Read The Village Green Affair Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
The Village Green Affair (5 page)
‘Just passing the time of day. He said he was wanting to rent a field but I don’t believe a word he said. There’s word flying round the village that he’s planning to start a market on the village green. They say that’s why he’s interested in the field, wants it for car parking. But I don’t believe it. It’s all nonsense thought up by those idle gossips in the bar who have nothing better to do. I mean, a market in this village when there’s the big one in Culworth every week? Doesn’t make sense.’
Jimbo agreed. They’d obviously got the wrong end of the stick. Barry was right, it would be a waste of time and money to set up a market in Turnham Malpas. ‘The barn’s still available for rent, then?’
‘I don’t know, ask Mr Fitch. Do you fancy it?’
‘Oh! No, no. No good to me. Pat all right? She does a great job for me you know. Best day’s work I did setting her up in charge of the outside catering staff.’
Barry smiled again. ‘Thanks for the big increase you gave her. She’s thrilled to bits.’
‘Good! She’s worth it. I’ll be off.’
He knew exactly who he would see next. If Mr Fitch was not here then the estate manager Jeremy Mayer would be a very good second best, mainly because Jimbo knew he put the fear of God into Jeremy owing to some exchanges of opinion he’d had with him over the years. He hadn’t meant to; it had just happened that way.
You no longer found Jeremy by looking for a huge overweight man, or listening for loud panting sounds and groaning floorboards, because his heart attacks had frightened him and, with the able assistance of his wife Venetia, he now hit the scales at a mere eleven stones.
Jimbo put his head round the door of Jeremy’s office and said, ‘Are you free?’
‘I am.’ Jeremy enjoyed Mr Fitch being in Sweden or whichever godforsaken place in the world he decided to visit, because it meant he was entirely in charge of the estate and his word was law. Well, until Mr Fitch came back and went through everything that had happened in his absence with a fine-toothed comb. He leaned back in his chair, trying hard to subdue that feeling of inadequacy which invaded him when confronted by Jimbo; he had such style, had Jimbo.
‘How are things, Jeremy? Going well? I came to see Old Fitch but Barry tells me he’s not here, but you’re a very excellent substitute. ’ He smiled benignly, hoping to put Jeremy Mayer in a mellow mood.
‘I am? Sit down.’
Jimbo nodded. ‘The barn. It’s being renovated, substantially renovated. Why?’
‘To rent out.’
‘What for?’
‘For a business of some kind.’ Jeremy shrugged.
‘Any idea for how much?’
‘No. Are you interested?’
‘I bet I’m not the first one who’s interested. That man . . .’ Jimbo snapped his fingers as though endeavouring to remember the man’s name.
‘You mean Titus Bellamy?’
Jimbo pretended to think for a moment, ‘Yes, that’s right, that’s the man.’
‘He is waiting to see Mr Fitch, and no, he isn’t interested in the barn.’
‘What is he interested in?’
‘He told me, but it was so roundabout I knew less when he’d finished than when he started. He played his cards very close to his chest. That all?’
Jimbo placed his thumb and forefinger very close together and suggested he must have let something slip even if it was only a tiny bit.
‘Sorry. Can’t help you.’ Jeremy picked up a sheaf of closely typed papers and put his glasses on.
Jimbo took the hint. As he was leaving he asked, ‘Not even a single word?’
‘Something to do with the village green, I think, and some project or other he has in mind. Good morning to you.’
As Jimbo drove helter-skelter down the mile-long drive, his eager mind was scanning every single idea he could think of for even a hint of why someone should be interested in the village green. Whatever for? Mr Fitch and the village green? And why leaning over that gate with Barry Jones? That field had nothing to do with the village green. Occasionally the cows were put in it, but it was very much a field no one displayed any permanent interest in.
His mind dwelt for a while on the barn. They were getting very cramped at the back of the Store, with the mail order having gone through the roof since he’d established his website. There’d certainly be no more expansion there, but the barn . . .
He dashed in, heading straight for the kitchens. Harriet was back in there, as Bel had come to do her middle-of-the-day stint on the counter. ‘Harriet!’ He beckoned her with an eager finger. ‘Come with me.’
‘I’ll get nothing done at this rate. What are you up to?’
He closed his office door behind them and sat her down on a stool. ‘Listen!’ His voice full of enthusiasm he placed his boater on the top of the boxes of dried fruit, smoothed his bald head and wondered briefly how on earth to phrase his idea in a very tempting way that would excite her interest and more so her support.
‘Yes? Be sharp about it; I’ve a lot on today.’
‘I’ve just been up to the Big House. Old Fitch is restoring that big old barn, the one you can see on the right through the trees when you’re going up the drive.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, he’s going to rent it out for business purposes.’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, you know you were saying the other day how you’d no room to move in the back here . . .’
Harriet’s face lit up, but being a practical businesswoman her first question was, ‘Can we afford it?’
‘Don’t know yet. Old Fitch returns Monday, so I shall hasten up there on winged feet and ask. Then I’ll do my figures and we can make up our minds after that. Expansion here we come, hopefully.’
Harriet, more cautious than Jimbo, sat thinking for a moment. ‘There’s one thing for certain: we simply cannot expand where we are, and I’d have more room for some state-of-the-art kitchen equipment I hanker after.’
‘Exactly.’
‘And maybe we could hire it out for events, too. Yes, it’s a brilliant idea. If it looks right on paper then let’s go for it. Not too far away for us to keep an eye on things, is it? Is that what that strange man was after?’
‘I didn’t find a thing out about that, except it’s something to do with the village green and holding an event on it. What exactly I don’t know, but apparently everyone in the village is convinced they have inside knowledge.’
