Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17)
Read Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
REBECCA SHAW
INHABITANTS OF TURNHAM MALPAS
Ford Barclay | Retired businessman |
Mercedes Barclay | His wife |
Willie Biggs | Retired verger |
Sylvia Biggs | His wife |
James (Jimbo) Charter-Plackett | Owner of the village store |
Harriet Charter-Plackett | His wife |
Fergus, Finlay, Flick & Fran | Their children |
Katherine Charter-Plackett | Jimbo’s mother |
Alan Crimble | Barman at the Royal Oak |
Linda Crimble | His wife |
Maggie Dobbs | School caretaker |
H. Craddock Fitch | Owner of Turnham House |
Kate Fitch | Village school headteacher |
Dottie Foskett | Cleaner |
Zack Hooper | Verger |
Marie Hooper | His wife |
Gilbert Johns | Church choirmaster |
Louise Johns | His wife |
Greta Jones | A village gossip |
Vince Jones | Her husband |
Barry Jones | Her son and estate carpenter |
Pat Jones | Barry’s wife |
Dean & Michelle | Barry and Pat’s children |
Revd Peter Harris MA (Oxon) | Rector of the parish |
Dr Caroline Harris | His wife |
Alex & Beth | Their children |
Tom Nicholls | Assistant in the store |
Evie Nicholls | His wife |
Johnny Templeton | Head of the Templeton estate |
Alice Templeton | His wife |
Dicky & Georgie Tutt | Licensees at the Royal Oak |
Bel Tutt | Assistant in the village store |
Vera Wright | Retired |
The news of the arrival of a second son for the Lord of the Manor was round the village in no time at all. The two main centres for spreading the news were the usual Saturday coffee morning in the village hall and Jimbo’s Village Store. Jimbo was mentally rubbing his hands with glee, as the longer customers stayed to talk about the baby, the more they were inclined to shop; and the frequent ringing of the door bell and the pinging of the cash register delighted him. Being in a celebratory mood, the villagers were buying slices of gateaux and some indulged themselves by purchasing sparkling wine to toast the baby. Fran had been twice into the wine store to bring out more bottles, and was as excited by the pinging of the cash register as her father. She gave him a wink and he winked back.
‘Dad! What a morning. It’s like Christmas! Want your coffee? We can’t be long though, as Tom can’t manage by himself.’
‘Ten minutes. The post office’s not that busy.’
‘Or do you prefer a bottle of orange juice?’
‘No, I need coffee. It’ll give me a boost.’
‘I’ll get it. Dad! If you rush that chocolate biscuit down at that speed, you’ll have indigestion all morning.’
‘You’re right. Sorry. Get the coffee, please.’
Fran had to set up the coffee machine again, and while she did she couldn’t help but hear the conversations going on around her.
‘Imagine! Another boy. A pity that. Still, there’s always time.’
‘So long as he’s healthy, that’s what matters.’
‘He couldn’t be more beautiful than little Charles. I’ve never seen a more beautiful baby than him.’
‘Oh! I know, but there’s always that fragile look, round his eyes.’
‘I hadn’t noticed.’
‘Oh! There is.’
‘But he’s full of life and walking really early.’
‘I know he is, and I’m glad. I wonder what they’ll call this new one? In the past it’s always been Tristan, Ralph or Bernard. I don’t like them names, but it’s all about tradition with these old families, isn’t it?’
Fran didn’t like the family names either, and when she handed her dad his coffee she said as much. ‘They’re still talking about the baby. They’ve moved on to names now. The traditional ones are dreadful. No self respecting baby would want them, not nowadays.’
‘Ralph wouldn’t be too bad. It could be pronounced Rafe if they want to be really posh.’
‘I don’t think “posh” bothers Johnny at all. He’s the nicest man anyone could hope for. I could marry him myself.’
‘I thought you always said you wouldn’t get married. “I’m not having a man telling me what to do,” you used to say.’
Fran grinned. ‘Still do. Another coffee?’
‘I’ll get back to work and give Tom a chance to take a break.’
‘I’m coming; I’ll eat this gateau later.’
‘No need for you to slave like I do, Fran.’
‘Ah! But there is. I want a viable business to take charge of if I finally decide to take it over.’
