Read The Village Green Affair Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
The Village Green Affair (34 page)
‘There will be several highly distinguished people from Oxford coming to pay their respects and, of course, journalists and photographers.’
Neville grew angrier. So this loathsome predator who, with less than the flick of his finger, had taken his wife from him, was to have plaudits and praise even at his funeral. It was the final bitter pill. Momentarily, at first, he’d felt slight sorrow for Titus, but now it was replaced by bitter fury. And to boot, Titus had won Liz’s love, which he, Neville Neal, had once enjoyed and had now lost. But perhaps there was a chance to win her back now the man had damn well died, and it was a chance he’d take with both hands and
win
, so long as he played his cards right.
win
, so long as he played his cards right.
‘Of course. I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Of course Liz must have what she wants, a celebration of his past, full of joy and light, very appropriate for a man of his merit. Truly fitting.’
‘Good. That settles it.’
‘Do you think it would be appropriate for me to sit with Liz at this service? We’re not yet divorced, though we shall be. Should I, do you think, just in case it’s too much for her?’
Caroline, not convinced by Neville’s apparent change of heart, said, ‘That’s for Liz to decide, isn’t it?’
Neville patted her arm. ‘Of course, you’re quite right. When the funeral is over I shall take Liz back to Glebe House. After all, it is her home. She can’t stay here for ever. I’m living there again, you see.’
Peter, sensing that Caroline was about to boil over at the suggestion, laid a quiet hand on her arm. ‘Yet again, that’s for Liz to decide.’
The problem was Liz found it intensely difficult to make decisions because she was so completely empty of everything. It was as if someone had drained away all her faculties - her brain, her innards, her appetite, her bodily strength, her will, the very zest of her - and left behind a weak and useless empty shell. But still they would keep asking her for decisions, and she’d nothing left of her with which to make them. She felt the need to lean on someone, and was grateful for Peter’s strength, Caroline’s loving common sense, and, above all, Neville’s kindness. He was so different, so considerate, so attentive to her every need. Had he truly had a metamorphosis, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly? Or was it only pretence? Well, for now she’d lean on him until she was more able to cope, and she’d go through the motions of believing in this butterfly until her strength came back to her, if ever it did.
She turned over and lost the duvet on the sitting-room floor. I might as well get up, she thought. She needed her breakfast. Breakfast. Cereals and toast and hot coffee. Yes. That’s what she’d have. Liz slipped on a dressing gown of Caroline’s and went into the downstairs loo to freshen up her face. Who was this woman looking at her? My God, she thought, that’s me! Oh, Titus, I’m so glad you can’t see me now. Still, you wouldn’t mind, because you love me for what I am, and how I love you, so very much. Liz stroked her cheek and imagined the hand she saw in the mirror was Titus’s beautiful, slender hand, and she remembered the times she’d held it and enjoyed those fine-boned fingers caressing her.
The cold water from the tap surprised her and brought her back down to earth. That hand of his would never touch her again, and she might as well get used to the idea. Pain of an unimaginable kind passed through her from head to toe. Where was Neville when she needed him?
He was in the kitchen with Peter and Caroline, scoffing his breakfast, looking robust, healthy and, what was worse, thoroughly alive. He’d no
right
to be alive.
right
to be alive.
Taking his cue from Peter, Neville got to his feet when she went into the kitchen.
‘Good morning, Liz.’
‘Good morning, Peter. I’ve come for my breakfast.’
Caroline made no comment, even though she knew she’d already eaten her breakfast, merely said, ‘What would you like?’
‘I see you’ve got coffee. I’d like that and then some hot toast with butter. Please. Oh! And some cereal.’
Neville pulled a chair out for her. ‘There we are. You do realize you’ve . . .’
Caroline shook her head at him and he stopped.
Neville argued to himself that there was no point in not letting her know she was behaving ridiculously. He tried another tack. ‘I’ll get you fresh underclothes, shall I, from the house?’
‘All my clothes! Where are they? I should have taken them out of that flat.’
‘I’ve done it for you, my darling. I emptied the flat last night and gave the owner your keys.’
‘Thank you, Neville. You are so thoughtful. Could you fetch me a dress or something, too, from the house?’
‘Of course, it’ll be a pleasure.’
He came back with her clothes and put them in the sitting room. When she went to dress she found he’d brought her very newest, smartest underwear and a frock more suited to a Royal Garden Party. He walked in to the sitting room just as she’d got the underwear on.
‘Sorry! My word, Liz, that looks good.’ For one miraculous moment he actually felt serious lust for her. At that moment he could have . . . the new, unaccustomed brightness in his eyes told her exactly what his thoughts were.
When she was fully dressed, Liz went close to him and said, ‘Never.
Never
. OK?’
Never
. OK?’
Startled by the rough determination in her voice, Neville asked abruptly, ‘Are you staying here or going home?’
‘Home.’
‘With me?’
Liz weighed this up in her mind. Standing so near to her, he could feel each breath she took. He’d never been more aware of her than at that moment. He’d bide his time. She was too raw right now, but it would only be a matter of time . . .
‘My own bedroom.’
Disappointment almost overrode his new-found consideration, but he answered sweetly, ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
‘Thank you, Neville.’ She automatically reached out to stroke his cheek by way of thanks as she would have done had he been Titus, and instantly recognized he wasn’t Titus and never would be. She had to get to grips with reality. But all that love, all that wonderful love, taken from her in one appalling moment . . . However would she live another day, never mind a week, a year?
