The Village Green Affair (19 page)
Read The Village Green Affair Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
She went into the utility room to take a loaf out of the freezer thinking of Titus and how much he would like homemade bread for breakfast, forgetting that when she thought about him her face softened and her eyes shone.
Neville looked at her when she came back into the kitchen and recognized the expression from the night of their party. That was the look that belonged to Titus. He didn’t need to ask. She’d seen him! He knew she had. He grabbed her arm and, staring right into her face, he could smell her breath. She’d been drinking wine and there was another smell - of another person who’d been close to her.
‘You’ve lied to me. You’ve been with Titus Bellamy.’ Both his hands were gripping her upper arms now, his thumbs pressing into her biceps. ‘Answer me! Answer me!’
Titus’s passion for truthfulness invaded her and she couldn’t stop the words coming out. ‘Yes, for a meal.’
Neville almost flung her away from him. ‘Have you slept with him?’
Horrified that he imagined she would have slept with him on such a short acquaintance Liz shouted, ‘No! Absolutely not. We have not. Most definitely not. Just a meal.’
‘Are you being honest with me?’ His pale eyes glared into hers from only five centimetres away, and she could see dark flecks in them and the mark on the bridge of his nose where his glasses had been. They stared into each other’s eyes speechless, their two bodies painfully controlled.
Liz relaxed first. She could see he couldn’t bear the idea of her leaving him. The shame of it would be intolerable to him. ‘It was just a meal, Neville, that’s all.’ Liz pushed his hands from her arms. ‘I’m going to bed now.’
‘He rings you, does he?’ Neville spat. ‘How could you meet otherwise? There is no course, is there? It’s all lies, isn’t it? You’ve lied to me.
He’s
made you lie, you who has always, always been so truthful with me.’
He’s
made you lie, you who has always, always been so truthful with me.’
She thought of the half-truths he must have told her about his business deals over the years, but forbore to remind him. Each of them had to escape from this confrontation with as much of their integrity intact as possible. How else could they share the same house with any degree of peace? Civilized, that was how they had to be.
She spoke as calmly as she could. ‘Neville, we haven’t exchanged a single phone call. We arranged to have a meal tonight when he was here last Thursday. A meal is all it was.’
‘Text, then?’
Scornfully she answered, ‘We’re not children.’
She could tell Neville’s mind was springing about all over the place, and she almost saw the worst possible idea leap into his mind.
With frightening venom he said, ‘I
forbid
the two of you to meet
ever
again. Do you hear me? You are
not
to meet again.
I won’t have it
.’
forbid
the two of you to meet
ever
again. Do you hear me? You are
not
to meet again.
I won’t have it
.’
Liz stared at him, contemplating her reply.
‘Did you hear me?’ he bellowed with a passion she never knew he possessed.
She replied softly. ‘I did hear you. Whether I shall do as you say is another matter. I’m weary of what I am expected to do according to your rules. From this day forward I shall behave as I wish. No more dictates from on high.’
Never before in the last twenty-five years had she so openly defied his wishes, and he couldn’t believe it. His pale eyes went wide with shock, his lips trembled, his chin juddered, his fists came up to his chest and, for one terrifying second, she thought he was going to punch her. But somehow, that self-control, that shut-in, closed-in attitude of his held him back, and stopped him taking a step from which they would never have recovered.
‘I shall sleep in the guest bedroom tonight to give us both time to calm down, and most especially time for you to consider your position. This business of a . . .’ he paused to find the best word for the situation, ‘friendship with Titus Bellamy is quite simply not on.’ He spun round and marched upstairs, his shoes making scarcely a sound as he made his way carefully up to the landing.
Liz heard the guest bedroom door shut with an unaccustomed bang. Then the sound of footsteps into the en suite and the tap running, as Neville kept to his nightly pattern, even opening the bedroom window as he always did. Then silence.
She wasn’t giving in to him. She wasn’t saying she wouldn’t see Titus any more because if she didn’t see him she’d wither away. What fascinated her about him? His warmth. That was it. Cuddly, loving warmth, and not just in his body but his character, too. Neville, by comparison, was . . . reptilian. Disgusted at herself for making such a comparison, Liz checked the doors and went to bed, spending the night luxuriously spread-eagled across the bed with no one to hinder her, leaving her to dream of whom she liked.
