The Village Green Affair (35 page)
Read The Village Green Affair Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘You’ll all be getting an invite. I’ve got mine early ’cos I happened to be there cleaning when the invites came from the printers. Take a butcher’s.’
It was eagerly passed round, and a few people sitting near tried to have a butcher’s, too.
‘Two weeks Friday. Eight p.m. Well, isn’t that lovely? Opening of the Old Barn. Well, we’ve waited long enough. It’s seems like months since they started renovating it.’
Dottie casually mentioned she’d been in to have a look round when she’d been helping Jimbo unload a never-ending stream of boxes of table linen.
‘What’s it like?’
‘Beautiful. Transformed. Still medieval, you know - can’t get away from it, can you, in a place built back then. For weddings and big parties, mmm-m-m. All them oak beams, magnificent they are. Can’t believe they could build like that all those years back. You can have it with small tables for four or six, or do a kind of medieval banquet with the tables in long lines and benches. Such good taste, it is.’ Dottie bunched her fingers and kissed them. ‘That building, combined with Jimbo’s food - no one, and I mean no one, will be able to resist. He’ll make a mint, he will. He’s already got it booked for several events before it’s quite finished. Anyway, you’ll all see it when you go. He’s got fairy lights in all the trees as you drive up, and he switched them on for me. Course it was daylight, but I could see it would be lovely. And the ladies’ loos! They could win a prize they’re so beautiful: pale turquoise, dark turquoise and white tiling from floor to ceiling, and great big mirrors, with hand creams and a choice of perfumed sprays and soaps and such for anyone to use.’
Sylvia got her diary out and wrote in the date and the time. ‘That’ll be a night to remember and not half, though could anything beat that champagne race meeting for the Africa fund?’
They all agreed nothing could beat that.
Vera asked if Dottie had any more explosive news to tell them, ’cos if so, would she wait till Don had got the next round in? They might be in need of alcoholic support after hearing it.
Dottie tapped the side of her nose and winked at them all.
Vera got to her feet. ‘Go on, Don, I’ll come with you, and help carry the drinks. Dottie, not a word till I get back.’
Quietly Sylvia commented that it was wonderful how Don had improved since that fall. ‘Never thought he would.’
‘The brain can take years to mend, you know, or not mend at all. Can’t expect too much. I mean, after all, he was always a man of few words
before
his fall.’ Willie nodded knowledgeably. ‘He’s not quite A1 at Lloyds but not far off.’
before
his fall.’ Willie nodded knowledgeably. ‘He’s not quite A1 at Lloyds but not far off.’
Don came back carrying a tray of drinks, followed by Vera putting the change in her purse. He sorted them out, remembering all by himself exactly who wanted what. When he’d sat down and taken his first sip of orange juice he looked up at Dottie and said, ‘Well, then, what is it?’
‘What’s what?’
‘Your big news.’
‘Oh! That.’ She wasn’t nearly as reluctant to tell them as she sounded. ‘It’s just that I’ve got a job with Pat Jones, helping out when they have an event on at the Old Barn. I shan’t be waiting on, just hurrying about giving Pat a hand in the background. She’s got a new uniform to wear; not dressed like a waitress, more like management. She’s a slave driver, is that Pat.’ She sounded annoyed, but the smile on her face was lovely to see.
‘Well, Dottie, here’s to your new job.’ They all clinked glasses and drank to Dottie.
‘Congratulations!’
‘Well done!’
‘All grist to the mill, eh!’
‘They say the tips are excellent.’
‘At last I shall have money to spare, for the first time in my life!’
‘Good luck to you, Dottie,’ Don said, meaning every word.
‘There’re a few jobs going still.’ Dottie looked round the table but thought not one of them could fit in quite as well as Dottie Foskett. ‘What with this new job and my house all done up - the builders say they’ll be finished by next weekend - I shall be sitting pretty.’
When Grandmama finally joined them, their talk turned to the position Liz Neal found herself in, and they speculated on her future.
‘None of us knows, and we are not likely to. But believe me, if he’d done that to me he’d have been out on his ear in quick sticks,’ Grandmama pronounced loudly.
