Ford came back with the drinks and passed them round. Then he sat down at the table, took a long swig and decided to put forward an idea he had for the Turnham Malpas lunch club.
‘I’ve been thinking, this lunch club you have, once a month, do you ever go somewhere different from the village hall?’
They all shook their heads. ‘Why?’ asked Sylvia, who was involved in the organizing of it.
‘Just thought it might be fun to go somewhere else.’
Sylvia said, ‘Trouble is, most people can’t afford the price of the lunch and a trip out. But if you’re in a charitable frame of mind, Ford, it’s the youngsters round here who need money spending on them, not the old folks.’
There was a great deal of chuntering then along the lines of ‘Why not the old folks?’ All of them conveniently forgot that they were old folk themselves.
Ford asked, ‘In what way, Sylvia?’
‘Well, we have the youth club run by Kate Fitch and Venetia Mayer. They do have fundraising efforts but they never quite raise enough, and what they need is to be able to go somewhere exciting. They’re all worthwhile young people, not tearaways, and they deserve something going on in this village, and out of it. You’d be doing them a real service if you could come up with some funds. They deserve it more than the old people, believe me. They
need
it more. Country life for young people nowadays isn’t, well, isn’t exciting enough.’ Sylvia glared round the table, eyeball to eyeball, daring anyone to disagree.
Mercedes lit up at the prospect. ‘I see what you mean. Bless ’em.’ There sounded to be real feeling in her voice when she said that, and they all wondered why it was so heartfelt.
Ford said nothing.
He got a nudge from Mercedes but still he said nothing.
To fill the silence someone mentioned the date of the end-of-season cricket team dinner, and were they . . .
Ford burst into life. ‘Where do I find these people? This Kate and Venice whatever she’s called?’
Sylvia began singing inside. ‘Up at the Big House - Turnham House. It’s a training college for Mr Fitch’s staff, for his business. Venetia’s the sports person and Kate, of course, lives in the flat.’
‘Will they be in?’
‘Worth a try,’ said Sylvia, staggered by Ford’s decisiveness.
‘Right! I’m going up there. Coming, Merc?’
Chapter 4
They found Venetia supervising the swimming pool. She was languidly resting on a white plastic lounger, idly admiring the young men showing off their prowess.
She sprang to life when she spotted Mercedes and Ford stepping along the edge of the pool towards her.
‘Good evening. How may I help?’
‘Venetia Mayer? I’m Ford Barclay. This is my wife, Mercedes. We’ve come specially to see about the club for the young people you run on Friday nights.’
Venetia had really gone off obese men since she’d got her Jeremy down to an acceptable size and didn’t find Ford at all appealing, so she didn’t bother to fluff up her blacker-than-black hair, or to get up from the lounger. Behind his innocent question he’d only be wanting to join the leisure club and it wasn’t for the public.
‘I see. I run the youth club along with Kate Fitch and a committee of the young people in the village - well, villages, because we include Penny Fawcett and Little Derehams, too. Do you have children of an age to join, then?’
‘No, no. Someone called Sylvia in the pub just now suggested the club might be in need of funds.’
‘Always in need of funds.’ Venetia glanced at her watch and took her mobile from the pocket of her pink linen shorts. ‘It’s nine, so Kate will have finished their evening meal. I’ll give her a ring, see if it’s convenient for us to go up to their flat. She’s Kate
Fitch
, you see.’
She was in and yes, anyone with money to spare for the youth club was more than welcome. Venetia closed her mobile, swung her long, slender legs off the lounger and stood up. Mercedes almost fainted when she saw her figure full-length. She admired the devotion needed to maintain a figure like that, taut and neat-bottomed. She’d need to watch Ford; he was passionate about neat bottoms.
They reached the main hall of the Big House with its original Tudor panelling, exquisite flower arrangements, and beautiful banisters, along which Mercedes trailed her fingers in delicious enjoyment of the old wood. She was overwhelmed. Her mouth was dry and her legs were shaky; she wouldn’t speak, that was the easiest. Not a word. She’d leave it all to Ford.
The luxuriousness of the furnishings and the hangings in the sitting room in this Mr Fitch’s flat alarmed Mercedes. Such taste! It was straight out of one of those smart magazines that Ford kept buying her in the hope that some of the style would rub off on them both. Mercedes shook the hand he offered her and trembled all over. He frightened her. But Kate was an entirely different matter. Obviously she must have misheard; she must be his daughter, not his wife. She was much more down-to-earth.
Mr Fitch served drinks from a thing like a cocktail cabinet, except it was too old to be called that, and finally, when they were all seated, drink in hand, Ford launched into his ideas.
‘I was thinking about perking up the lunch club for the old folk but instead someone mentioned that the youth of the villages were in need of some excitement, so I’ve changed my mind. What ages do you cover, Kate?’
‘Thirteen to eighteen.’
‘Right. They’ll need something exciting, won’t they? Weekends away, camping or in hostels, trips to Go Ape - expect there’ll be one somewhere within reasonable distance - their own gigs, sport of some kind. The list is endless. Brighten everything up, we shall. How about it, Venice? Are we on the right lines?’
Venetia appeared extraordinarily at home in this room, and Mercedes wondered why that should be because she was common, no doubt about that, and didn’t really fit in. She waited to hear what she had to say to Ford’s proposals.
