A Village in Jeopardy (Turnham Malpas 16) (26 page)

Beth nodded. She didn’t say anything because she couldn’t rely on speaking in case she began screaming again. Really she wished her mum knew. Out of deep concern for her mother they’d all kept it a secret for far too long. But would it make Mum not love Alex for what he’d had to do to save her?

The cool dry jimjams and Mum’s lovely sweet-smelling bed linen combined with the security of her mother holding her hand, calmed Beth. She was ready to talk now and without Caroline asking she began to reveal the whole story. ‘You see, Mum, while the preacher who’d given us a lift home from school that weekend was being dragged from the car and well . . . you know . . . was being killed, Alex and I slipped out of the back seat and straight into the trees at the side of the road. We ran and ran away as far as we could; it was dense jungle, kind of, but we knew they’d be after us if we didn’t hide.

‘Sometimes we heard the terrorists – well, either them or the government forces looking for them going by, but we kept so quiet they never found us. Then one man came off the road and found us. I gave him my watch, thinking he’d go away, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak English so we couldn’t communicate. That’s when he wanted me to take my dress off. Then I knew. Mum!’

Caroline hugged her tight, but it didn’t stop the tears coming, nor ease the great effort Beth had to make to stop herself screaming again. The memories of that dreadful day were so clear, it might have happened yesterday.

‘Don’t tell me any more. You hold my hand and try to sleep; remember you’re absolutely safe now. You’ve got both Alex and Dad here, and me. You’re such a brave girl, such a very brave girl. Hush! Hush! Gently now. Gently.’ Slowly, slowly, Beth fell asleep, the rapid breathing ceased, the grip of her hands on her mother relaxed and when Caroline was certain Beth was sleeping deeply, she extricated her hand from Beth’s and quietly crept out to confront Peter and Alex, whom she found in the attic bedroom. Obviously they must have been discussing things.

Alex was sitting up in bed and Peter was perched on the end of it, which left the desk chair for Caroline.

‘Well, now,’ she said. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ She looked at the two of them, waiting for their reply.

‘I will, Mum, because I was there and it was me who did it.’ So the whole story came out into the light in that attic bedroom that belonged to the brother who, in defence of his twin sister, had killed the terrorist hell bent on raping her.

‘This was when you were hiding, waiting for help?’

Alex nodded. ‘We’d tried walking down the road to get back home but it was dangerous; if it wasn’t the terrorists it was the soldiers using it, and I don’t know which were more dangerous, to be honest. He had the rifle and some ammunition; he wasn’t interested in me. It was Beth he was after. We’d had to be quiet all the time because in daylight the terrorists passed close by in small groups every little while. But he spotted us and he told Beth to take her dress off. He laid the gun down while he . . . you know . . . and I grabbed it. And that was that. I swung the butt against his head really hard . . .’ He patted the back of his head as though remembering only too vividly. ‘He never managed to touch her; I made sure of that. I hit him twice, really hard to be certain.’ Alex rubbed his face with both hands as though trying to erase the memory from his brain.

Caroline sprang from the chair and embraced Alex. ‘Oh! My God! What a brave boy. My darling, darling boy!’

Peter was compelled to speak up. ‘That’s the secret, Caroline. You know now why they didn’t want to tell you. It was all my fault for wanting to go to Africa in the first place. I’ve told them the guilt is mine, wholly mine.’

Caroline turned to Alex to ask, ‘But then what happened?’

‘We had to get rid of the body and Beth helped me. We dragged him through the undergrowth, did the best we could. We buried the gun too.’

‘You’ve carried the burden of this secret six whole years! I can’t believe it, and I never guessed.’ She slumped down on the chair again, hardly daring to listen to the answer to her next question. ‘Have you told anyone else besides your dad?’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Well, don’t. Ever. As long as you live. Dad and I, but no one else. What you had to do was dreadful, appalling and not what Dad and I would contemplate you having to do, not in a million years, but you knew what had to be done and you did it.’ Caroline hugged him, hard. ‘You meant to stop him, not to kill him, so your intentions were the best. I’m so sorry it happened, but as Dad told you when he came home, you mustn’t carry guilt for it the rest of your life. It wasn’t your fault; you did what any man would do in defence of a little girl. Goodnight, Alex, sleep tight. Sleep safe. At least I might be able to help Beth, now I know.’

