Whispers in the Village (30 page)

They were passed by car after car, including Jimbo’s but he couldn’t pick them up as the car was full now Grandmama had joined them. She was wearing a sharply styled black suit and a white blouse with a waterfall collar that softened the severity of her suit. She also wore a tiny black hat perched on top of her Jaffa-coloured hair, its starkness softened by veiling. Finlay gave her a wolf whistle when she got in the car and he received a steely glare from his Grandmama for his vulgarity.

Close upon their heels came two of the weekenders accompanied by their snivelling son, Merlin, who rarely came to the village at the weekend, his parents having found his grandparents loved having him for the weekend. They went up the drive in their classic Cortina at a stately pace, arguing fiercely. Merlin was already crying.

‘It’s all in the upbringing,’ said Sylvia Biggs to Willie as they wended their way up to the Big House. Sylvia’s car had finally packed up and they’d decided not to replace it, so Sylvia had her strappy, high-heeled sandals in a bag and was wearing her flatties she used for the house, as she could hardly walk at all in the sandals. ‘That Merlin snivels all the time. I can’t understand it. And thin! Heaven help us. He looks as though he lives on carrots with that sandy hair and his strange complexion. Mind you, when you look at his parents … there’s no wonder he’s odd-looking. Uriah Heep, he reminds me of. I bet he cried all the time when he was little.’

Willie could tell Sylvia was put out, and he racked his brains to think what might have caused it. ‘Now, my Sylvia, what’s the matter?’

She stopped and turned to look at him. ‘You ask me what’s the matter? You ask me that?’

Willie apologized. ‘I’m sorry. Of course I know what’s the matter, just didn’t think.’

‘Here we are going to this thingy,’ she waved her hands about, ‘you know this event … and the people it’s for … we don’t know if they’re alive or dead. It’s terrible.’

Trying to take her mind off things, Willie said thoughtlessly, ‘Don’t cry, you’ll spoil your make-up.’

‘What does make-up matter at a time like this? Tell me that.’

Humbled, Willie answered, ‘It doesn’t matter one iota.’

‘What if they’re dead? Whatever shall I do?’

‘Keep going bravely forward like you’ve done all your life. With me.’

‘Oh, Willie. I’m heartbroken.’

‘We haven’t heard they’re dead, have we?’

‘No, but they must be. Oh, look, there’s the other weekenders. They do wear the strangest things. Hello!’ She twinkled her fingers at them as they sailed by in their huge 4×4, looking for all the world as though they owned the estate. ‘They’ll have got that on the never-never, I bet.’

‘Sylvia, it’s not like you to be so critical. I just hope you cheer up before we get there. It won’t do, won’t this.’

He sounded so desperately disappointed with her that Sylvia decided to cheer up. ‘Maybe we’ll hear today they’re all safe and sound and on their way home.’

Willie patted the hand she’d slipped into his. ‘I’ve no doubt that they will be. Absolutely safe and coming home before we know it. Though, knowing the rector like I do, he won’t want to come if it means leaving his work undone.’

‘He’ll have to come home if it’s not safe.’

‘We’re here now. Shoulders back and be determined to enjoy yourself. Ready?’

They had thought they’d arrived early, but as with all Turnham Malpas do’s everyone had arrived well before the time. The hall was filled to capacity already. No sign of food though, which the Senior sisters found disconcerting.

A huge screen had been erected at one end of the hall, and the race meeting at Longchamp was already in progress. But it was scarcely worth looking at the screen because all the excitement was with the people attending. There were tables all down the longer side of the hall covered with white damask cloths, holding battalions of glasses, silver trays, canapés, with smart stainless-steel refrigerators at intervals, from which seemingly endless magnums of champagne were being removed. There was a positive chorus of champagne corks being pulled and the smaller children were running about among the guests collecting them all. The photographer from the
Gazette
was hopping and skipping about, taking pictures of the guests, till they all became quite blasé about posing with bright smiles on their faces.

The black-and-white outfits were stunning. Dottie Foskett, who’d had her ticket paid for by Ronald Bissett in gratitude for her help during little Roderick’s short life, was dressed from head to foot in white, with a white feather boa around her skinny shoulders.

