The Village Show (Tales from Turnham Malpas) (29 page)

‘We’re very privileged then.’

‘You are indeed, Mr Fitch. And so am I, to have a job like this. Here’s a brooch, this here is part of a spoon, and this, and this spoon is virtually complete. All quality stuff which, with the mosaic flooring we’ve found, makes me know it’s the corner of a small villa, and not a peasant’s house. Pity it’s not complete, but there we are. Once the Romans had gone home the villas were looted for their stone and anything the owners had left behind, and over the years they were ploughed up and that kind of thing. So this appears to be all we’re left with. There’s lots of other bits and pieces I haven’t brought in. County Hall have established the exact position on the map and so now the diggers have got the ‘all clear’. I’ve had a word with the site manager and they’re getting ready to restart tomorrow.’

He smiled at Mr Fitch. ‘The Museum is going to make a special exhibition of all this, once we get it sorted. They’ll be buying new display material to exhibit it. I don’t suppose …?’ He looked at Mr Fitch with that curious ‘heron’ look Louise had noticed before; she almost expected him to be standing on one foot.

‘You mean would I contribute to it?’

‘Well, I was thinking of it being called the Turnham Malpas Fitch Collection.’

Mr Fitch couldn’t conceal his delight. His face lit up and he beamed at Gilbert. ‘Really? I hadn’t thought of that. What a splendid idea! Really put Turnham Malpas on the map, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘I say. Never thought my name would finish up in a museum! The Fitch Collection. Marvellous. No expense to be spared. Remember, send me the bill. Well, well.’

Mr Fitch turned away and walked towards his study as nonchalantly as he could. He didn’t need to think twice about it; he’d pay – oh yes, he’d pay! No matter what it cost.
He was delighted beyond belief. It would give him more pleasure than all the big deals he’d brought off over the years. What was it about this village that had so captivated him, and got him so excited about a few broken remains found on land he owned. Ah! that was it.
Land he owned
. He now had three cottages of his own in the village – Pat Duckett’s and the two weekender cottages. Soon, soon, he’d have the lot. Well, almost.

Gilbert waited until the door was safely shut. Louise was standing leaning against her desk. He looked at her from his deepset eyes, pushed his hair back from his forehead and came to stand beside her – close, so close. Louise’s heart began thumping thunderously; he really shouldn’t, not here at work. No one knew, and she didn’t want them to know, and how long she could go on deceiving her mother about the homeless of Culworth she couldn’t tell, but they mustn’t find out about him, not yet at least. It was all too precious, too fragile to be shared. For a moment she leaned away from him but then she couldn’t resist his touch. He kissed her without any preliminaries, a heart-stopping, blood-pounding kiss. She slipped her hands inside his open shirt and relished the slight sweat on his skin: something which, with anyone else, would have repulsed her, but with Gilbert it added to his attraction.

The door from one of the lecture rooms burst open and out came some of the students, laughing and joking on their way to lunch. Louise couldn’t believe that they didn’t know what earth-shattering things were happening to her. She was on such a high she was convinced there must be visible beams of passion radiating out from her. But the students were quite oblivious.

‘Gilbert, you must go.’

‘See you later then? Hmmmmm?’

‘About eight?’

‘Bye for now.’ And he sauntered out with his cardboard box, apparently unaware of the turmoil of emotions he’d left bubbling in Louise.

The news that the Show would definitely be going ahead was round the village like wildfire. Willie Biggs, who’d been giving Caroline a hand to dig out a rosebush which had succumbed to some dread disease, said, ‘Now the Show’s back on, why don’t you enter the cut-flower class? You’ve got some lovely blooms here.’

Caroline laughed. ‘I’m not up to that standard, Willie. Heavens above! They would laugh themselves silly at my flowers.’

‘No, they wouldn’t. It’s time that Mrs Jones had some real competition. You’ve got them lovely delphiniums – they’d be good for a start. Another week and they’ll be at their peak. Think about it.’

‘Well, I’m really flattered and it would be fun. Shall I?’

