Whispers in the Village (31 page)

Still Paddy couldn’t speak.

‘I thought I’d have a minute’s peace and quiet before the big race.’ Mr Fitch looked immaculate in a dove-grey tailcoat, the whitest of white shirts, a tie in the best of taste, a gold tie pin, which shouted 22 carat gold, and highly polished shoes. You could have sworn he was born to it.

‘I was putting it back. I promised Anna I would.’

‘Drink whiskey?’

‘Not usually.’

‘Share one with me.’ Mr Fitch reached across to the small table beside his chair. He poured out a second glass and handed it to Paddy. ‘Sit in the other chair. I’d expected my wife coming to join me but she’s obviously found something needing her attention.’

Paddy’s glass was shaking so much he was sure the whiskey would be jumping straight out of it before he’d taken a sip. He used two hands to hold it and still it shook.

‘You’ve reformed, then? Putting it back.’

Paddy rather thought he must have done. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. What does it feel like?’

‘Funny peculiar.’

‘I can imagine. What brought it on? This reform?’

There wasn’t an explanation really, it just happened. He couldn’t explain.

Mr Fitch gave him several good reasons for his change of heart. ‘Someone caring about you? Good food? A job you enjoy?’

‘You’re right about the job. I’m sorry to’ve … let you down. I suppose you could say a sandwich brought it on.’

Mr Fitch grinned. ‘Tell me.’ So he got the story of the ham and salad sandwich and how hurt he’d been, and how it had got him thinking.

After Mr Fitch had taken time to light a cigar he replied, ‘I’m always thought of as a hard man, which I am, always, and I should order you out, lock, stock and barrel, never to return, as I promised I would the next time I caught you. But a certain mellowness comes with a happy marriage, so in a sense you’ve got my wife to thank for me not giving you the sack. Also, I know from personal experience where you’re coming from, and I know it’s damned hard to rise above our kind of childhood. But rise above it we must. I’ll pay for you to go to agricultural college to learn horticulture and whatever. If you like the idea, that is.’

Paddy panicked and thought his heart would leap from his chest. ‘I’d like the chance. But I can’t leave home though, just got settled.’ He surprised himself with his use of the word ‘home’, first time he’d used that word and really meant it.

‘No need to. Go on day release on the morning bus to Culworth. That’s where the college is, that’s where Michelle went. Easy as that.’

Relieved, Paddy studied the fire burning brighter now in the grate. ‘I might just do that.’ He got to his feet, put his now empty glass on the table, its unfamiliar contents warming his insides and giving him courage. ‘In fact, yes, I think I will.’

‘Better take the chance with both hands, I shan’t offer it twice. You’ve caught me on a good day. Must return to my guests. Are you coming?’

‘I haven’t got a ticket.’

‘Never mind, be my guest. After all, I’m footing the bill.’

Paddy hadn’t dressed for going racing, but when he looked down at himself he realized he’d had a stroke of luck for he was all in black – black polo-neck, black trousers, black denim jacket – so he wouldn’t look too out of place. Then he gave himself another surprise when he said, ‘It’s for charity. I’d feel better if I paid my way.’

Expecting a refusal, Paddy had another surprise when Mr Fitch held out his hand. ‘Very well, I’ll accept.’ So Paddy dug out a £10 note from his pocket to give him and instantly felt all the better for doing so.

‘Thank you. Go on, help yourself to the champagne. Enjoy.’

Paddy didn’t need to appear humbly grateful; he was. ‘I want to thank you for your generosity. It’s greatly appreciated. I can’t ever thank you enough for being so understanding. Wait till I tell Greta Jones.’

But Mrs Jones was in conference with members of the W.I. committee and things were not going well. If there was anything they all hated it was a mix-up in their meticulous arrangements, for they prided themselves on Women’s Institute efficiency. And here it was, a monumental mistake. Who should present the bouquet of flowers and to whom should they present it? And were flowers appropriate? They’d got together in a corner of the hall to decide.

Harriet declared she thought flowers to Kate would be appropriate.

‘But it’s Mr Fitch’s money that paid for all this,’ Greta Jones said. ‘I don’t even know if giving a man flowers is the right thing anyway. We should have thought about this before today. What do you think, Lady Templeton?’

