Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) (12 page)

Zack had to admit to himself that he was offended by Peter being so determined that Ford’s name was not to be mentioned to the police when it was as plain as the nose on your face. ‘Well, I never mentioned him to the police because the rector wouldn’t have wanted me to.’

‘I can’t imagine Ford would be that daft as to come here and encourage no good thieves to steal lead and take it to him to sell. He hasn’t got a yard where he could store it, has he?’ said Pat, who liked Ford and Merc very much and was glad to have them back in their lives. To say nothing of the racing tips he passed round to the embroidery group each Monday. Not that Pat went to the group as embroidery wasn’t her kind of thing; but Dottie was good at passing on his tips when they worked together on one of Jimbo’s events, and Pat had added up the other day and knew for certain, that though she didn’t win every week, she did win a lot more than she lost. Eighty-five pounds the week before last, for a start. It would come in handy with Christmas looming.

Barry offered to get the next round of drinks in and he went off with his order to the bar. Resting his foot on the brass rail, Barry detailed the order to Alan Crimble, who introduced him to Mary-Lee, the new barmaid. Barry decided she was a good addition to the bar. American, she said she was, and she flirted with him for a moment. He could tell she liked people. Barry, feeling he should talk to Alan in a civil manner for once in his life, said, ‘Tried to work out the other day just how long you’ve worked for Georgie, Alan. It must be twenty years at least.’

‘Nineteen actually at Christmas.’

‘Don’t you ever feel like a change?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

Alan replied with a question. ‘How long have you worked up at the Big House?’

‘Well, actually almost twenty years too come to think about it. Same as you.’ Barry grinned at Alan, and was rewarded with one of Alan’s rare smiles.

‘So that’s sixteen pounds fifty-five. No sorry,
seventeen
pounds fifty-five.’ Alan leaned over the counter a little and confided to Barry, ‘Don’t offer too often to buy the drinks because that lot’ll carry on drinking as long as you’re willing.’

Barry acknowledged the truth of what Alan had said with a nod and a grin, and he went back to their table to hand out their drinks. They were still, except for Pat, agreeing that Ford was at the bottom of the thefts of church lead, when to their surprise Ford and Merc arrived, right there in their midst before they’d had a chance to change their subject of conversation.

Willie was speaking about Ford as they materialised beside him. ‘This village is no place for a chap like him. It stands to reason it isn’t.’

Jovially Ford asked, ‘What stands to reason?’

With refreshing swiftness of mind Marie said, ‘Chris going back to Brazil. Chris Templeton, that is.’

An almost audible sigh of relief went round the table. ‘Oh, right,’ said Ford. ‘We never actually got a chance to meet him. All right, was he?’

‘Not as nice as Johnny, but just as good-looking,’ said Pat. ‘Here, let’s move the chairs round a bit, and then you can join us.’ She was glad to have an end to the supposition about Ford’s involvement. Sometimes this lot were like gramophone records, on and on and on about the same subject. Pat wondered if it would be a good idea if she and Barry didn’t sit with them, and when she saw the tray of drinks, and roughly added up what the cost must have been, she decided she was right.

Ford and Merc had been to the races that afternoon. ‘That’s why we’re a bit later coming in,’ Ford said. ‘Lovely day for being on a racecourse: brilliant sunshine, blue skies. Here’s your apple juice, Merc. And now I can have the best ale in the world, Dicky’s home brew. The beer at the races wasn’t a patch on this.’ Ford took a deep pull on his pint and as he put down his glass, Pat burst out with, ‘Did you win?’

‘I didn’t,’ said Merc, ‘but Ford did.’

They turned to Ford in the hope he’d tell them how much he won, but he just winked and didn’t answer, so they knew he’d done rather well. ‘I was at the youth club committee meeting last night, by the way,’ he said. ‘They are a grand set of young people, you know. They deserve treats.’

Marie asked what he’d planned for them. ‘I know they’ve missed your outings while you’ve been away.’

‘Well, before we went away I’d promised them we’d hire a canal boat and have a week somewhere, but of course . . .’ He cleared his throat and then continued, ‘Anyway, I couldn’t at the time, but we can now. I’ve booked a fourteen-berth boat for a week next summer on the Kennet and Avon canal and cleared it with the appropriate authorities.’

