A Tangled Web (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY -FIVE

Half past ten, and the Stores was crowded with morning shoppers. It was a dull morning, and the children waiting at the bus stop for the school bus in the early autumn chill had been glad of anoraks. Most of them were still wearing their summer uniforms, except for Octavia, who ignored the rules and wore a mini-skirt and long sweater, so long that the skirt underneath looked like a frill round her bottom.

The harvest was safely gathered in, and a notice billing the Harvest Supper in the Village Hall flapped against its two remaining drawing pins on the noticeboard by the bus shelter. 'Did you see that wonderful sunset yesterday, Peggy?' Sophie Brooks said, as she packed her groceries into her basket. 'Thank God there's no more stubble-burning, now you can see the contours of the land.'

Sophie Brooks, standing chatting at the counter to Peggy, had for days been tramping round the footpaths, most of them overgrown from lack of use, and seen the few remaining stubble fields shining gold in the sun against nearby newly ploughed earth, had marvelled at great round bales of hay abandoned in a field where new grass was already thick. Some of the sweet-smelling hay hung in rebellious swathes from the end of the bales, like wisps of soft hair escaped from a plait.

'What's she on about?' said old Ellen to Ivy Beasley, as the two of them stood waiting to be served.

'Stuck up madam, if you ask me,' said Ivy, not bothering to lower her voice.

Peggy continued to wrap and add and count out change with efficient ease, asking the right questions and keeping an eye on Mark Jenkins, who was looking longingly at a display of boxed cars, brought from the warehouse by Bill.

'Had them when I was a lad,' he had said, holding them up in delight. 'My dad used to buy me a new one every birthday, and I kept them on the windowsill in my bedroom. Mum used to grumble about the dust, but she never put them away.'

'Have you still got them?' Peggy asked, remembering Frank's collection of cigarette cards, carefully stuck into an album and lovingly protected in a cardboard box.

Bill had shaken his head. 'Came home one day from work, and the bin men had just been. Joyce was crowing like an old cock, and pointed at the empty biscuit tin where I kept them.'

'What did you say?'

'Nothing. But it was another notch.'

Mark Jenkins made his way to the counter clutching one of the car boxes, and put it down, digging into his pocket and coming up with a handful of silver.

'That's it, Mrs Palmer,' he said. 'Mum said that was just right.'

Peggy counted the coins, and found that Mark was twenty pence short. She hesitated, then said, 'Quite right, Mark, well done. Which one did you choose?'

Mark read out the details of the car slowly and deliberately, then thanked Peggy politely and left the shop.

' 'E's a nice child,' said Ellen Biggs. 'All them Jenkinses is nice children, all credit to their mother. Jean's a good gel, always was.'

'You coming to me this afternoon, then, Ellen?' said Ivy. 'Don't know if I'll have time to bake, but I dare say I can find a biscuit or two.'

She only says it to annoy, thought Ellen. I shan't rise, shan't give 'er the satisfaction.

Peggy took Ivy Beasley's wire basket and added up the small number of purchases quickly. The sooner she goes the better I like it, she said to herself. I could do without her custom, but then she'd not pick up the gossip in here and that would limit her ammunition considerably.

'That will be exactly three pounds fifty,' she said, not smiling.

Ivy put down the money on the counter and turned to leave, scarcely acknowledging Peggy, and certainly not thanking her as she put the few items in her string bag.

'See you this afternoon, Ellen,' she said, and added tartly, 'and see if you can be on time for once.'

Ellen stuck her tongue out at the retreating back, and smiled at Peggy.

'God forbid I ever get as crabby as old Ivy,' she said. 'I 'ope you'll 'ave me put down at once, my dear.'

Peggy glanced out of the shop window as Ivy Beasley crossed the road in front of Greg Jones's car, which drew up outside the school. Greg got out, waving and shouting to Robert Bates, who was carefully negotiating his way through the village on a tractor with a lethal hedge-cutter attachment. Ivy stood at the bus stop, watching.

'Greg looks worried,' said Peggy, turning back to old Ellen. 'Wonder why he's not at school?'