Harriet stood up ready to go. ‘Well, whatever it is, it won’t affect us, will it?’
But the rest of the village thought differently. Not affect them? Of course it would, and whatever it was had to be stopped. As of now. This week! This minute! So, after church on Sunday morning, there was a gathering in the churchyard which mushroomed into a crowd, and Willie Biggs, being in charge of the keys while Zack had a short break, thought they’d make more of a fist of it if they had chairs and a roof over their heads, so he opened up the church hall for an impromptu meeting. It just materialized out of a combined urgency to put a stop to this invasion of Turnham Malpas by someone without even the slightest connection to the village.
Grandmama Charter-Plackett was the first to get to her feet. ‘This very morning I’ve spoken to someone who knows someone, and they reckon this chap is after starting a market every week here in Turnham Malpas.’
The air was filled with gasps of complete astonishment and horror, and everyone jabbering at top decibels. Grandmama was enormously gratified by the reception her statement received, learned that very morning by a couple of judicious phone calls to a friend who’d happened to mention the market in her own village only twenty-five miles away.
‘He’s called Titus Bellamy and he’s got four other markets going,’ Grandmama continued. ‘He’s discovered a charter from the archives that gives him permission to hold a market on a Thursday morning in Turnham Malpas from eight till one. Apparently, it lapsed at the time of the Black Death and he’s going to resurrect it. We’re talking history here and no mistake. If it is true,
I
don’t want it, not when my son pays rates and staff to keep the Store open week in week out for everyone’s benefit. He can’t keep going with that kind of opposition. This chap doesn’t allow trash apparently, he’s got very high standards, and my Jimbo is very uptight about it because that’s in direct competition to him, believe you me. We’ll kill it quite simply by none of us shopping in his pesky market. No trade, no market. Sound common sense. Who’s on my side? Hands up!’
I
don’t want it, not when my son pays rates and staff to keep the Store open week in week out for everyone’s benefit. He can’t keep going with that kind of opposition. This chap doesn’t allow trash apparently, he’s got very high standards, and my Jimbo is very uptight about it because that’s in direct competition to him, believe you me. We’ll kill it quite simply by none of us shopping in his pesky market. No trade, no market. Sound common sense. Who’s on my side? Hands up!’
This colossal shock raised a myriad of hands in the airs but some were slow and others hovered well below shoulder level. Grandmama’s eagle eyes noted the reluctant ones and vowed to target them with her persuasive tongue. She sat down in a flurry of indignation. How dare they not support her Jimbo wholeheartedly? How dare they? She’d show ’em!
There was a small number of those present who were fascinated by Grandmama’s revelations, and sneakily thought that a bit of competition might bring down Jimbo’s prices. But they kept their own counsel. After all there were times to stand up and be counted, and times to keep well below the parapet. Grandmama on a mission was not to be taken on lightly.
At the back of all their minds was the next piece of news: that their old adversary Craddock Fitch was encouraging the whole affair by renting out his field to be used as the car park, without which the entire idea would be stymied.
‘But,’ said Vince Jones from down Shepherds Hill, ‘the chances of us persuading Old Fitch to abandon his money-making scheme for the sake of the village are absolutely nil.’ He emphasized his point by slicing the air with his hands.
They all had to agree. After all, money was old Fitch’s prime consideration, though he had softened a little since his unexpected marriage to Kate Pascoe.
‘We’d do better if we called in the Health and Safety from the Council,’ Willie Biggs called from the back row, having entered later than he’d intended because of standing in for Zack the new verger. ‘They have a lot of clout, they do, more than ever. Anywhere people gather, whatever for, is of interest to them. And an event on the green means people gathering. They can put a stop to his plans.’
Someone was designated with the task of finding out this Titus Bellamy chap’s address or phone number. Another vociferous opponent was charged with speaking to Health and Safety, another to confront the leader of the council with the intention of getting the council to stop the whole thing, and yet another to formulate plans of a protest. Having explored as many avenues as they could think of they dispersed with a rallying cry of, ‘If we fail then our motto must be don’t shop in the market, no matter how tempted we are. That’ll sort it in a matter of weeks.’
The idea that the market would simply collapse if they ignored it carried a lot of weight, and they all felt heartened by the meeting, thinking they’d got the better of Titus Bellamy, whoever he was, before he’d set up a single stall.
The silent, uncommunicative man faded from everyone’s mind as the weeks sped by. Summer had just arrived and there were more interesting matters to discuss, such as the disastrously bad start to the season the Turnham Malpas cricket team was suffering and the fact that the school house was being altered to provide more classroom accommodation as the number of children at the school was escalating. Mainly due, they all decided, to the large families now occupying the newly built houses down the Culworth Road.
‘Breeding like rabbits they are down there. All young and newly married - well, some of ’em are married - and babies popping out like shelled peas,’ said Maggie Dobbs, who was suffering the most due to the disruption the builders were making to her daily life as school cleaner. ‘Bringing dirt in to the school like there was no tomorrow, it simply isn’t fair. Bet my wages won’t go up with all the extra work. I’ll have
two
buildings to clean. One’s bad enough.’
two
buildings to clean. One’s bad enough.’
Jimbo also had other things to concentrate his mind, like arguing with Mr Fitch about putting in another floor in the barn, so they could have a first floor as well as the ground floor, and who was going to pay for it, and if he could sublet any part of it he didn’t need for now. Everyone in the village knew about Jimbo’s new idea to expand his website business, and the comments in the bar varied from, ‘How well he must be doing’ to ‘Still, that’ll be more jobs for the village’.
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