Village Matters (17 page)
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘Ralph, I’m going to make a cup of tea, I simply can’t sleep. Would you like one, dear?’
‘Yes, please, and then I’m getting up. The tension is killing me.’
‘And me.’ They sat side by side in bed drinking their tea. Muriel looked at her little china alarm clock. Five thirty. Another hour and they’d be off. When she’d finished her tea she placed her cup on her bedside table and slid down under the bedclothes for five more minutes before getting up.
It was the loud hammering on their door which awakened them both.
Muriel checked the time. It was seven o’clock. ‘Ralph! it must be them. We fell asleep.’
Ralph leapt out of bed, flung on his trousers and a sweater and raced downstairs, the money carefully hidden out of sight in his trouser pocket.
‘Right guv, we’re on the road. Not too early for you, are we?’
‘No, not at all. You’ve all moved off?’
‘Yes. Like we said.’
‘Right, I’ll walk round and take a look, if you don’t mind.’
‘Don’t trust us, eh?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Got the money?’
‘I have. It’s yours when I’m sure everyone has gone.’
He walked steadily round the green and on to the land. From the side of the Methodist chapel he could see right across to the beck. Not a vehicle in sight, but what a mess. Tins and dead fires, newspapers, old rusting scrap metal, bin bags swollen with rubbish, branches of trees, sawn down but not used. Litter over the whole area. Ralph didn’t care, they’d moved off.
The man who’d hammered so loudly on the door waited.
‘Well, guv, I’m right you see, they’ve all gone like we promised. Money, money, money.’ He rubbed his thumb and forefinger, together anticipating the feel of the paper in his hand.
Ralph took it from his pocket and began to count it out.
‘No need for that, I know you’ll be true to your word. Thanks.’ He folded the roll of bank notes and stuffed it into his back pocket. Ralph watched him climb into his old lorry beside a woman, two children and a big dog. He flung it into gear and rumbled away down Shepherd’s Hill.
So, this was his land. The mess they’d left behind couldn’t spoil his pleasure. He saw the trees, ancient, gnarled, undisturbed for centuries, unconcerned that they had lost some branches, for their powerful life force would overcome their loss of limbs. The beck babbled along the
stones, not so deep as usual with the long hot summer they’d had. The willows providing welcome shade for the fishes still swimming along as they had done when he was a little boy. His father had brought him down here and they’d fished with a little net for minnows. What joy that had given him. Now it was all his, all his. Arthur Prior wasn’t going to win. Ralph Templeton still owned this land and he’d get those houses built if it was the last thing he did. He shivered in the cold morning air and turned for home. Next, the telephone call that would bring the men and the lorries to clear the grass of the rubbish and then fill the entrance with soil carried away from the road works the other side of Culworth. He clenched his fist and punched the air. He’d win, see if he didn’t.
He watched all morning while the men cleared up. Two lorry loads of rubbish, they collected. They found some more boards and replaced the ones the travellers had pulled down from the chapel. By lunchtime the whole site was clear, and by mid afternoon the soil had been tipped to secure the entrance.
Muriel was waiting for him when he got home. ‘Are you all right, dear? I’ve been so worried about you.’
‘I’ve only been watching, not doing anything, but I am tired.’
‘I’ll make a sandwich for you, you’ve had a long day. Sit down and rest. By the way Ralph, there’s been a telephone call from a man called Colonel something or another, I couldn’t catch his name, but he’s chairman of the County Council and he says he thinks he went to school with you. He’s ringing back in about an hour.’
‘I wonder who that is?’
The telephone call came while Muriel was out with Pericles. When she returned Ralph flung his arms round her
and danced her round the hall.
‘Muriel, Muriel, that was Nobby Winterton-Clark on the phone, he rang us several times that Sunday when we went out for the day. He’s been on holiday since then and just got back. Remembers me from prep school, we shared the same dorm and were in the cricket team together. He’s heard about my intention of having houses to rent, realised who I must be, and he’s weighing in on my side, by putting in some good spade work before the planning meeting this week. He wants to make sure my new application goes through. Delighted to be of service, very concerned about the drain of people from the villages hereabouts, and hopes my plans will bear fruit in other places too. Isn’t that marvellous?’
‘Oh, Ralph, how lovely, I’m so pleased.’ Muriel clapped her hands with glee. ‘We really will have Hipkin Gardens then?’