‘Neville, I want to go to the mortuary to see Titus. Will you make arrangements for me, please?’
‘It’s not safe for you to drive. I’ll get my keys and take you.’
When they came back neither of them was able to say anything at all. Liz went into the sitting room and Neville sat brooding on one of the rocking chairs in the kitchen, rocking gently to and fro, and then sometimes rocking furiously. Caroline had gone to take a surgery and Peter was in his study working on his plans for the funeral.
Dottie, having finished her cleaning, was about to leave, and very glad indeed she was to be doing that. The sooner this funeral was over the better it would be for everybody. Caroline had given the twins money to go into Culworth so there hadn’t been anyone available to talk to. Before she left she knocked on the study door to speak to Peter.
‘Rector, I’m sorry to be troubling you, sir, but I’ve come to say I’m off now. I’ve done what the Doctor asked, and I’ll be here tomorrow as usual.’ Dottie hesitated, then closed the door so no one could hear her and added, ‘I’ve no business saying this but I am: he’s got a different agenda from you and the Doctor. Be warned.’
Peter smiled. ‘I believe you’re right. I’ll keep a keen eye on him.’
‘Can anyone go? On the day?’
‘Of course.’
‘He was a very lovely man. I liked him very much. Very genuine. Which is more than . . .’ she nodded her head in the direction of the kitchen, ‘you know.’
Chapter 19
On the evening of the day of Titus’s funeral there was the usual crowd of people in the bar. Seated at the table with the old settle were Vera and Don, Sylvia and Willie, Jimmy and, for a change, Dottie Foskett. Jimmy, in a rare mood of loving the whole of the human race, had got in the first drinks and was giving them out when in through the door came Grandmama Charter-Plackett. Sylvia waved, and she came over to join them.
‘Don’t worry, Jimmy, I’ll get my own drink, and the next round is on me.’ She bustled across to the bar to order a gin and tonic. ‘Georgie! How’s things?’
‘Weary after all the people who’d been to Titus’s funeral came in for a post-funeral feed and a knees-up. I had thought they’d have had a wake at Glebe House but they didn’t . . .’
‘At Glebe House? Come on, Georgie, Neville’s hardly likely to have a knees-up for his wife’s lover in his own house, is he?’
Georgie clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘My God! Of course not, I never thought. They kept their romance so low-key I’d almost forgotten about it. She’s back, you know, living in Glebe House.’
Grandmama had just taken her first sip of her drink when Georgie’s innocent remark made her splutter it down the front of her top. ‘Are you sure? After . . . you know.’
‘Well, that’s it. I
don’t
know. Do
you
?’
don’t
know. Do
you
?’
Grandmama fitted her not inconsiderable bosom onto the bar top and, leaning close to Georgie’s ear, whispered, ‘I don’t know for certain, but the story is . . . he . . .
raped
her that night she left him and went to Jimbo’s.’
raped
her that night she left him and went to Jimbo’s.’
Georgie made a great effort to control her voice but she didn’t succeed. ‘
Raped
her! He never!
That
cold fish. Just goes to show.’
Raped
her! He never!
That
cold fish. Just goes to show.’
Those who hadn’t heard quite correctly soon had it relayed to them by those who had. The bar fell silent, except for Don, who said loudly, ‘I’m surprised at Grandmama letting on like that. With her class she should know better.’
Vera blushed bright red, Sylvia fixed her eyes on her drink, and Jimmy said, ‘So the truth will out, it seems.’ Willie, shocked to the core by such revelations almost before Titus was cold in his grave, muttered something indistinguishable and took a long drink of his home brew. What was this village coming to? He recollected that Arthur Prior at Wallop Down Farm was an illegitimate cousin of Ralph’s, and not everyone kept to their own beds even in what was described as the Good Old Days, but that wasn’t rape, now was it? More like mutual good fun in the haystack. What Neville had done . . . well, that was awful.
Grandmama never arrived at the table with the settle. She got waylaid by eager gossips wanting to know all the latest news.
‘Well,’ said Dottie, ‘that is disgusting, I must say, and him a pillar of the church. Really disgusting. Poor Liz.’
‘But going back to live in the house where it happened! How can she?’ Sylvia whispered.
Dottie tapped the table with her forefinger. ‘She’s got nowhere else to go. The flat she was renting, well, the chap came back for medical treatment after a nasty car accident wherever he was abroad, so she had to leave, and it all happened the day Titus died. So, apparently,’ she drew a deep breath, ‘she’s back in Glebe House and so is . . .’
‘Yes . . .?’
‘Neville.’
They’d seen him going in and out of Glebe House but never guessed he was sleeping there. Well, of all things. Would you believe it? There was a silence for a few moments while they all digested the implications.
Sylvia asked where Dottie had got the information, suspecting it might be from the Rectory.
Indignantly, Dottie refuted such a suggestion almost as it took wings. ‘Like you, Sylvia, working at the Rectory, anything I hear there I don’t divulge.’
‘So-o-o . . .?’
‘From overhearing Jimbo and Harriet talking when they’d forgotten I was there cleaning, and that’s the truth.’
Vera nudged Dottie and winked at her.
Dottie winked back and asked, ‘It’s all right talking about it, but do you give poor Liz a thought? I certainly do. That’s dreadful what he did to her.’ She felt a change of subject was needed, so rooted about in her handbag and came out with a gilt-edged card.
Vera tried peeping over the top of the card to find out for herself. ‘What’s that, Dottie? You’re full of surprises tonight.’
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