Venetia unravelled her gorgeous legs, fluffed her hair and said, glancing coyly at Mr Fitch, whose cold eyes didn’t appear to be the least bit impressed, ‘It all sounds brilliant, doesn’t it, Craddock?’
That she should feel free to use his first name surprised Mercedes; it didn’t ring quite true somehow.
Mr Fitch froze her with a steely look and addressed Ford. ‘Sounds to me just right for these young people.’ He turned to Kate. ‘What do you think, darling?’
Mercedes thought, darling? To his daughter? Well, she couldn’t be his wife. Heavens above, he was old enough to be her father.
‘Well, we have about sixteen regulars, more occasionally, but with activities like you’ve mentioned I’m sure there’ll definitely be sixteen, and that means an awful lot of money.’
‘Well, I was thinking about that on the way up here. If it was a big project like a four-day trip somewhere after GCSEs or A-levels then they’d have to match me pound for pound. Say it cost a hundred pounds for four days in a hostel, I’d offer fifty pounds and they’d have to find fifty plus their spending money. Would that be any good? Can’t always hand it to them on a plate, can we?’
‘For some of them that’s a lot of money,’ said Kate. ‘Believe me it is. Hardly any of them are earning, you see. And there’s transport, too, isn’t there? That’s expensive nowadays.’
‘I would pay the transport costs,’ Mr Fitch suggested.
But Ford positively disagreed. ‘No, no. It’s my project. I’ll pay for the transport.’
This well-intentioned offer was made kindly enough but Mr Fitch was having none of it.
‘Absolutely not. I’m the benefactor round here and I shall pay for the vehicle, as often as needed. That’s settled.’
Kate knew before Ford replied that he was about to drop the proverbial brick.
‘No, I’m sorry, it isn’t. I can’t allow you to feel you have to chip in. It’s not right, and you retired and living in this rented flat.’
A slight flush flooded Mr Fitch’s cheeks and in the iciest tones any human being could have summoned he said, ‘I don’t think you realise who I am. I
own
Fitch Enterprise Europe. The construction company. If I say I shall pay for the transport, that’s exactly what I mean.’
Ford, who hadn’t heard of the company, was only briefly fazed by this revelation. He quickly recovered and thanked Craddock profusely for his generosity.
Kate interrupted him. ‘Look, Venetia and I will discuss all this with the members this Friday and see how they feel about it. I agree they should make some effort to pay for these trips, if only on a character-building basis, and perhaps we could hold fundraising events to help them all, especially the ones whose parents can’t afford such expense. How about that, Ford? Would that be a good idea?’
Ford nodded his approval, and Kate asked Mercedes what she thought.
‘That’s fine by me. I don’t have anything to do with his charitable . . . efforts, I leave it all to Ford; he loves getting involved.’ Then Mercedes saw Mr Fitch’s reaction to what she’d said and sank back into her chair, vowing not to say another word.
‘You’re in the habit of giving a lot to charity, then?’ Mr Fitch said.
Kate heard the hint of sarcasm in his voice and wished she could think on her feet and divert the conversation to something less confrontational, but she didn’t. In fact, she hadn’t a chance because Ford plunged immediately into listing his recent donations, mentioning in particular the purchase of the state-of-the-art lawnmower for the church.
Mr Fitch almost jerked with surprise; he’d not heard a word about that. ‘A lawnmower for the church! I didn’t even know they needed one.’
‘Oh. Yes, the old one nearly killed that Zack the virgin. I saw to that pronto. You see, I feel I need to give something back.’
‘Back? To what exactly?’ Mr Fitch said sharply.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why do you feel the need to give something back? To what are you going something back?’
‘Well, I’ve been lucky, you see, and made pots of money, so I give it back as a thank you.’
‘What are you, then?’
‘A philanthropist, I suppose.’
‘No, no. How did you earn your money?’
‘I’ve sold my metal business outright,’ Ford replied with a hint of pride in his tone.
‘You mean you were in scrap metal?’
Ford loathed that description, and began to lose his temper. Mercedes wished she could curl up and die. She slowly slid her foot over the carpet towards Ford’s ankle and kicked it slightly but it was all too late.
‘I describe myself as having dealt in metal. The phrase “scrap metal” makes the whole business sound seedy and illegal, thank you very much, Craddock . . .’
It was the spine-chilling look at the use of his first name that stopped Ford in his tracks. Who the hell did this Mr Fitch think he was to be so scornful of the pride of his life’s achievements. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘None at all. It’s just that “scrap metal” seems to me to be common usage, surely?’
There was no doubting the underlying scorn in Mr Fitch’s voice, and Ford wasn’t going to put up with it for another moment. He searched feverishly in his mind for a cutting reply. Too late.
‘My paying for the transport for your . . . little enterprise . . . isn’t going to take anything away from your charity work, now is it? It’s simply a small helping hand.’
‘Well, I won’t spoil our concept for the sake of a man who can’t take no for an answer. Between us we should be able to do something constructive for the young people in the villages, and that’s what’s important.’
‘Indeed it is.’
Kate and Venetia sighed with relief.
Then Kate launched herself into cementing the relationship. ‘We would be delighted to have your support, and, as I said before, we shall discuss it with the members on Friday, won’t we, Venetia? Another drink, anyone?’