A Village Deception (Turnham Malpas 15) (25 page)

Mac’s next call was at the rectory. Peter was on his way out, visiting the sick, but he gladly delayed his departure to accommodate Mac.

‘Reverend, I thought you might know.’

‘Come in the study, Mac, and sit yourself down. Might know what?’

‘Well, you will have heard about Harry Dickinson being featured on
Crimewatch
last night? In that bank robbery?’

‘Harry Dickinson? No! I know nothing about it.’

Mac told the whole story in lurid detail and concluded by asking Peter if he had had any suspicious exchanges with Harry that might have led him to suspect anything.

‘No. He didn’t come to church except the one time when I met him in there looking for Sykes, but that was the only time. Once or twice, he assisted Zack with mowing the churchyard, but that was all.’

‘Right. So, basically, you have nothing to report.’

‘Nothing to report about Harry, but there is something else.’ Peter hesitated.

‘Yes?’

‘I am concerned about the disappearance of Venetia Mayer. Harry disappearing off for a few days and Venetia going, we are told, to stay with her mother all happened at the same time. I’ve spoken to Jeremy about Venetia, because she’s the church youth club leader now Liz has left, but he appeared confident that she would be back from her mother’s any time now. But she isn’t. Now, as you know, she was having a rather steamy and very public affair with Harry …’

‘I heard about that!’

‘Yes, well, it was me who came across them in Home Park. I stalked past, ignoring them, but I went to see Harry the next day. Harry was very sharp and to the point, but at the same time it was obvious to me that he was very much in love with her. However, it’s not like Venetia not to communicate. If nothing else, Venetia was a great communicator, and it’s quite out of character for her not, at the very least, to phone.’

‘Are you suggesting he might have … ?’ Mac drew his index finger across his throat and gurgled rather realistically.

Peter studied him for a moment and then answered with, ‘In a way, I suppose I am. But not necessarily Harry.’

Mac’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘Who then?’

‘The injured, seriously embarrassed, badly let-down husband.’

‘My God! No, not Jeremy. He wouldn’t say boo to a goose.’ Mac shook his head. ‘No, you’ve got it wrong there, Reverend.’

‘Sometimes they are the very ones. It was heartbreaking for him, very shaming, you know, especially when he found out from the gossip that was going around that I’d witnessed them that night in Home Park. However, you’re the police officer, I leave it up to you.’

‘She certainly had the hots for Harry, didn’t she? So why go away?’

‘Exactly.’

Mac left the rectory weighed down with evidence, suspicions and amazement that there could be so much going on in three small villages. The
Crimewatch
incident had given him amazing kudos with the force in Culworth. It was all rather surprising to him as he’d always thought he’d been dumped in the police house because they couldn’t find anything else for him to do, his police career having been uninspired right from the start. And here he was with two mind-boggling incidents on the same day. He’d go and visit Jeremy straight away. That incident of the petrol being siphoned out of the Culworth market inspector’s motorbike could wait till tomorrow.

Jeremy was actually at Home Farm when he finally found him, so it was in a cowshed that he had to tactfully ask Jeremy about the whereabouts of his wife.

‘Sorry to be troubling you, Mr Mayer, but I’ve had two people asking me,’ – that was an exaggeration, but it made his enquiry sound more urgent – ‘about your dear wife, Venetia. They are very concerned about her disappearance, do you have cause for concern at all?’

Jeremy dropped his pen in the cow muck but ignored it. ‘Seeing as I had a letter from her yesterday, no I am not, sergeant.’

‘I see. Would it be possible for me to see it?’

‘No you may not. I don’t allow my p-private correspondence to be bandied about around the p-public at large.’

‘It would put my mind at rest.’

‘There is no reason to put your mind at rest. She’s s-safe and well and if I was concerned about her, I would be asking you for help, wouldn’t I? She
is
caring for her mother, who has been very poorly just recently.’

‘I see. I didn’t mean to give offence, I’m just concerned, you understand.’

