A Village in Jeopardy (Turnham Malpas 16) (29 page)

They concentrated on improving the general health and wellbeing of their residents, expecting them to swim and walk and in limited ways do pilates and aerobics, they organised a bridge club and once a month had guest speakers, and outings were organised too so they all got out and about and weren’t sitting round the room in upholstered armchairs gawping at TV all day. They provided regular theatre trips, welcomed family guests to stay (at extra cost). Of course, thought Craddock, it would be at extra cost. By the time he’d read the literature he quite fancied staying in one of their homes himself. That was until he pulled himself together and dug out his diary to make sure when best to make an appointment.

Since Anne had at last got another job – he’d been rather flattered by the fact that she wanted to stay with him, but he’d finally persuaded her to go – the diary was now his affair. He impatiently waited until the very end of the day before he rang, not wanting to appear too eager. He pretended he would be going abroad on business shortly, so it was either this week or not for another three weeks. Fingers crossed while he waited for the reply. Day after tomorrow! Brilliant!

‘That’s great. You have the address for your sat nav from the advertisement so I won’t bother you with instructions on how to find us. Very much looking forward to seeing you. You won’t be disappointed. May I ask who will be coming?’

He wrote down their names, put down the receiver and, clenching his fist, punched the air.

‘I’ll show that so and so Templeton where to get off. This could be it if I play my cards right! My God! At last!’ Mimicking an American accent he said, ‘Sorry! Johnny Templeton! No can do!’ He could even face the prospect of Glebe House and that terrible décor knowing he wasn’t lording it over everyone.

When she got back from school Kate found him drinking whisky from his secret supply in his office.

‘What’s this?’ She sensed his excitement. ‘Good news?’

He flung the brochure onto the desk for her to read. For one dreadful, shattering moment she thought he was thinking of moving into it. ‘You’re not . . .?’

‘They’re coming on Friday to see about buying this place for another home for the elderly. That’s what they do. Homes for the rich elderly! Can you believe it?’

Kate dropped into a chair and began to read while she recovered from the surprise of it all. It was supremely better than that Freedom Blade. Lovely elderly people with money. Good for the church. Good for the village. Good for the village store. Ideal in every way. A whole new start for the village, for everyone.

‘Oh! My word. If it comes off!’

Craddock said grimly, ‘It will. I’ll see to that. I knew we’d do it eventually.’

‘Darling! Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, please. We won’t tell anyone, just in case.’

‘Oh! Ye of little faith! I’ll go to the store to tell Jimbo; he’s the soul of discretion. He won’t let on, but I must tell someone. Is there anything we need?’

‘A litre of milk. But not a word. Promise.’

‘What’s a litre in English money?’

‘Two pints, roughly. Promise me, please, not to say a word or it will be round the village before we go to bed and they haven’t even seen it yet.’

Craddock laughed at her. ‘All right then. Must go.’

He straightened his face and solemnly went into the store just as Jimbo was tidying the shelves ready for the assistant who looked after things for the last couple of hours in the day, enabling Tom and Jimbo to finish at five, and Tom had gone in the back to count the day’s takings.

‘Just in time. I only want a litre of milk. Semi-skimmed, please. If it’s not too much trouble.’

If he thought Jimbo wouldn’t notice the change in him, that he looked ten years younger, had a spring in his step and a smile on his face, he was mistaken. ‘You look surprisingly perky. Got some good news?’

The appearance of Craddock Fitch in the store was surprising to say the least, but to the one customer still loitering by the tinned soup shelves trying to decide which of Jimbo’s offers suited her best, it was a heaven-sent opportunity to eavesdrop.

‘Good news? As a matter of fact yes, I’ve got a very promising buyer coming on Friday. A company looking to buy a property suitable for a residential home for rich elderly people; not a word to anyone, right? No one else knows but Kate. So please, mum’s the word.’

