Read Scandal in the Village Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
Caroline slipped her key in the door, briskly invited Pompom inside, locked it after her and called out, ‘Peter! I’ve got Pompom, approach with caution please!’
He emerged from his study and made gentle clucking noises in an attempt to entice Pompom to restrain his vindictiveness.
‘I’ll keep him on his lead for a few minutes just in case.’
‘Has Sheila broken her leg then?’
‘Oh definitely. Ron’s just taken her to hospital. It’s quite a bad one I think. Poor thing.’
‘You don’t usually have sympathy for her.’
‘Well, I have tonight. She’s in awful pain. No, Pompom, behave yourself!’
Peter bent down and offered his hand, and Pompom sniffed it gentle .
Triumphantly Caroline said, ‘There you see, all he needs is firm handling. Now, young man, I’ll get out the old cat bed and you can sleep in the kitchen, and no nonsense.’
By the time they’d settled the dog, reassured the cats, locked up and taken their cups of tea to bed it was half past eleven.
Peter was sitting up in bed reading when Caroline returned from the bathroom remarking ‘I’m exhausted today.’
‘Truth to tell you’ve not looked well for quite a while.’ Peter closed his book and placed it on his bedside table. ‘Do you think you’re doing too much? Surgeries and such and Sylvia doing fewer hours?’
Caroline snapped at him, ‘No, certainly not. I’m all right. Just too much to do at the moment.’
Peter apologised. ‘I’m sorry, but you see what I mean, you don’t usually snap at me.’
Contrite, Caroline said, ‘You’re right I don’t. It’s me who needs to apologise. Just had a bad week.’ She climbed into bed and shuffled across into the safety of his arms. ‘I do love you, but you really musn’t mollycoddle me. I’m grown up now you know.’ Putting her face close to his she ran the tip of her tongue around the edges of his lips. ‘You’re a beautiful man, do you know that? All six feet five, red-blond, blue-eyed, fresh complexioned bit of you. Every single bit.’
‘Thanks, he said modestly.’
‘Far more handsome than you’ve any right to be.’
‘Thanks again he said, even more modestly.’
Caroline laughed. ‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘What are you going to say about me?’
‘That you’re beautiful in body, mind and spirit and suit me to the enth degree. I wouldn’t swop you, not for anything.’
‘That’s not very romantic!’
‘I didn’t think you were in a romantic mood and you haven’t been for several weeks. I have begun to wonder why.’
Caroline turned away from him, drew the duvet up around her neck and said, ‘I’m going to sleep now, so I’ll say goodnight.’
‘Good night, then, my darling girl.’ He paused and then continued with, ‘If you’ve gone off me I’d like to know.’
‘Not really, just tired like I said.’
Thoughtfully, Peter leant over her and kissed her cheek. ‘God bless you.’
‘And you.’
Peter turned away from her and they lay back to back quite quietly for a while, so he never saw the tears which welled around her eyes and then slid silently onto her pillow. She brushed them angrily away but they wouldn’t stop coming. Finally when there were no more tears left to cry she said, ‘I love you, you know that don’t you? For always and for ever no matter what. You love me, don’t you? Really love me?’
‘Absolutely. I tell you that every day of my life and mean it. Good night, my love.’
‘Good night, darling. I’ll go see Sheila straight after taking the children to school. I expect she’ll be feeling very sorry for herself.’
‘Indeed. Poor thing. It’s no joke breaking a leg at her age.’
‘You’re right. It isn’t.’
By some kind of intuitive telegraph most of the mothers at the school gate knew about Sheila’s fall, and asked Caroline how she was.
‘She was in an awful lot of pain last night, but I haven’t heard anything this morning. I’m going right now to find out.’
‘Give her our love. She might be an old bat, and bossy with it, but you can’t help but feel sorry for her can you?’
Caroline laughed and agreed. ‘She won’t be a lot of use for the Harvest, so we’ll all have to pull our weight on her behalf.’
‘We all will, just give us the word.’
‘Lovely, thanks.’
With Pompom in tow Caroline knocked on Sheila’s door.
Ron opened it and invited her in, Pompom completely forgetting how Caroline had lavished loving care upon him in his hour of need, leapt about filled with excitement at his return and rushed to find Sheila.