Grandmama Charter-Plackett muttered to Harriet, ‘All white? For Dottie Foskett? It’s the most inappropriate colour for
her
to have chosen.’

‘Katherine, really!’

‘It is. We all know what she is. I’m amazed Louise and Gilbert are willing to employ her. Still, they say she was trained to clean in a convent so her house-cleaning skills are beyond reproach apparently, which can’t be said of her occupation.’

Dottie suddenly and unexpectedly materialized in front of them, beaming from ear to ear. ‘Good afternoon!’

‘Hello, Dottie. Lovely to see you,’ said Grandmama, quickly reversing her tone of voice. ‘You’re looking dazzling.’

Harriet tried hard to cover up their embarrassment. ‘You certainly are, you look altogether splendid.’

‘Thought I’d get in the spirit of things.’ She nonchalantly flung the feather boa over her left shoulder then smoothed her hands over her narrow hips. ‘Bought this years ago. Never thought I’d wear it again, but it’s quite appropriate today, isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Harriet. ‘Absolutely appropriate.’

‘I’m glad to get a chance to enjoy myself. It’s been hard these last few weeks, you know, the baby and what not.’

Harriet nodded her agreement. ‘It must have been very difficult. I’m just glad they had someone like you they could rely on. Are they feeling any better about it?’

‘Not much. I was glad to help ’em. They haven’t come. Not ready for jollification yet. They will be ready, in a while. They’ve taken it very badly.’ She shook her head.

‘Of course they have. Takes time. Which horse have you chosen?’ Grandmama asked. She needed a chance to air her views on horse-racing, having secretly checked the racing pages in her daily newspaper for weeks.

‘No contest, I’ve chosen Major Malpas. It’s sure to win.’

Grandmama nodded sagely. ‘He’s got quite a good record this season, but there’s a lot of excellent competition: Le Petit Trianon; Masquerade; Beau George; Myladymelody; Carnival Queen.’

‘I looked at them and I’ve still decided to back Major Malpas. He’s in with a chance.’

‘No contest. It’s Le Petit Trianon. Five to one. Sure to win.’ Grandmama said this with such authority she sounded as though she were privy to inside information straight from the stable yards.

Harriet and Dottie burst into scathing laughter.

Grandmama took umbrage and declared fiercely, ‘You’ve wasted your five pounds. Sorry, but you have.’

‘Wait and see.’

Dottie wandered off to find her cousin Pat while Harriet surveyed the crowd. There was Jimmy in his dinner jacket, two of the weekenders knocking back the drinks at a phenomenal speed, Greta Jones with Vince but no Paddy – he’d said he didn’t bet and wouldn’t be coming – Sheila and Ron, neither of whom looked particularly happy, and yes, Ralph and Muriel. Just emerging out of his office was Craddock Fitch.

Harriet drew Jimbo’s attention. ‘Oh, look! There’s Craddock.’

‘I can’t see the old goat. Oh, there he is. Let’s go and thank him, you know how pleased he is when his generosity is recognized.’ They pushed their way across the hall.

‘Jimbo! Harriet, my dear.’ Craddock Fitch held Harriet’s shoulders and kissed her effusively. ‘My dear, I’ve taken a peep at the food and it all looks very splendid indeed. What a clever wife you have, Jimbo.’

Mockingly, Jimbo replied, ‘I don’t need telling, Craddock, she reminds me every day.’

‘Quite right. She should. Isn’t this magnificent? It does us all good to get together from time to time. Now. Have you got your champagne?’

‘Not yet. We were going to head for the kitchens just to check.’

‘Believe me, there’s no need, Pat Jones is in there and it’s all going with a swing. She’s excellent, you know, really excellent. Such an unexpected talent.’

Jimbo agreed. ‘We’re very lucky. She’s found her niche, you know.’

‘Worth her weight in gold. I hope you pay her accordingly.’

‘Of course.’ Jimbo reminded himself to give her that rise he’d been intending to award her and never got round to. ‘She’s a mainstay of the organization.’

