Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) (13 page)

‘None?’

‘No. I tried, but I couldn’t, with the worry of Ford in prison and that; all my creativity went out of the window.’

‘In that case then you’ll be all ready for it to burst out.’

Merc laughed. ‘It’s wonderful being back in Turnham Malpas, believe me. I love it. Ford’s loving it too. He . . .’ Quite a few of those gathered looking at that bare stone wall looked somewhat uncomfortable when Merc said that, and she noticed, and knew she hadn’t to say that again.

Evie interrupted, saying, ‘Thank you for coming back, you’re an inspiration, Mercedes, a real inspiration to me.’

Merc opened wide her arms and enclosed Evie in one of her big hugs. ‘Thank you for saying that. When we heard from Craddock Fitch that he wanted to sell Glebe House and did we want it now Ford was out of prison and not under a cloud, we were absolutely delighted. What a chance to come back to where we felt so comfortable, where we belong you know.’

‘So that’s decided then,’ said Evie. ‘Instead of trying to emulate the contemporary style of the church building we’ll do the saint’s arrival in heaven being welcomed by other saints, and all flamboyant and glorious and colourful, with God as a blaze of light. And if they’re still not satisfied, I shall say we won’t be doing it, but that they’ll have to pay for the designs I’ve already done.’

Amazed at her standing up to be counted in this way, they all exclaimed with one voice, ‘Evie!’

‘Well, we can’t be messed about any longer. I’ve spent hours on the designs already, which obviously they won’t want to pay extra for, and we still have to do the work. I’m beginning to lose my enthusiasm.’

‘Well,’ said the weekender, Barbara, ‘I back you up on that. We’d expected to begin embroidering three weeks ago, to us that’s three weeks lost. You do right, Evie. Can I say something?’ They all nodded. ‘Well, this spot they’ve chosen, you do realise that every single person in the congregation will be able to see it, even if they’re sitting on the back row. So, if they get bored with the sermon they won’t want to be
struggling
to see it, you know, screwing up their eyes to distinguish things, they’ll want to actually see it without having to peer at it. You know, see it. Really
see
it.’ Barbara paused for a moment.

Someone said impatiently, ‘Yes, so?’

‘Well,’ said Barbara, ‘it needs to be colourful and obvious, not hiding itself in pale colours and full of teeny tiny things, so as no one can distinguish anything unless they’re standing within two feet of it. Bold, kind of; strong and dazzling, kind of.’ Barbara went to hide behind Dottie as she was so embarrassed by her own outburst.

A silence greeted this statement of Barbara’s as it was very rare she said anything inspiring because she was always so downbeat and critical about everything.

Evie agreed. ‘You are absolutely right, Barbara. Bold. Strong. Obvious. Colourful. Mind-grabbing.’

‘I don’t know about the rest of you but, frankly, after all this thinking I’m in need of refreshments. Cream tea, everyone, in the abbey coffee shop, like we said we would?’ said Sheila, who’d agreed with every word Barbara had said, but couldn’t for the life of her have found the words as Barbara just had.

The coffee shop, winding down towards closing time, was not as busy as they had expected. The best tables, the ones that caught the afternoon sun, were occupied but others in the shade were free. They found one they liked, ordered their teas and began chatting.

‘Apparently we’ll all be getting some info about the reestablishment of the village show, and Bonfire Night. Johnny’s organising it all,’ said Dottie. ‘I’m so glad. It’ll be like old times, and I can’t wait.’

Barbara agreed. ‘The village show, I love that. All the infighting and the secrets about how they grow such good garlic or something or other, confident they’ll win first prize, and then their faces when they don’t. I’ve decided I’m going to enter a few things. My Victoria sponge has to be seen to be believed.’

Evie interrupted the ensuing discussion about the person who always won the Victoria sponge class and did she actually make the cakes herself, by saying, ‘I’ve asked to have some embroidery classes. Why not? I can’t judge them myself, that wouldn’t be fair. But I know someone in Culworth who would.’

‘Oh, great,’ said Sheila, ‘just what we want. We’ll run away with all the prizes!’

‘It’s Bonfire Night I like the best,’ said Bel.

