Whispers in the Village (8 page)

Sitting in his storeroom, his boater placed on top of a case of top-quality mincemeat in stock for what he hoped would be his best Christmas ever, Jimbo was listening to Anna’s arguments for cancelling the fundraising efforts.

‘… And I’m surprised at you holding the events on your own property. Not really what I would have expected of you.’

‘Have you quite finished?’

Disconcerted by his abruptness, Anna nodded. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘Good. Well, I can see your point, but it’s all going to be very innocent. Everyone you speak to is terribly keen, and it’s a long time since I’ve seen the village so enthusiastic about anything. My mother who’s on the committee, but wasn’t able to attend on Friday due to her bad cold, has laughed herself to a standstill about it and thinks it’s a brilliant idea. As for the pyjama party, that’s going to be held at Glebe House. So all I’m responsible for is selling tickets and holding the swim in my pool behind the Store.’

‘Glebe House? Who lives there?’

‘Neville Neal.’

‘Neville Neal? As in Church Treasurer?’

‘The very same.’

‘I am appalled. He doesn’t seem like that kind of person at all.’

‘I think his boys, Hugh and Guy, must’ve persuaded him.’

‘But that would mean that the church would appear to be supporting it.’

‘What the blazes is wrong with a pyjama party? All good clean fun.’

‘I remember pyjama parties from when I was at university. Good clean fun was not exactly the aim.’

Jimbo grinned. ‘Well, it will be here, believe me. Neville, and certainly Liz, wouldn’t tolerate anything else.’

‘I still can’t agree to it all. It’s just not on.’

Jimbo leaned confidentially towards her. ‘See here, we all want you to be accepted here. It came as a terrible blow when Peter said they were going to Africa for a year, terrible blow, because we love all four of them and we’re trying so hard to accept you, so please, for your own sake, don’t object. All it will do is alienate you, and I’m sure you won’t want that.’

‘I see.’

‘They’ve been known in the past to do strange things, collectively, when matters are not going right for the village. Harriet and I have lived here fifteen years – or is it sixteen? – so we don’t get these weird feelings, not like the real villagers do. I’m warning you to keep a low profile about this, well, if you’ve any sense, that is.’

‘I’ll think about it. My reputation will be in tatters if anything sensational occurs.’

‘Believe me, it will be a nine-day wonder and then forgotten.’ Jimbo didn’t entirely believe this but he had to say something to persuade her to leave the matter alone.

‘Your mother. Which house does she live in?’

‘There’s three cottages actually on the Green and she lives in the one nearest the school. Are you going to see her?’

Anna nodded. ‘Yes. She’s well enough?’

Jimbo said cautiously, ‘Almost better.’ Anna had no idea how formidable his mother could be. He grinned.

When Anna got to Grandmama Charter-Plackett’s, she rang the bell on the smartly glowing bright yellow front door. It was a straightforward buzzing bell with none of the fancy ding-dongs of Sheila’s, and briefly Anna wondered if that was significant. Did one subconsciously choose the doorbell that matched one’s personality?

The door opened and there stood Mrs Charter-Plackett senior. ‘Good morning, Anna.’ She went instantly on the attack. ‘If you’ve come about the Women’s Institute plans, I’m all for it.’

Meekly Anna said, ‘I’ve come for a talk.’ She weighed up this tall, well-built woman who had great dignity – even though she was still wearing her impressive dressing gown at half past eleven in the morning – and decided that softly, softly was the best approach. ‘Thought I would like to hear your opinions about the plans.’

‘Come in. I’ve got Sylvia giving me a hand till I’m properly better.’

Sylvia emerged from the kitchen, china cup and saucer in her hand. ‘Good morning, Anna. Here’s your coffee, Katherine.’

‘Thank you. Would you be so kind as to make one for the rector, Sylvia?’

Sylvia smiled sweetly but, without the slightest hint of apology in her voice, answered, ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t time. Got to go. Same time tomorrow?’

‘Yes, please.’ Mrs Charter-Plackett watched Sylvia go out through the front door and made a note to speak to her about her reasons for acting so out of character. ‘Please sit down. Can
I
get you a coffee?’

