The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (18 page)

‘Craddock Fitch here, I need to speak to Miss Bissett.’

Sheila’s hand trembled as she held the phone. After the upset last night she’d hardly slept a wink and wasn’t really braced sufficiently at this early hour of the morning to conduct a conversation with someone so prestigious as Mr Fitch.

‘Er, oh yes, er, it’s Lady Bissett speaking, yes, I’ll get her for you, can you hold the line?’

She raced up to Louise’s bedroom, and knocked agitatedly on the door. ‘Louise, Louise, it’s Mr Fitch on the phone, hurry up! Don’t keep him waiting.’

Louise appeared in a second, still in her nightdress, sleep heavily obvious around her eyes, her hair uncombed. Sheila watched her run downstairs to the phone. No, she thought, the rector wasn’t at fault. It was all Louise’s overcharged imagination, that’s what it was. Well, Ron had said she had to deal with it; he’d said after all it was women’s talk. Her heart quaked at the thought, and there came a mysterious throbbing in her ears. Oh dear, had she got high blood pressure? If she hadn’t now she would have by the time this was all over. She could hear, couldn’t avoid it really, Louise
saying, ‘Yes, of course, Mr Fitch. Certainly. Twelve noon. Of course. Certainly. Oh, how lovely. Thank you. Looking forward to it. Bye bye.’

The receiver went down and Louise came charging up the stairs. ‘That was Mr Fitch, he wants to see me at twelve about the Show. He’s driving down from London this morning. Twelve o’clock, he said, and then stay for lunch. I’m having a bath and washing my hair. Mind out of the way.’

‘But you’ve resigned!’

‘Oh God – so I have! The file! I’ll need the file! Damn and blast it!’

What she’d hoped would be a relaxing soak in perfumed water planning how she would impress Mr Fitch, changed into a frantic charge through several rehearsals of how she would extract the file from Pat, without admitting she wanted to be back as Secretary to the committee. Why did he have to ring at such an inopportune moment? A few more days and she could have resolved it, got the file back, been reinstated and carried on as before. Without being on the committee and without the rectory visits she had nothing left and would definitely have to find a job. There was no further excuse. She could make a start on sorting out Gilbert’s music, but that would really bring little reward. Though she had promised she would do it. Yes, she’d do it and then that would be that. Louise put a stop to her meanderings. This wasn’t working out how to get the file back from Pat without too much loss of face.

A decision to leap out of the bath and get round to the school before Pat left meant Louise was out in Jacks Lane by twenty minutes past nine. She found Pat in the school kitchen hanging up some tea towels to dry on a little rack above the sink. Louise could hear the babble of children’s
voices, but didn’t smile like others did when they heard it; she was too preoccupied searching for the right words.

Pat turned to see who had called her name.

‘Oh, it’s you! Well, what now?’

‘Could I possibly have my file back? I think I must have left some private correspondence in there and I need it, this morning, right now. Please.’

‘Not got it, I’m afraid.’ She finished hanging up the cloths, then began drying her hands on the kitchen roller-towel.

Startled, Louise asked sharply, ‘Not got it? Where is it then?’

‘Dr Harris took it. I certainly wasn’t going to take over, not on your Nellie! So if you want it you’ll have to go to the rectory for it.’

‘I see.’ Louise swallowed hard. ‘I’ll have to go there then.’

‘You will. Though how you’ve the cheek to knock on their door after the rector’s turned you out, I don’t really know. Glad I’m not in your shoes.’

‘Mmmmm. Right, well, I’ll get round there.’

‘See yer then.’

Louise didn’t notice the glee on Pat’s face, nor did she see Pat dance a little jig right there on the red tiled floor.