‘Understandably, officer. Now, may I get on with the b-business that b-brought me here?’

Mac replaced his hat, turned on his heel, then paused and turned back saying, ‘Don’t forget your pen.’ He pointed to the very messy pen still lying at Jeremy’s feet, and left the cowshed.

He was covering up, was Mr Jeremy Mayer. The stammer and the beads of sweat on his top lip were all signs of panic. To say nothing of his trembling hands. Amazing control though, to speak so commandingly. Perhaps it was all to do with his upset about Venetia leaving him though? Yes, of course, that would be it. The reverend had got it completely wrong.

But Sergeant MacArthur’s day of being at the hub of the best gossip in Turnham Malpas in years was not yet finished. At eight-fifteen that evening he received the message that a yellow-and-black Mini had been found abandoned, minus its registration plates, on a derelict industrial estate in Culworth that had become an illegal graveyard for unwanted cars. It belonged to Venetia.

Two people who were not the slightest bit interested in the Harry/Venetia/Jeremy drama were Tamsin and Paddy; they were far too busy enjoying their new relationship and organising their wedding. The day the news broke about Venetia’s car, Paddy got a reply from his mother. His stomach churned as he opened it.

Dear Paddy,

Well, I never! My Paddy getting married! Now all the children have left home I am free to come! She looks a lovely girl, you are a very lucky man. I thought I’d come and stay a few days. Could you put me up?

I shall hire a car from the airport and drive straight to Turnham Malpas. I will let you know definite times in a few days when I’ve booked my flight.

So looking forward to seeing you! I shall bring photos of everyone, including all your nieces and nephews.

Love to Tamsin and to you.

Your Ma. X X X X X

Paddy was reading the letter sitting in his favourite lunchtime position; in his wheelbarrow, leaning his back against the wall of the peach house where, ever since he’d first come to work at the big house, he always ate his lunch, summer and winter, unless it was raining.

The letter fell from his hand onto his sandwich box and
lay there while he sat there stunned. How on earth had that downtrodden, regularly beaten up, useless mother of his become this apparently brisk, modern, up-to-date one with a mind of her own? He checked the handwriting, suspecting that his letter must have got into the wrong hands. How could this be her? He hadn’t known she was literate even, because he’d never seen her read a book or newspaper in all the sixteen years he’d lived at home. Hire a car! Drive to Turnham Malpas! His memory of her was of someone eternally pregnant, always struggling to get through the day, burdened with a houseful of children. He’d never expected a reply, still less one that sounded so positive. Somehow, as he sat there eating his slice of ground rice tart that Greta had packed for him, Paddy slowly began to realise that maybe he wouldn’t need to feel ashamed of her any longer, as he had done the last twenty-four years.

It felt ridiculous, but suddenly he felt better about himself, felt able to hold his head higher. Apparently he could be proud of her which, in a way, made him feel less of a waste of space. Perhaps he wasn’t such a wastrel, after all. Something within him had made him decide to take up Mr Fitch’s offer of paying for his course at the Horticultural College, had he got that from his mother?

He drank the last of his coffee, screwed the lid back on the Thermos, then packed it carefully away. He decided to spend the next few minutes talking to Tamsin.

She was utterly delighted that his mother was coming. ‘Oh, Paddy, that will make the day so very special for us. I’m so pleased. Aren’t you glad you wrote?’

‘Yes, thanks to you and Greta. More so to you for persisting. She’s changed so much, you’ve no idea.’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Bridget Clodagh Mary Cleary.’

‘She sounds lovely.’

‘Wait till we see her. It all sounds too good to be true.’

‘Nonsense. You’ve read me her letter and she sounds great. Be glad, Paddy, your mother is still alive. I would be if she were mine.’

‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

‘Got to go, I’ve a pupil waiting for me. Love and kisses. Only four more weeks to go!’

