Whispers in the Village (3 page)

‘From what I’ve heard, he isn’t the angel everyone might think he is.’

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Well, is he?’

Eyes wide with surprise, Muriel didn’t have to think even for a moment. ‘Yes, he is. I can’t fault him on anything at all.’

‘At the Abbey they always spoke of him as the Turnham Malpas Casanova.’

‘Casanova!’ Muriel was shocked to the core. ‘He was no such thing! He couldn’t help being handsome and attractive; if anyone did the running it certainly wasn’t him.’

‘The Village Show secretary? The sports organizer up at the Big House? They all laughed about him and his harem.’

Trembling with indignation, Muriel retorted, ‘
They
were running after
him
. He didn’t do a thing to encourage them. He and Caroline were the happiest couple one could ever meet. And I shall be glad if you did not bring up this matter again. Casanova indeed. It’s shameful of you. Listening to gossip, and you a member of the clergy.’

‘Not gossip, Muriel, stark fact. Sorry to have upset you. I shan’t mention it again.’

‘Indeed not. Because it isn’t true. Though—’

‘Yes?’

Muriel changed her mind about what she was going to say. Instead she decided to retire gracefully. ‘I’d better circulate, I have people to meet.’ She patted Anna’s arm by way of an apology and retired to contemplate the impression those at the Abbey had of Peter. What a scandalmongering lot of cassocks they were. How cruel. She felt so angry and wished Ralph were free to calm her nerves, but he was organizing the chairs with Dean Jones, ready for Anna to address them all.

When they were all seated, Anna gave a perfectly splendid speech, full of promise and energy, which went a long way to relieving the anxiety and resentment some of them had. While various members of the church were getting up in their turn to welcome her, Muriel’s mind wandered and her eyes alighted on Dean Jones. Cambridge had certainly altered him. He had so much more poise and confidence now, a far cry from the mumbling, embarrassed teenager he had been. She could see him almost full face from where she sat and she saw then that he was gazing raptly at Anna, his face alight. What with, though? Muriel’s mind shied away from the truth; she lit on the word ‘fascination’ and left it at that, though a blush tinted her cheeks and took a while to subside.

Anna stood up to speak again so Muriel pulled herself back from where she’d been and listened.

‘Thank you everyone for such a splendid welcome. I know I shall be making changes, to the services perhaps or to the societies and clubs belonging to the church, but please believe me when I say this, anything I do will be for the good of the church as a whole and not to satisfy my ego. The church is patently a vibrant living part of this community and that’s how I shall keep it. Goodnight and God bless you all. See you in the morning. Goodnight.’

They found out what she meant at the ten o’clock service, and Ralph was livid.

Dean lay in bed the morning after the get-to-know-you party and thought about Anna. Her lovely dark hair, and the way it wasn’t quite wavy but almost, and it was the colour of a raven’s wing, no, not quite, more the colour of a Scottish river in full spate, dark and deep and a shining peat colour. The grey cassock she wore, well, somehow it made her sexy when it wasn’t at all, because you couldn’t see a single curve. He’d been ages getting to sleep last night, his head full of Anna and what she’d said and how she’d acted. Had he time to get ready and drive to church? His clock said nine exactly. He had time, if the bathroom was free.

It was. He scrubbed himself raw under the shower, slapped on his body lotion, which he kept hidden behind the lavatory cistern in case they all thought he was a wimp, used matching aftershave liberally, and then got into his dark suit. The shirt could have been better ironed but, as his mother said, if he wasn’t satisfied with her handiwork he knew what to do. But he hadn’t time to re-iron it now.

Breakfast. He could have eaten a horse.

Barry said with a grin, ‘You’re in a hurry. Got somewhere to go?’

Dean nodded, his mouth full of muesli. He sensed his mother warning Barry off with a shake of her head. ‘I’m off to church.’

Barry didn’t express his surprise, but kind of skirted round the issue. ‘Well, I can’t complain about that. In fact, Dean, you lead such a blameless life I can’t complain about anything you do.’

