Whispers in the Village (17 page)

‘I could, Mr Stubbs … sir.’

‘So I reckon weedkiller in that particular instance. What do you say, Michelle?’

‘I agree. It’s one hell of a long path, and Paddy’s been very patient. I’ve been thinking on those lines myself. Grandad’s quite right, it would save time and money.’

Mr Fitch hesitated and, looking at Grandad, he caught a meaningful glint in his eyes, which quickly flicked down to the wheelbarrow. Mr Fitch dug his hand in the heap of weeds in the barrow and pretended to examine a weed or two. ‘They’re big weeds. Long roots.’

Paddy sweated relief.

Mr Fitch dug in again and came up with a bulb in his hand. ‘What the hell’s this?’ He briskly dug his hand in a little further and found the box. ‘Cleary!’

Mr Fitch’s face flushed a dark red and before they knew where they were he had snatched one of Grandad’s walking sticks out of his hand and was after striking Paddy with it.

Paddy took to his heels.

The faster Paddy ran, the faster Mr Fitch pursued him. He never actually landed a blow on Paddy’s back but he came very close.

Dean, Michelle and Grandad, now clinging for support to his grandchildren, roared with laughter. The faster Paddy went the faster Mr Fitch ran. They’d done two circuits of the hothouses and one of the vinery before Paddy had to call a halt. His breathing laboured, bent over, with his hands resting on his thighs, he rasped. ‘Fair does. Can’t run no more.’

Mr Fitch on the other hand, though he gasped a little, was far fitter than Paddy and only needed a moment to catch his breath. By now the entire garden staff had downed tools and gathered to watch. They clapped Mr Fitch’s performance.

‘Stealing! I will not tolerate stealing! I’d whip the hide off you ’cept I’ve too much to do to spend time serving a prison sentence. You damned thief. You’ve nothing going for you at all. Even though Michelle’s given you a job
I
wouldn’t have given you in a month of Sundays, you still can’t behave yourself. Where were they going?’

Paddy saw he had met his match, felt that Mr Fitch himself knew from personal experience the kind of background he came from and he said, ‘I’ll be honest with you.’

‘That’s the least you can be. Well, go on. What marvellous altruistic excuse are you going to come up with?’

Paddy cleared his throat, his mind working faster than he thought possible.

Impatient, Mr Fitch said, ‘I’m waiting.’

‘I do a bit of voluntary work for a children’s home in Culworth and these daffodils, well, the kids would love ’em for their garden and I thought, being as you’re a generous man, you wouldn’t mind if I—’

‘You damned liar. You were going to flog ’em.’

This side of Mr Fitch’s character rarely put in an appearance and the spectators were astounded. He used a few more explicit phrases to describe what a lowlife Paddy really was, threatened him with Grandad’s stick a few more times and then handed it back to its grateful owner.

‘Like a fool I’m going to give you a second chance, because I can imagine what it’s like being at the bottom of the pile and no one giving you a leg up. But one more, just one more episode like this, even so much as a blade of grass and you’re out. You’ve Michelle to thank for my leniency, because she tells me how hard you work and has nothing but praise for you. Don’t break her trust again. Do you hear me?’

Mr Fitch’s last few words thundered out across the garden. Paddy had a mind to throw his job in his face there and then, but something, he knew not what, held him back from defying this lunatic. So he ate humble pie and put on his badly-done-to face. ‘Very sorry, Mr Fitch, sir. Old habits,
as you well know
. Won’t happen again and thank you for giving me another chance, sir. I won’t let you down.’ He dutifully touched the neb of his cap, then unloaded the box of daffodil bulbs and stood it at Michelle’s feet, as though it were an offering to her, and humbly wheeled the barrow away.

Mr Fitch threw a steely glance at the onlookers and they took the hint, leaving himself, Michelle, Dean and Grandad to recover their composure.

‘I mean it, Michelle, one more time. These bulbs won’t be the first thing he’s stolen and they won’t be the last, so keep an eager eye.’ He patted her arm. ‘Don’t fret, people like him could steal the communion wine from a priest at the very moment he lifted it to his lips without even a prick of conscience. Just bear it in mind. Good to see you about, Greenwood. Got to rush, but we’ll have a talk soon, you and I, seeing as we’re both members of the Michelle Jones admiration society.’ He strode off towards the house and his waiting car and chauffeur, chuckling with amusement, proud of his fitness and delighted by his own magnanimity.