Jimbo paused and turned back to ask, ‘Decided not to go to university after all, then?’
‘Thought about going, but no. Waste of time. Then I think . . . maybe . . . perhaps.’
‘It’s not been a waste of time for the others.’
‘Go and relieve Tom, Dad, and leave my life to me.’ Fran laughed and pushed him out of the door in front of her. All the same, she thought, three years enjoying life might be a good idea before she fell under the spell of retail business. But one glance round the storeroom with its carefully organised stock and her dad’s straw hat abandoned on top of a pack of jars of marmalade showed Fran this was where she belonged. She picked up Jimbo’s straw hat, put it on her head at a jaunty angle and marched back into the front of the store to roars of laughter from the customers. Their laughter was music to her ears. She was good at customer relations, and getting people to buy was seventy-five per cent to do with relationships in a village store.
‘Next!’ Fran called out from the till.
‘Just like your dad you are, Fran. Always got an eye for the money.’
‘But I’m lovely too, Mrs Dobbs. Always friendly, never snappy, always got a smile.’
‘Just like when you were at the village school, such a happy little girl you always were.’
‘Is it still as lovely at the school as when I was there?’
‘As the school caretaker, I can honestly say we miss your lovely smile. Don’t you ever lose it. That my change? Thanks.’ As Maggie Dobbs strode off she remembered Fran’s first day at school with her scrawny pigtails and her uniform too big for her, and she smiled. Fran had got into more scrapes than any child she knew. She was always in the kitchen having her knees cleaned up or her elbows and once they’d had to ring her mother, Harriet, to tell her Fran had broken her elbow. It took a long time to heal and hours of physiotherapy to get it functioning again. As Maggie wandered back to her cottage with her shopping she recollected when Fran fell from the top of the climbing frame in the school playground. That was a worry; a huge lump came up on her head and they thought she was unconscious for a while. That was another hospital job, but Fran always kept that lovely smile of hers, a smile that made Maggie smile too when she thought about it.
Now she must be nearly twenty. Surely not. No! She was . . . she was almost twenty-one! How the years had flown by. She was the one most like her dad. Keen on the business, and had the right attitude too. Not a bit of edge to her; Fran was always courteous and helpful, eager to go to any lengths to get you what you wanted. Lovely she was. The other three were off out into the world without a backward glance at their dad’s business. Would Fran stay with him? Was that what she wanted? If Maggie had asked Fran the answer would have been, ‘Yes!!’
Now she could drive, Fran had been secretly looking in other towns and villages for premises where her Dad could start up a new business and put her in charge. That was what she wanted. A village store with herself in charge. But she felt too that she’d better hold back her ambitions for now and get more knowledgeable before she struck out on her own. Fran had considered doing a course of some kind, or working for a big company like Marks and Spencer to learn their trade secrets. She imagined her own smart stores all over the country, selling good food at reasonable prices. Bur for now she had to be practical. Jimbo’s Village Store was busy and Fran knew she was a vital cog in the machinery.
‘Good morning, Mr Fitch. Long time no see. How are you?’
‘How am I? All the better for seeing you. When you go to university we shall miss you. Or at the very least your dad will. When do you go?’
‘I’m not sure that I will. All I want to do is work alongside my dad, and so maybe I shan’t bother. Some degrees nowadays aren’t worth the paper they’re written on, I hear.’
‘It isn’t set in stone that you should. I never did and it done me no harm.’ Mr Fitch hesitated. Perhaps if he had he wouldn’t be living in that appalling Glebe House, all of it designed in such terrible taste that it made his flesh creep. Even the utility room hadn’t escaped the vast slabs of garish marble that featured in almost every room. And now he faced the pain of seeing what had once been his very own absolutely beloved Big House being restored by an incredibly wealthy young man, namely Johnny Templeton. Mr Fitch’s heart lurched at every bit of restoration that was being done. If only he’d been more sensitive to the needs of the Big House . . . He’d always known that dratted swimming pool was a mistake and that he’d only gone for planning permission for the pool because he liked the idea of getting his own way despite the enormous opposition there was to it. Those days were well and truly over. The cut and thrust had gone from his life now, no business, no Sir Ralph to get the better of; just himself, Henry Craddock Fitch. The only delight in his life was his darling wife Kate. Just the thought of her made him smile.