‘Oh! Absolutely. Much better option than Freedom Blade, believe me. I’m very glad for you. I’ll keep my fingers crossed. Here’s your milk. Hope you’re successful this time. Sounds very suitable that: rich elderly, yes very suitable.’

The lone customer didn’t make herself visible until well after Craddock Fitch had left the store and when she did go to the till she paid, said thank you and melted away into the dark, bubbling over with this latest snippet of news, leaving Jimbo rubbing his hands with glee while he contemplated what kind of stock he would need to get in for rich elderly people. More malt whisky? Gin for the ladies? Vodka? Everything of the very best? Double his order for
Country Life
? The future looked bright.

By eight o’clock that night, seated at the old table with the oak settle down one side was Maggie Dobbs, eagerly checking her watch every five minutes waiting for her usual clique of friends to turn up. They were later than usual and she was bursting with her news.

Who would have thought it? There’d be jobs there for people and not half! Bit of a blow for Jimbo, but he’d had it his own way for years so perhaps it was someone else’s turn now. She took another sip of her white wine, the latest in her long line of favourite drinks. What was it last time? Oh! Yes, lager. Then she’d gone off that, tried various other drinks and finally settled on white wine. Ah! Here they were!

Willie, Sylvia, Vera, Barry and Pat simultaneously piled in through the door. Maggie waited until they’d got settled with their drinks and then told her news. ‘Have you heard the latest?’

‘If it’s about the big house and who’s buying it we’re all ears,’ said Willie.

‘
Well
, there’s to be another supermarket out on the bypass.’

‘Another supermarket? Whatever for? One’s enough.’

‘Apparently we need another, and the council intend giving permission. More competition will bring down the prices, they say.’

Barry asked whereabouts. ‘Which end?’

‘Our end, apparently.’

‘Who did you hear this from?’

‘You know our Kev? Used to be in the planning department? The one Mr Fitch had in his pocket? Got caught taking bribes and not just from Mr Fitch? Well, I met his mother yesterday at the car boot – she hasn’t half put weight on by the way – I hardly recognised her. Anyway, he’s working for this chain of supermarkets now, searching out land suitable for future expansion and the farmer who owns the field where the car boot always is has sold out to this supermarket company, so now it’s one of their future projects. It’ll be half as big again as the one we’ve already got. They say the farmer will never need to work again; he’s got a fortune for it.’

Barry finally said, ‘It could be years before it happens. They do this, apparently: all the supermarkets have land they’ve bought up with the intention, when the time is ripe, of building another branch.’

Maggie loudly declared whose side she was on. ‘I feel sorry for Jimbo. He’s lost the students up at the big house, and now this. What a blow for him.’

Willie declared that ‘Jimbo’s had it all his own way for years now. Maybe some more competition will bring his prices down. I tell Sylvia, don’t I? She shouldn’t shop there. Culworth market’s the best.’

‘Oh yes! And who is it you expect to heave all the shopping home now I’m not driving any more? Mmm? Me! Because you hate all the hustle and bustle of the market. My back! My legs! Isn’t that enough? How much more? Bleating every single minute, you are, if you come with me. Which you hardly ever do.’

Maggie and Pat sympathised with Sylvia so Willie took no further part in the conversation because he knew she was right: he did complain, all the time, about every blessed thing.

To their delight Greta and Vince Jones came in. They were rare visitors to the Royal Oak and headed straight for faces that they knew. Two more chairs were pulled up, Barry offered to get his mother and dad a drink as well as anyone else in need and went to the bar to sort them all out.

‘Don’t often see you in here, Greta, nor you, Vince.’

Vince agreed. ‘Well, you know, we get comfy in the warm in the winter and the thought of climbing the hill into the village is more than we can face. And then in the summer it’s the only time we have to keep the garden and my allotment up to scratch. Time flies when you’re both working.’

‘Had a good Christmas?’ asked Sylvia.

‘We did. Thanks. And you?’

‘We went to my sister Jean’s.’

‘Good time then?’