Michelle kicked the box of bulbs. ‘It’s not the first thing he’s stolen, old Fitch is right.’

Grandad was shocked. ‘And you let it go on?’

‘Can’t help but feel sorry for him. Stealing’s such a habit, he almost can’t help himself.’

‘What’s he stolen that you know of ?’

‘A box of peaches, a tray of bedding plants, some tools …’

Grandad almost exploded with wrath. ‘Your first loyalty is to them that pay your wages. Do you hear me? He won’t stand stealing, won’t Mr Fitch, and you know that.’

‘But I didn’t know for certain it was him. Paddy’s such a charmer if I’d tackled him he’d have denied it and I’d have finished up believing him. I don’t know which is worst, keeping a blind eye or having it out with him.’

Grandad wagged a finger at her. ‘It’s old Fitch what pays your wages, remember that. He won’t bat an eyelid when he sacks you for allowing it, and we’d all be homeless to boot. Remember that, my girl.’ Grandad hobbled off, thanking his lucky stars his stick hadn’t broken in half with Mr Fitch’s treatment of it. He laughed at the memory of Mr Fitch chasing Paddy. Hell, but the man had a temper.

As for Paddy, he sat in the wheelbarrow, his back resting against the potting shed wall, eating his lunch and thinking. He sensed that old Fitch had had just as bad a start in life as he had. That was why he was so dead against people stealing from him; it was because he knew both sides of the equation. But to think of the success he’d made of his life. Well, well. Something to keep in mind. Still, pity about the bulbs. That chap with the garden stall in Culworth market would be waiting for him in his van down the drive this lunchtime, but he’d have to wait. Pity too about those figures at the rectory. Better apologize about them. Keep Anna sweet.

As for Craddock Fitch he was thankful to sit back and let his chauffeur tackle the driving. It wasn’t often the two of them talked. After hours in the car every week together they’d run out of conversation some time ago. This morning, however, it was the chauffeur who opened the conversation. ‘Did you know, Mr Fitch, that Paddy Cleary is living with the new rector?’

Craddock, allowing himself time to calm down after that sprint round the hothouses, sat upright, shocked and disbelieving. ‘There’s living and there’s
living
, Spencer. Which do you mean?’

‘I mean what they’ve all started to say, that he’s
living
with her. Dropped a hint in the pub the other night and, of course, as you can imagine, it got picked up pretty damn quick.’ Spencer stared straight ahead at the road and blanked Craddock when he asked Spencer what exactly Paddy had said. Craddock asked him again.

Spencer carefully phrased his reply. He didn’t want his boss to know that Paddy had said it directly to himself, still less did he want old Fitch chasing him round the hothouses wielding a stick. ‘What exactly did he say, sir? Don’t know, sir, it was about fourth-hand when it got to me.’

Craddock wished he’d actually hit Paddy with Greenwood’s stick, brought it down right across his shoulders and his head, good and hard. Rumours like this snowballed till everyone knew and then they all believed it. He got his mobile phone from his briefcase and dialled the rectory. While he waited for his call to be answered, he wished with his whole heart that it would be Peter answering it, but of course it wasn’t.

‘Turnham Malpas rectory. Anna Sanderson speaking.’

‘Anna! Good morning. Craddock Fitch here. I’ve just heard some gossip about you and I think you ought to know. They’re saying in the village that Paddy Cleary is living with you. I mean really living, as in live-in-lover.’ He left a pause, didn’t get an answer, so continued, ‘It needs scotching straight away, it’s very damaging gossip. Don’t know how, but scotch it otherwise it’ll be at the Abbey before nightfall, and the balloon will go up.’ Still no reply. ‘It’s not true, obviously, but it still needs dealing with, as of now. Good morning to you. Sorry to be giving you such bad news.’

Anna put down the receiver, sick at heart.