‘We haven’t seen much of you lately. Have you been away?’
‘No, I’ve been assisting the police in their inquiries.’ For one wild, unbelievable moment they all thought she meant the police had hauled her in for questioning, and sat stunned. Grandmama looked round at their faces and began to laugh. ‘Not because they suspected
me
of anything. I was helping them because I saw the burglars leaving Sir Ralph’s.’
me
of anything. I was helping them because I saw the burglars leaving Sir Ralph’s.’
‘Whew!’ said Don. ‘That’s a relief!’
‘Did you know they actually took Muriel’s engagement ring from her finger as she lay asleep in bed.’
‘That beautiful sapphire? My God! The cheek of it. Stealing from a poor old lady who doesn’t even know what day it is.’
They digested this piece of information, and Dottie asked, ‘Have they got it back for her?’
Grandmama nodded. ‘Oh, yes. They confessed what they’d done, couldn’t do any other. I’d seen them leaving the house, you see, and Mac caught them as they were escaping, so they really couldn’t say it wasn’t them. And they were carrying all the stuff. So, between us, Mac and I have caught
both
sets of burglars. When they’ve been sentenced Muriel’s ring and her ornaments will all be given back as will all the other stolen property, including my silver snuff boxes. Blinking good job the market’s finished with. What with the bikers and the burglars . . . mind you, the bikers have only been fined not imprisoned. It was two chaps called Tone and Eddie who took your stuff, Willie. I feel quite sorry for them. The bikers, on the other hand, did an awful lot of damage, to say nothing of indirectly killing Titus.’
both
sets of burglars. When they’ve been sentenced Muriel’s ring and her ornaments will all be given back as will all the other stolen property, including my silver snuff boxes. Blinking good job the market’s finished with. What with the bikers and the burglars . . . mind you, the bikers have only been fined not imprisoned. It was two chaps called Tone and Eddie who took your stuff, Willie. I feel quite sorry for them. The bikers, on the other hand, did an awful lot of damage, to say nothing of indirectly killing Titus.’
Indignantly Willie shouted, ‘Sorry for them? They need horse-whipping, never mind sorry for them. Stealing my grandad’s watch - twenty-two-carat gold it is - and Sylvia’s solid silver locket. Disgusting. To think they’d been poking about in our belongings. They deserve all they get.’
Grandmama retorted, ‘Perhaps if you’d been treated like they were when they were children, you’d not have spent the last thirty years comfortably working as a verger in a lovely backwater like ours. They didn’t have a chance.’
Willie slapped his glass of homebrew down on the table and said, ‘Comfortable? Comfortable? I worked bloody hard at my job. In summer every hour God sent, believe me. At everyone’s beck and call night and day, locking up, unlocking. Believe me, it was no soft job.’ His face flushed and his eyes sparked anger, and for one terrible minute he thought he might be going the same way as Titus, because his heart was thumping and he felt if it went any faster . . .
‘Now, Willie,’ Grandmama laid a quiet hand on his arm, ‘you
know
I didn’t mean a thing about your job. But you have to admit it was peaceful. After all,
your
customers didn’t answer back.’ She smiled as sweetly as Grandmama could ever do, and Willie’s heart began to slow.
know
I didn’t mean a thing about your job. But you have to admit it was peaceful. After all,
your
customers didn’t answer back.’ She smiled as sweetly as Grandmama could ever do, and Willie’s heart began to slow.
From the dining room Police Sergeant MacDonald and his wife came into the saloon bar for a drink to finish off their evening.
‘Come and join us, Mac.’ called Grandmama. ‘Move up and make a space, all of you.’ So they did and Don collected two spare chairs from other tables for them and Grandmama dug in her purse and got to her feet.
‘The drinks are on me you two, what would you like? Home brew for you Mac, eh? and Mrs Mac?’
In that precise speech she suffered from, Mrs Mac said, ‘I’ll have a gin and orange please, if you’ll be so kind.’ She gave everyone the benefit of her sickly ingratiating smile, which made their flesh creep as it always did.