‘Yes, fingers crossed we will. We’ll go out for dinner tonight. Not the George, we’ll try that new place, the other side of Penny Fawcett. I’ll book the table right now. Everything’s turning out right, isn’t it?’
‘Oh Ralph, I’m so pleased, you’ve just no idea. You see, the village will like what we’re doing won’t they? Just eight houses is absolutely right, isn’t it?’
She wore her claret-coloured dress with the low neckline and swirling skirt, Ralph his newest suit, light grey with the finest white pin stripe. He looked so handsome, she was so proud of him. Her heart wept a little, wishing he had sons to follow on. He would have made a lovely father and his children would have been so good-looking. No more Templetons. No more at all. It was all very sad. Then it occurred to her there were Templetons of a kind, living and working on the land still. Templeton land. A germ of an idea came to her, but then they arrived at the hotel and
Ralph was opening her door for her, and out of habit she braced herself for facing a new place. She took strength from the reassuring feel of Ralph’s hand on her elbow guiding her up the steps. With him there there was nothing to fear, it wasn’t like it used to be. Now she had Ralph to keep her safe.
Ralph dropped her off at the front door while he took the car round by Pipe and Nook Lane to put it away in the garage. How odd, Pericles always ran to greet her. She went to his basket in the kitchen. He lay quite still, his eyes glazed. ‘Pericles? Are you all right, dear?’ His breathing was unsteady and kind of ragged, his tail wagged very slightly, and he tried to lick her hand as she patted him and then there was a long shuddering sigh.
Muriel knelt down by his basket and laid her hand on his flank. There was only a very slight movement of his chest as he breathed, and then even that stopped.
‘Oh Pericles, oh no, oh no!’ Her tears dropped onto his head and she gently wiped them away. Her dear good friend, who’d been through thick and thin with her, troubles and joys, and now he was gone. His bright red collar, and his bright red lead. She’d loved them. They’d made him look so smart. Her hand hovered above his head for a moment and then she stroked him right from the tip of his nose to the root of his tail. Once, twice, three times. ‘Goodbye Pericles. Goodbye.’
She heard Ralph’s footsteps coming up the garden path.
‘Muriel, I’ve been thinking . . . why, my dear, what’s happened?’ Muriel pointed mutely to the basket. Ralph looked at the old dog, lying as though he was still sleeping. He knelt down to lay his hand on Pericles’ ribs. There was an unwelcome stillness. ‘Oh, Muriel, I’m so sorry. Come
here.’ He helped her to stand up and Ralph folded her in his arms and hugged her closely to him. ‘Never forget, my dear, he had the loveliest life and the loveliest mistress any dog has any right to expect. He wanted for nothing, and he’s gone before life became too much of a burden, and for that we must be grateful.’
Muriel sobbed onto Ralph’s new suit. ‘I bought him because I needed someone to love and someone to love me. And he did, he did, he loved me. Now he’s gone.’
‘Will I make a good understudy?’ Ralph held her away from his chest and smiled at her. She lifted her eyes and smiled back, ‘Oh yes, you will, you will. No dog could match you, but it doesn’t mean I shan’t miss him at every turn.’
‘Of course you will, my dear, and if you really want we could always . . . No, I’ll save that for another day. Don’t you think it was splendid that you were here when he went? He must have waited for you to come home and then let go. Tomorrow, I shall dig a deep, deep, hole at the end of the garden by the cherry tree, and we’ll bury him there and then I shall go to the stonemason’s and get a simple block of stone and we’ll have whatever words you want engraved on it. That way he’ll always be sleeping close at hand in your garden. Never far away.’
‘Oh Ralph, what a lovely idea. Just “Pericles, a dear friend.” Could we get a blanket and cover him, please?’
‘Of course.’
It was Neville Neal who rang to tell Ralph that the planning committee had passed his application by a majority of one.
‘How did you manage to persuade them to say yes? Not having taken my advice, I fully expected they’d all say “No” yet again.’
‘I did mention it before, Sir Ralph, but you didn’t take me up on it, should you be in need of some capital, I would be more than interested to be of use in that sphere.’
‘Thank you, but no. That won’t be necessary.’
‘I see, well, should circumstances change, then ring me any time, I shall be very willing to listen to any proposal.’
‘Thank you again Neville, best wishes to you and Liz.’ Ralph put down the receiver and shouted ‘MURIEL!’