She was sitting in an armchair still in her negligee and matching nightgown, with the broken leg, now in plaster, sticking straight out in front of her resting on a tapestry footstool. Pompom bounded about leaping up to reach Sheila’s face to give it a welcoming lick.
‘Down, Pompom, down, I say. Oh Ron, I can’t bear him, take him away. Don’t let him touch my le-e-g-g-g. Ohhhh!’
When Ron had safely shut Pompom in the kitchen Caroline asked how she had got on at the hospital.
‘It was horrendous, they did their best though, we got home about one and I haven’t had much sleep, however, I must say, I am feeling a little better this morning, thank you.’
‘I thought you’d be in bed.’
‘I can’t stand lying in bed. So boring. No television, nothing to see. I thought I’d be more cheerful downstairs.’
‘Of course you will. I told you last night you were brave and you are, you see.’
‘I could soon cry. The slightest little thing.’
‘Naturally.’
‘I got the VIP treatment with you phoning up. Thank you ever so much.’
‘Not at all. The least I could do. You’re not to worry about a thing. Give me any messages and I’ll attend to them and then Sir Ronald can spend his time looking after you.’
‘That’s most kind. We’ve been talking about the Harvest Festival decorations. I just don’t know what to say. I don’t see how I can help.’ Tears began to fill Sheila’s eyes. ‘It’s not fair it happening right now, of all the times to choose. One of my most crucial times of the year.’
‘Say no more. I shall rally everyone and we’ll all manage perfectly. You’ve got the file haven’t you?’
‘Oh yes, but I don’t …’
‘I know, you don’t like other people to have it, that’s quite understandable. On the Saturday you shall sit with it in your lap and give us our instructions and we’ll do all the work. They’ll all rally round, you’ll see. I haven’t got a surgery today so I shall get Willie to go into the church hall loft and get me the boxes of things out and tomorrow night at the committee meeting we’ll have a good dust of everything and get fully sorted, repair anything that needs it …’
‘I doubt I shall get there, Ron’s speaking at a training session of trades union representatives in Birmingham tomorrow afternoon so …’
‘You can’t possibly manage on your own shall I …?’
‘No, please, you have enough on your plate and you’ve been too kind already, no, the children … well, I mean Louise and dear Gilbert, are coming and making my meal and settling me down for the evening. Ron will be back before bedtime, it’s an early-evening meeting.’
‘Are you sure? Because I can …’
‘Absolutely. There were two corn dollies which needed refurbishing and I never got them done and you remember we used …’
They heard the doorbell and listened to Ron answering it. Through the open lounge door the commanding tones of Grandmama Charter-Plackett could be heard enquiring if she could help.
Sheila visibly shrank into the chair. Caroline raised her eyebrows in despair.
Ron tried to put her off from coming into the house but she wouldn’t hear of it. ‘I must come in, I know how conscientious Sheila is, and I’ve come to relieve her of her worries. Is she in bed?’ Without waiting for an answer she swept towards the staircase.
In a shaky voice Sheila cried, ‘I’m in here, first on the right.’
Grandmama stood in the doorway, and surveyed the scene in the lounge. A proud autocratic woman in her seventies, dressed with her usual pin neat smartness and attention to detail, her hair rigidly set in waves and curls she nodded her head at each of them in greeting. ‘Good morning, Caroline. Sheila. Now, how are things? I was so sorry to hear about your fall. I heard it was both legs and an arm. Obviously it’s not.’
Sheila answered in a trembling voice. ‘Oh no. Just this leg.’
‘Is it agony, my dear? Of course it must be. Never had a broken limb myself, but I’m sure it must be excruciatingly painful. I’ve come to offer my services. She’s not to worry about a thing, is she Caroline?’ Before Caroline could answer Grandmama pushed on with her offer of help. ‘Coffee! Yes, coffee. The kitchen, I’ll do it.’ She flapped her hands at Ronald. ‘No, no, you’ve quite enough on with the dog and the house and the shopping. I’ll do this for us all. You won’t be staying, Caroline, will you? I expect you’ve a lot to do. Has the dog been out yet, Sir Ronald?’