‘And me,’ said Evie. ‘I like Bonfire Night the best too. The heat of the fire and the chill of the wind, and everyone so happy, and “oooh!” and “aaahh!” when the fireworks go up. And I love making the guy. I wonder if Jimbo will do the fireworks again?’

‘I understand that Johnny is footing the bill for that. A professional company is going to be in charge,’ said Sylvia. ‘More tea anyone?’

‘Jimbo always did a brilliant job, they couldn’t do better than he did.’

Sheila said she’d like another cup too. ‘He did, but he says he’s too busy nowadays. The Old Barn is doing wonderfully well but, Dottie, you know more about that than me?’

‘It certainly is. Three events last week and three this week. I’m not complaining. Fran had to help out last week it was so fraught. But seeing as Chris has gone back to wherever he came from, I expect she’s glad to be busy. She’s so good with people is Fran, she has them eating out of her hand in no time at all, especially if they’re complaining about something. She smoothes their ruffled feathers and has them smiling and apologising to her for being awkward in next to no time. Though what there is to complain about I really don’t know.’

Sheila raised her voice slightly so everyone could hear her saying, ‘I felt quite sorry when Chris went back to Brazil without her. I thought they looked lovely together. We saw them just once in the Wise Man pub. They’d obviously been upstairs to the loo, don’t know why they don’t make the pub loos downstairs, it would be so much more convenient, and they looked so lovely coming downstairs, not hand in hand, but very close. His blond hair and her dark hair and just the right height for her. They made a very nice pair.’

‘I bet Jimbo didn’t think so,’ Dottie declared.

Surprised, Sheila replied, ‘Whyever not?’

Dottie pulled a disapproving face. ‘Too old he was, too sophisticated, too, shall we say . . . well . . .
experienced
, for want of a better word.’

‘O-o-h! Do you know something we don’t know?’ asked Bel.

‘I don’t know nothing.’

‘If you don’t know nothing then you must know something because two negatives make a positive,’ pointed out Bel.

Dottie refused to rise to the bait and excused herself by saying, ‘I’m off to the loo.’ Then she left and didn’t come back, and eventually they found her waiting by their two cars in the abbey car park.

‘We’ve been waiting for you,’ was the indignant reply to Dottie’s humble apology.

Sylvia guessed it was something she’d heard in the rectory and that she had stopped herself from revealing it just in time. She squeezed onto the back seat beside Dottie and patted her forearm and smiled at her to show her approval of her reticence.

Dottie didn’t speak all the way back to Turnham Malpas, fearful she might let out what she’d overheard Caroline and Peter talking about the other morning while she’d been digging about in the hall cupboard searching for the box of cloths for her cleaning, a box that had apparently gone walkabout. By staying silent she couldn’t let out what she knew by mistake. It was nothing really but she’d overheard the doctor telling Peter how almighty glad Jimbo was that Chris had gone back to Rio, and that apparently the relationship was getting much too close for their liking; and how pleased they were that Fran had not been asked to go with Chris to meet his family. If Dottie had told them that they’d have all immediately come up with all sorts of gossip, of which possibly ninety per cent would be untrue. And she, Dottie Foskett, liked Fran and didn’t want her to be upset by anything she’d done. How far had it gone then? All the way by the tone of the doctor’s voice. And the reverend had nodded his agreement so positively that she guessed he knew more than he’d let on.

The punters who sat so regularly on the table with the ancient settle down one side would have been fascinated to learn exactly what Craddock Fitch was doing all these days he’d been, as they described it, doing research.

He’d found himself tortured by being what his mother would have called being at a ‘
loose end
’. After thirty and more years slaving hard to build his business, expanding it to a size he’d never even dreamed of in the beginning, nowadays he found his compulsory idleness very hard to tolerate. His bones longed for the daily grind, the cut and thrust; even the severe exhaustion he’d had to face on a daily basis would have been welcomed. Passing his time shopping for Kate in the village and walking his dog in no way compensated him, although he found the absorption his new project brought him scarcely filled the gap. Except he did miss Kate in the evenings, a lonely dinner in a hotel no matter how tasty, or how beautifully presented, was no match for her presence.