‘Yes, I’m coming.’ She appeared in the study doorway wearing a white nightgown. Her feet were bare, her hair brushed and hanging loose, and for a brief moment Ralph saw the girl he’d known all those years ago, the one he’d kissed over the little gate at the back of the churchyard; he on one side, she the other, the shy youthful gesture of two young things who’d thought they would never see each other ever again. The finality of their parting had lain like a stone in his heart for months.
‘Muriel, my dear.’ He held out his arms and she ran into them and he hugged her tightly. ‘We’ve won, we’ve won, you and I, we’ve won.’ He kissed her hard, and she kissed him back. ‘My dear, that was Neville. The meeting’s just finished and they’ve granted permission. Eight houses. Hipkin Gardens can go ahead.’
‘Champagne! I’ll get it.’
‘Certainly not, I shall, that’s my prerogative, Lady Templeton.’
They stood together in their sitting room and toasted the success of their venture. ‘To the Templetons, long may they reign in Turnham Malpas!’
‘Delighted to meet you, Jimbo. Craddock has told me so much about you. You and your wonderful food. I’m looking forward to sampling it tonight. This must be your wife. You must be awfully proud of your husband, he’s doing a wonderful job here. He’s lucky to have someone like you to look after his domestic matters while he fights
the battles out in the market place, isn’t he? Behind every great man et cetera. You have children, Harriet, my dear?’
Harriet, seething at the implication that all she was fit for was giving birth and doing the washing up, replied through gritted teeth. ‘Four.’
‘Four? Then you’ll be glad of the opportunity for an evening out, I’m sure. I expect you don’t get many opportunities to socialise.’ She swept on to Caroline.
‘And you’re . . .’
‘Dr Caroline Harris.’
‘You’re a career woman, then.’
‘You could say so. This is my husband, Peter Harris.’ Oriana melted at the sight of Peter. From her five-feet-nothing height she looked up at him, with deep appreciation in her eyes. ‘Considering how far out in the sticks this place is, there are some remarkably attractive people living here. First Jimbo and now you. Craddock, you didn’t tell me how utterly delightful I should find your guests to be. And you, you must be Sir Ralph. Good evening, and good evening to you, Lady Templeton.’ The two of them shook hands with her but from where Jimbo was standing he could see that neither Muriel nor Ralph relished the meeting. ‘It must be terrible for you to come here and see this place when it was once your home, Ralph. You have my every sympathy.’ She beamed understandingly at him, and patted his arm.
‘It is a matter of indifference to me, in fact. I’ve created a whole new lifestyle for myself and my wife. and really wouldn’t enjoy the burden of such a large property as this.’ He curtly nodded his head to her and turned away to speak to Peter. Muriel was left to bear the brunt.
‘I’m sure Craddock would be delighted to show you round.’
‘That’s most kind, but no thank you. Not when Ralph’s not interested.’
They talked for five more minutes and then Mr Fitch asked everyone to go into dinner. The dining table was round, and beautifully set with crystal and china and a silver candelabra, in the centre a small flower arrangement in subtle shades of green and white. The wall lights threw an apricot glow over the table, enhancing its appeal and setting the crystal and silver twinkling. Muriel was fearful of being placed next to Mr Fitch, and in fact as senior lady guest that was exactly where she was led. A suave, well experienced host, Mr Fitch soon had everyone seated: Oriana on the other side of him, Jimbo next to her, with Caroline on his other side, then Ralph, then Harriet, then Sir Ronald, then Lady Bissett, and next to her Peter made the tenth person. Muriel was so pleased to have Peter on her other side, at least he would help to keep the conversation going. She sat back slightly so that Peter and Mr Fitch had an uninterrupted view of each other.
‘Before we commence eating would you be so kind as to say Grace, Rector?’
Peter bowed his head and said, ‘Ever mindful of your bounteous gifts to us, oh Lord, we thank you for the food we are about to eat. Amen.’
During the meal the conversation waxed and waned. Mr Fitch did his best to put Muriel at ease by asking her about village life before she and her parents had left all those years ago.
‘Oh yes, Mr Fitch, every November there was this enormous bonfire up here. On Home Farm field. Ralph’s father had the estate workers collecting the wood for it for weeks before. He always made sure he was at home for Guy Fawkes night. We always had a guy to burn, and potatoes in
their jackets cooked in the big cooking range, and then when the children were going home they were each given a toffee apple. The grown-ups had cider and ale to drink and it all got very merry.’ Her eyes were alight with the joy of recollecting those happy celebrations of so many years ago. Ralph watched her and was saddened by her memories. Mr Fitch encouraged her to reminisce; Jimbo could see his mind storing all this innocently given information.