He had only time to shake his head before Grandmama said, ‘Well, in that case you take the dog while I’m here and then Sheila won’t be left on her own. Sugar, Sheila?’
‘Yes, please.’
Ronald scuttled out with Pompom thankful to have a reason to get out of her way. Caroline pulled a face at Sheila and then said loudly, ‘I’ll be off then.’ Bending over Sheila’s chair she whispered, ‘Don’t worry about tomorrow night, we’ll attend to everything. You stay here and rest, OK?’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am.’ As she reached the door Caroline called out ‘Bye-bye then. I’ll call in tomorrow. I’m going, Mrs Charter-Plackett.’
‘Very well, leave everything to me, my regards to the Rector!’
Sheila’s accident had been the main topic of conversation in the Store and Grandmama Charter-Plackett had determined as soon as she heard about it to step into the breach. If that common woman Sheila Bissett couldn’t organise the Harvest Festival then she would. After all, it was only a bit of flower-arranging, any fool could do that. She’d taken her shopping home, put it away, remembered to check herself in the mirror in her tiny hall, wrapped the flowers Harriet had given her only two days ago in fresh paper and had sallied forth to Sheila’s house.
On her way round the green she’d planned her strategy. The best approach would be sympathy to start with. Then she could move on to saying ‘if’, and ‘but’ and ‘of course’ and before she knew it she’d be in charge. Musn’t appear too eager. The door chimes on Sheila’s door had grated her nerves. Some people had no taste. Grandmama had followed Ron in, wincing at the decorations. Honestly, artificial flowers everywhere, whatever next. She bet her last shilling there’d be a lacy cover on the spare toilet roll in the downstairs lavatory. This wasn’t going to prove much of a nut to crack, not for her anyway. She’d ease the way with a cup of coffee.
While the kettle boiled she found a vase and arranged the flowers with an imaginative flourish. Carrying them into the sitting-room she said to Sheila ‘I’ve brought these, nothing like … fresh flowers is there?’
She held them close to Sheila and watched her sniff them. ‘They smell gorgeous. Thank you so much. Most kind. Ron … Ronald isn’t much good with flowers.’
‘Well, there is a lot of skill in flower-arranging as you know. I’ll put them here on this low table. The coffee won’t be a minute now.’ She twinkled her fingers at Sheila as she left for the kitchen. Mentally rubbing her hands she congratulated herself on the way things were going. Sheila was at her most vulnerable, she could tell that.
Grandmama carried in the coffee, placed it on the smallest of a nest of repro tables and when she’d settled herself back in her chair she chatted about this and that and gradually came round to how incapacitated Sheila would be for the next few weeks.
‘They say I shall be in plaster for at least six weeks.’
‘Oh dear. That will mean the end of October then at the earliest.’
‘I’m afraid so. Such a nuisance. Ron … Ronald and I were hoping to go on Eurostar to Brussels in a fortnight, right after the Harvest Festival but we shall have to cancel. I couldn’t manage that. At least with a bit of reorganisation I’ll be able to manage the Harvest Festival arrangements though. It’s so aggravating, it being one of the peaks of my flower year.’
‘You don’t mean you help with the Harvest Festival as well as all your other activities?’
‘I’m the organiser!’
‘Well! I’d no idea. But I should have realised, you being so involved with flowers at every turn. I wasn’t here last year you see. Whatever will you do? How shall they manage without you?’
Sheila put down her cup and said ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it all worked out. Louise, my married daughter you know …’
‘No, I don’t, I haven’t had the pleasure.’
‘You must have seen her about, she’s married to the choir master Gilbert.’
‘Oh, of course, that’s your daughter. I hadn’t realised.’
‘Well, she put all the details on her computer for me last year, so she’s printed it all out again and with one or two alterations I have everything at my fingertips. Ron can drive me round to the church and I shall supervise from the front pew.’
Grandmama shook her head in admiration. ‘Well, I think that is most extraordinarily brave of you. That is a sacrifice above and beyond the call of duty.’
Sheila looked puzzled. ‘Above and beyond ... I don’t understand.’
‘It’s people like you making those kind of sacrifices who are the back bone of village life.’