Muriel knew the answer without having to deliberate. ‘I think a bottle of really, really fine Irish whiskey would have been far better than flowers. I know he prefers Irish.’

‘But where would we get a bottle of really, really fine whiskey on a Sunday afternoon in Turnham Malpas? We’ve been very remiss in not giving more thought to this,’ said Grandmama in high dudgeon about the matter.

Sheila felt hurt. There’d been something nagging her for days and she hadn’t been able to home in on what it was. Now, of course, at this most important moment, she’d realized it was Mr Fitch’s gift. ‘I’ve done my very best, you know. My very best. It simply slipped my mind, there’s been so much to think of. I’ve slaved over this New Hope Fund. I just hope you’re not blaming me.’

‘Well,’ said Greta Jones, ‘you are in charge what with your lists and that blessed clipboard you’ve taken everywhere for months … and—’

‘Just a minute,’ Angie Turner interrupted, ‘that’s not fair. Sheila’s had a terrible lot of things on her mind with the … baby … and that.’

But Greta Jones would not be persuaded that it was anything less than criminal that Sheila had not remembered.

‘Far be it from me to criticize, but she is in charge and it didn’t take much doing just to write down on one of her lists “thank you present for Mr Fitch”. He’s a very generous benefactor. We need to keep him sweet.’

Harriet had an inspiration. ‘Jimbo had a bottle of Irish whiskey given to him by a grateful client. It’s very special and he enthused over it for days. It’s never been opened, as he was saving it for a special occasion. But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we—’

They all leaped on this with enthusiasm.

‘Are you sure?’

‘It would save us extreme embarrassment.’

‘Won’t he be upset?’ This from Muriel who hated the idea of hurting Jimbo; he’d always been so kind to her.

Harriet shook her head. ‘Don’t you worry about Jimbo. I shall go out and buy him another bottle and he’ll never know.’

‘Harriet, my dear, is this wise? You know how particular he is about his whiskey. He takes after his father for that. Fortunately, for Jimbo, not in anything else, thank heavens,’ said Grandmama Charter-Plackett with a wry smile.

Harriet calmed their fears. ‘Don’t you worry, he’s no intention of drinking any of it unless there’s something really special to celebrate.’

‘Yes, but where would you buy a replacement bottle for him? In this neck of the woods?’ asked Sheila.

‘His wine merchant in Culworth. He’s ghastly expensive but he’ll have a bottle, and if he hasn’t he’ll get one, and that way we save our bacon. Flowers for Kate and very special Irish whiskey for Mr Fitch. Absolutely perfect.’

‘Well, that sorts it then. That’s what we’ll do.’

‘Well, I’m off home to get the whiskey. The race will be starting soon. I’ll put it with the flowers, right?’

They all nodded their agreement, thankful that a very thoughtless omission on their part had been remedied.

When their impromptu meeting broke up, Greta Jones found Paddy at her elbow.

‘Got a minute?’

Greta beamed, ‘Of course I have, son, what is it? I thought you weren’t coming?’

‘Changed my mind. Been talking to Mr Fitch.’

Greta was amazed. ‘You have?’

Paddy nodded. ‘Yes. He’s asked me if I’d like to go to college to do gardening like Michelle did.’

‘You!’

‘Yes, and he’s paying for it.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘Paddy! I’m delighted.’ She daringly kissed his cheek she was so pleased and hugged him for good measure.

‘He even gave me a whiskey.’

‘I didn’t see no whiskey being served, it’s all champagne or soft drinks. Where’s the whiskey, then? Vince loves a drop of good whiskey.’

Paddy stepped carefully with his reply. ‘We had it in his library, he asked me.’

‘Oh, right!’ She took a deep breath. ‘What you doing there in the first place? Have you paid for a ticket? You’re not sneaking in? It is for charity and I’m on the committee and I’m not having you—’

Self-righteously Paddy replied, ‘I’ve paid for my ticket, honest to God.’

‘Oh! Right. Just a bit surprised, that’s all. Anyway I’m right glad for you. Eh! Just a minute, does that mean you going away from home? I hope it doesn’t. I really do.’ She looked shattered by the prospect of him leaving.

‘No, don’t fret, it’s only in Culworth at the agricultural college.’

‘Oh, well! That’s all right, then. I’ll let you go.’ She smiled fondly at him. ‘Tell Vince, he’ll be very pleased. Mr Fitch’s had a change of heart about you, hasn’t he?’