‘Then in the summer there was always the Village Fair. That took weeks to get ready for. That was held on Home Farm field too. Ralph’s father paid for roundabouts for the children, we had coconut shies, and guess the weight of the fat lady, wrestling matches, though my mother would never let me watch those, there were cakestalls and craft stalls run by the ladies from the church. Tugs of war between teams from the Jug and Bottle in Penny Fawcett and our own Royal Oak. The Big House cook made lots of food for us to eat, the Morris dancers came from Penny Fawcett, and then in the early evening there was dancing to a band. They were good times. Of course we still have Stocks Day. Even during the war we always held Stocks Day.’
‘Stocks Day?’ Mr Fitch offered her more wine. ‘What is this Stocks Day?’
Muriel rambled on with Mr Fitch listening intently. Jimbo’s heart began to sink. He suddenly realised what was going on in the razor-sharp brain of Craddock Fitch. A takeover bid, no less.
‘Of course, Jimbo here does a firework display for us now, don’t you Jimbo?’
He nodded, and Mr Fitch said, ‘Charter-Plackett! I’d no idea you were a pyrotechnic expert?’
Before he could answer Sheila Bissett interrupted. ‘Oh
yes, Mr Fitch, he’s marvellous at it. When Sir Ralph and Lady Templeton married he did a wonderful finale with catherine wheels in the shape of their initials. It was brilliant, wasn’t it, Sir Ralph?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Are firework displays a hobby of yours, then?’
Jimbo agreed they were. Muriel remarked, ‘And I’d forgotten the children from the school always did a PT display on the day of the Village Fair, and my husband’s father always presented each of them with a small gift for being so clever. One year I got a mouth organ, I loved it, but the noise I made annoyed mother and I had to put it away in a drawer. I have it somewhere. Yes, definitely somewhere. Small things mean so much to a child, don’t they?’ Muriel realised she was verging on the ridiculous in such sophisticated company. She blushed and fell silent.
Sheila Bissett filled the silence with, ‘Wouldn’t it be lovely if we had a Village Fair and a bonfire now? Don’t you think so, Sir Ralph? You’ll have to give it some thought, Mr Fitch. Don’t you think, Sir Ralph?’
Ralph dabbed his mouth with his napkin and said, ‘Ask Mr Fitch.’
So Sheila did.
‘I had been thinking on those lines myself. Of course, I’d need someone to advise me on how to go about it, someone who remembers.’ He looked questioningly at Muriel, eyebrows raised, face full of anticipation. She looked up and was about to nod her head in agreement when she caught Jimbo’s eye. He quickly signalled a warning to her, and she glanced across the table at Ralph before replying. She had seen him angry before but never like this. It flashed through her mind how she’d persuaded him to come against his better judgement, and she saw clear as light the trap into
which she’d fallen. Knives and forks were still. Jaws stopped. Wine untouched. Only Sheila Bissett moved; she was draining the last dregs of her wine. When she put down her glass she looked around the table.
‘You’d be glad to help wouldn’t you, Sir Ralph too? You both remember, don’t you?’
Ralph put his napkin down beside his empty plate. In a voice full of barely controlled anger, he replied, ‘I’m afraid Muriel and I will be too busy supervising the building of our houses in Hipkin Gardens to be free to act in any kind of an advisory capacity to anything at all. The houses will take priority over any other pettifogging concerns.’
Mr Fitch allowed a small smile to hover on his lips. ‘How very disappointing. You’ve got permission to build then?’
‘Yes, we have.’
‘I’d be delighted to see your plans. I trained as an architect, a highly desirable qualification for the chairman of a major building company, is it not?’ He smiled at Muriel inviting her approval, but she didn’t look up. ‘We don’t want the village spoilt in any way, do we, Rector? You must have a specially close interest in these houses.’
Peter, anxious to defuse the overwrought atmosphere, assured Mr Fitch that Sir Ralph always had the interests of the village at heart and he was absolutely confident that the houses would be built in very good taste. Sheila, having got the bit between her teeth, wouldn’t let the matter of the Fair and bonfire rest.
‘How about it then, Mr Fitch? Can we look forward to a bonfire night this year? There’s still time.’