He’d been too grown up for a long while to welcome his mum giving him a kiss and a hug but Caroline did just that right there and then. ‘Thank you for what you did, Alex. Your dad and I and Beth are eternally grateful. Believe me. Goodnight. I’ll get back to Beth.’

Chapter 20

In the days leading up to Christmas everyone in the village was busy and happy, except for Craddock and Kate Fitch. The big new advertising initiative had been launched and though a few millionaires asked to have a look round Turnham House and liked it, none of them showed signs of real interest. He had only one offer, which was derisory, and that was it.

Craddock took to going on long walks around his estate alone; he bought a puppy from the Jack Russell Rescue and though it entertained him Kate sensed his heart wasn’t captivated by it and after a few weeks he allowed the puppy to go out on its own, just like Sykes had always done, and he changed its name from Benny to Sykes and only very occasionally made the effort to escort it out of doors.

Johnny went twice to see about buying the house from him and both times he refused. The second time he told Johnny never to come again. ‘You’re wasting my time and yours. Just stay away.’

‘Right. I’ll forget it.’ There was a finality in his voice which upset Kate. He sounded so positive, she was certain Johnny had finally given up on buying the house.

‘I shan’t come again. Like you said, I’m wasting my time. Hope you find a buyer soon; obviously it won’t be me.’ He reached out to shake Craddock’s hand, but he refused. Kate offered to shake hands and Johnny, clasping her hand in both of his, did so, saying how sorry he was for her sake that his offer was unsuccessful. He strode out of the house and never looked back. From upstairs in the flat she watched him leaving and could tell even from his back view that he’d given up. She felt so sorry for him. Even sorrier for Craddock. Very gently she said, ‘There are times, Craddock, when you are your own worst enemy. You have the house he wants, you want rid of it asap and still you won’t sell. His is the only genuine offer you’ve had. He’s not even using Ralph’s money.’

‘The housing market will be picking up soon, you wait and see.’

‘If you go on like this, I doubt you’ll live long enough to see it.’

‘Me! I’ll live for years yet. I will not let that blasted creep set foot in this house as its owner while I have breath in my body.’

‘So be it, then.’ Kate shook her head in despair and slowly made for the door, turning back to say, ‘Not having a Christmas party for everyone has certainly cut down on the work, so I suppose I should be grateful, but I’m not. And the thought of moving into that appalling Glebe House that has the stamp of Neville Neal in every inch of it is making my skin crawl; there’s never been a truer word than that saying, “beggars can’t be choosers”.’

Beggars: that word stung him. How could a man like him, with his astute business brain, finish up in such a mess? Extravagance? Overindulgence? Not keeping a careful eye on his cash flow? Allowing staff too much leeway? None of those. No, it was a culmination of several things all coming at once. Should he really sell to Johnny Templeton? How much did it matter that he was related to Ralph? His Kate a beggar? That did hurt, for he loved her deeply.

Young Sykes came rushing in; he never did anything slowly, always at full tilt. Craddock bent down to stroke him. He picked him up and the two of them sat together in an easy chair where the heat of the open fire reached them both. Young Sykes felt cold to the touch, having just come in from his morning tramp round the estate, so he settled down willingly and the two of them stared into the living flames, enjoying their warmth and the sound of the wood crackling as it burned.

Craddock felt young Sykes relax and he smiled. Dogs could be great companions. He really ought to spend more time with this dog. Or was he growing senile, reaching that stage when he was looking back and there was very little looking ahead in his tired brain?

