Liz went inside to dance with Neville. Their guests had to see with their own eyes that she and Neville were as one. So she went through the procedure of dancing the rock and roll number, glancing at him and smiling as often as she could bear. She convinced herself that the strange emotions she was experiencing for Titus Bellamy were a dream and that tomorrow she would wake up and things would be as they were. Normality was what she wanted: real, sensible, everyday, twenty-five-year ordinariness.
Liz made sure she wasn’t anywhere near Titus when the party broke up. She hid amongst the usual Turnham Malpas people, even tolerating Sheila Bissett and her Ron.
Sheila gushed her thanks. ‘Wonderful party, Liz, just wonderful. Thank you so much for asking us. We do appreciate being on the guest list. Goodnight.’
Liz got a kiss on both cheeks from Sheila and, over Sheila’s shoulder, she saw Titus saying goodnight to Neville. As though he had personal radar Titus found her and gave a long, slow wink. Her insides simply melted.
‘It’s been a pleasure, Sheila, a real pleasure.’
Liz couldn’t avoid saying goodnight to Titus any longer, but she manoeuvred it so she was outside the front door when he caught up with her. She knew she wanted him to kiss her right there and then, but still she was caught unawares when he bent his head and kissed her lips, so gently they barely touched hers.
This
, then, was how it felt, this electric feeling, this bursting with joy.
‘Be seeing you,’ he said softly before he left.
Be seeing you
. Oh, yes, he would, definitely.
She walked back inside, blinded by the intensity of her response.
Hugh and Guy were staying over and had disappeared upstairs leaving Neville and Liz alone amidst the after-party clutter. Neville had offered the waitresses extra money to clear up for them, so all they had to do was stack up the presents in a corner of the dining room - though they’d asked not to have them people couldn’t resist - and discuss the success of the evening.
‘It went well, don’t you think?’ Neville slipped an arm round her waist and kissed her temple.
Liz wriggled free. ‘It did. And so it should considering how much it cost us. We almost topped Old Fitch, didn’t we?’
‘No, we didn’t. He’s lavish with his social events. We got it just right. Yes, it was highly successful. Glad we had a fine evening, so that people could spread out into the garden. I thought Muriel was on good form.’
He waited for her reply.
‘Was she? I didn’t see much of her.’ She knew she sounded false.
‘I went into the garden for some fresh air and thought I heard your voices. The two of you talking, you know.’
Alarm bells rang in Liz’s head. ‘Well, you were mistaken.’
Neville leapt from his chair and grabbed her arm as she added another present to the pile under the window. ‘No, Liz, I’m right.’ With his face only inches from hers he glared right into her eyes. ‘She warned you about Titus Bellamy, I heard her.’
‘If you have reached the level of believing what an old lady, suffering from dementia or whatever it is, says then—’
‘I’ve seen his eyes when he looks at you. I’ve seen
your
eyes, full of messages.’ His grip on her arm tightened.
‘Neville! You’re hurting me.’
‘I’ll hurt you even more if you’re not careful. How many times have you seen him?’
‘I won’t be questioned like this. You’re being ridiculous. I met him in the Store and then tonight. You’re deluded if you think there’s something going on.’
Neville snarled at her. ‘You’re my wife, not a tart, and I won’t tolerate anything untoward.’
Liz mocked him, she couldn’t help herself. ‘Untoward indeed! You’re archaic. You’re also paranoid. What can possibly be going on between us? We’ve only just met.’
A present placed awkwardly fell off the pile onto the carpet at Neville’s feet. He let go of her to pick it up, and Liz made her escape up the stairs and into the bedroom at the speed of light. As an afterthought she locked the bedroom door.
Within moments Neville was at the door, rattling the knob and saying through gritted teeth, ‘Open this door. I demand you open it.’ Then he hammered on it with his fist. ‘Open it right now! I haven’t finished.’
Hugh and Guy appeared on the landing. ‘Dad?’
But Neville was so incensed he didn’t hear them.
‘Liz! Open this door. At once! I have my rights.’
‘Dad!’
Neville swung round, his face glistening with sweat. ‘Ah! Boys.’ He wiped his top lip with the silk handkerchief from his top pocket. ‘Lovers’ tiff. I expect you boys know what it’s like.’ He laughed, a strange, cracked laugh which seemed more like a cry for help.
‘Is Mum all right?’
‘Of course she is. Storm in a teacup, as they say. Goodnight, boys.’
He turned away to go downstairs, patting Hugh’s shoulder as he went as though apologizing. But his insides heaved and tossed, threatening to make him sick. Such terrible lack of control. How could he have behaved like that? How could he have accused her of something that wasn’t? How could it be? As Liz said, they’d only met twice. He’d got it completely wrong. But as he sat in his study sipping his whiskey he was haunted by the look in Titus’s eyes and that look Liz had when she looked up at him, so full of
life
. He knew he was right. The way they’d danced. Why couldn’t he dance with her like that? Close and intimate. Warm and pleasurable. Comfortable with each other.
Worst of all, he’d given Titus the money to come to the village every week with his market. In one sense he’d actually
paid
him to see his wife. Neville tipped another double whiskey down his throat and fell into a drunken sleep.