Chapter 10
When the villagers heard the first rumbles of the vans and lorries entering the village the next Thursday in the early hours, they braced themselves for another adventurous day. There’d been a lot of speculation during the intervening week about the possibility of more thieving, and they’d all determined, after reading Jimbo’s flyer - and not one of the houses in the three villages of Turnham Malpas, Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett had escaped having one put through their letterbox - that every single door and window would be locked, and, if possible, double-locked. They didn’t want
their
treasures to end up in that second-hand shop down by the old docks in Culworth.
their
treasures to end up in that second-hand shop down by the old docks in Culworth.
Poor Jackie Worsley had been in intensive care all week, with not much sign of improvement, by all accounts. Still if he would run a dodgy shop what else could he expect? Even so, not right, was it?
According to Titus Bellamy’s rules, the stalls had to be up and running by eight-thirty. If not, the stallholder would lose his chance to have a stall the following week. But, by the looks of it, they were all present and correct by the time the first customers dashed in to get the best choice of the goods.
Vera Wright, determined not to miss out on the steak for Don’s tea, was there at 8.29 a.m. queuing by the organic meat stall. The huge joints of beef, the legs of lamb, the pork chops and the rolled, stuffed pork, all stacked up and fringed with clumps of fresh parsley, were almighty tempting. Vera thought she might get two pork chops as well, and if that dratted Grandmama Charter-Plackett spotted her, well, hard cheese. Oh! That reminded her, she’d visit that tempting cheese stall and dazzle her eyes with choosing some cheese, too.
She kept thinking she heard a familiar voice, and that it sounded like Jimbo’s, but of course she was wrong, wasn’t she? It couldn’t be. Finally it was her turn to be served, and she carefully popped the chops and the steak right down at the bottom of her canvas bag, before turning away to check the other stalls.
She couldn’t believe it.
She was seeing things.
She must be.
But it
was
him, as plain as day.
was
him, as plain as day.
Wearing his boater with the emerald-green ribbon and his matching striped apron was . . .
Jimbo
! ‘Well, I never,’ she said out loud. His stall had an awning just like the others, and the table itself was covered with a splendidly embroidered afternoon tea cloth she’d have given her eye-teeth for, laid out with the very best of Harriet’s Country Cousin gateaux. Lemon, coffee, chocolate, orange . . . complete gateaux with twelve portions, and separate slices for individual portions. She could swear the slices were cheaper than the ones in the store, with dinky little boxes to take them away and bigger boxes for a whole gateau. Vera was speechless, fixed to the grass, unable to move. You had to admire him. He was a real marketing man, was Jimbo, because although there was a bakery stall they sold nothing so gorgeous as those gateaux. He’d found his niche and not half.
Jimbo
! ‘Well, I never,’ she said out loud. His stall had an awning just like the others, and the table itself was covered with a splendidly embroidered afternoon tea cloth she’d have given her eye-teeth for, laid out with the very best of Harriet’s Country Cousin gateaux. Lemon, coffee, chocolate, orange . . . complete gateaux with twelve portions, and separate slices for individual portions. She could swear the slices were cheaper than the ones in the store, with dinky little boxes to take them away and bigger boxes for a whole gateau. Vera was speechless, fixed to the grass, unable to move. You had to admire him. He was a real marketing man, was Jimbo, because although there was a bakery stall they sold nothing so gorgeous as those gateaux. He’d found his niche and not half.
As for Jimbo, he was loving it. Having made up his mind that he might as well join the market, because it was obvious to his astute business mind that it was going to be a success, he’d rung Titus during the week and asked for a stall.
‘I may have a spare stall,’ Titus had said. ‘Cassandra - you know, the ceramics person - can’t afford to pay for her stall any longer. Just not doing enough trade to make it worthwhile. I did offer her three weeks free if it would help but no she wouldn’t take charity, so-o-o if you want it that’s fine. For what, may I ask?’