Dean looked up. He wasn’t bad, wasn’t Barry, for a stepfather, there were a lot worse. ‘Got the habit in college.’

Barry nodded. ‘Ah! Bring a Sunday paper back. I’m helping your mother with getting the sitting room ready for decorating. Your grandad’s got a friend of his starting it tomorrow, so as he’ll be supervising it all, I’ve got to make a fist of getting it ready. You know what he’s like.’

‘Don’t throw any of my books out, will you?’

‘Course not. Wouldn’t dream of it. Glad you love books, seems an admirable trait to me.’

‘Toast, Mum? You make me sound a right goody-goody. One day I shall break out.’

‘Good. I’m glad. Time you did.’

His mother squeezed his shoulder as she put the toast on his plate. ‘Take no notice, do as you want. You’re doing fine as you are. There’s no one more proud than Barry and me. No one. I never thought I’d live to see the day when a child of mine went to Cambridge. When I was your age I didn’t even know what it was.’

Barry protested. ‘I’m proud, of course I am, but it would do no harm for you to kick over the traces once in a while.’

Dean was tempted to say that, given half a chance, that was just what he was going to do, but held his own counsel.

He arrived at church with five minutes to spare. To his amazement, the church was packed to the doors and he had to sit on a bench Zack always brought in from the church boiler house when they ran short of seats. It was low and Dean’s long legs felt awkward scrunched up almost under his chin. He’d hoped for a seat closer to the front where he could scrutinize her every move to prove to himself he was still as captivated with her as he had been last night.

Mrs Peel concluded her organ recital with a tremendous flourish from one end of the keyboard to the other, and then began the processional hymn.

There came Gilbert with his choirboys. They looked so angelic, but he spotted the two who’d been caught stealing from the fruit trees in Glebe House garden. Now they looked as though their eyes were on the heavens and they’d be staying there throughout the service. He remembered those red cassocks they wore from his brief sojourn – was it two weeks? – in the choir when he was about ten. He’d felt angelic, too, but it didn’t last because Gilbert very sensitively told him he hadn’t the capacity to improve his singing and he’d do better putting his talents to more earthly matters.

Then Anna came in. She’d looked ravishing last night in her cassock, but today, in the full panoply of her surplice and cassock and the heavy gold cross she wore, she looked … well, she looked heavenly. Almost ethereal.

Heavens above! They were singing the hymn to the tune of ‘Yellow Submarine’. Wow! Mrs Peel was putting everything she’d got into it. The rafters were ringing, people began beating time with their heads or their hands, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. How utterly, utterly splendid of her to do this. Mrs Peel, getting quite carried away, played the last verse twice and, after a hesitant start, they all followed suit and sang it again.

Dean sat down breathless with wonder. Anna was transforming church into something jolly and wonderful. Her voice, without any amplification, carried way back as far as Dean, seated as he was right at the back in front of the font. Who could believe that such a slim, almost, to his eyes, fragile woman could have such a powerful voice? Conviction, that was what it was, total conviction in her beliefs. Dean admired her more than ever.

He followed the crowd out into the sunshine and slipped away round the back of the church. He couldn’t face shaking hands with her. Not in front of all these people. He sat on a convenient grave stone and thought about her: the tone of her voice, the humility she displayed when she knelt to pray, the joy of her singing, the deep pleasure she took in giving her sermon the exact amount of passion needed to drive her message home. What was her message? He couldn’t remember, he’d been so absorbed in watching her. She was superb. A splash of cold water fell on his emotions when he realized she must be at least ten years older than him. Still, did it matter? Mr Fitch was more than twenty years older than Kate-Pascoe-as-was, and it didn’t appear to matter at all. Deep in thought, he didn’t hear Rhett Wright approaching.

Rhett had never been the brightest star in the firmament but he was very attractive to girls. He knew all the latest chat-up lines and, with working outside all day, was tanned and muscled. Dean wouldn’t have wanted to garden anywhere at all, but Rhett loved it.

‘Hi!’

