Read A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
‘So am I. I feel quite queasy after going on the roundabout and then eating a big tea. I’ll come and help in the Store, but I’d better go home to change first. I’ll catch up with you.’
As they made their way to the Store, Harriet glanced up Stocks Row before they crossed and was sure she saw Bryn Fields again, walking down Church Lane. But it couldn’t be him now, could it? Still open to a charge of attempted murder, he wouldn’t dare show his face, would he?
Always hectic on a normal summer Saturday evening, Stocks Night usually beat all the records in the bar of the Royal Oak. There weren’t enough chairs to seat everybody inside, so many of the customers were sprawled on the green or luxuriating on the garden furniture that Georgie in her wisdom had placed in a new outside garden made from a section of the car park. Hedged about as they were on the new fashionable green chairs by the excess of cars, her customers still managed to enjoy the late evening sun.
Willie Biggs wrinkled his nose at the smell of fumes from the exhaust of a car, which had just sidled into a vacant space too close to his table for comfort. ‘This new idea of Georgie’s would be all right if we didn’t have these ’ere cars so close.’
Sylvia knew he liked nothing better than a good
grumble but decided the day had been too good to be spoiled by one of Willie’s grumbling sessions. ‘Come on, Willie! Don’t grouse. It’s been a great day, the sun’s shining and we’re breathing God’s good air.’
‘No, we’re not, we’re breathing His air made foul by man.’
‘Oh, dear! We are in a mood.’
Willie looked into her laughing grey eyes and gave her half a smile. ‘I am. I’m worried sick.’
Sylvia studied his thin, lined face and noted the stern set of his lantern jaw, and wondered what petty irritation had brought on such gloom. ‘Tell me. I expect it’s all something and nothing.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d spoken to who I spoke to this afternoon.’
Sylvia, alerted by his tantalising statement, sat up and leaned towards him saying, ‘Who?’
Willie took another sip of his ale before he replied. ‘Someone who I thought we would never see again.’
‘Well, who, then? Not Kenny Jones come back?’
Willie shook his head.
‘Terry Jones?’
‘No. Someone closer to where we are now.’
‘Not Betty MacDonald?’
‘You’re getting close. You’re on the right lines.’
‘I can’t think of anyone else who might … not poor old henpecked Mac?’
‘Close.’
Finally Sylvia grew tired of the guessing game and gave him a shove on his shoulder. ‘Tell me, then.’
Willie glanced around to check no one was within hearing and whispered in her ear, ‘Bryn Fields.’
Sylvia’s mouth dropped open with shock. ‘Get on. You’re pulling my leg.’
Willie flatly denied any such thing.
When finally she got her voice back Sylvia said loudly, ‘
Bryn Fields
!’
‘Sh! They’ll hear.’
‘But … you couldn’t have. He wouldn’t dare.’
‘Well, he has. Large as life.’
‘I didn’t see him.’
‘You didn’t see a lot of folk, seeing as you were in the church hall helping with the catering. But I did. I spoke to ’im.’ He leaned back again in his chair enjoying taking centre stage with his piece of hot news.
‘What had he to say for himself, then?’
‘He was miffed, he hadn’t realised it was Stocks Day.’
‘I’d have liked to see him. So what’s he like after … what … four – or is it five years since he disappeared? Did he say why he’d come back?’
Willie shook his head. ‘Tanned, he is, and you’ll never guess what!’ He sipped his ale again to prolong his moment.
‘What?’
‘He’s shaved his moustache off.’
‘Never. Well, I don’t know, he won’t be the same without it. Anyway, I don’t suppose he’ll hang around long. No one will want him.’
‘Oh, he will. He’s staying at Neville Neal’s.’
‘Neville Neal’s! That figures. They’re both troublemakers. They make a pair. Well, we don’t get far but we do see life as they say. Bryn Fields! Well I never.’
‘So now you can see why I’m worried.’