She walked slowly out of the school and across the playground, then stood for a few moments in the gateway watching the builders working on the houses in Hipkin Gardens. They were glazing the windows already. How many months had she been at home? Too many. What on earth was she going to do? It was such a feather in her cap for Mr Fitch to want her to go for lunch and discuss the arrangements for the Show, that she couldn’t, honestly couldn’t, miss out. She’d promised him anyhow, and at least he wouldn’t know what the gossips in the village were
saying about her. They just didn’t understand how she felt. She could make darling Peter so happy, so very happy. There were no two ways about it; she’d have to face up to going to the rectory. It might not be a bad thing, after all; she might even get a chance to have a word with Peter on his own. She’d go home first, have a coffee and a think and then walk across and request the file.

At the rectory the file was on Peter’s desk, where he’d left it the night before, after he and Caroline had gone through it when she’d got back from the committee meeting.

‘Give credit where it’s due, she’s an amazing organiser, isn’t she, Peter? I can’t see how I could possibly be as detailed as this. All these notes, cross references, all this detail. All these coloured stickers, red for this, yellow for that. Brilliant! If she went under a bus tomorrow we’d be able to carry on as if nothing had happened.’

‘Caroline! What a thing to say!’

‘Well, we would – it’s true. But whichever way you look at it, I’ve got to get her back as secretary again. I simply haven’t the time to take all this on, nor am I the kind of person who could keep such immaculate records.’ She waved her hand over the file, closed it up and said, ‘What a pity her private life is in such a mess. All she needs is a good—’

‘Caroline!’

‘Man
I was going to say – a man who loves her for what she really is. After all, there must be more to her than all this.’ She waved her hand over the file again. ‘Who could we find for her?’

‘Michael Palmer springs to mind.’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea – we could give them those opera tickets you were sent. We’re not opera people, but Michael is
and she would be, if it meant going out with a man. Yes, we’ll give them the opera tickets and follow it up with a post-Show dinner party. That would make a good start for them, don’t you think?’

‘Caroline! I don’t want her anywhere near the rectory, thank you, unChristian though that might sound.’

When the doorbell rang Peter was impatient at the interruption. Caroline had taken the twins into Culworth to buy new shoes and meet a friend for lunch, and Sylvia was using up some holiday which was due to her. He was in the rectory all on his own and taking the opportunity to finalise an article he’d been asked to write for the local paper. As he crossed the hall, he put a welcoming smile on his face and opened the door.

‘Ahh! It’s you, Louise. Good morning. What can I do for you?’

‘Good morning. May I come in?’

Peter had a rule that anyone and everyone was welcome at the rectory whatever the time of day or night. Reluctantly he held open the door and asked her in. However, instead of inviting her into his study as he would normally have done, he stood waiting in the hall to hear what she had to say.

‘Actually it’s the file, the file for the Show. In a moment of … extreme stress I gave it to Pat last night. I don’t know if Caroline …’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘Is she in? Could I have a word?’

Peter said she was out, sorry.

‘Oh, I see. Do you happen to know where she put it? I need it to get some things out, personal papers I left in by mistake.’

Peter gave her one of his deep searching looks. Louise lowered her eyes and stared at the carpet. Why must he look at her like that right now? She couldn’t tell lies when he looked at her like that. ‘Well, the truth is, the truth is, I want it back … because I want to be … oh God! The truth is …’ Suddenly out of nowhere, abruptly and thoughtlessly she blurted out, ‘It’s you. Oh, Peter! I can’t bear not seeing you, can’t bear it.’ She took her handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away the tears welling in her eyes.

‘Now see here, Louise, you know it’s not possible. Simply not possible. We agreed on that.’

‘No, you agreed to it with Caroline and Sylvia, you
told
me.’

‘Quite right I did. What I said still stands though.’

‘Why can’t I see you? Whyever not? Just you and me, we work together so well. I wouldn’t ask to look after the children. Think how well-organised your parish work would be with me helping you. Oh Peter!’

‘I … I … There’s no way this conversation can proceed. I’ll get the file and you can take it away. Caroline really rather wished you’d be secretary again. She didn’t feel up to the job herself, not when she saw how complicated everything was.’

