Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) (9 page)

‘I will if I want. Your task was to find a chain of hotels in Britain which would fit in very nicely with what we have already, and which obviously, once purchased, I could supervise from here. But what happens? You find a new woman – well, girl – and you’re here all week instead of working to expand our business. I’m sorry, Chris, it won’t do.’

‘You can’t have it both ways, Johnny. Lord of the Manor and directing me about what I should and shouldn’t do. Having inherited this place, and more or less given up any responsibility for our hotel business, you can stuff it. I shall do as I like. Nicholas is doing a great job in charge back home. Fran is a nice girl, good fun to be with and very . . . Well, anyway, we’re fine, and if we want to see each other we will. She’s certainly very willing.’ Chris drank the last drop of his coffee, placed the cup back on its saucer and leapt to his feet. ‘Her parents fell for the Templeton charm on Sunday. They couldn’t have been more delighted with me, and they’re obviously more than pleased for us to be seeing each other. After all I am a good catch from their point of view, as their business is certainly very small fry compared to ours.’

‘From Harriet’s attitude, I gather they are somewhat concerned.’

‘For God’s sake, shut up. I’ll do as I like. The big-brother stance can get very tedious, especially when you concern yourself with my love life. See you, I’ll be in tonight for my fodder. About seven as usual. Hope you have a better day with Master Ralph; he certainly ruined my night’s sleep.’

Chris drove straight from the Big House to the village store and burst in through the door, sending Jimbo’s bell furiously hopping about on its bracket. He reached a hand up to stop the aggravating ringing and found himself facing someone behind the counter he didn’t recognise. ‘I’m Chris Templeton, brother to Johnny? Is Fran around?’

‘No, it’s her day off.’

‘Has she gone out then?’

‘I said she’s not working,’ the girl said frostily. ‘I don’t know what she’s actually doing. You’ll have to go round to her house to find out – if she’s in, that is.’

‘OK. OK. I’ll do that.’ Chris could feel her dislike enveloping him. What on earth had he done to deserve it? ‘Not met you before. I’m Chris. And you are?’ He held out a welcoming hand.

‘I’m Bel Tutt. B-E-L. Short for Isobel. I work here part time. Nice to meet you.’ She shook hands willingly but Chris found her grip was like being clamped in a vice from which one was very unlikely to escape. Before she released his hand Bel looked Chris directly in the eye, and he knew he had an enemy.

‘Nice to meet you, Bel. I’ll go round to the house and find her. Good morning.’

So, Fran thought no one knew, but that Bel obviously did. She knew and she didn’t like him for it. Unused to being so obviously disliked, Chris had to shake himself to throw off the animosity. If she knew, how many more people knew? Not that he cared. As he walked along Stocks Row to Fran’s house Chris determined he wasn’t going to allow a bunch of useless villagers to influence his actions. No. He was above that kind of thing.

When he got to Fran’s house he rang the bell and in a moment the door was flung open. There she stood, looking so beautiful she took his breath away. Even though her shining dark hair had not been brushed, and she was wearing old jeans and a woolly jumper that had seen better days, her eyes were filled with such love. And it was all for him. They stood looking at each other for a long minute.

It was Fran who pulled herself together first. ‘Come in,’ she said in an oddly squeaky voice. Before today, except for lunch last Sunday, they’d never met like this before, in broad daylight for the world to see. And Fran wasn’t sure it was a sensible thing to be doing.

‘I thought you’d be working. I met this old battle-axe in the store: tall, uncompromising, with a handshake made of steel.’

‘That’ll be Bel. She’s lovely.’

‘She is not. Anyone at home?’ When Fran shook her head he added, ‘Kiss?’

Chris kicked the front door shut behind him with his foot and, putting his arms around Fran, he kissed her and soon they were both overwhelmed with passion and couldn’t stop. Fran, at first trying to escape him, as the sensible part of her brain told her this wasn’t right, backed off. But Chris followed her and she became trapped between him and the wall and she gave in to him. A minute or two later she was saying, ‘Not here. Not here.’ His mouth on her neck, he muttered, ‘Upstairs then.’ And together they climbed the stairs. Fran guided him into her bedroom, still held tightly, still being smothered with kisses. Chris shut the door behind them with his foot.

Jimbo’s grandfather clock clanged ten o’clock and jerked the pair of them into consciousness with a short sharp shock.

Fran, back in the common-sense world she usually lived in, said, ‘You’ve got to go. Now. Right now.’

