Whispers in the Village (29 page)

Gilbert explained, as Anna stood up to make room for Louise. ‘I’d best be going. Sit here, Louise, where you belong.’ At the door she turned back to look at them all and thought how wonderfully lucky they were. They didn’t feel that at the moment but they would in time. ‘Bye, children. Take care, all of you.’

On her way back to the rectory, Anna spotted Greta Jones walking up Shepherd’s Hill towards the village and stopped to offer her a lift.

‘Are you out for the exercise or would you care for a lift?’

Greta turned to see who was offering. She was in two minds. Accept or not? Give herself more time to think or … she made up her mind. ‘Thanks.’

‘Sit in the front, I’ll just move my bag.’

‘Before we drive off, can I have a word?’

Anna switched off the ignition and sat back. But Greta didn’t say anything at all at first. She simply sat looking out of the window, pondering.

‘Is it something I can help you with?’ Greta still didn’t speak. ‘Just take your time, Greta.’

‘Well, I don’t know if you can. Help, I mean. I’m so disappointed.’

‘What about?’

‘Paddy.’

‘Isn’t it working out then, him lodging with you?’

‘That bit’s OK. Vince enjoys his company and Paddy’s done loads in the garden, it looks really good now. He’s strong, you see, and can dig like a navvy. He’s made me a bigger vegetable patch out of some rough ground I’d never bothered with. One minute I looked out and he’d just started; next minute, it seemed, it was double dug and waiting to be planted. He’s been a real tonic for Vince and me. Someone to look after, yer know what I mean. But …’

‘Is he thieving still? Is that it?’

Greta turned a concerned face towards Anna and said quietly, ‘Well, yes, that’s it. He is. Damn and blast him. Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve heard far worse on the Bun run in Culworth. There’s not much can shock me. How do you know he’s stealing?’

‘He’s started bringing home fruit from the hot houses, and vegetables I don’t grow, from the kitchen garden.
Says
he’s paid for ’em but I’m sorry, I don’t think he has. But we’re eating ’em ’cos we don’t like to tell him we think he’s stealing ’em. Sounds like we don’t trust him, which we did, except now we don’t. He doesn’t need to, we manage very nicely with his money. And what if Mr Fitch finds out? Someone what works in the estate maintenance told our Barry he has no more chances left since Mr Fitch caught him with a box of daffodil bulbs he was going to sell to a chap on the market. Can’t tell Michelle because she’ll lose her job for letting it go on, and they’ll all be homeless. I can’t have that on my conscience. What’s worse, Vince and me’s eating the stuff so we’re a party to the act of stealing. Puts us in a very difficult position.’

‘Would you like me to have a word?’

‘But how can you? He’ll know I’ve told you and then he won’t trust me no more. He feels like a son to me.’ Greta dabbed her eyes with a tissue. ‘Then … I haven’t told Vince this … yesterday I was doing his bedroom and putting his laundry away for ’im and I found something in his drawer what I think’s come from the Big House.’

Anna’s heart jumped. ‘What was it?’

‘A little silver dish, like a bon-bon dish, kind of old, yer know. I don’t understand hallmarks but it’s got some and it’s very elegant, so it’s not rubbish. That’s the worst thing. Old Fitch’ull have him in prison in a jiffy. He’s told him so. Why does he do it? Can you tell me? He’s got a home and a job. Why?’

‘Since he was a boy he’s been out in the big bad world, fending for himself and his family, and he can’t seem to stop it. It’s like an addiction, like smoking or drinking or gambling. We’ve got to do something though.’

‘Yes, but what?’

‘I’ll think about it. Where’s the dish now?’

‘I left it where it was … here, look at the time. I promised Jimbo I’d work this afternoon extra. We’ve got so many orders in. I’ll have to go.’ Greta tried opening the door.

‘Don’t get out. I’m driving you there, remember?’ So they charged up Church Hill like bats out of hell and roared up to the Store. Greta got out, saying before she put her feet on the ground, ‘Don’t let on, will you?’

‘Of course not. I’ll be in touch.’

Anna found Paddy sitting in the wheelbarrow in the sun eating a late lunch and leaning against the brick wall of the potting shed.