‘With his temper, we’d better all look out. I never look up the church tower without thinking about poor Dicky coming close to being pushed off the top. It’s a bloody long way down.’
Sylvia shuddered. ‘Oo! Don’t remind me.’ She shuddered again. ‘I can’t think why he’s here. Maybe it’s to make things straight for Georgie. He did love her, you know. He really did. I expect that Elektra was more fun to run away with but only for the moment. But she’d never stay … She’s not with him, is she?’
‘Not so far as I know. I don’t think even Neville Neal would want a tart staying, not with his two lusty boys.’
‘Willie! What a thing to say. Anyway, there’s one thing for certain. He won’t dare show his face in here.’
Willie stood up, holding his empty glass. ‘’Nother one?’
‘Yes, please. See if there’s a table free inside, it’s starting to get cold out here.’
‘OK.’
Well, Bryn Fields. Of all people. She remembered the madness in his eyes when they finally got him down from the church tower and the rage in every shaking limb. Like something out of a film on telly, that was. What a mess there’d have been if he really had pushed Dicky over. Smashed to smithereens he’d have been, even though he was only the size of a jockey. Sylvia didn’t like the idea of
never hearing Dicky’s cheerful voice again or not seeing his jolly laughing face; nothing ever fazed him … Well, except when he was white as a sheet and sweating buckets being helped down the spiral stairs. How he ever got down …
Willie caught her eye, signalling to her to come in. She picked up his jacket and went in, to find him already seated at their favourite table. ‘Dicky’s giving one of his comic turns in five minutes.’
‘Oh, good! I could do with a bit of cheering up.’
Dicky Tutt, a sprightly little man, pillar of the Church Scout Troop and the light of Georgie’s heart, stepped from behind the bar at precisely ten p.m., pushed a couple of tables closer together to make a space, clapped his hands and started his Saturday night comic turn.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I won’t say anything at all about what a wonderful day we’ve had, the sun in the right place and a happy, busy day for all of us. Nor will I mention how wonderful the tea was, provided as usual by the ladies of the village and made possible by the great generosity of our esteemed Village Store owner, namely Jimbo Charter-Plackett, nor will I talk about the wonderful performance our Scout Band gave prior to the start of the procession. Whoever is in charge of those Scouts deserves …’
‘Give it up, Dicky!’
‘We’ve heard it all before …’
‘Get a move on!’
Dicky laughed and began a story about the Royal Navy being billeted in a girls’ school during World War Two. He had reached the climax with the line ‘… so this notice on the dormitory wall said “Please ring this bell if you
need a mistress during the night …”’ The roars of appreciation drowned the sound of the outside door opening. In fact, there was such a crowd standing by the door listening to Dicky that for a moment no one could see who’d come quietly through the open door as Dicky had begun his comic turn. It was only when the newcomer had pushed his way through the crowd to get to the bar and they saw Dicky’s face had gone drip white that they all turned to see what was up.
He was a good six feet in height with dark hair going white at the temples and a well-tanned face with strong, severe features. He was wearing a smart tropical suit and sandals, which marked him out as someone from abroad.
Georgie looked across to see what had stopped the laughter so abruptly.
Someone coughed.
Someone gasped.
Someone said, ‘Never.’
The man said jovially, ‘Good evening, everyone’ and, squeezing between the tables, went straight to the bar. ‘Now, Georgie, busy as ever! I’ll have a whisky on the rocks.’
Georgie out of habit automatically poured his drink and pushed it across the bar to him.
He tossed it back in one gulp, slid the glass back to her and asked for a refill. He didn’t take his eyes from her but after the first recognition Georgie never once caught his eye.
‘As lovely as ever.’ Bryn shot the second whisky down and then, leaning his forearm nonchalantly on the bar top, surveyed the customers. ‘Same old faces, too. Nothing changes. That’s what’s so good about this place, nothing
changes. That’s what I like.’ He nodded to a few faces he recognised, then turned back to look at Georgie. ‘Nothing to say to your dear husband come back to make things right?’