Sheila beamed her pleasure. ‘Oh, I am, where flowers are concerned. I’ve organised the competition marquee for the last three Village Shows, this year’s, last year’s and the one before that which was the first and the hardest to do, and they’ve been a roaring success. Believe me, the Harvest Festival display will be nothing in comparison. No, nothing at all.’
Grandmama could see she was a harder nut to crack than had first appeared. ‘A fall like you have had is a terrible shock to the system, you know. You do realise you’re still in a state of shock.’
‘Am I?’
‘Oh yes, and it can be very dangerous to the nerves if you struggle on when really you should be resting. Breaking a bone is equally as serious as a major operation. And what would they be saying to you if you’d had a major operation? I can tell you. Rest, complete rest, no aggravation of any kind.’ Grandmama nodded her head very wisely after delivering this salvo and Sheila began to be impressed. ‘It’s just the same as when you have the flu. Get up and about too soon and you’re back in bed as soon as. These things take their toll.’
‘I suppose they do. I have been feeling a little odd.’
Triumphantly Grandmama said, ‘What did I tell you?’
‘Perhaps I am trying to be too brave.’
‘Exactly, but then you’re that kind of person aren’t you? You’ve the kind of grit we had to have in the War.’
‘I don’t remember much about the War, I was too young.’
A shade too hastily the reply came back, ‘Oh well, of course, so was I, but my mother told me.’
There was a pause while Grandmama restructured her campaign. Sheila shifted uneasily in her chair, and her visitor gazed in admiration at the picture over the fireplace.
‘What a wonderful picture. Who painted it?’
‘I don’t know who the artist was, it was a parting gift from the Union when Ron … ald retired. It’s a very good likeness isn’t it?’
‘It is very good. They’ve captured his …
strength
haven’t they? I admire strength in a man.’ Frankly she thought it wooden and not one jot like the man himself but people like Sheila put such store by things like that. ‘This list which … Louise was it? put together for you on her computer, do you think someone else should have a look at it too, you know, just in case you aren’t able to cope as well as you would usually do? I’m not meaning to interfere but the show must go on as they say and it might be as well to have an understudy, mightn’t it? What do you think? I’d be the last person to step in where I wasn’t wanted, and of course your word is law, you’ve so much experience.’
Sheila, by now overwhelmed by Grandmama’s arguments and not at all able to stand up for herself as she normally would have done, began to feel herself weakening. It would be good to have some help. Taking a look at the list wouldn’t mean she was in charge would it?
‘It’s in the file in that drawer there at the bottom marked Harvest Festival.’
Grandmama was out of her chair and across the room almost before Sheila had finished speaking. She held up the file with a reverent air as though it was the prized acquisition of a major museum. ‘Here we are. I’ll wash up our cups, and then I’ll leave you in peace to have a little sleep. Studying this file will be my first priority. Between us we’ll get this sorted. Can’t let the Rector down can we?’
As she left, Grandmama said, ‘Now you’re not to worry. I’ve met people like you before, working your fingers to the bone for everyone else with not a thought for yourself. Well, now someone is thinking about
you
for a change.’ She patted Sheila’s arm and continued, ‘No, don’t get up. There you go again, always thinking of other people. I’ll let myself out. Have a good sleep.’
She spent the rest of the morning reading through Sheila’s lists. There was no doubt about it, the woman was much better organised than she’d first imagined. Names, addresses, telephone numbers of her helpers. A plan of the church, with notes of who did what and where. A colour scheme carefully laid out with lists of fruits and vegetables and types of greenery necessary to achieve the right effect. One could be forgiven for thinking they were decorating Westminster Abbey for heaven’s sake. Even a list of where and what they had stored in boxes for use from year to year. Plant holders, swathes, corn dollies, the list was endless.
She came to the conclusion this wasn’t Sheila’s plan. Behind this meticulous scheme there was a very different kind of brain from hers. Maybe it was that Louise. But the thought occurred to Grandmama that change was needed. It couldn’t be the same as last year, not exactly the same. She’d have a word with the Rector. That was it. The Rector. She glanced at the clock. Twelve thirty. Time for lunch and then off to the rectory. No, she’d go now. Before lunch, try to catch him in.
‘It’s about the Harvest Festival. Is the Rector in, Sylvia?’