‘Ever thought of branching out now you’ve got everything here doing so well?’

Jimbo was too much of a business man to declare his plans for the future to anyone, so he passed it off by saying, ‘A few irons in the fire, so to speak.’

‘That’s what I like to hear. Never stop the ideas coming. If you do it’s the end.’

‘True. True.’

Harriet grew restless, she hadn’t come for a fun afternoon only to find herself pinned down by talking business. That was the trouble with successful entrepreneurs, they had no other subject of conversation. She wondered exactly what ideas Jimbo had up his sleeve for expanding the business; he certainly hadn’t discussed them with her. If it was another fancy restaurant like his previous one in Turnham Malpas … its failure had gone deep with her and she dreaded it happening all over again.

Jimbo, sensing her restlessness, excused himself and took Harriet’s arm. They melted away into the crowd. ‘Hells bells, but he’s splashed out on the champagne. He definitely won’t meet his costs, at ten pounds a nob.’

‘Honestly, Jimbo, you can do nothing but talk business.’

‘I wasn’t, I was only saying—’

‘He doesn’t care about the cost, he only cares about making a success and being admired for it.’

‘He’ll never change, not now. Wonder if Kate still feels the same about him?’

Harriet nudged Jimbo’s arm and said softly, ‘Look at the expression on her face, there’s your answer.’ He looked up and saw a genuine deeply loving smile on Kate’s face as she met up with Craddock. A smile so obviously full of such deep love that Harriet and Jimbo almost blushed at having been privy to it. ‘There you see, you old sceptic, it is working out well, isn’t it?’

Jimbo denied ever doubting the fact and they squabbled pleasureably while deciding which one of them it was who’d said the marriage wouldn’t survive.

When they’d stopped scrutinizing tickets at the door because it was obvious to them all that every guest must have arrived, Paddy quietly slipped in through the back door and found himself immediately in the kitchen. He’d decided to come today when the house was swarming with villagers because he thought it might be rather easier to be found wandering about, but he hadn’t expected the back door to lead him straight into the kitchen. There was a lull in the frantic activity, the staff were quietly standing about and waiting for the off. Someone had a portable TV on and a few were gathered round enjoying the build-up to the big race. Paddy spotted Pat Jones checking through her lists, and decided he’d better not get into her line of vision or she might question what he was doing; creeping in through the back door for a free champagne buffet perhaps? His heart was thumping so strongly for a split second he imagined everyone could hear it. It had never been like this before when he was thieving. He’d always been icy calm. But this time …

He felt his inside pocket to check the silver dish was still there. It was. Why the hell he’d pinched it he didn’t know. Old habits perhaps. He’d negotiated the kitchen and was now standing in the passageway that led to the hall and the dining room. He touched the old wall panelling, appreciating the feel of the ancient wood, enjoying the sensation of touching something as old as it must be. It occurred to him that it was a miracle it had been saved from old man Fitch’s passion for everything being bang up to date. This deserved to be nurtured and cared for, it was beautiful.

He looked down the passageway at the crowded hall. My, what a crowd! Were they enjoying themselves! He wished he’d bought a ticket. Everyone was so happy, so full of joie de vivre, he regretted not being part of the excitement. Paddy’s hand closed on the knob of the library door. He entered, closed the door softly behind him and went straight to the huge glass-fronted display cabinet at the side of the fireplace. A low fire burned in the grate. Two vast leather armchairs with high backs and wings stood in front of it, nice idea that, read a book all quiet like, shut out from the rest of the world. He reached out to open the glass door. It creaked slightly, and he held his breath for a moment. Hell! The dish safely returned, polished perfectly and without any incriminating finger marks on it, Paddy closed the glass door and …

‘It was you!’

He spun round. Seated in one of the big leather chairs, which appeared much too large for him, was old man Fitch. Sweat broke out on Paddy’s forehead, his knees trembled. He couldn’t even run. He was frozen to the spot.

‘Well?’

Paddy was so frightened his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He couldn’t face prison again. Oh, God no! Please, no.

‘I guessed it might be you who’d taken it.’