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

Words leapt from the page:
due to the credit crunch . . . money draining away . . . new building coming to a standstill
. . . God, what next? Jimbo turned to the second page and there was the point of the whole letter.
In view of this I am looking for a buyer for Turnham House estate . . . therefore your contract for the catering for the students will regrettably
. . .

Jimbo sat down, pained beyond belief by what he read. This contract was his bread and butter that solidly supported the shop and the Old Barn events. On their own they would be shaky and surely if a company the size of Craddock Fitch’s was being affected by the credit crunch what about him? What about the Old Barn? Maybe a new owner wouldn’t want people tramping up and down their drive, so that would be yet another blow.

His mouth went dry, his tongue stuck to his teeth and he began to shrink from within. He wasn’t, common sense told him that, but it was how it felt. At least he was now only supporting Fran – the other three were well away with their careers, and wouldn’t need financial support unless something drastic occurred.

Harriet! Of course, he’d find Harriet: she’d make him pull himself together.

He shouted down the phone, ‘Harriet? You there?’

‘Where else at this time in the morning?’

‘I’m coming home.’

‘Home? Are you ill?’

‘No, but I’m about to be.’ He banged down the receiver, shouted to Tom he was going home for half an hour and fled.

Harriet was waiting for him at the door.

‘Darling! You look dreadful! Whatever is it?’

Over a coffee into which he’d poured a shot of medicinal whisky, Jimbo told Harriet his news.

Harriet held out her hands to him. ‘Show me the letter, please.’

Jimbo passed it to her, noticing how his hands shook, but Harriet’s were steady.

His first words after Harriet had read the letter through to the end were, ‘We’re done for, you know. Absolutely done for.’

‘Have you studied your calendar for the Old Barn lately? It’s chock-a-block with bookings. For the next nine months there’s at least one if not three or four events every week. Weddings, parties, and don’t forget those trade fairs you’re hosting.’

‘He could get a buyer within a few short months. Then where would we be?’

‘If whoever buys it hasn’t the sense to see what a money spinner the Old Barn is then they’re a fool . . . you’ve panicked, that’s your trouble. It could be years in the present climate before he got a buyer. We’ll pull our horns in a bit and before we know where we are you’ll be top side of everything in no time at all.’

Harriet stood up and, leaning over Jimbo, kissed the middle of his bald head, put her arms around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze.

‘Harriet! What would I do without you?’

Grinning, Harriet asked had he never realised before that she was the power behind the throne?

Momentarily his spirits lifted and he smiled. ‘There, you see, I never knew before it was all due to you!’

‘I hope that’s not you being sarcastic. I’ve backed you all the way, even if I haven’t always been certain you were right.’

‘You’re right. Very right. You have always supported me. With the mail order and the website too, we should be OK, shouldn’t we?’

Harriet smiled. ‘Of course we shall. I wonder who will buy the big house?’

‘Certainly no one who wants to buy it to
live
in. I mean, who would? There’s no one flush with that kind of money nowadays; it would have to earn its keep.’

‘A hotel perhaps, do you think?’

‘Might be, might be. I’m off up to see the man himself and ask when he wants to stop the contract. I hate having to lay people off; it’s so upsetting.’ Jimbo got to his feet. ‘Remember, not a word! To anyone. Not even Mother. In fact, definitely not to her.’

‘Of course not. The news will get round fast enough without her assistance.’

Harriet watched him leave the house and wished he didn’t have to tell his staff at the big house they were without a job. He’d keep them on if he could, but of course he couldn’t – there’d be nothing to pay them with. She saw him brace his shoulders, walk towards his car, pause and then carry on walking and she knew he was going to go all the way up to see Craddock Fitch on foot instead of driving. Obviously he needed time to think.

And think he did. Halfway up the drive to the big house he concluded that the one he should be feeling sorry for was Craddock Fitch, not Jimbo Charter-Plackett. Standing on the gravel driveway gazing up at the beautiful Tudor house he remembered what a proud man Craddock was, how he thrived on the cut and thrust of the business world and how much he would hate any kind of sympathy, no matter how sincere.

