I had to come. I’ve just been watching a snatch of the play.’ Mr Fitch cleared his throat. ‘Have you seen it, by any chance?’

The light casual note in his voice amused Peter. ‘I have.’

‘Oh, right. I thought it a bit …
risqué
for a Church Hall.’