‘OK, OK.’ Chris paused to kiss her again.

‘No, I mean it. Right now. Please.’

‘Tell me, was it the best ever? It was for me.’

It was Fran’s turn to pause. ‘Yes. But . . .’

‘There are no buts where love is concerned. It was the best ever, like I said. I’m going.’ Chris began dressing himself. ‘Tonight. Usual place? Shall we eat or not?’

‘Not.’

‘I’m gone. Seven-thirty it is then. You’re so beautiful, Fran. So beautiful.’ Before he left the bedroom Chris gently cupped her chin with his hand and kissed her lips. She lay there listening to his footsteps fading away down the hall, and she heard the slam of the front door. He hadn’t parked outside the house, had he? She leapt to her feet and rushed into the front bedroom grateful to see him, still charged with energy, marching along Stocks Row towards the store. He looked fabulous, so very much in possession of himself. She was so lucky. Then guilt took its place. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t done it before. But this time . . . in her bedroom.

The one overwhelming thought was relief that neither of her parents had unexpectedly come home while he was there. The thing was that she was now two people. The one who struck out to be an adult and do as she wanted, go where she wanted with whom she wanted, and her old non-rebellious self. What had just happened felt like such an invasion of her existence that she decided she must have another shower. A complete fresh start to the day. Every item of clothing clean on, and she’d spray with the air freshener where he’d been because Mum was always quick to know if strangers had been in the house. Harriet claimed they left an alien smell about, which wasn’t the Charter-Plackett family smell at all. Five minutes after Fran had sprayed everywhere as her final gesture towards family harmony, she heard her Grandmama’s voice in the hall.

‘Fran? Where are you, darling?’

‘In the kitchen, putting the coffee on.’

‘Excellent. That’s what I’ve come for. How did you know I was coming?’

‘I didn’t; it’s my normal time.’

‘I must say the house smells lovely and fresh. You are a good girl.’ Grandmama embraced her in a huge bear hug. ‘When your mum and dad work so hard, they need someone like you to help.’

Fran sneaked a quick glance at her Grandmama. Surely she didn’t know, did she? ‘Sit down here in the kitchen, I don’t want to mess up the sitting room. You don’t mind, do you? There’s the sugar. Biscuit?’

‘Yes, please. Two please. Biscuits that is. Thank you, dear.’ Grandmama bit into her biscuit with her usual vigour, crunched it for a moment, and then asked, ‘What are you doing tonight? I thought perhaps you might come and sit with me an hour. It seems quite a while since you had a spare evening.’

‘Not tonight, sorry.’

‘I see. Boyfriend, is it?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Well, either it is or it isn’t.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘Am I permitted to know who? Or is it whom? I never can get that straight in my mind.’

In an attempt to legitimise him, Fran replied, ‘He came for lunch on Sunday.’

‘I wish I’d been there to meet him but I’d been invited to Merc and Ford’s for lunch, and we had quite a party. So, tell me who it is?’

Fran didn’t answer for a moment and then she said, ‘Chris Templeton. But don’t tell anyone; it’s still a secret.’

‘He seems a charming young man to me. Bit old, isn’t he though? What is he thirty, thirty-five?’

‘Thirty-two actually.’

‘A bit old for you, darling, surely? A whole twelve years older.’

‘I shall soon be twenty-one. It doesn’t
feel
as if he’s a lot older.’

‘Well. I’m not having you charging off to Brazil with him. It simply won’t do. Of all places.’

‘He isn’t poor, you know. They have lashings of money, so if I went I’d be well looked after, believe me.’

‘So it has crossed your mind, then, the possibility?’ Grandmama looked horrified.

‘Well, it does, doesn’t it, when you’re in love.’

‘My dear, it would break my Jimbo’s heart. You are his favourite, his absolute favourite.’

‘He’s got the others: Finlay, Fergus, Flick.’

‘But they’re not
you
. Think of Harriet, too. You’re her youngest little chick, still at home, helping her and your dad to run the business, and I’m proud of you, so proud you’ve no idea.’ Grandmama picked up her mug as though to hide her feelings, and Fran realised how distressed she was as it was rare for Grandmama to display deep emotion. Anger and disbelief, yes, but not love. Fran took hold of Grandmama’s hand, saying, ‘I know they love me, and I know you love me too. But Chris, well, he loves me as well. He says so.’