‘That’ll cost a lot, a fourteen-berth boat.’ There was a hint of interest in Vera’s voice which Ford didn’t miss.

‘You wishing you could go, are you, Vera? You can if you like, then Merc can stay at home, and you could do the cooking instead. We shall need someone to organise the food and you’ll take up a lot less room on a boat than my Merc.’ Ford had a big grin on his face, and Vera had to laugh.

‘No, thank you,’ Vera replied. ‘Couldn’t stand it. Who else is going to be in charge with you? Now there’s no Venetia?’

‘Merc and me, and Kate Fitch of course from the school. Anyone else like to offer because we need one more? Preferably a man good with ideas and a real commitment to teenagers; they’re a lively lot.’

The silence that followed that request told Ford volumes. But suddenly out of the blue Barry spoke up, ‘I could spare a week in August, if I’d be any help.’ Barry displayed his strength by flexing his muscles and everyone was very impressed. ‘For winding the locks, and that.’

Ford Barclay was delighted. ‘My word, Barry, you’re just the sort of chap I’d be thrilled to have on board. Do you mean it?’

‘Oh yes. Pat won’t mind. Would you have me?’

‘I certainly would. You’d be excellent at keeping the boys up to scratch. Thank you very much indeed.’ Ford leaned across to shake Barry’s hand. ‘You’d better come to the next committee meeting. I’ll be in touch. My word, I’m so pleased. Thank you.’

In an aside to Sylvia, Dottie whispered, ‘More likely he’ll need ’im to drag the boys out of the girls’ bedrooms. Or is it cabins on a narrow-boat?’

The two of them had a quiet giggle, which irritated Ford because he took his work with the youth club very seriously.

Ford’s mention of Kate had turned the conversation towards what had happened to Craddock Fitch. ‘He disappeared off up north, Kate said, doing research of some sort. Then he came back for a week or two and now’s he’s off again. Anyone know what he’s up to?’ asked Sylvia.

There was a chorus of ‘don’t knows’ from all round the table, except Zack, who did say he thought Mr Fitch was trying to find his two sons. ‘I overheard a conversation he was having with the rector in the church one day, and it sounded as though he was asking how he could get access to marriage records and the rector told him how to do it using that internet thing all the young ones go on about now. The rector wrote some things down on a piece of paper and Mr Fitch took possession of it as though it was pure gold.’

‘Really?

‘I never knew he had family.’

‘I knew he had two sons. But his wife left him and took them with her, and he hasn’t seen them since.’

‘Hardly surprising, considering. Miserable old toad that he is,’ said Vera.

Ford said, ‘Well, he was difficult to get on with. But if you faced up to him and said what needed to be said, he was all right. I got on OK with him once I’d told him I knew he wasn’t superior to me.’

‘Whoops!’ said Barry. ‘That was risky ’cos he thinks he is.’

‘It was all a front he wore to make himself feel superior,’ declared Willie. ‘He’s better to get on with now his business has crashed and proved him not to be infallible. More normal, yer know.’

Slyly Zack decided to blow the whole pleasant evening sky-high by saying, ‘Had you heard, Ford, there’s been a load of lead stolen from two churches in Culworth as well as ours here. Made a clean sweep of it. Last night it was. It was me who discovered it this morning, first thing. The rector’s very upset about it and he rang the police straightaway. They said it was the first time it had happened in this area. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t have heard, having been at the races all day.’ With his eyes intensely focused on Ford, Zack awaited a reply.

Merc nearly died on the spot, her heart beginning to beat painfully fast. Ford went rigid with shock. Before answering he took a long drink of his home brew and then said as casually as he could, ‘No, we hadn’t heard. We were off at the crack of light this morning.’ Ford went right the way round the table catching the eye of anyone who was daring to look at him. ‘If any of you are thinking I’m the guilty party you are very mistaken. It has nothing to do with me. Nothing at all. Pure as the driven snow I am. And always have been.’

So this, thought Ford, was what had caused the atmosphere to be so unwelcoming when they first came in tonight; he’d sensed it immediately. It was a very different atmosphere from the night they had been thrown the surprise party to welcome them back. So very different. Some people couldn’t even look him in the eye tonight. No one answered him, although a few looked sheepish. Pat leaned forward and patted Merc’s hand to reassure her there was at least one person on their side.

