Chapter 34
The closer the clock hands swung around to seven, the more Marnie’s nerves began to jangle. Could she really walk into Titus’s house uninvited to face people who resented her presence in the village because she’d 1) put up their rents, 2) slashed their private funding, 3) snogged their heartthrob and 4) shoved cheesecake in their faces.
The first time she’d had to do a presentation in front of the industry demi-god that was Laurence Stewart-Smith, she’d almost walked out of her job rather than face him. He was well known for being impossible to impress and of being a closet misogynist. She’d thrown up the night before, had chronic diarrhoea in the morning. She was pretty sure, at least, that she wouldn’t vomit or mess herself during her address because there was nothing left in her system to expel. It was always good to find a positive, she thought.
It was whilst she was putting her make-up on at the kitchen table that fateful morning that she heard something that would stay with her always. The radio was on and playing an anniversary programme which featured an interview with Sammy Davis Junior. He was talking about the prejudices he had endured throughout his career.
‘You always have two choices: your commitment versus your fear,’ he said and that resonated so deeply with Marnie that she dropped her mascara. Commitment versus fear, which was it to be? She’d arrived at Café Caramba that morning with a whole new attitude. She presented her ideas to a room packed full of men expecting something weak and full of holes and instead she’d dazzled them into silence.
Now she was facing the same: which was more important, her fear or getting Wychwell back on its feet? Titus Sutton was big and bullish but he didn’t have the power that Laurence once had over her: Titus couldn’t sack her. Titus couldn’t sully her name so she never worked again. Titus was simply a big bag of hot air – and a corrupt one at that.
So Marnie put on one of the power-suits she used to wear for work, applied ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ red lipstick and as she walked up to the Lemon Villa, recited Sammy Davis Junior’s quote like a mantra. She had deliberately delayed her arrival until quarter past, to allow the meeting to be in full swing. She rang the doorbell, her jaw tight with tension. Hilary answered.
‘I hear there’s a village gathering tonight,’ said Marnie, head held high.
‘There certainly is,’ said Hilary, smile pulling at the corners of her lips. ‘Would you like to push past me to gain entry. It’s just to your right, there.’
Marnie didn’t have to push past her, of course. There were fourteen steps because she counted them in an effort to offset her spiking anxiety level. She didn’t give herself time to think, but opened the door and walked straight into the room full of people. Marnie took them all in with a sweep of her eyes from Derek at one side of the table to Una at the other. Zoe’s head was down, Titus was glaring at her, Cilla was wearing a small smile, Herv gave her a secret wink.
Titus was the first to speak. ‘Hilary, what on earth are you doing, letting her in?’
‘I didn’t give your wife the option of not letting me in,’ said Marnie. ‘If this is a village meeting, about the village, and me I expect, then I reserve the right to be here.’
Titus’s eyeballs began to bulge. ‘This is my house, madam . . .’
‘Well it’s your home, but the house itself belongs to the village, which I’m presently in charge of,’ she fired back. Something in her head gave her a high-five for that.
‘I think it might be a good idea if Miss Salt stays,’ said Dr Court. ‘She can answer our questions then.’
There were grumbles of agreement. But not from Kay and Una, who were trying to kill her with their narrow-eyed stares.
Herv got to his feet. ‘You can have my seat, I’ll stand,’ he said.
‘Thank you,’ said Marnie, taking him up on the offer and sitting down demurely. Underneath the table, though, her leg was vibrating with nerves as if an over-enthusiastic puppeteer was jerking on a string tied to her knee.
‘So, questions?’ she said, dovetailing her fingers together and sitting primly. ‘Do ask me anything you aren’t sure of.’
‘Why does my rent agreement say that I have to pay a penalty of five pounds extra per month?’ Kay Sweetman dived straight in.
‘And mine does as well,’ said Una.
‘Do you really have to ask?’
‘You can’t do that,’ Una protested.
‘Well yes, actually I can and I have,’ Marnie replied. ‘And if you don’t like the arrangement then why not go and live in Skipperstone where you will be paying a hell of a lot more than you do in Wychwell. That’s the deal – take it or leave it. Anyone else?’
Una’s mouth gathered into a cat’s-arse pucker of fury.
‘You’ve obviously made a huge mistake in what you think you’re going to charge me for living here,’ snickered Titus.
‘Not at all,’ said Marnie, with a coolness belying her inner stress. ‘I worked out the rents per square footage. You have rather a lot of square footage in this house, Mr Sutton. Quid pro quo. It’s fair and – if you’ll excuse the pun – square.’
Titus’s red face moved further up the angry spectrum towards purple.
‘How solid are the promises you made in the letters?’ asked Cilla, and Marnie knew she was giving her the chance to appease people’s worries. Bless her.
‘The new deals have been made with the approval of the new owner. They are binding. You all have your homes for the duration of your lifetimes, subject to the rents being paid of course. If you work for the estate and then retire, the rent will constitute part of your pension.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cilla.
‘I can’t afford to pay rent,’ said Una, her chin and bosom jiggling with indignation. ‘I haven’t got a job.’
‘Well, you’ll have to get one then, won’t you,’ said Marnie, starting to enjoy herself now.
‘I can’t work,’ said Una. ‘I have bad feet.’
‘I do believe there are actual jobs you can do sitting down these days,’ replied Marnie with faux sweetness. ‘You pay, you stay, say no, you go. Next.’
David Parselow raised one hand whilst rubbing his chin thoughtfully with the other.