‘Hi.’ Dean shifted up to make room for Rhett to sit beside him.

‘Been to church?’

Dean nodded.

‘That’s a first, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘Just taking a short cut to the pub. I don’t know why but Little Derehams seems to get further away. Still, Gran will be retiring soon and then we can move back to Turnham Malpas. Fancy coming?’

Dean shook his head.

‘Oh, come on. Can’t spend the rest of your life living like a monk. Can’t be much fun working in that Neville Neal’s office. He’s a stuffed shirt, if ever there was one. I do his garden weekends, and he’s so prissy about what I’m allowed to do. I like casual country gardens, with lush, herbacious borders and climbing roses, honeysuckle, clematis and stuff, not stiff French marigolds marching in regimental rows. But no, old Neville wants ornamental flowerbeds with every plant measured with a ruler, and I reckon that’s just how he is. Inhibited. Watch yourself; you might grow like him, you working in his office.’ Rhett looked at Dean and laughed.

‘OK, OK. We’ll go for a pint and then I’m off home. Mum makes a thing of Sunday lunch and I don’t want to ruin it for her.’

‘Time you left home.’

‘You haven’t.’

‘No, well, my gran needs a hand with … well, anyway, I owe them a lot. Off your backside then. Chop-chop!’ Rhett stood up.

The Royal Oak was already filling up with Sunday morning drinkers. Dicky and Georgie had begun opening as soon as the morning service was over, instead of waiting until twelve noon when anyone fancying a drink after church had already gone elsewhere.

Being a fine morning, the windows were all open and the main door into the bar was propped wide to welcome customers inside. If you were hesitant, the joyful sound of voices was a temptation in itself. Dean didn’t often frequent the bar, partly because of shyness and partly because there was no one of his age group nor any who shared his interests, for he’d been educated out of his own strata in village life and he hadn’t yet learned how to bridge the gap.

To his surprise there was Anna, leaning against the bar with a drink in her hand talking to Dicky. As they approached the bar to order their drinks, Anna saw them and waved. Dean flushed all over; Rhett nodded and smiled, then ordered a lager for himself and a shandy for Dean.

‘Hi, there. Introduce yourselves. I’m Anna, the locum rector. I saw you squatting on the bench by the font. You are?’

‘Dean Jones.’

‘And this is?’

‘I work in the gardens at the Big House. My name’s Rhett Wright.’

She turned to look at Dean. ‘What do you do?’

‘I’m training to be an accountant in Neville Neal’s office in Culworth. He’s the church treasurer.’

‘Of course. Yes. So, do you have a degree?’

‘Yes. Mathematics.’

‘Where?’

‘Cambridge.’

Anna’s lovely green eyes opened wide. ‘Cambridge! My word.’

Rhett put down his lager and said to fill the silence, ‘He’s the clever one amongst us. Me, I’m just a gardener. His sister’s in charge of me.’

‘Your sister?’

Dean opened his mouth to answer her but as usual Rhett was there first. ‘She’s head gardener, following in her grandad’s footsteps.’

‘That’s wonderful, isn’t it? You must be proud of her.’

Dean nodded. ‘Yes, I am. She’s totally devoted to gardening, and she does a good job, doesn’t she, Rhett?’

‘Well, if doing a good job means knowing when to put the boot in, then yes. There’s no sneaking off to the hot houses when there’s work to be done.’

‘She’s a tartar. I have to admit she’s blo … blinking good, she is, Michelle.’

‘I’d like to meet her.’

Dean had to confess that Michelle wasn’t much of a one for church.

‘And you are?’

Rhett snorted his amusement at the question. ‘This could be interesting.’

Dean looked her straight in the eye and said quietly, ‘Not much, until just recently.’ He took refuge in his shandy, intensely aware of Anna watching him. ‘Rhett’s in the scouts, but I left when I was doing A-Levels. Working hard, you know how it is.’ He found the courage to meet her eyes but she was looking at Rhett now.

Rhett answered. ‘Dicky here is the leader and I’m one of his little helpers. He’s great.’