‘No, you see, that’s it. That’s all everyone ever sees me as – a highly efficient administrator. But I’m not like that underneath. Underneath I’m …’

‘I’m sorry.’ Peter backed away. ‘Please, whatever it is, leave it unsaid. There’s nothing to be done about it.’

‘But there is. You could solve it all for me, for us. You and me. I’m brimming with ideas for helping the parish, to increase the congregation, to reorganise the giving, even ideas for different services. I’ve given it such a lot of thought. It would be brilliant. I’d see to it that it was,
believe me.’ Eyes brimming with tears, she looked longingly at him, her soul stripped bare for him.

Peter glanced away. ‘I ’ll get the file.’ He made to go to the study, intending she should stay in the hall, but she followed him in and shut the door.

‘Why not? I don’t understand why not? We work together so well, you and I. We’ve grown so close, and I’ve … I’ve … Oh, Peter, Peter, please!’

Peter stepped back to avoid her clutching him. God, what a mess! ‘I desperately don’t want to hurt you. I have the greatest respect for you, you see, but frankly I have no intention ever … again … of doing anything that would hurt Caroline. Me seeing you and working with you, would endanger my relationship with her. The first day I met her I knew how it was to be. I love her very deeply. We are married for
life
. There is
nothing
that I would do to jeopardise that. I made my promise before God and that promise I shall keep till the day I die.’

He watched the tears begin to pour down Louise’s cheeks. When Caroline cried it broke his heart. Seeing Louise cry caused a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach: not pity, nor pain, nor distress, but revulsion. He strove to keep his feelings from his face, but it was his way to be truthful and to expect, and receive, the truth from others, so he was unsuccessful in hiding how he felt. She wiped her eyes and looked up at him again, intending to plead just one more time. He’d misunderstood, he didn’t realise she was offering herself to him, but she saw the look on his face and recognised the truth; her tears revolted him.

He handed her the file. She snatched it from him, flung wide the study door, and ran away. Out through the open front door and across the Green to home. If her mother spoke one word to her when she got in she’d kill her. But
she did. And they had the row to end all rows. And her rather was home too, and said his piece. And Louise wept, desolate, unloved and thirty years old. At a quarter past eleven she remembered she still had Mr Fitch to see. When he saw how efficient she was, he’d appreciate her even if no one else did. She’d drag the last remnants of her self-respect together and get up there and show him what she was made of.

Pat, still chuckling about Louise’s dilemma, didn’t bother to cycle between the school and the Store. She left her bike in the school-shed and walked round. Barry was coming tonight for a meal. Dean and Michelle had persuaded her to invite him. It was a thank you for Dean’s cupboards, a talk about arrangements for the holiday, and a chance to get to know each other better. Grandad had agreed to go on holiday with them so long as he had a room of his own, and Dean was so delighted to be going away he’d not complained about sharing with Barry.

What was she to cook? Jimbo might have some ideas. She pushed open the door and picked up a wire basket. Jimbo was behind the meat counter sharpening a large carving knife.

‘Morning, Jimbo. Can yer knock off for a minute and let me pick yer brains.’

‘Just the person I want to see. I’ll pick yours first. What on earth happened at the meeting last night? I’ve just seen Louise racing across the Green, crying buckets, clutching to her ample bosom that file she always takes to the meetings. Is there something I ought to know?’

‘Well …’ Pat told jimbo the details of the upset. ‘So this morning I told her to go to the rectory if she wanted it.’

‘I say, what can have happened?’

‘Crying, you said? Serves ’er right.’

‘Yes, and running like hell.’

‘Blimey! He must have told her straight. Only right he should. Anyway, I’m making a special meal tonight. For five. Can you give me any ideas? Not too expensive, but just a bit special.’

‘Special meal?’ Jimbo eyed her speculatively, his eyebrows raised, his head to one side.

‘Now look, Jimbo, I know you like to know everything that goes on, but this time it’s secret.’

‘Won’t stay secret for long, not in Turnham Malpas.’

‘Maybe not.’