Willie chuckled. ‘Go on, give it a whirl.’

‘I will then. Yes, I will. I shall be so nervous. I’ve never done anything like it before.’

‘I’ve got a spare schedule, I’ll pop it through the door.’ He lifted the bush into his wheelbarrow. ‘There we are then. I’m ’aving a bonfire tomorrow with churchyard rubbish.
I’ll put this on it, got to burn it else whatever it’s got will spread.’

‘Thank you, Willie. You’re most kind.’

‘Not at all. Glad to ’elp.’ He looked at her as though deciding whether or not to say something else. Then he made up his mind. ‘My Sylvia loves working for you. Them children’s like her own grandchildren. Forever telling me stories about the tricks they get up to, she is. I just hopes yer here for a long time.’

‘Oh, I hope so too. I’ve been asked to do some morning surgeries at a practice in Culworth while someone’s on maternity leave. It’ll be after Christmas when the children go to playgroup. Under no circumstances can I ask Peter to take and collect the children, he’s too busy and it’s just not on – but do you think Sylvia would mind? I haven’t spoken to her yet.’

‘Believe me, whatever you do will be all right by her. She just loves working here.’

Caroline thanked him and then said, ‘I wouldn’t have survived without her.’

Willie knew she meant things other than housework. He bent to take hold of the wheelbarrow handles, to hide the fact there were tears in his eyes. ‘All the village love you both, the rector’s made such a difference to us all. Even those who don’t go to church of a Sunday, think the world of yer. There’s something about ’im that brings out the best in people. It’s that look he ’as. Yer can’t tell fibs to ’im. Remember what I said about the flowers.’ Willie set off to walk round by Pipe and Nook Lane.

‘Don’t do that, Willie. Let’s wipe the wheel and then you can take it through the house. It’s a ridiculously long way round otherwise.’

‘I’d carry it round, ’cept I don’t want to dump all the soil.
It’s best to get rid of everything all round the roots, just in case.’

After he’d gone, Caroline put her idea of covering the surgeries to Sylvia.

‘It would be three mornings and the twins would be going to playgroup three mornings to start with, so I’d have to leave before they went and wouldn’t be back till roughly half-past one. What do you think?’

“That’s fine. I’d have nearly three hours to get done in, wouldn’t I? ’Cept in the holidays, that would be more difficult.’

‘Yes, I realise that. Think about it?’

‘Of course. You like the idea then?’

‘Once a doctor always a doctor, it’s in the blood!’ Caroline went back into the garden to study over Willie’s idea. She might, just might, do what he said. After all, it wasn’t the Royal Horticultural Society, was it? Only a village Show. Even so, she wouldn’t want to enter something which would make her look a fool. Yes, why not, she’d enter. What fun. She decided to go to the Store and announce her intentions; best find out the opposition.

Alex and Beth clamoured to go with her, so they wandered across the Green, hand-in-hand and into the Store.

Harriet was in there, behind the till and Linda was coping with a long queue at the post-office counter.

‘Cut flowers? You’re being ambitious, aren’t you?’

‘Harriet! Don’t put a damper on my enthusiasm!’

‘Sorry, but the competition’s stiff in the cut-flower department. Believe me.’ She leaned across the till and whispered, ‘Mrs Jones always wins.’ She nodded her head in the direction of the queue and Caroline saw that her main rival was next to be served.

‘Oh right. Got to give her some competition then.’ The two of them laughed and then Caroline’s attention was taken by the twins who were busy filling one of Jimbo’s wire baskets with all manner of sweets.

Beth’s voice could be heard saying, ‘Beth like choccy.’

‘Maybe, but we can’t possibly buy all these, we’ll have to put some back. Now, which shall we choose?’ But Caroline’s placatory approach didn’t please Beth, who promptly stamped her feet, and when Caroline attempted to put back some of the sweets, she flung herself down on the floor screaming, ‘No! No! No!’