‘I think it would be absolutely perfect to have a Village Fair here and reinstate the bonfire night. Charter-Plackett, you have the kitchens and the staff, you would cater for it,
wouldn’t you? And I’d want a firework display to round off the evening.’
Jimbo, thinking on his feet, knew he’d no alternative but to agree and at the same time wondered how his relationship with Ralph would suffer. Before he could reply, Oriana gazing adoringly at Mr Fitch said, ‘Oh, Craddock, could I be the one to light the bonfire?’
Muriel, without pausing for thought, said decisively, ‘Oh no, I’m sorry, Ralph would have to do that, it’s always a Templeton who lights the bonfire.’
It was only Ralph’s innate good manners which prevented him from making a biting riposte to Muriel’s announcement. Humiliation sat badly on his shoulders, and that was just how it felt. Total humiliation at the hands of this – this upstart. Under his eyebrows he shot an angry glance at Mr Fitch, and then said smoothly, ‘I’m quite sure that Mrs Duncan-Lewis would make a much more decorative igniter of the bonfire than myself, and I shall gladly relinquish my time-honoured post to allow her to perform the ceremony.’ He raised his glass in salute to her. Jimbo mentally applauded Ralph’s adroit escape.
The situation was rescued by the waiters coming to clear away the dishes and serve the pudding. This provided a welcome break and the conversation broke up. Peter began discussing Trades Union business with Ron, Sheila leant across to speak to Caroline about the twins, and Ralph and Harriet began a discussion about the level of trade in the Store. Mr Fitch and Oriana discussed the best method for lighting bonfires, leaving Muriel and Jimbo talking about Flick and her two cats. When the pudding was cleared away Mr Fitch suggested sampling the cheeseboard, but his guests declined so they retired to the drawing room for coffee.
‘All part of the Charter-Plackett service, Lady Bissett.’ She served Oriana and then Mr Fitch. He looked up at her to say thank you, and stopped in his tracks.
‘Why, you’re . . .? Isn’t it? It is. It’s Sadie Chandler, isn’t it?’ Sadie put down the coffee pot, handed him the cream and then said, ‘Well, yes I was Sadie Chandler but . . . oh! my word! You’re not? No, you can’t be. Yes, you are. Surely you’re
Henry
Fitch. Aren’t you?’
Mr Fitch stood up, put down his coffee cup, took her by the forearms and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You knew me as Henry, but I’ve used my other name for years.’
‘Isn’t this amazing. How long is it since . . .’
‘I don’t think we’ll go into that. Let’s say it’s a long time since we met. How do you come to be here?’
‘I have the honour to be Ji . . . Mr Charter-Plackett’s mother-in-law.’
‘My word! As they say, what a small world. I really can’t believe we’ve met up again after all this time. What a coincidence. Oriana, may I introduce Sadie Chandler, of course that’s not your name now, is it?’
‘No, I’m Sadie Beauchamp now.’
‘Introduce Sadie Beauchamp. We knew each other in our teens. Sadie this is Oriana Duncan-Lewis, a friend of the family.’ Oriana shook hands with Sadie, in the manner of one unaccustomed to shaking hands with a minion. ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ she murmured.
‘We’ll talk later, shall we? We mustn’t bore my guests recalling past times. Would you join us?’
‘Love to! What fun! I’ll get myself a cup.’
Ralph’s Mercedes roared down the drive just before midnight. Muriel sat miserably beside him, torn to shreds by remorse. If only she could put back the clock. Not just to seven o’clock that evening, but about three years. Then she would be living in her neat little Glebe Cottage, with her dear Pericles, with her dear little garden wearing its autumn clothes and absolutely no problems of any kind at all. She’d be sitting at the till in Harriet’s tea room with nothing more challenging than handing out menus and taking money. She’d be lonely and life would be dull, but how blessedly unruffled compared with now. It wasn’t that she regretted marrying Ralph, it was just that she knew she’d in-advertently roasted him on a spit tonight at the dinner. Not only roasted him but served him up, trussed, on a plate for Mr Fitch’s consumption. She owed him a hugely enormous apology, but the right words wouldn’t come. What was worse, Ralph wasn’t even speaking to her.
She peeped at his profile as they surged through the gates. He looked grim. Yes, that best described him. Grim. Heaven alone knew how she would make amends. As they passed the church he spoke.
‘My dear. Am I forgiven?’
Startled, Muriel said, ‘Forgiven?’
‘Yes. I have behaved like a complete boor this evening, all I can hope is that you will accept my apology.’