Anna checked her watch. ‘No thanks. Got things to do and I’ve someone to pick up in Culworth within the hour. It’s about these bold, if not downright raunchy plans the W.I. have cooked up. I think they’ve gone a mite too far.’

‘For heaven’s sake! A “mite too far” nowadays? In my opinion there’s nothing wrong with their plans at all. I’m delighted. And think of Peter with money to spend on his church. Hymn books, equipment for the Sunday School, altar furniture, a piano or possibly an organ – my good lord, Peter’ll be delighted. We’re millionaires in comparison with those poor people. Millionaires!’

‘I know,’ Anna could feel her opposition melting away, ‘but it just doesn’t seem right somehow.’

‘And there was I thinking you were “cool”, as my grandchildren would say.’

‘I am but—’

‘Then fall in with their plans, my dear. It’s by far the safest thing to do if you want to survive.’

The doorbell buzzed again and they heard Muriel open the door and call out, ‘Are you ready for visitors?’

‘Come in, Muriel.’

Muriel appeared, carrying a cake well wrapped in greaseproof paper. ‘I’ve brought you a cake, Katherine. So handy for filling a little corner when your appetite isn’t up to par. Good morning, Anna, and how are you?’

‘I’m fine, thanks. We’re just discussing these ideas the W.I. have come up with. Have you heard about them?’

‘Oh yes. I was there.’

Anna said she thought the vote was unanimous.

‘It was.’

‘So you agree?’

Muriel nodded. ‘Yes. I thought it was just what was needed. Something daring, you know. Otherwise fundraising gets tedious, doesn’t it? The same familiar things and you begin to lose heart before you’ve even started. Yes, I agreed wholeheartedly.’

‘And Sir Ralph?’

Muriel hesitated for a moment and then said, ‘Oh! yes, he’s all right about it.’

Mrs Charter-Plackett said, ‘Muriel, is that true?’

‘Of course. I wouldn’t say so if he didn’t agree. I’ll be going now. Glad you’re feeling better, Katherine.’

‘Thank you for the cake, Muriel, most kind. I will very easily be tempted to eat a slice at lunchtime.’

When Muriel had closed the door, Grandmama Charter-Plackett said to Anna, ‘There we are, then, there’s your answer: Ralph agrees.’

‘Must go. Thanks for talking to me. Be seeing you. God bless.’

‘And you.’

Mrs Charter-Plackett sat down to enjoy her coffee in peace, luxuriating in the knowledge that this morning her home seemed to be the hub of everything. Three visitors and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet; she was doing well. In fact, she was feeling much better than she had done for over a week. She hated being ill, it made her feel old, when she wasn’t, well, not really. You’re as old as you feel, that’s right. The phone rang.

‘Katherine Charter-Plackett speaking.’

‘Craddock Fitch here. Good morning to you. Feeling better? I understand you’ve been ill, there’s a lot of it about.’

‘Much better, thank you. And you?’

‘In the pink, thanks. About these amazing fundraising activities the W.I. have got themselves involved in – you’re on the committee, aren’t you?’

‘Yes. Are you interested in the pyjama party, the midnight skinny-dipping or the hair-dyeing? Don’t tell me you’re putting your name down for dyeing that beautiful white hair of yours?’

‘No, I am not. I’ve had an idea though.’

‘Fire away.’

‘This business of gambling on the L’Arc de Triomphe race in October. How about if I hire a big screen and we all watch it up here at the Big House? Make it a champagne party? I haven’t worked out the details of the gambling side, but Kate suggested everyone dress up in black and white, like that race meeting in
My Fair Lady
, remember? Add a bit of distinction, wouldn’t it?’

‘There are times, Craddock, when I thoroughly approve of you and this is one of them. Excellent idea.’ She heard Mr Fitch chuckle his approval of her.

‘It is, isn’t it. We’ll have amplifiers as well as the big screen. Can I rely on you to inform the committee? Off to Sweden tonight, but Kate knows the details, she’ll fill you in. I understand Colin Turner down Shepherd’s Hill is a bit of a whizz with studying form. He might need to have a hand in this. Checking the date and runners and such, placing the bets. Speak to you soon.’