'More trouble with that daughter of 'is, I shouldn't wonder,' said Ellen. 'What she needs is a good talking to.'

Peggy shrugged. 'There's some would say it's too late,' she said, 'and anyway. I thought she'd been out with Tim Bright a couple of times and given up her pursuit of poor Robert.'

'That sort never gives up,' said Ellen knowingly. 'Not till it suits them . . .'

Greg Jones stood on the pavement waving vigorously at Robert Bates, until the tractor stopped and Robert leaned out.

'Morning, Mr ]ones,' he said, 'you waving at me?'

Greg nodded and crossed the road. He looked up at the tractor cab, feeling immediately at a foolish disadvantage.

‘Just wondered if we could have a private word some time, Robert?' he said, shouting above the engine noise. Jean Jenkins, passing by on her way to the shop, heard what Greg said, and the word 'private' made her prick up her ears.

'What do he want a private word with Robert Bates for, Eddie my duck?' she said to her chubby son, already wriggling around in his pushchair ready to get out at the shop.

The rest of Greg's conversation with Robert was lost to Jean, as she could find no reason to hang about, and after a minute or two Robert drove off and turned down past the pub and into Bates's End.

'Morning, Jean,' said Peggy, as Eddie and his mother came slowly into the shop. Eddie's walking was still a little unsteady, and his rolling gait not quite up to climbing the shop steps without the aid of his mother. The large frame of Jean Jenkins beside her small son filled the narrow doorway and they eased themselves into the shop with much laughter and encouragement from old Ellen.

'That's it, Eddie Jenkins,' she said, 'what a clever boy!' 'Your Mark's been in already,' said Peggy. 'What can I get you, Jean?'

Jean Jenkins opened her purse and took out a twenty-pence piece. 'He was short, Peggy, and you never said. I saw the price ticket when he got home, and I come straight down. I must have seen it wrong when I was in yesterday.' She handed over the coin, and Peggy humbly took it, feeling somehow in the wrong.

'What's that Jones man want with our Robert?' said Ellen, hobbling towards the door. 'You hear anythin', Jean?'

'Just that he wanted a private word,' said Jean.

Ellen turned to Peggy. 'There, what did I say? It's that brat of 'is causin' trouble again.'

'I don't think you should jump to ...' Peggy was interrupted by Jean Jenkins snatching Eddie from a wire basket full of cans of cola. Several had already rolled round the shop floor, and Peggy rushed round from the other side of the counter to help.

'Let me hold him for a bit,' she said, taking Eddie from his mother's scolding grasp. Eddie put his little arms round Peggy's neck and buried his face in her shoulder. She laughed and cuddled him, loving his warm little body.

What a shame, thought Jean Jenkins for the umpteenth time, what a pity she's got no family, no one to love. Except Bill, she corrected herself, and that's a bit of non-starter.

'Here, wait a minute,' she said, when peace had been restored. 'I was comin' back from the phone box last night, and that Octavia Jones was comin' along by the pub, in the dark, all by herself. I reckon she saw me, and turned round and went back the way she come.'

'What could that 'ave to do with Robert?' said Ellen, looking interested.

Jean shook her head. 'Don't know,' she said, 'but Foxy said he saw him drivin' by slowly when he come out of the pub later on.'

The shop door opened again, and Pat Osman came in, bright and fresh, and with smiles for all.

Peggy reluctantly handed Eddie back to his mother, and returned to her post behind the counter.

'We should be careful,' she said, 'about putting two and two together and making five. Hello Mrs Osman,' she continued, greeting her new customer, 'what can I get for you this morning?'

'I might be a bit late for tea today, Mum,' said Robert Bates, getting up from the table and brushing crumbs of pastry to the grateful spaniel at his feet. 'Mr Jones asked me to call in and have a private word, so I'll go in before seeing Auntie Ivy.'

The farm kitchen was very warm, full of good cooking smells, and the big wooden table covered with a checked oil cloth bore the remains of a stout meal. Behind Olive's chair, a little light filtered in from the garden, through tiny panes steamed up from the constantly simmering kettle. Robert began to feel the need of fresh air.