‘The loyalty payments that the businesses have received in the past, do we have to pay them back?’
Marnie had to be careful how to answer this because she’d written to Titus that he had to.
‘The two businesses in the area, i.e. the pub and the post office, were given a bonus payment in compensation for lack of custom, from what I understand. By increasing the amount of people who live in, and who know of, Wychwell, it is hoped your businesses will have a much-improved turnover. There is absolutely no other reason for anyone else to have received a loyalty bonus.’ She looked pointedly over at Titus, who was firing daggers at her with his rheumy eyes. ‘But to answer your question directly, David, no. I think that would be unfair.’
He sagged with relief, as if he’d been a balloon and a pin had been stuck in his back.
‘Who is the new owner?’ asked Emelie. ‘Do you really not know, Marnie?’
‘I have no idea,’ she replied.
Titus gave a short bark of laughter and everyone’s head swung around to him.
‘I have no idea,’ Marnie reiterated. ‘One of you is, I’m sure. One of you has a set of keys – the owner’s keys – to the manor. One of you was up there last night.’ She looked around hoping to spot some giveaway body language, but she saw nothing. ‘Now, is there anything else?’
Silence answered her. ‘Okay, well, if there is and you want to discuss it with me in private, you know where I am. I do need your intentions to stay and abide by the new agreements in writing by the end of the month. I will take any non-responses as a desire to terminate your residency in Wychwell and will then issue a thirty-day notice to quit your property. Thank you for your time.’ She stood and pushed the seat back with her legs.
She was at the door when Roger asked, ‘So where has all the money gone?’
‘Maybe Titus can explain that one,’ said Marnie.
A church-like hush fell upon the group after Marnie departed from their midst. Cyril Rootwood, an old quarry miner with a resultant bad chest, was the first to break it.
‘So, where has all the money gone, Titus? What did she mean by “Titus can explain that one”?’
‘I have absolutely no bloody idea,’ he replied, with convincing confidence. ‘Always a clever ploy to shift the focus onto someone else when you are trying to divert it from yourself.’
‘Well, with the greatest of respect, Titus, she can’t be held responsible for there being no money in the estate.’ This from Mrs Court. ‘You must know what’s happened to it all. You looked after that side of the business.’
‘Dear lady,’ began Titus in the most patronising tone he could muster, ‘Lilian had absolutely no fiscal sense. I could only advise, not dictate.’
‘Did she invest any of her savings with you?’ asked Griff.
‘I don’t like what you are inferring, Griff Oldroyd,’ Titus replied, his expression hard.
Lionel, sensing a meltdown, asked for calm. ‘I think that Marnie has answered all the questions we were going to raise. I didn’t realise she hadn’t been invited, Titus. What would have been the point in a meeting without her?’
‘Lilian was half-senile when this . . . this stranger breezed into her life and two minutes later Lilian is dead and the woman is running the estate. Is there any wonder that I do not trust her?’
‘Lilian was sound enough of mind to recognise a good soul when she saw one, Titus,’ said Emelie.
‘Yes,’ he spat back, ‘and that’s why she had a Nazi as a friend.’
‘Whoa.’ Herv was on his feet now. ‘There is no need for that.’
‘Shame on you, Titus Sutton,’ said Lionel, also moved to stand.
Emelie picked up her handbag to leave.
‘You horrible, stupid, ignorant man . . .’
‘Our business is done, I think,’ snarled Titus. ‘Can’t you see what that Salt woman is doing to us? Setting one against the other? Wychwell was a haven of peace before she came here.’
‘It wasn’t Marnie who started with the insults though, was it?’ said Herv, towering over Titus, his blue eyes sparking fire, but the money-bloated man wasn’t in the least cowed.
‘Well don’t blame me if you’re all turned out of your houses before the year is out. Whatever it says on those let—’
Hilary, at his side interrupted him, ‘But Titus, she said that wouldn’t—’
‘Oh do be quiet, Hilary,’ he snapped. ‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’
‘I think we should go,’ said Lionel, before things got even uglier and he was sacked from his post for belting one of his parishioners. ‘Thank you for the tea, Hilary. It was much appreciated.’
‘A pleasure, Vicar.’
Silently the villagers filed out of Titus’s house. Ruby pushed past the Rootwoods to catch up with Herv.
‘We’re going to the Wych Arms, Herv, would you like to come for a drink with us? I think we all need one after that.’
‘Thank you, Ruby, but I’m going to make sure Emelie gets home and is all right,’ he said, without breaking his stride.
Kay Sweetman saw her daughter’s face crumple.
‘You want to watch who you mix with, Herv Gunnarsen,’ she said, loud enough for her voice to travel past Lionel and Dr Court and reach him. ‘I have it from a very reliable source that your perfect Miss Salt isn’t interested in men unless they’re attached. She’s one of those home-wrecker sorts. Her last man was married with three children and a pregnant wife and she ran off up here with her tail between her legs when the wife gave her what-for in front of everyone she worked with.’
Kay saw the slight hesitation in Herv’s step before he carried on at an increased pace and she knew she had hit home with that bullet. She’d been saving it for the right moment. But she hadn’t finished yet.
‘She told Lilian all about it, that’s why she offered her a house here. Because she did to some poor other woman what your wife did to you.’
‘Mu-um, you shouldn’t have said that,’ Ruby said with an annoyed huff. ‘It’ll not make any difference.’
‘Oh yes it will,’ said Kay Sweetman triumphantly. ‘You just wait and see.’