His receptionist/secretary looked distraught. Obviously it was not the right moment for the usual jolly banter she and Jimbo frequently exchanged. ‘Is your boss in?’

His reply was a nod of the head, and another tear beginning to roll down her cheek.

Jimbo tapped briskly on Craddock’s office door and without waiting for his permission to enter he walked straight in.

Craddock was standing at the window lost in thought. He turned to see who’d entered and Jimbo saw he had a whisky glass in his hand.

‘Join me?’ Craddock asked.

Jimbo nodded. Craddock refilled his own glass and then handed one to Jimbo. They both stood side by side looking out of the window at the green rolling fields and hills of Turnham House grounds. The lake between the house and the hills shimmered in the morning sun. Their eyes followed a lone swimmer crossing the lake, both envying he who had the time to enjoy a swim on a morning of such shattering disappointment.

Craddock Fitch cleared his throat. ‘Love this view. Always have. Damn it! To lose it will break my heart.’

Jimbo had never heard Craddock make such an emotional statement in all the years he’d known him.

Jimbo muttered, ‘I had an almighty shock when I opened my post. At a loss to know what to say right now. So sudden.’

‘These things always are. I’ve an office building project in Sweden standing half-finished because the owner has run out of money and big bills still owed, then a succession of smaller failures, a couple of rogue bankrupts running scared, and before I knew where I was the bank, damn ’em, were calling in my loans. I’ve opened quite a few nasty letters lately from the bank and now this is the end. The time comes when you know that you have to shut the lot down and stand back watching all your hard work come to nothing. Thank God I’ve got Kate.’

‘I’m damned sorry. Twenty years it must be you’ve been here in this village; that’s a long time in any man’s life. Of course you’ll miss it. If . . . there’s . . . we could always put you up now we’ve none of the children permanently at home. Tide you over until—’

Craddock raised his hand to silence him. ‘Kind offer, but no thanks. Kate and I will move to Glebe House . . .’

‘I thought you’d rented it to that peculiar couple we never see?’

‘I did. But no longer; I’ve given them notice to quit. They were always late with their rent so they might possibly be glad. So that’s more people I’ve given a shock to this morning.’ Ruefully Craddock smiled at Jimbo. ‘At least I shall have a roof over my head, but that’s about all. I’ve grown to love this old place.’ He looked round his office, gazed soulfully at the beautiful fireplace and the ancient panelling covering the walls, the ages-old bookshelves, and sighed. ‘So your contract ends as of now. Sorry, we’ve been good friends, you and I.’

Jimbo nodded.

‘The students in training have all been told and by the sounds of the bumping and banging I can hear they’re busy packing this very minute. My head office in London will cause a problem. Who the blazes wants to buy first-class offices on a prime site in London in this financial climate?’

‘No one. I shall say this and then not mention it again. I’m deeply sorry about it all. Deeply sorry.’ Jimbo hesitated about bringing up his own rather desperate situation – it felt to be a small matter compared to Craddock Fitch’s multiple problems. But he had to. ‘About the Old Barn. I have events booked months ahead.’

‘I don’t expect I shall find a buyer this week or even next month, so keep going until we can’t.’ Craddock returned to staring out of the window. He was silent for a moment and then he spoke with a bitter tone in his voice. ‘There’ll be people in the village laughing their heads off; that’ll be the hardest thing to bear. I’ve been too scornful of them in the past for them to feel sorry for me.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that. They’ve really got to like you since you married Kate. She’ll be a comfort to you, I’ve no doubt. I’ll go gather my catering staff together and tell them the news. Something I don’t like doing, but there it is.’

‘I’ve always appreciated your high standards. That’s why it’s been such a money spinner for you, because of your high standards. Shows you’ve a good head for business.’