Georgie’s face was no longer pretty; it was twisted and distorted by venom. In a voice totally unlike her own she snarled, ‘How dare you! How dare you come back here, you nasty, thieving, no-good, cheating, lying womaniser. You’re a thief! A no-good thief! Get out and get back under that stone you’ve just crawled out from under. Out! Out! Out!’ To emphasise her point she banged her clenched fist on the counter and leant towards him.
The customers reacted as though she were about to spit in each of their faces. They recoiled as one.
But Bryn never flinched. ‘My, you’re lovely when you’re in a temper.’
‘You’ve seen nothing yet. Just go. I don’t want you in here.’
‘I see that obnoxious little tiddler is still sniffing around. I would have thought you’d have sent him off with a flea in his ear long ago.’
The little tiddler in question was keeping such a tight grip on his fear that he seemed to have reduced in size, if that were possible.
‘Still telling his pathetic jokes and you’re all still laughing at them I see.’
At this insult to his theatrical abilities Dicky flushed, the first sign of life in him since Bryn had walked in. All eyes were on him. He saw they were and it gave him strength.
He stalked stiffly across to stand in front of Bryn, and despite the cost to him and the terrible fear he felt at facing this monster who had come so close to killing him,
drawing on reserves he didn’t know he possessed he looked up at Bryn and said quietly, ‘The licensee has asked you to leave. Git!’
‘Oh! So now the little bantam cock has fluffed up his feathers, has he? Going to turn me out, eh? I don’t think so.’
Keeping his eye on Bryn, Dicky said, ‘Shall we ring for the police, Georgie?’
‘No, no, that won’t be necessary. We don’t want them here. No. I’ll leave the bar to you and Alan for half an hour. You come with me.’ She beckoned Bryn, then disappeared without a backward glance through the door marked ‘Private’. Bryn followed.
A collective sigh of disappointment flowed after them. But the door was shut firmly behind Bryn.
Georgie took him into their sitting room, which in Bryn’s day had always had boxes of crisps and the like stacked in corners because it was used as an overflow from the stockroom. Now it was as elegant as it was possible to make a room at the back of a public house.
Georgie waited until he’d chosen a chair to sit in, then stood facing him. ‘Well, what does all this mean? Not a word all this time and now you turn up. She’s left you, has she?’
‘Elektra’s done very well for herself. Married a rich American self-made man. All money and no style. But he’s besotted … for now. She’ll get plenty of alimony; she’ll be set up for life.’
‘Bully for her.’
Bryn studied her face. ‘The years don’t show.’
‘I’m happy, that’s why.’
‘Happy? Come on, Georgie! Happy! With that little squirt.’
‘He has more love and consideration in his little finger than you have in all your great hulk. I’ve brought you in here, not because I wanted you here, but because I didn’t want you showing him up with some sort of macho behaviour. He’s been my strength, has Dicky, and I won’t have him done down.’
Bryn stood up. ‘I’ll use the toilet if I may.’
She stood aside, knowing full well he was going to take the opportunity to take a look around the bedrooms. Georgie waited and smiled to herself as she heard his footsteps above her head. Outwardly she hoped she looked calm and in control, inwardly she was shaken to the core. He looked so different, so outgoing, so
positive
. She could hear him coming down the stairs and took the premier chair in the room to give her the upper hand when he returned. ‘Satisfied?’
‘Surprised.’
‘He doesn’t sleep here, you see.’
‘Who does, then?’
‘Bel Tutt.’
‘You’ve had our bedroom done up and a single bed.’
Georgie nodded. ‘Why not? Life doesn’t stop because you’ve done a bunk. Anyway, since Dicky joined me as manager, profits have soared.’
‘Right.’
‘He does the books, orders the stock, serves behind the bar, keeps Alan under control, all with the lightest of touches. Such a pleasing man to work with, you see.’
‘I see. And you two …’ He jerked his elbow as though nudging someone and winked.