He appeared very nonchalant but she caught a flicker of wariness in his eyes as he greeted her. ‘Hello! To what do I owe this honour? Don’t usually get company in my lunch hour.’

She stood quite still looking at him and not speaking.

He didn’t attempt to fill the silence and neither did she. His ham and salad sandwich looked gorgeously tempting, with its homemade crusty brown bread and the mayonnaise squeezing out of it at each bite and the ham hanging out over the edges. When you haven’t yet had your lunch … So she reached across and took the other half from his lunchbox and began eating it.

Paddy looked startled. ‘Eh! That’s mine, I’ve been working hard all morning and looking forward to that. Give it me back.’ He was squinting into the sun when he looked up at her and it made him look like a particularly unpleasant garden gnome.

‘I wanted it.’

‘But it’s not for you to just take it, without so much as a by-your-leave. Give it back.’

‘No, I want it. Just like when you want things and take them. I’m doing the same.’

Paddy peeled himself out of the wheelbarrow and stood looking at her, the corners of his mouth oozing mayonnaise. ‘What’s that meant to mean?’

‘You know what it means. You’re stealing from Mr Fitch, aren’t you?’

Paddy had to wet his lips before he answered. ‘What makes you think that?’

‘It’s a wild guess, because I know you can’t resist when there’s easy pickings available. Garden produce, I bet. Mr Fitch will sack you when he finds out, and also Michelle. All her family will lose the house they live in. Will that please you? Will you be satisfied then? Eh? Will you be pleased with yourself ? Real feather in your cap, won’t it be?’

Paddy looked panicky and tried to bluster his way out of it. ‘I wouldn’t do a thing like that, knowingly.’ He became quite indignant at this slight on his character and was amazed to hear himself say, ‘I’m not that kind of person.’

‘She gave you a job when you needed it and you’re taking a risk with
her
job, to say nothing of your own. Whether you admit to it or not, you enjoy this gardening lark, I can tell.’

‘Mind-reader are you now, as well as saintly?’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised. By the way, I’ve heard on the village grapevine that there’s things going missing from the Big House. What do you know about that?’

‘Nothing. Give me my sandwich back.’

‘No, I shan’t. Haven’t had my lunch yet, so I need it. You don’t like a dose of your own medicine, do you?’

Paddy began to lose his temper. ‘I insist you give me my sandwich back.’

Anna took another bite of Paddy’s sandwich before she answered. ‘What was it you took, then?’

Paddy pressed his lips together in a thin line and declined to answer.

‘You’ve made such a good start to creating a proper life for yourself, I can’t believe you’ll throw it all away because you can’t keep your hands to yourself. It’s such a pity, just when you’ve won everyone’s admiration for your stance about the bus.’

‘Huh.’

‘You have, you know. They’re all on your side and willing to act as witnesses if it comes to a court case. Please, Paddy, think long-term. It’s like giving up smoking, I expect, so very hard but with just that little bit more effort—’

‘Mmm.’ He sounded almost convinced.

‘If you’ve taken it, couldn’t you put it back? Without anyone knowing, like when you took it?’

‘Suppose.’

‘No suppose about it. Think of Greta, how upset she’ll be. She really cares about you, you know. So does Vince. She says you’re like a son to her.’

Paddy frowned, a nasty suspicion had come into his mind. ‘When did you last speak to her?’

She had to lie. ‘Last Sunday after Church.’ There was no alternative. It was surprising how often she was able to justify lying for Paddy’s sake. It was becoming a habit.

‘I’ll put it back.’

‘Put what back?’

‘All right, then, the silver dish I nicked.’

‘Pity you can’t do the same with the—’

‘All right, all right, I won’t pinch any more vegetables either.’

‘Good chap. Come for Sunday lunch, in exchange for your sandwich.’

‘OK, then. Thanks.’

‘Being trusted, that’s the thing. Remember. One o’clock sharp, Sunday. Be seeing you.’