'What kind of private word?' said Olive sharply.

Robert shrugged. 'Don't ask me,' he said, 'probably something to do with Parish Council business.' Robert was the youngest and keenest member of the Parish Council, and was often approached to sort out a problem when villagers would hesitate to tackle Tom Price. 'See you later, then,' and he gave his mother a peck on her cheek. 'Cheer up, it may never happen!' he said, and, pulling on his boots, prepared to get back to work.

'Don't you think we should have got the police or something?' said Gabriella, staring out of her sitting room window and twisting her hands together nervously. 'How are we going to put it to Robert Bates?'

Greg put down the paper he was trying to read. 'I shall just ask him outright if he molested Octavia last night ...no, of course I shan't, Gabriella ... we shall have to be very tactful indeed. And it would have been entirely the wrong thing to get in the police at this stage. We'll give the lad a chance to tell us his side of it, and then think again.'

Gabriella frowned and turned to look at Greg. 'You don't believe her, do you?' she blurted out. 'You think she's lying, made it all up, don't you?'

Greg was silent for a moment, and then sighed. 'I don't know, Gabbie, I really don't know. It's just that I clearly remember hearing a car door slam and then the sound of it moving off seconds before Octavia came in last night. And that doesn't tie up with her story of running home on her own in a panic.'

Robert Bates's tractor drew up outside the gate, and he clambered down from the cab.

'Here he is,' said Gabriella. 'You let him in.'

Greg went to the door, and the two men returned to the room in silence.

Robert sat on the edge of the Joneses' sofa, his feet in their grey socks placed squarely on the cream shaggy rug. He had insisted on removing his boots, and Greg was nonplussed at the sight of Robert's familiar, pleasant face smiling at him across the room. How the hell was he going to begin?

Gabriella had disappeared into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, and Robert exchanged with Greg a few pleasantries about the weather.

'Was it something to do with Council matters you wanted to ask me?' Robert said finally, thinking he'd be here all afternoon if they didn't get on with it.

'No, not really,' said Greg, clearing his throat. 'It's about Octavia.'

'Ah,' said Robert. 'That one.'

'Well,' said Greg, 'I don't know how to say this, but she came in very upset last night and said you'd given her a lift along the road.'

'Quite right,' said Robert. 'I was very surprised to see her out on her own.'

Greg sat up straighter. 'What happened, Robert?' he said in the confiding tone he used to encourage schoolchildren to talk to him. 'You can tell us, you know, I'm sure we'll be able to sort it all out.'

Robert looked at him in amazement. Gabriella had come back with a tea tray and was staring at him anxiously. 'Happened?' said Robert. 'Bloody nothing happened!' He stood up. 'I
come across your daughter wandering along the road in the dark, all by herself, and stopped to bring her back home. Which is what I did, making sure she came up the path and into your house before I drove off again. And nothing bloody happened!' he repeated, his face bright red with indignation.

They stood glaring at each other for a few seconds, then Gabriella put down the tea tray and said nervously, 'Would you like a cup of tea, Robert?'

'No thanks,' said Robert, marching towards the door. 'I've got work to do, no time to waste here. You'll have big trouble with that Octavia if you're not careful, Mr Jones. Best you do something to stop it straight away.'

The front door slammed, and Greg and Gabriella looked at one another in silence. Gabriella poured two cups of tea, and handed one to Greg.

'What is the truth, Greg?' she said wearily. Greg sat down beside her and put his arm round her shoulders.

'I'm afraid I'm inclined to believe Robert,' he said gently. 'There was something about the way 'Tavie looked at us when she came in, something not quite right.'

'I can't believe it,' said Gabriella pathetically. 'Not my baby girl. What on earth shall we do now?'

'Talk to her again,' said Greg. 'When she comes home from school, I'll talk to her alone. You are naturally upset, and there's far too much emotion flying around. Leave it to me, and I'll see if I can straighten it out.'