‘Top-class gateaux. I admit not organic, but the very best quality ingredients, with fresh cream, butter and no artificial colouring. Can I pay for four Thursdays at once and get it cheaper?’
Titus had laughed. ‘OK. OK. Ten per cent off to start you on your way, money to be paid in full before eight-thirty on Thursday, and there’s not many I’d do that for. Right. Look forward to seeing you.’
So here he was, and the life suited him wonderfully well. He had missed the cut and thrust of the front of the Store. They were coming in droves this morning, from Penny Fawcett and Little Derehams as well as Turnham Malpas and Culworth. Especially Culworth. Loads of new faces. Drat! He’d forgotten his little notices advertising the Store, and he couldn’t ring Harriet as he’d gone out in such a rush he’d forgotten his mobile.
So here he was wrapping slices of gateaux as fast as his fingers could manage, though the boxes were a delight to pack up. To one side he had placed cheerful coloured plastic spoons and paper napkins so you could eat on the spot if you couldn’t wait till you got home. This was so much better than being angry about the market. Then he saw Vera gazing at him in amazement.
‘Jimbo! Does your mother know about this?’
‘No. I haven’t told her.’
‘I think I’ll stick around in case she comes by.’
There was an evil grin on Vera’s face. Jimbo laughed, and they were still laughing when Grandmama, carrying her placard, came bustling past at 9 a.m. on the dot, intending to stand outside the Store as she had done last week.
Determined to do her bit, she roared past Jimbo’s stall, giving very little time to Vera. Then she stopped, thought for a moment, reversed, and found herself standing in front of Jimbo’s stall.
Jimbo’s stall
.
Jimbo’s stall
.
She was genuinely unable to speak. Horror, betrayal, disappointment and disbelief were all emotions that crossed her face. She tried twice to remonstrate with him but couldn’t. She fingered her placard, changed her grip, and lunged forward. She walloped Jimbo twice, three times. He ducked and dived, attempting to avoid her blows, but she was so outraged she went round the back of the stall to get better access to him, and he had to escape between the other stalls. She had energy beyond her years and scored more hits than she ever supposed she would.
‘Mother! Mother! Stop it! Please,’ Jimbo shouted out in protest, which brought the crowds, but it continued until Grandmama had no more strength left.
Vera laughed so much she was almost ill. Finally Grandmama managed to speak. ‘You’re a rotten low-life. You toad. You unspeakable rotten traitor, you. After all you’ve said and all the support I’ve given you. You’re no son of mine. I disown you.’ She stood the end of the placard on the ground and jumped on it till it snapped, then left it all lying there. Storming off to the Store, muttering loudly as she went, she was a spectacle all of her own, and Jimbo began laughing at himself for the exhibition they’d made in front of everyone. And it was still only five minutes past nine.
In the Store they’d heard none of the hullabaloo. The first they knew was Grandmama bursting in through the door, looking thoroughly dishevelled and gasping for dear life.
‘Where’s Harriet?’
‘In the kitchen. Shall I get her?’ Bel asked.
‘No.’ Gathering what was left of her dignity, she stalked through to the kitchen and collapsed on the very first chair.
‘Water!’ she croaked, like a woman coming home after a week wandering alone in the desert. ‘Water, please!’
Harriet brought a glass over quickly.
Grandmama threw down the whole of it, wiped her mouth rather inelegantly on the back of her hand, and proclaimed, ‘I’ve hit that
traitor
a dozen times with my placard. Next time he needs my help you know where he can go. To hell!’
traitor
a dozen times with my placard. Next time he needs my help you know where he can go. To hell!’
Harriet, deeply concerned that she might be making a habit of being arrested, asked in horrified tones, ‘Mother-in-law! Who have you hit?’
‘That snake in the grass. He who was my son, namely James Charter-Plackett. A stall. He’s got a stall. Did you know he’s got a stall? Bold as brass. A damned stall!’ She weakly held out the glass, indicating she needed more water. When she’d drunk half of that she checked Harriet’s reaction and gave a hint of a smile, which became more than a hint, and finally turned into a full-blown gale of laughter. Then Harriet started laughing, and soon the three staff working in the kitchen caught it too, and before long they were all rolling round, screeching helplessly.
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