‘Exactly.’ Paddy switched off his mobile and carefully put it back in his trouser pocket. Then he leaped out of the wheelbarrow and went back to work with a song in his heart. No mention of his dad, then. That was odd. She didn’t say ‘we’, but ‘I’, so that must mean he wouldn’t be coming. Because he couldn’t or wouldn’t? Paddy didn’t care. If he was dead, so what? If he was alive and wouldn’t come, so what? He shuddered to think of Tamsin having to shake hands with the man. He couldn’t bear the idea of it, not him with his cruelty, degradation and lies. Not likely. He felt relieved. Tonight he’d ask Greta if his mother could use the small bedroom, or maybe he ought to use the small one and let her have his bigger one. He’d talk to Greta about it.

Then he suffered one of the deeply disturbing moments when he doubted that he should be marrying Tamsin at all. He’d have to cancel the wedding. He would tonight, cancel it, tell her he couldn’t go ahead with it. Not Paddy Cleary, he didn’t deserve her. She wasn’t in his league and that was important in a marriage. He’d let his mother come, Greta wouldn’t mind, but not get married. In fact, he’d go right now and wait for Tamsin to come home to tell her outright, no beating about the bush, straight from the shoulder. That’s what he’d do. He dropped the drum of plant food he was about to open and left without a word to anyone. If he tried to speak to someone he’d break down. Best if he just left without a word.

Paddy sat on the seat by the village pond, his sweater sleeve pulled back so he could see the time without hindrance. He
nodded at a little girl and her mother who had come to feed the geese and he tolerated them honking and squabbling around his feet as they fought for a share. He heard a helicopter trailing steadily through the sky, round and round, lower and lower, and watched it surge away suddenly as though tired of Turnham Malpas, just like he felt. He’d leave and go somewhere else, make a fresh start, and forget her. It was the only way. He’d overpersuaded her and he shouldn’t have done.

Then the familiar sound of her VW Beetle invaded his subconscious and Paddy got to his feet to make his way towards her as she searched for her keys. His legs felt like jelly, but he knew that he wasn’t the right person for her, she deserved someone so much more handsome, charismatic, someone higher up the social strata than him. His heart bled as he called out to her, ‘Tamsin!’

Tamsin heard him and turned to watch him crossing the green, promptly falling in love with him all over again. Since her parents died, there hadn’t been anyone who loved her as he did, despite all her faults, and they were many. She wasn’t going to turn her back on him now, not when lifelong happiness was within her grasp. But something in his gait alarmed her. She pushed open her door and went inside to wait for him to arrive, anxiously puzzling about what could be wrong.

Paddy came stiffly into the sitting room.

Tamsin watched him from the kitchen doorway.

Paddy felt shrivelled inside.

Tamsin prepared herself for something shocking that she guessed she wouldn’t want to hear.

‘It’s like this, Tamsin.’ As he said her name his guts knotted.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s like this. I’m not good enough for you. I can’t possibly give you the kind of lifestyle you are accustomed to. We’ll have to cancel. I shall love you till …’

‘Yes?’

‘… the end of time. But I can’t let you tie yourself to me. I’m sorry. I shall drag you down, I know it. I should never have asked you to marry me. Never. I’m not reliable.’

Tamsin knew Paddy was close to collapse. His face was ashen, those blue Irish eyes with their dark lashes were almost black with pain, and he was shaking from head to foot.

‘Sit down. I’ll get you a brandy.’

Paddy took the glass from her and downed it in one gulp. His mouth seized up, his tongue seemed to have grown too big for it and he couldn’t speak. He groaned. It was all he was capable of.

Tamsin stood beside him, not knowing how to respond.

The silence between them filled the house.

‘It’s no good. I can’t marry you, I’m just not good enough for you. I’m really not. I’m so sorry. So sorry.’ Paddy shuddered. What the blazes had he done? He’d given up all chance of happiness with the woman he loved, but it was for the best. He’d done the right thing by her. He’d never find another woman like Tamsin. Oh God. He struggled to leave the depths of the sofa but the message from his head didn’t reach his legs.