Mrs Charter-Plackett, despite her ill-health, danced around her sofa she was so excited. Yes, indeed. Things got better by the hour. She disliked the man, but there were times when he really did come up trumps. She’d ring Harriet and let her know.

Breathless, she dialled her number, but she wasn’t in, so she rang Sheila instead.

Sheila listened spellbound to Mr Fitch’s plans. ‘I do not like the man, but this is perfect,’ she said. ‘Absolutely perfect. Isn’t it exciting? I never imagined it would take off like this. We are going to have to be so well organized otherwise it will spiral out of control. Will you be at the committee meeting on Friday? … Oh good! Glad you’re feeling better.’

Sheila leaped to her feet, trod on the cat’s tail and, ignoring Tootles’s cries, flung the French windows open and shouted, ‘There’s to be a champagne party at the Big House, Ron. Come in, come in and I’ll tell you all about it. Come on!’

Ron shook off his wellington boots on the terrace, as Sheila called it, padded inside and dropped gratefully into a chair. ‘Well?’

The news was round the village and all outlying districts long before Mr Fitch had boarded his plane for Sweden. By the following morning Sheila was getting phone calls asking for tickets.

‘We don’t know the price and we don’t know the date yet. You’ll have to watch out for the publicity campaign,’ she said each time.

At four o’clock, they stopped answering the phone and Ron put a new message on the answermachine saying just that.

‘We can’t go on like this, Ron. I’m exhausted. What’s it going to be like nearer the day? What have I started?’

‘Something enormous, that’s what, old girl. Enormous. You’ll really be on the map after this.’

Sheila smiled. ‘I will, won’t I?’ She dropped off to sleep, when she’d really intended getting their supper ready, and dreamed of popularity and being the centre of things and having a clipboard to refer to, but then, out of the blue, she was back in that park hunting hysterically for that missing child, the child Louise had asked her to care for. She’d let her down badly. Which brought Louise to mind when she woke. Organization? Who better to ask?

‘Soon as I’ve had supper I’m going to see Louise about all this. She’ll show me how to organize it all.’

‘Wait till she’s got them to bed, you know what it’s like. Total Bedlam.’

‘I could help her to get them to bed, you know. It’s not beyond me.’

‘Very well, you go; I can’t stand it.’

Due to her excitement and the supper going wrong and having to start all over again, instead of getting to Louise’s early to help get the children to bed, she arrived at the cottage just as young Gilbert was saying goodnight.

‘Goodnight, young man, sleep tight.’

‘Say the other bit, Nana.’ A big grin spread over his face and Sheila thought, ‘There’s no wondering who his father is, that’s for sure.’

‘Mind the bugs don’t bite.’

He skipped off to bed, leaving Sheila’s eyes wet with tears. Such a lovely boy, such a happy nature, just like his father.

Louise came downstairs and began ironing.

‘I’ve come for help.’

‘What with?’

‘Where’s Gilbert?’

‘Just gone to a meeting in Culworth.’

‘Doesn’t he work long enough hours as it is?’

‘Yes. He’ll be back soon. Couldn’t avoid it. So, what do you want help with? As if I didn’t know.’

‘You’ve heard then, about what we’ve planned?’

‘It’s difficult not to. They were all on about it at playgroup. I’ve an idea you’ll have more swimmers than you ever imagined and I wouldn’t be surprised if the membership of the W.I. rockets. Who suggested this midnight swim?’

‘Me. Midnight skinny-dipping we’re calling it.’

‘Mother! Who’d believe it? So what do you want me to do?’

Sheila had been watching her banging her way through the ironing and wondered if really she had any right to ask her to do anything at all, apart from keeping her head above water. Then she thought of number six and instead of what she really meant to say she blurted, ‘This new baby, are you pleased?’

‘Gilbert and I both wanted six children, and this is it.’

‘But how will you cope? I mean, six children all to be fed and clothed, in this tiny cottage, too.’