The Girl in the Scrapbook by Carolyn Ruffles (reading women TXT) 📕

meal had been exquisite. Jeremy could talk the hind legs off a donkey but he was an interesting raconteur and made her laugh at his tales of his travels when he was a salesman. At the end of the meal, she had insisted on paying half and then, later, when she had chastely offered her cheek and he had instead kissed her with unexpected passion on the lips, had made it clear that she wasn't interested in anything beyond friendship. He had accepted that philosophically and, since then, they'd been out twice more, once to the cinema and once to a different restaurant.

She had also walked down to the Fox and Hare on a few occasions and had got to know a few more of the locals. It soon became clear that her outings with Jeremy had been noticed and much discussed on the village grapevine when she had to counter some good-natured teasing.

‘Where’s Jeremy this evening?’ Jill had greeted her. ‘I hear you two have become a bit of an item.’

Jennifer had raised an eyebrow. ‘Not at all. We’re just friends.’

A man sitting on a bar stool snorted derisively. ‘That’s not what I heard. I heard that the two of you were seen getting very cosy together outside your cottage.’ He grinned, revealing a plethora of missing teeth. ‘Good old boy! I didn’t know he had it in him!’

‘This is Harry Gardiner,’ Jill introduced him to Jennifer. ‘Our resident comedian.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Harry.’ She shook his work-roughened hand and smiled coolly. ‘I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed.’

‘Aye, well we’ll see about that. Can I buy you a drink?’ he offered.

‘That’s very kind but won’t people talk?’ she replied wryly.

He chuckled. ‘I’ll risk it if you will. What will you have?’

‘A gin and slimline tonic, thank you.’ She settled on the bar stool beside him. ‘So, what do you do when you’re not spying on people outside their homes?’

‘I’m a groundsman. Work for the council. It’ll be thirty years next spring.’

They chatted companionably for the next half hour, long enough to finish their drinks and for Jennifer to buy him another, and were joined at different times by other customers on their forays to the bar. Harry seemed to know most people and persisted in introducing her as Jeremy Willis’ young lady, even though she scolded him for it. It seemed to amuse him hugely that she continued to correct him painstakingly every time. By the end of the evening, she felt she knew half the village.

One evening, there was a quiz night and she made up the numbers in a team comprising Sheila and Mike Blake and their friend, Maggie Freeman, a large, jolly woman in her fifties who had lived in Great Chalkham all her life. Jennifer immediately asked her about her cottage and the people who had lived there.

‘Oh, all sorts,’ said Maggie, screwing up her face in the effort to remember. ‘When I was little, in the sixties, the Catchpoles lived there. They had two children and one of them, Martin, was in my class at school. Then I think it was the Spencers … or, no, was it the Darbys? It was a bit run down in those days, a bit rough, if you know what I mean. Then an old lady lived there … oh, what was her name?’ She looked at the Blakes and tutted at herself. ‘Of course, silly me, she would have died before you got here. Well, I can’t remember her name but I know it was empty for a long time after that. It was in quite a state. That would have been some time in the nineties.’ She shook her head ruefully. ‘It’s so hard to remember details these days … Anyway, eventually a developer got hold of it. It was modernised and sold to a couple in London who used it as a weekend retreat. After that, the Masons had it and, of course, you bought it from them.’

Jennifer listened carefully. There had been no mention of a young woman in her twenties who had perhaps died in tragic circumstances. ‘What about before the sixties?’ she asked. ‘Do you remember any stories about the cottage which date back to earlier in the century? I’d love to know about its previous history and any information which gives the cottage some character would be good for business.’

Maggie shook her head. ‘I don’t remember anything.’ She thought for a moment and then added, ‘You ought to talk to Angela Carr. She’s a bit of a pain, between you and me, but she’s a history buff and I know she’s been compiling an archive of information about the village. She’s one of these typical newcomers to the village – here for five minutes and immediately an expert. Oh ...’ She coloured slightly as she looked across at Jennifer. ‘No offence … I didn’t mean you.’

‘Of course not.’ Jennifer gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’m not an expert on anything, as you’ll soon find out when the quiz starts! A village archive sounds fascinating. Would you happen to have a number for Angela?’

‘’Fraid not. I try to avoid her, to be honest. But her number will probably be in the parish magazine. She seems to be on every committee going – a right busybody.’

‘It’s good to have people in the village who are prepared to go on to the committees or nothing would ever get done. At least she’s prepared to give things a go,’ Sheila said in a tone of mild rebuke.

‘I know, but she doesn’t need to take over. She’s practically running the village now and some of her ideas are just ridiculous. Do you know that she proposed taking over some of the children’s playing field as a village car park?’

‘Yes, but you can’t deny the village desperately needs another car park that end of the village. At least she is trying to do something about it,’ said Mike, joining in the debate.

‘Well, she’s not my cup of tea.’