‘Yes. I told him how much I appreciated it.’

Greta tapped his chest with her finger. ‘No more pinching, then?’

‘No more pinching.’

‘Not from nobody.’

‘Not from nobody.’

‘Good lad. You’ve turned a corner. I told the rector you were like a son of mine, and you are.’ She gave him another smacking kiss, hooked her arm in his and they went off to find Vince to tell him the good news.

The main race of the afternoon was about to begin, so everyone’s attention was focused on the screen. Colin Turner, a sheaf of papers in his hand and a Biro lodged behind his ear, was beginning to feel very sick. He always did whenever he bet on a big race, but today he felt ten, no, twenty times worse. Most of the money was on Major Malpas and he quaked in his trainers at the thought. He’d told them it was unlikely to be a winner, but the coincidence of the name had persuaded most of the villagers that it would win. He’d worked out that at current prices if the next favourite horse of their choice, Myladymelody at 25–1, won they only stood to make … help! Six thousand two hundred and fifty pounds, plus what they’d put on. Now he really did begin to sweat, because they’d put far more on Major Malpas and his mind being in such a whirl he couldn’t work out what they’d make on him. He just had to hope that Major Malpas was the three-year-old of three-year-olds. With the favourite Le Petit Trianon now at 3–1 and no one had bet on that except Jimbo and Grandmama Charter-Plackett, he felt certain in his heart that the massive money they’d hoped to win for the Fund would not be forthcoming. He’d been careful not to recommend any horse for fear of being blamed if it all went pear-shaped, so they couldn’t blame him for undue influence, all the same he felt desperate as he watched the runners parading.

It was a magnificent collection of classic horseflesh going round in that ring. They pranced, they skittered, they reared, they tossed their heads and played up for all they were worth, seemingly filled to the brim with the excitement of the day. A fortune in horseflesh.

He caught sight of number six, Major Malpas. Now he was in fine fettle, his proud head turning this way and that observing the crowd, apparently loving the attention, ears pricked, hooves a-dancing and bright, intelligent eyes glowing with curiosity. His jet-black mane was sleekly groomed, his black coat was gleaming and the white diamond mark on his forehead was perfectly shaped. It occurred to Colin that Major Malpas matched all the guests because he was the only true black and white horse in the race. Was that a good omen? He laughed at himself for clutching at straws! Then the sickly feeling returned and he found himself overcome with the responsibility of it all. If only you knew, thought Colin, if only you knew, Major Malpas. Go for it, boy. Go for it.

Everyone in the hall was waiting with baited breath for the off. When the signal was given it was hard to know whether it was the roar of the crowd on the race course or the roar of the crowd in the hall they heard, because the explosion of excitement was so great. The horses were bunched together going up that first gentle slope, but descending down to the long right-hand bend, the field spread out with Le Petit Trianon and Myladymelody in the lead. Then La Belle Epoque took the lead but fell back and Carnival Queen took the lead, then Beau George. Where was Major Malpas? Nowhere near the front. Then someone spotted Major Malpas coming up the outside. The excitement level in the hall began to increase, if it were possible, as their favourite horse began to creep resolutely forward, tail flying, hooves flashing, his jockey urging him on. The Major gradually used the descent to catch up with the front runners and as the racetrack levelled out to the last straight 500 metres he gained ground in a spectacular manner. Then he stumbled and vital seconds were lost as the jockey struggled to keep his seat and regain control. A great groan of disappointment filled the hall.

But within seconds he was in the running again and everyone hollered their support. Wild with delight, people were throwing things in the air, clapping, cheering him on, shouting, ‘Come on, boy, come on!’ and shrieking, ‘That’s it. Yes!’ Then, from nowhere at all, Carnival Queen appeared alongside Major Malpas, ‘Ohhhh!’ A shattering wave of disappointment flew around the hall. It looked as though she was getting ahead, but Major Malpas … yes, the Major was … yes, he was, he’d caught sight of Carnival Queen. They were now neck and neck, pressing on to the finishing post. As it came into focus Major Malpas dug deep and went belting first past the post with great elan. He’d won by a head, that was all. Carnival Queen was second, and Myladymelody third, leaving the rest of the field several lengths behind.