‘The Rector’s already got someone in his study right now, but I’ll go give him a knock, if you’ll wait here, Mrs Charter-Plackett.’
‘Thank you.’ Grandmama stood in the hall looking at the decorations. Much better taste here. Oh yes, the Rector and his wife were more her kind of people. She could hear Sylvia speaking to the Rector, then she came back into the hall.
‘If it’s about the Harvest Festival he says would you like to come through.’
Sitting in one of the easy chairs was Harriet with little Fran on her knee. Peter stood up to greet her.
‘How nice, two Mrs Charter-Plackett’s and a Miss Charter-Plackett all at the same time. What a pleasure. We’re just discussing the Harvest Festival so you’ve come at the right moment.’
‘Good afternoon, Rector.’ Such a gorgeous man. Even a lady of her age found him … disturbing. ‘Good afternoon, Harriet. Hello, Grandmama’s favourite girl. What a coincidence.’
‘Good afternoon, Mother-in-law. What brings you here?’
Grandmama tapped the file in her hand. ‘I’ve got the master plan for the church here.’
Harriet registered shock. ‘You have? How’ve you managed that? Sheila never lets it out of her sight.’
‘My dear, she is desperate. This accident has completely thrown her, she’s not at all well, she’s just so grateful for my offer to step into the breach.’
‘Sheila is? Is she? I’m amazed. Have you misunderstood?’
‘Here is the evidence. I didn’t steal it from her.’
Peter intervened. ‘Does she not want to be in charge?’
‘How can she? She can barely walk, and she’s racked with pain. I’ve read through and made a few notes. The basic idea will be the same but I shall make a few minor changes, after all it will be boring if the same design is done year after year. I see you’re down for the bread, Harriet. Usually a sheaf of corn design. Well, this time I think we’ll have something more simple, I have in mind an extra large cottage loaf. More natural don’t you think?’
‘But I’ve always made a sheaf of corn.’
‘My point Exactly. Time for a change.’
Harriet, determined not to be steamrollered, said, ‘I’d like to talk to Sheila about this. After all, she’s the expert.’
Grandmama shook her head. ‘Don’t, when I left her she was going to have a sleep. She’s not at all well. There’s no need to worry her, believe me. This afternoon I shall telephone all the people who helped last year and tell them of my changes of plan. She can’t be at the meeting tomorrow night, so I’ve promised to chair it for her.’
‘I see. Well, Mother-in-law,’ Harriet lifted Fran off her knee and stood up ready to leave, ‘I’m not at all happy about this. There’s still two weeks to go, plenty of time for Sheila to have made at least a partial recovery and I for one am not prepared to go ahead without a word from her.’
Peter stood up too. ‘I think we should leave the telephoning for a couple of days, that way we’ll have a better idea of how Sheila is coping. I’m very grateful to you Mrs Charter-Plackett for stepping into the breach, but I would feel happier if I could be given the chance to speak to Sheila before anything definite is done. It is her baby as you might say.’
‘Of course, Rector, anything you say, but you’ll see it’s me she wants to have deal with everything. There’s absolutely no need for you to worry. Everything will go swimmingly, believe me. I shan’t let you down. I might just make a few preliminary calls, break the ice so to speak.’
Harriet swept out hand in hand with Fran. ‘Thanks, Peter, see you soon.’ As she passed him she gave him a sceptical look of which her mother-in-law was blithely unaware saying, as Harriet left, ‘I must give credit where it’s due, she has made very careful lists about everything, there’ll be no problems I can assure you.’
‘In a village we have to step very delicately, I have known major incidents arise from quite insignificant beginnings. One can never afford to give offence of any kind, the repercussions can be so far reaching.’
Grandmama picked up her handbag, and smiled up at him. The combination of his red-blond hair and those blue all-seeing eyes was quite stunning. She reminded herself she was seventy-five. ‘Of course I quite understand, there’ll be no repercussions with this matter, believe me. If we’re both on the same side …’ Her smile was conspiratorial.
Peter’s heart sank. The confrontations he’d had with Sheila in the past loomed uneasily in his mind. No one had told him when he was ordained that diplomacy would need to be high on his list of skills.
That afternoon several villagers received phone calls which pleased them not at all.