But today Craddock Fitch had made progress. At last. His two sons had had their names changed from Fitch to Patterson in 1981. So now they were Graham and Michael Patterson, and their mother was Stella Patterson. Their stepfather, whom he loathed even though he’d never met him, was Cosmo Patterson. Of all the names.
Cosmo
! What on earth did that mean? Was his father an astronomer? Did it have any connection with the universe or was it something entirely different? He sneaked into the local library and went to the reference shelves and found a huge Oxford Dictionary, but the nearest he could get was cosmos and that referred to the universe, so Cosmo must be the same, perhaps. Daft name. Daft man. What on earth had he done to his two boys with a name like that? Perhaps he’d sent them to a public school? Briefly Craddock Fitch swelled with pride, and then worried himself sick that he, their real dad, might not fit in with them. He hadn’t enough polish, not enough learning, not enough
savoir faire
. His self-esteem took a staggering blow, almost as bad as the day he realised his business was about to fold.

It was only when Craddock was desperately trying to fall asleep (and had been for well over an hour) that it occurred to him that when he’d found the papers about the boys having their names changed along with preliminary papers regarding a divorce, it was a solicitor in Leeds whose address was on the paperwork. Maybe then . . . Craddock got up and by the light from his bedside lamp he hunted through his briefcase and found he was right. Leeds then was where he would go tomorrow. With his mind made up he fell asleep within minutes of turning out the light.

A bright new Craddock bounded down to reception the next morning, informed them he would be leaving immediately after breakfast and wouldn’t be staying on for that extra night he’d asked for. Breakfast had never tasted so good. He had a full English, knowing he shouldn’t but he did, and he enjoyed every single mouthful. He left the hotel, woke up his satnav, and headed for Leeds.

It was a long time since he’d been in a big industrial city, and it made him relish the idea of Turnham Malpas and the gossiping lot of villagers who’d challenged him so many times over the years. He decided they were a grand lot and he rated Turnham Malpas the best place in Britain to live. He’d tracked down a hotel just out of the centre of Leeds on his iPad and pulled up there about half-past three. They had a room, non-smoking, and using the lift he headed for room 204. Not having Kate to unpack for him he debated whether or not to unpack, but then he remembered his suit. When that was hanging in the wardrobe and with his wash bag propped on the shelf behind the washbasin he decided to find the solicitor who dealt with the name change. Smith, Collins and Beresford in Greek Street. It wasn’t until he arrived at the reception desk that it occurred to Craddock that the Mr Beresford he wanted to see might not even be there any more. Could even be dead. Craddock immediately fixed his mind on death and he shuddered at the thought. Had his boys become soldiers? Had they been killed in Afghanistan? Or, worse, injured beyond hope of a normal life? Right now was his first real chance of finding them and if excessive grovelling was necessary then grovel he would. No one living could grovel better than he when he chose to. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to, but he would do it if he had to.

The receptionist, one of those brittle young women who’d chosen to be tough, especially to men, greeted him with a brisk, ‘Good morning. Do you have an appointment?’

‘Mr Beresford?’

She checked her screen. ‘Your name?’

This was the point when he would have to lie. ‘Craddock Fitch. I rang yesterday around lunchtime and was told to come as soon as I could.’

‘Ah. That must have been in my lunch hour.’

Craddock wondered what she ate for lunch. Three lettuce leaves and half a tomato he guessed. With an espresso. No sugar.

He waited.

‘I can’t see you’ve been registered.’

‘Well, I was told to come, so I’ve come. Maybe someone, not as efficient as you obviously are, forgot to make a note.’

She gave him half a smile that only just reached the corners of her mouth and said, ‘We’ll squeeze you in.’

Craddock decided to charm her. He gave her the kind of smile he reserved for Kate, did he see a slight blush on her cheek? No, he was flattering himself. ‘Thank you, thank you very much. I’ll wait here, shall I?’

‘Take a seat. Won’t be long.’

Craddock sank down into a very comfortable and very expensive-looking armchair, and thought that they must charge a lot for their services to afford chairs like these in reception. Indeed the whole office shouted money. The pictures of the partners, both old oil paintings and more recently photographs on the walls, were impressive; all of them solid northerners, two even with a gold watch and chain across their chests. He was gratified to see that Mr Beresford’s photograph showed a man of stature and presence but was there a gentle twinkle in his eye that the owner had tried hard to disguise?