Alex kicked at her thrashing legs to stop her screaming, which made her yell louder still. Sadie came out from the mail-order office to see what the commotion was, and everyone in the post-office queue craned their necks to see this magnificent display of temper. Caroline, unable to quieten Beth, picked her up and gripping her firmly under her arm marched out, with Alex holding her spare hand. Beth’s arms and legs were pumping vigorously as Caroline squeezed out through the door. The people in the queue could hear her screams fading away in the distance.

‘Well, really, and them the rector’s children!’

‘Never heard such a row.’

‘What an exhibition!’

‘You’d think she’d manage ’em better than that. Spoiled to death, they are.’

Barry’s mother turned contemptuously on her scandalised compatriots. ‘Never ’ad none of your children throw a paddy, then? Always been quiet and well-behaved, ’ave they? I like to see a bit of spirit. She handled it right, she did. She’s doing a good job there.’

‘Well, she does love them children, I’ll give yer that.’

‘Of course she loves ’em. Who couldn’t, they’re that lovely. And I reckon she did right by the rector. Must ’ave been hard but there we are. She’s a true Christian, she is; that’s what being a Christian is. I admire her.’

‘Yer mightn’t be so keen if she wins the cut flowers. I’ve just heard her saying she’s entering. That right, Mrs Charter-Plackett?’

Harriet agreed it was.

‘I see. Well, all’s fair in love and war. May the best man win. My pension, Linda, please and this parcel to post, while yer at it.’

As she weighed the parcel Linda said, ‘How’s Barry nowadays?’

‘All right. Why?’

‘I heard he’d blotted his copy book with Pat and they weren’t seeing each other.’

‘There’s a sight too much gossip in this village. They’ve all got nothing better to do.’

The person behind her in the queue said, ‘Hark who’s talking!’

‘And you can keep yer trap shut. I’ve heard about the trick you’re getting up to with yer pot-plant entry.’

‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘You were seen sneaking round that new Garden Centre out on the by-pass last Sunday, eyeing their best begonias. We all know yer going to enter the pot-plant class.’

‘So, what if I am?’

‘You’re going to buy one from the Garden Centre and enter it as yer own – pretend you’ve grown it. I wasn’t born yesterday, even if the judges were.’

‘Well, I never! What an accusation! That’s libel!’

‘I shall be watching out, believe me. I’ll have my eye on them pot-plant classes.’

‘What about you putting weedkiller on them prize peas then, eh? What about that?’

‘I never.’

‘You did.’

‘I never.’

‘Oh no! I bet!’

‘Thanks, Linda. I’m off. Leave you to sort ’em all out.’

Barry’s mother sauntered out with as much dignity as she could muster. They were all a sickening lot and she was fed up with ’em. She’d go home, have a nice cup of tea and sit where she could see her flowers and contemplate which ones she’d enter. That was it, yes. Do her nerves a power of good. As she passed the new houses Sir Ralph had built, and had inspected the front gardens that the tenants were now licking into shape, Pat came out from Jacks Lane on her way to the Store. Mrs Jones waved. ‘Hello, Pat.’

‘Hello.’

‘Have you time for a word?’

Pat got off her bike and stood waiting.

‘Our Barry’s right upset, yer know.’

‘I daresay.’

‘He’s off his food.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘He can’t sleep.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘I don’t know what to say to him next.’

‘Neither do I.’

‘He says it isn’t his.’

‘Does he.’

‘Yes. ’Ow about it Pat?’

‘How about what?’

‘Letting bygones be bygones.’

‘No. I’ve enough on without asking for trouble.’

‘He’s different about you, yer know.’

‘So they say.’

‘I’d have liked some grandchildren.’

‘Well, there’s always your other two. They might turn up trumps sometime.’

‘I’ve been too good to ’em. Made life too comfortable. Barry’s me favourite, yer know.’

‘Is he?’

‘Yes. Always has been. He can twist me round his little finger.’

‘Well, there’s one thing for certain. He isn’t twisting
me
round his little finger.’

In a pleading tone Mrs Jones said, ‘All men who are men have a little fling now and then.’