Jimbo realised that Craddock Fitch was looking at him, this time with a smile on his face. Then he turned away and Jimbo left him where he’d found him, gazing sadly at his land.

Jimbo pushed open the green baize door to the kitchens and found his catering staff preparing lunch. ‘Chef!’ he bellowed.

His chef appeared, buttoning his whites. ‘Yes? You’re early.’ Not liking the look on Jimbo’s face he asked, ‘What’s up? Summat wrong?’

‘Have a word, your office.’

Dave the chef was a big man and it was a squash in there for the two of them.

‘Tell me straight out, no messing. It’s true, isn’t it?’

Jimbo raised questioning eyebrows. ‘What have you heard?’

‘That the glory days are over. Craddock’s fallen flat on ’is face.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘I’ve a cousin works in the city, rumours and all that.’

‘Yes, that’s exactly it. He’s heartbroken.’

‘Heartbroken? Never realized he ’ad one.’

‘Now, Dave!’

‘He’s a b— never mind, ignore me. So we’re all out of a job then. As of now?’ Dave began taking his whites off.

‘Well, yes. I’m so sorry. I didn’t have a hint of it. Then this morning I got the letter. I’ll tell the others.’

Dave studied Jimbo’s shocked face. ‘No, it’s got to be me. You can stay if you prefer but they are
my
staff, trained to
my
standards and
I
should tell them. OK?’

‘Thanks. I’ll never get used to sacking people. I’ll sort out the redundancy money for them; it’ll be on the salary slip, end of the month. Right?’

Dave looked Jimbo straight in the eye. ‘No need to worry about me. I’ve a job waiting for me in London should I ever decide to take it up, so I’m OK. As for the rest of them,’ he shrugged his shoulders, ‘having worked for you and been trained by me they’ll all get good jobs. Everyone in the business knows you don’t employ fools, and I don’t train idiots, so they won’t be unemployed for long. There’ll be cafes and restaurants in Culworth waiting to snap them up, believe me.’

‘Thanks, Dave. Always been glad of your straight-out-with-it Northern talk.’ He turned to go, and then came back to say with a grin on his face, ‘Don’t be too outspoken in London; it might not go down too well with them.’

Dave slapped him on the back and roared with laughter. ‘Just go!’

But Jimbo stayed to hear him tell the others about their bad luck, and then shook hands with them all, thanked them for their hard work and left before he lost his cool and broke down.

The villagers who worked on the estate had heard the news from the catering people when they saw them leaving so early in the day and naturally the collapse of Craddock Fitch’s empire was all round the three villages before teatime, and nowhere buzzed with the news quite so much as the bar at the Royal Oak.

Earlier than usual the regulars were assembling for a good gossip about the man who had been at the hub of village life for so long.

‘Well,’ said Willie, ‘it’s a real shame.’

‘Real shame? It blinking isn’t a shame; he deserves it. He deserves to be in the gutter for the way he’s treated us villagers.’ Don, still subject to outbursts of the truth, slapped his glass of orange juice down on the table, daring anyone to contradict him.

‘Have you forgotten the times he’s held parties for us all? What about the education scholarships he’s awarded, to our Dean for a start. He’d never ’ave gone to Oxford if it had been left to us. Now would he?’ This was Pat, having a free evening from organising Jimbo’s events. ‘He’s made it, ’as our Dean. He has a wonderful life and I’ve the nicest daughter-in-law any mother could hope to have. Old Fitch doesn’t deserve this.’

‘What about that time your Barry nearly got sacked over them paving stones and them urns that mysteriously appeared in Vera’s garden, eh?’ asked Don.

‘What about the champagne race meeting up at the big house when we made all that money for the mission in Africa?’ challenged Willie.

Don remembered another matter he could hold against Mr Fitch. ‘I’ll give yer that, but what about the houses in Little Derehams what he bought? Eh! Winders letting the draughts in, and the paths bad enough to break yer leg.’