Maybe he should sell it to Johnny; maybe he was being a foolish old man being so stubborn. But memories of humiliation at Ralph Templeton’s hands and in front of the whole village came into his mind. That time when he’d given the planning officer on the council a brown envelope full of fifty-pound notes to ignore the pulling down of that ancient hedgerow so he could build a housing estate in the field behind the Rectory. The diggers were in place when Sir Ralph and the council members turned up and put paid to the whole project. Humiliation, total humiliation that had been. The incident of the cricket pavilion he’d built for the village, when the whole lot of them wanted Ralph’s name on it, not his, or the time when he found that wonderful church silver that had been hidden in the house at the beginning of the Second World War in that secret room for fear of the Germans invading, and the villagers had stopped him selling it and keeping the money. He’d bought the house, hadn’t he? The leaking roof and the woodworm were his, so why not the silver? That had been his reasoning . . .

A log fell noisily from the fire grate and young Sykes, startled, leapt off his knee in fright. Craddock hastily got to his feet and, with the antique tongs in both hands, heaved the log back into the grate.

This old man musing would have to stop. One more attempt at selling and then he might,
might
consider selling it to him. But only
might
because it would crucify him to do so.

Johnny went home defeated. He’d tried, how he’d tried, to get Craddock Fitch’s agreement, but it simply hadn’t worked. His feelings must run deep to refuse his offer – not just an offer but the full asking price, he reminded himself. To be so strapped for cash and still refuse the full price made Johnny know at last that the house, certainly at the moment, would not be his in time for his son being born. What he really wanted to do was take his son, now only two weeks away from being born, from the hospital straight to the big house, so that he would have lived in his inheritance almost from his very first day.

However, Alice would be pleased. Now that was something he couldn’t understand: how could she not want to live there? It was so beautiful and so important to him. If she loved him why didn’t she want to do as he asked? But that was immaterial now.

He turned into the village store for a few things they needed and his spirits lifted immediately. It was that special indefinable something about the store that made you want to buy, buy, buy. He loved the displays, the lighting, the coffee machine. Johnny made himself a coffee and sat down to enjoy it. Jimbo appeared like a rabbit out of a hat.

‘You startled me.’

Jimbo sat down beside him. ‘Just the man I want to see. It’s about money.’

Laughing, Johnny asked, ‘Needing a loan?’

Jimbo denied he needed a loan. ‘No, it’s about the Old Barn. It’s a real money spinner for me, but . . .’ He took off his hat to straighten the ribbon, then smoothed his hands over his bald head while he wondered how to phrase what he had to say. ‘There’s old Fitch up there sweating about selling the estate and there’s you with money; why don’t you buy what so obviously should be yours? Suit you with a son to inherit.’

Johnny shook his head. ‘No go. I’m afraid he won’t sell to me. I’ve tried, several times.’

‘Damn it. I’d hoped to sort my problem with the Old Barn. I’m taking bookings which I shall have to cancel and that’s not a very good idea – bad for trade as they say, having to cancel.’

‘I can see your point, but he definitely won’t sell to me.’ Johnny got to his feet. ‘Sorry. Can I pay for these?’ He held out the shiny red apples he’d chosen. ‘Alice loves these apples at the moment; nothing else will do.’ He smiled indulgently at the fruit. Jimbo stood up, downhearted by yet another idea for saving his bacon having gone down the drain. Stubborn old Fitch.

Johnny went home to Alice frustrated with Craddock Fitch and wishing, wishing his dream could become reality. It was just as he put his right foot on the doorstep to Alice’s cottage that inspiration struck Johnny and he all but lit up from head to foot. Hesitating while the first flush of inspiration calmed a little, he ambled into the cottage sober faced. ‘Hello! Anyone home?’

‘I am! I’m trying to be calm and composed but I’m putting my wash bag in my holdall because I think today is baby day. Just in time for Christmas!’

This was Alice as he always thought of her: in charge, calm, organised.

‘I’ll get the car out then.’

‘Not just yet; the contractions are coming every ten minutes so there’s time.’

‘Every ten minutes! Let’s ring the hospital and tell them to expect you.’

‘I have already. They said wait till they’re five minutes and then come.’