Ford felt so badly let down he wanted to leave immediately. He glanced at Merc and saw she too was badly affected by Zack’s obvious suspicions. Ford drained his glass, stood up, helped Merc to her feet, and the two of them left the bar, calling out a cheerful ‘Goodnight!’ to Alan and Mary-Lee.

Arm in arm they silently walked round Stocks Row and into Church Lane. Ford got his key out and they went into Glebe House. Merc retired to the kitchen to make a bedtime drink, but Ford went straight into his study, slammed the door and sat in his chair, braced his elbows on the desk and put his head in his hands. He’d thought he’d put all that trouble behind him, and here it was rearing up in the one place he had foolishly imagined he would at last be free of it.

Merc’s pounding heart began to calm down, but because of Ford’s distress her hands trembled as she measured the spoonfuls of Ovaltine into their mugs, and they trembled even more when she tried to pour the hot milk in and she found she hadn’t enough hot milk to fill the two mugs, so she served two three-quarter filled mugs. She forgot the biscuits and went back to get them. Then she sat in silence in Ford’s study, waiting for him to speak.

‘How could they?’

‘Not enough to do, that’s their trouble, Ford.’

‘I could kill ’em.’

Merc spilled some Ovaltine down her chin, dabbed it dry and declared she was heartbroken. ‘I do have your word of honour that it wasn’t inspired by you. Just tell me, tell me the truth. I need to know. At the appeal they said the evidence wasn’t enough to declare you one hundred per cent guilty and so they let you out. But you haven’t been daft enough to start up again, have you? Have you? You must tell me.’

‘I can honestly say I have nothing whatsoever to do with lead being stolen round here.
Nothing
. That is the absolute truth. As God is my judge, you have my word.’

‘Thank you for saying that.’ Merc was completely satisfied with her husband’s reply, glad that at last it sounded as though he’d learned his lesson. They sat in silence drinking their Ovaltine, with only the occasional smile exchanged between them. Merc, drink finished, placed her mug on the tray. ‘I’m going to bed now, but I doubt I shall sleep. Goodnight, Ford, love. Goodnight.’

Ford went up to bed about an hour later. When Merc heard him closing the door of the en suite and felt the mattress move as he climbed into bed beside her, she wiped away her tears and turned over to face him to give him an ultimatum. ‘I really cannot cope with another upset like we had when you were arrested. Those months you spent in prison, the trial, the appeal; all of it was more than I could take. If . . .
if
it all starts again I think it will, quite literally, kill me.’

Merc turned over and said not another word.

Finally Ford said, ‘I promise you that I have no involvement with the lead theft that happened last night. Nothing whatsoever, and I am speaking the truth. I know what it cost you . . . your health, and that . . . and it won’t happen again. I promised that, and I meant it. I still mean it. I love you too much to allow myself to get embroiled in anything the slightest bit illegal.’

‘I have your word on that?’

‘Absolutely. You have my word.’

‘So I can be happy again? Enjoy being back here in Turnham Malpas. Feeling settled. Feeling as though I belong? With no problems at all?’

‘None.’

‘So I can begin embroidering again?’

‘Merc, I never wanted you to stop.’

‘No, but what happened with you stopped me.’

‘Not any more it won’t.’

‘OK. Thank you. I’m glad we’ve got everything straight again.’

The embroidery group still met at 2 p.m. every Monday afternoon. They were expecting to begin work on a tapestry for a church in Culworth. To those outside the group it might have sounded small beer compared to the mural they’d just had hung in a cathedral in Hampshire; but the church was newly built in a stark minimalist style and was proving to be a very difficult challenge. Two designs had already been rejected, and Evie had decided they’d all have to go and visit the church and make their own contribution to the style and colours choices. The church committee wanted to attend but Evie, gentle, kindly Evie, had put her foot down and refused to tell them when they’d be going for their in-depth conference. So, instead of meeting in the church hall to embroider, they got into two cars and went into Culworth, parked outside the gates of the new church, walked up the path to the main entrance and went to stand in front of the piece of bare stone wall where the tapestry would be hung.

‘It needs a big statement, something no one can pass without stopping to look. Eye-catching, that’s the word. Eye-catching. Now we’ve got Merc back we can be eye-catching, can’t we, Merc?’ suggested Dottie.

Merc blushed. ‘Don’t know about that!’ she said. ‘I’ve done no embroidery since I was here last.’