Sheila Bissett heard the rumour while talking to Greta Jones by the tinned soups in the Store. Clipboard in hand – she was never without it at the moment – Sheila was shaking her head as Greta was saying, ‘… so he told my Vince, when Vince was in the pub lunchtime Sunday, that he was sleeping in Peter and Caroline’s bed. Those were his very words. With a nod and a wink, too, and a nudge with his elbow, which spoke volumes.’

‘No! I can’t believe it. She wouldn’t now, would she? Honestly.’

‘Well, that’s what he said. I said to Vince, “You must be going deaf.” But he said, “I’m neither deaf nor daft”, that’s what he said. And he isn’t, except when there’s a job to do in the house and I need help. But that’s a man all over.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t believe it. That Paddy and Anna? No, never. Why, he isn’t even attractive, is he?’

‘He’s got something about him though. He can’t half make you laugh.’

‘Laugh yes, but … no, no.’ Sheila shook her head. ‘There’s one thing for certain – he wouldn’t get me in his bed.’

‘He wouldn’t want
you
!’

‘Nor
you
come to that!’

They both had to laugh.

Sheila, who was eager to press on with the prime reason for her existence at the moment, said, ‘I’m organizing collecting tins for Culworth next Saturday week for all those people who’re going to dye their hair. Market day and that. Loads of people about. Thought we’d have an onslaught in Culworth and get some extra money in. The more the better. They’ve all heard about the pyjama party and the scandal afterwards, so we’ve kind of got our foot in the door. Invade the place, rattle the tins, just for a couple of hours, start off in the market. We’ll make an impact with our dyed hair, don’t you think? Can I count you in?’

‘You can, seeing as I’m the organizer of it. Good idea. A week Saturday, yes, absolutely. I’d enjoy that.’

Sheila made a note on the appropriate page on her clipboard. ‘Gilbert’s doing some placard things for us to take. He is a dear, when he’s so busy. He’s skinny-dipping too. Bless him. Two hundred and twenty pounds he’s been sponsored for at the office, would you believe.’

‘Your Louise. Saw her the other day. Hasn’t long to go?’

‘Due February, March time, she’s not sure, so there’s a good while yet.’

‘Oh! She looked sooner than that. Not looking too good either, I thought. Before she’s always been blooming all the time, but she looked ill. Maybe she’d had a bad night with the children. It happens.’

‘I’m a bit worried about her, actually. You know that she’s never had sickness before. Right down in the mouth with it. I’ll call round to see her today, just to check. So you’re on the bus. That’s twelve going, with you and Vince.’

‘You dyeing yours?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Remember. Morning bus, week Saturday.’

‘Right. Vince and me’ll be there. Must press on, my dinner hour was over five minutes ago. Whoops! Here he is. Just coming, Mr Charter-Plackett,’ she called loudly. ‘Needed a word about the New Hope Fund with Sheila.’ Under her breath she said, ‘Slave-driver. He’d have been right handy with a whip in them Roman times, he would. See yer.’

The news about the scandal at the rectory spread like some insidious disease, not just around Turnham Malpas but Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett, too. No one believed it, but they had to because why would he say it if it wasn’t true? What possible gain would he get from it? Nothing except derision and disgust. So, it must be true. But him in the rector’s bed! And, as Sylvia reminded them, sleeping in Caroline’s lovely bed linen. Something had to be done about it.

Ralph shouldered the responsibility and was at the rectory door first thing the very next morning. He didn’t relish his self-imposed task but had to for the sake of the village.

Anna opened the door to him and she stood there looking distraught. Instead of her normally welcoming smile and her eagerness to invite visitors in to the house, she waited for him to speak.

‘I’m sorry, Anna, obviously you’ve heard the rumours. Can I come in and we’ll have a talk?’

‘Yes.’ She moved away from the door and made enough space for him to step into the hall. Instead of taking him into the sitting room, however, she gestured towards the study. Somehow she hoped that the strong vibes she felt Peter had left behind in the study might help her through the worst. ‘I’d offer you a coffee but I’ve just had my breakfast.’

‘So have I. But thanks for the offer. Now, my dear, tell me all.’ He sat on the sofa close to the desk, expecting that she would sit in the desk chair, but she joined him on the sofa. ‘Now, start at the beginning. How does Paddy Cleary come to be living here?’