‘He’s serious, is he then?’

‘Oh yes. Very serious.’

‘I see. How long have you been going out?’

‘Five weeks and three days.’

Grandmama was amused by the exactness of her statement. ‘Not long. Don’t make any promises yet, you need longer than five weeks. That’s what life has taught me: don’t rush things as that’s when mistakes are made. Look at me with your granddad. Met and married inside four months. With hindsight if I met him now it would probably be four years not four months before I married. Anyway, I’m going now. Thanks for the coffee. And if he lets you down tonight come round and I’ll have a box of tissues handy.’ Grandmama patted Fran’s shoulder, kissed her on each cheek, and rushed out to catch the bus into Culworth.

As if. Chris wouldn’t let her down. If he said they were meeting up, he came for her on the dot. Typical Grandmama, feet well planted on the ground and trusting no one. But she and Chris were different. They were in love, and it was beautiful. Fran had had crushes on boys at school and although at the time she’d thought it was serious, she knew now, with Chris, how unreal the crushes had been, and how very real it was with him. Fran thought about what had happened this morning; he must love her for that to happen when she most certainly was not looking her best. If he could love her at her worst, well then.

The phone rang and Fran hoped it was Chris, but it was Harriet. ‘Frances, Mum here. Can you come? We’ll give you a day off later in the week, but Bel was terribly sick ten minutes ago and looks dreadful, and so could you take her home and then come and help out? Dad still isn’t back.’

‘OK. I’ve nothing else on, I don’t mind. Be there in five minutes.’

Hurriedly Fran slapped some make-up on, checked herself in the hall mirror, locked up the house and whizzed round to the store in her Mini. When Fran saw Bel she couldn’t believe how awful she looked. Bel could barely stand, and she was the colour of sludge.

‘Handbag, Bel? Where is it?’

‘In the mail-order office with Greta.’

‘I’ll get it. Coat?’

‘Same place.’

Safely tucked into the front passenger seat of Fran’s car, Bel opened the window. ‘I need some fresh air; I hope you don’t mind,’ she said. But before they’d got round the green Bel flung the car door open and was violently sick out on the road as Fran tried to pull up in double-quick time.

‘Oh, Bel! Is it something you’ve eaten? That was terrible. You must feel awful. Should we go straight to the doctor’s, do you think?’

Bel shuffled down in the seat so she could rest her head on the back of it. ‘I just want to get home.’

‘Yes. Right. Two minutes. Shall we ring your Trevor?’

Bel shook her head.

‘Dicky? Someone should be with you.’

‘It could be catching, I’d rather not. Just get me home.’

Fran pulled up outside Bel’s house and dashed round the car to help her out.

‘Trevor fitted a little cloakroom in downstairs when we moved in and so I’ll sit down here. It’s blinking cold. Please can you put the fire on?’ Bel slumped down on the sofa and rubbed her arms to get some warmth in them. She watched Fran scurrying about sorting things out for her. ‘You must go as there’s only your mum to serve and do the post office with Tom off ill, and your dad’s not there. I’ll be all right. Honestly.’

Fran put a jug of water on the coffee table along with a glass. ‘You must drink, or you’ll get dehydrated. Please let me ring your Trevor.’

‘If I get worse I’ll ring him. Honestly I will. I can’t ring Dicky ’cos it’s Georgie’s day off and she’s already gone out. This is terrible.’ Bel’s English-rose complexion was now even more sludge-coloured and Fran hesitated about leaving her.

‘Just go.’ Bel flapped her hands at Fran to hasten her out. ‘Go!’

‘Look, Bel, let’s put your mobile handy and then you can ring without even getting up.’ Fran fished it out of Bel’s handbag for her and laid it on the coffee table. ‘If there’s a lull I’ll be back. OK?’

Bel scarcely nodded her acknowledgement; she closed her eyes and didn’t say another word. Fran poured out a glass of water for her and headed back to the store. Of course it turned out to be an extra busy day. Fran had mastered the post office years ago and now she was glad she had because it seemed as though every household in the three villages needed to make use of it. So while Harriet served at the till Fran never left the post office cage at all, and eventually she became seriously claustrophobic and had to rush outside for a gasp of fresh air. The locked cage was necessary for insurance, but it did feel like a prison to her after a while. She stood out in the winter sun enjoying the breeze, until she turned to have a look through the window and saw she had a queue of four waiting for her. She went back inside and locked herself in again.