That was Saturday night. Early on Monday afternoon, just as Liz was finishing her lunch, the phone rang. It was Caroline.
‘I’m home. Tea? I’ve put the kettle on.’
Liz thought she sounded slightly abrupt. ‘Lovely. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Got a phone call to make.’
‘Fine. See you then. Too cold for the garden, don’t you think?’
‘I agree.’
The teapot was at the ready on the coffee table in Caroline’s sitting room when Liz arrived. The pretty china cups were laid out and a plate of Liz’s favourite biscuits were waiting for her.
‘Caroline! Thank you. You’re just what I needed.’
‘Am I?’
‘Yes, I’m in need of a large dose of common sense.’
‘I don’t know about common sense, but I am in a state of surprise. ’
‘No more so than I.’
Liz took one of the biscuits before Caroline had a chance to offer them. ‘I love these.’
‘I know. So-o-o?’ Liz knew from her look that Caroline was talking about the party.
‘You noticed? I don’t know what happened. It feels like he has known me for years. He hasn’t but that’s how it is.’
‘The way you danced. What came over you?’
‘If you lived the barren emotional life I do it might have happened to you. He’s so . . .’
‘Yes?’
‘Heart-stopping.’
Caroline paused to put more hot water in the teapot while she thought what to say. ‘Liz, be careful. You’re treading on dangerous ground. Does Neville realize?’
‘Oh, yes. He does. He’s very angry.’
‘Hardly surprising.’
‘We’re not speaking. I got swept off my feet. But I shan’t be seeing him again, shall I.’
‘That’s what you suppose, but he looked captivated by you.’
Liz studied her own feelings for a moment and then admitted so was she by him.
‘You should never have invited Sheila Bissett. She’s spread the news. They’re all talking about it.’
‘They’re not. Oh, God! Well, nothing can come of it, so that’s that.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. I don’t believe in divorce.’ But the tone of her voice gave her away, it being barely convincing.
They chatted for a while more, about the success of the party, about the latest news in the village, in fact, until almost the time for the twins to be home, not mentioning Titus again. But he never left Liz’s mind. In fact, he hadn’t left her mind since Saturday night, and she didn’t give a hang that Neville was so angry with her. And in her heart of hearts, no matter what she’d said to Caroline about being against divorce, Liz knew the dance they’d had at the silver wedding anniversary party was only the beginning of something important . . . to her and to him.
Chapter 6
The following Thursday morning there was no resistance to the market whatsoever. The more militant had hoped for an organized demonstration but after the pleasant events of the first week there was no enthusiasm for one.
However, at the civilized hour of 9 a.m., Grandmama Charter-Plackett appeared out of her back gate with a placard. Not for her the scrappy, badly written messages of most protest placards. Hers was beautifully printed, colourful and to the point:
NO MARKET
IN TURNHAM MALPAS
LEAVE US IN PEACE
She marched firmly, ringing a handbell she’d borrowed from the school, weaving her way between the stalls, not even sneaking a glance at what was on display, and taking up her position outside the Store.
Jimbo was at the Old Barn supervising the delivery of some kitchen equipment when he heard the bell. Having no idea it was his mother ringing it, he continued supervising the delivery until Barry came charging on site shouting from the van window, ‘Jimbo, it’s your mother making that racket. She’s got a placard.’ Frankly, Barry thought it hilarious but Jimbo was appalled.
His immediate reaction was to abandon ship, but his business mind told him to stay and keep checking the delivery, otherwise he might find that stunning cooker he could see on the van had ‘not been delivered’. It took another quarter of an hour before he was free to go. He raced down the drive out into the road, down Church Lane, left into Stocks Row and screeched to a halt in front of the Store. His mother was still ringing the bell, and at such close quarters the sound was deafening.
Jimbo jumped out and went to speak to her. She stopped the bell, put it down on the seat, stood her placard up against the back of it and, with her hands free, removed her earplugs.
‘There you are. Aren’t you pleased with your mother? Do you see anyone else protesting? No, not a soul, but I’m here in defence of my son’s business. Aren’t you proud?’
She beamed at him, and was horrified to see the disapproval in his face.
‘Don’t you want me to protest?’
‘I don’t see the point. The market went supremely well last week, and apparently the same is happening today.’ Jimbo shrugged. ‘I don’t see how we can stop it.’
‘There’s more people here this week. Word’s getting around, and there’ll be even more next week. I’ve seen three women I know from my exercise class in Culworth, two married couples from Little Derehams and a whole host from Penny Fawcett in that old minibus they all career about in. I tell you, that damned Titus Bellamy has struck gold. We’ve got to do something, and I’m doing it.’
Grandmama put her earplugs back in, picked up the bell and her placard, and began ringing the bell again. Jimbo went inside the Store and firmly closed the door.
Several people came to have a word with her so she graciously refrained from swinging the bell while they chatted to her. But then Jimbo and Tom heard the sounds of an altercation and, looking out, saw Kate Fitch from the school apparently telling her in no uncertain terms that she wanted the school bell back, as they couldn’t tolerate the noise and teach at the same time.
‘But you promised me. Just for the morning, you said.’