‘Excellent, always good for a laugh is our Jean. Oh! Thanks, Barry.’ They sorted out the drinks, wished each other ‘A Happy New Year!’ and then Greta, unable to wait another second to impart her news, said, ‘Have you heard the latest?’

‘About another supermarket, you mean?’ said Maggie, delighted her news was going to get another airing.

‘No. About the big house.’

‘What about it? Don’t tell me he’s sold it,’ Pat said, astonished her Barry hadn’t been the first with this bit of news.

‘I was in the store looking for a soup that Vince loves – and they hadn’t got any; isn’t it amazing you go in for—’

Thoroughly deflated by the surprise being tinned soup that Jimbo hadn’t even got, Barry interrupted Greta. ‘Mum! Is it about tinned soup? Is that all?’

‘No. I was searching in the tinned soup shelves when in came old Fitch. I guessed it could be something special, he so rarely goes shopping, so I hung about kind of and he said . . .’

‘Yes-s-s?’ they chorused.

‘That he has a man coming to go over the big house with a view to buying it for a residential home for rich elderly people.’

‘No-o-o!’

‘Rich elderly people? I like the sound of rich elderly people,’ said Vera, thinking there might be some part-time work cleaning and such, which would supplement her pension a treat.

‘Now that does sound promising, very promising. In fact it could be the best news in months. More bottoms on seats in church.’ This idea from Sylvia.

‘More high-class business for Jimbo,’ said Greta.

‘More people for the Saturday coffee mornings,’ said Vera.

‘More helpers for everything, even flower arranging. Sheila Bissett will be delighted.’

‘Will she though?’ said Sylvia. ‘She loves being in charge and rich elderly ladies might think she’s not quite good enough.’

‘Surely to goodness she can’t carry on much longer in charge; she’s well past her sell-by date.’

Barry raised his glass. ‘Let’s drink a toast to the big house. If it comes off I’ll be pleased. Might mean my job’s secure; they’ll be sure to need a maintenance man. It’s been a while since old Fitch spent money on it.’

Dottie joined them and had to be brought up to date with the news about the big house. ‘I wonder if they will want Jimbo to carry on with the weddings and events in the Old Barn. I shall miss earning that extra money if not.’

‘Still, they haven’t bought it yet. It might not suit. We’ll have to wait and see.’ Barry added, ‘But some rich elderly people coming to the village sounds to me like a good idea. More compatible than that Freedom Blade bloke.’

Sylvia piped up with a remark about a piece in her morning paper. ‘He’s being charged with all sorts, it says in the paper, some of which I don’t even understand.’

Barry patted Sylvia’s knee. ‘Best not. If you did I’d not like you as much as I do now.’

They smiled at each other, and the conversation picked up again, and they all went home convinced that the rich elderly people would transform the village and best of all bring a whole fresh stream of interest and gossip.

The day for the visit dawned. Kate had put huge pots of plants from the greenhouses about the house, and large flower arrangements dotted here and there, which was difficult, with it being the depth of winter. She whisked about the rooms, polishing furniture to bring a freshness that had been lacking since the house had been empty and the cleaners departed.

Twelve noon they’d said, so Jimbo had been asked to organise a buffet lunch in the dining room. They’d been told to expect three members of the board along with a couple of finance people, and Jimbo had excelled himself. Craddock was mightily impressed when he put his head round the dining room door and saw the beautiful spread, and the linen napkins and the impressive lace cloth. For the first time in the long weeks the house had been up for sale he felt his spirits rising. He settled himself at his desk and made to look busy. He’d looked up the company on the internet and he was very impressed with what he read. Sound, solid company, he thought, not likely to crumble just as they were about to sign. He read the names of the directors, none of whom he knew, but that didn’t matter so long as they had money and drive.

They were a bright and breezy lot, typical London businessmen, charming but ruthless, well-mannered but curt, but what thrilled Craddock was their obvious delight in the house.