Paddy watched her leave, realizing the truth of what she said. He was on to a good thing here. A good home where, for the first time in his life, he was appreciated, and a job which he loved. The thought of prison after all this freedom in this beautiful fresh air! Hell! Standing on a chair, peering at the sun through a barred window wasn’t to be compared to standing out in it with the breeze ruffling yer hair like it was doing today. In prison there wasn’t no wheelbarrow to sit in and no sun shining on you while eating yer lunch. He thought about that hell hole he’d been sent to as a kid and the picture of the roaring sea and the peace of the harbour where the sailing ship had found sanctuary, which had come so vividly to mind on that first day at Greta’s. He was definitely in that safe harbour now. No, he’d too much to lose. That blasted dish ’ud have to go back. Somehow.

Almost before they knew it, the day of the race afternoon was on them. The excitement had been mounting all week and there’d been a lot of trying on of outfits, discarding of the impossibly tight, getting into Culworth to buy new shirts, new skirts, for hairdos and facials at Misty Blue’s, and a general surge of anticipation, which had put a spring in everyone’s step. In Turnham Malpas there was nothing they liked better than a good knees-up, as Angie Turner would say.

Jimbo and Harriet were taking Flick but not Fran; she was being left at home with Fergus, who was recovering from an appendicitis operation and didn’t feel up to standing around for hours and socializing. Fran objected strongly but Jimbo had decreed she was too young for such an event and would only be bored and very likely irritating to her parents, who intended enjoying themselves to the hilt. ‘Considering your appalling behaviour at my cousin’s wedding a few weeks ago, we certainly are not taking you. It will be a long time before I recover from that appallingly disgraceful exhibition by a spoiled brat called Fran.’ Fran had the grace to blush with embarrassment.

Harriet had supervised the provision of the food and was on tenterhooks in case it didn’t work out as she’d hoped. She was dressing in their bedroom when she said to Jimbo, ‘I just wish we’d heard from Peter and Caroline. That would have made me feel so much happier about this afternoon. It feels dreadfully selfish to be looking forward to enjoying ourselves when they’re living through such horrors.’

‘Believe it or not, it’s now two weeks since we last heard. I feel really fearful for them.’

‘It’s not two weeks, it’s at least four.’

Jimbo, knotting his tie in front of the mirror on the wardrobe door said, ‘Never! Is it really? Of course you’re right it is.’

‘What on earth can possibly have happened?’

‘I’ve stopped thinking about that, it’s too scary. Absolutely anything could have happened to them. They could all be dead. Those kind of situations are so unpredictable. All normal standards are thrown to the wind.’

Harriet shuddered. ‘Don’t, I can’t bear it. Is this suit OK, do you think?’

Jimbo turned to look at her. ‘That’s new. I like it. Style’s a bit funky though.’

‘It’s all the rage.’

Jimbo chuckled and said in fun, ‘Oh, well then …’

‘Sometimes …’

‘Yes?’

‘I could strangle you.’

‘Not your Jimbo. Come here and give me a kiss.’

She did. And held him tight, thinking how glad she was he was here in this house, safe and comforting and hers. What’s more
she
knew where all
her
children were. ‘I’m so glad I’m yours and you are mine. So glad.’

‘Ditto. Love you for ever.’

‘We are lucky.’

Jimbo released her, glanced at his watch, and called out to tell Flick they were about to leave and would she ever be ready? Finlay was downstairs having his first drink of the afternoon. Flick was proud to be going with him. He looked so handsome now he’d got past the spotty youth stage. He’d inherited Harriet’s lean figure and not the slightly portly one that Fergus had inherited from his father. Flick looked delightful. She was wearing a short white dress, too short in Jimbo’s opinion, with black spots, made of georgette. The dress was floaty at the hem but close-fitting, too close in Jimbo’s opinion, everywhere else, and she was lit up by the anticipation she felt for this swish afternoon at the races.

She wasn’t the only excited one. Everybody was looking forward to the event, including the two Senior sisters, who had squeezed the money for the tickets out of their meagre income, on the strength that they’d be able to steal enough food – well, steal wasn’t the word they used, they said ‘procure’ – to last the week. They got out their capacious bags and their ten-year-old best frocks, washed each other’s hair, snipped a bit off here and there to straighten their respective bobs, put on the shoes they’d worn first at Muriel and Ralph’s wedding, even though they pinched unbearably, and began the trek up the long drive to the Big House.