When they’d got settled with their drinks Mac asked if they were glad the market was finished with, saying before they could answer, ‘I must say I am, it brought too much attention to Turnham Malpas, far too much. That was what caused it all. Before, a stranger would have stood out like a sore finger, so to come to the village in broad daylight to burgle would have been a stupid thing to do.’
Willie interrupted him. ‘Absolutely, I agree and with the bikers there wouldn’t have been anything to spoil would there? But a village green full of stalls and loads of people, a right target and not half. And what fun I ’spect they thought.’
Mac put his homebrew down on the table, ‘Exactly, that’s what they said, “we did it for fun.” Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. ’ He shook his head in despair. Mrs Mac, only accustomed to speaking pleasantries in public, indignantly offered an opinion, ‘Pity they’ve nothing better to do, they should be in prison for what they did.’ They all nodded their heads in agreement with her comment and then something happened that they had never expected in all their wildest dreams. The main door of the pub opened and two people entered. A deep, scandalized silence filled the bar.
There’d been plenty of times in the long history of the Royal Oak that a full bar had whooped with joy or fallen silent at the news of some event or other - Henry V’s victory at Agincourt, when a Queen of England had been beheaded by her King, Nelson’s victory at Trafalgar, the end of the First World War - and tonight was no exception. Tonight’s news may not have been included in the national archives, but in the history of Turnham Malpas it scored highly.
Liz was dressed all in black, but Neville wore shorts, a T-shirt and open-toed sandals. Liz was drained of all colour, and looked as though she were sleepwalking. Neville had a spring in his step and quite a flush to his cheeks.
When they reached the bar it was Neville who ordered their drinks. ‘Two gin and tonics, Dicky, please.’
He motioned to a table which had just been vacated, and, looking as though Neville was twitching her puppet strings, Liz walked across to it and waited for Neville to pull out a chair for her. She sat down heavily.
Neville smiled and nodded as he squeezed past the tables on his way back with their drinks, but got few smiles in return. What were they thinking of? The night of the funeral! Liz looked so ill it seemed to everyone she’d be following Titus to the churchyard within days. Had Titus’s death deranged the pair of them?
All eyes were on their table. Everyone saw Neville persuade her to clink glasses with him and have a toast to someone or something. To Titus possibly? Then Neville began speaking to her in quiet tones so that not even the people on the table next to them could hear, try as they might. But Liz appeared oblivious to his every word.
Through gritted teeth Neville said angrily, ‘Smile, for God’s sake, woman, smile.’ Liz managed a fleeting grimace. For a brief moment he wondered why he’d insisted on bringing Liz out for a drink. To prove to everyone Titus wasn’t the love of her life, merely a casual friend? To prove he, Neville, still owned her? That she was still his wife? To dominate her? To restore the status quo?
All of those things, and more. He’d show ’em he was no longer a cold fish. The whole blasted pack of lily-livered, self-righteous nosy-parkers could go to hell, and that included the Rector, who, Neville suspected, could see right through him. Keep talking. Look normal.
Though the conversation level rose a little, the camaraderie of a usual evening in the pub was gone. Quite a few people left with subdued goodbyes. Those who stoically hung on couldn’t find it in their hearts to behave normally. Grandmama loudly declared she was leaving. She made a point of walking by their table and paused beside Liz. Taking her hand in hers, Grandmama gently kissed her cold cheek. ‘Anytime you need to talk, my dear, you know where I am.’
Then she stalked out. That cold fish had a lot to answer for. His outrageous behaviour absolutely shocked her, because it was so obvious that he’d made her go out for a drink when it was the last thing she wanted to do. Grandmama stormed back to her cottage, glad she could call her home her own and didn’t have some man dictating to her. She could have her hot chocolate with marshmallows tonight, and wallow in her indulgence with no one to question it.
Willie whispered, ‘I’m off home. TV must be better than this. It’s like a morgue in here.’
Sylvia agreed, remembering she still had some gin left over from her Christmas bottle and a fresh bottle of tonic Willie had bought last week in the supermarket, so she’d make do with that. Willie paused to purchase a bottle of homebrew to take out, and they trundled home.
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