Ordinary People: Part II - Softcover

Boast, Phil

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1490723390 ISBN 13: 9781490723396

Publisher: Trafford, 2014

Synopsis

During part I of 'Ordinary People' we have been introduced to the leading players who reside in the village of Middlewapping, and whom we meet again here, to see how their lives, loves and relationships are developing. During much of part II, however, centre stage is taken up by another young lady, who's name is Victoria Tillington, only daughter to the Lord and Lady of Middlewapping Manor. One morning she takes it upon herself to walk the family dogs into the village; the morning itself is of little significance, but her action eventually sets off a chain of events which nobody in this apparently sleepy backwater of England would have imagined. Victoria's life is about to crash; to be broken on the rocks of her loneliness, and she comes to see the village as perhaps her last hope of redemption; a way back to a happier life. And waiting in the wings is another person; somebody whom she has not seen or heard from for over ten years, and the only person that she has ever really loved. In the end it takes the death of two people to set in motion something which could be her only salvation, and dark forces are brought into play in order for this to become possible. For in part II of our tale we are introduced to another character whom we have yet to encounter; we are about to meet Rebecca.

About this title

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

ORDINARY PEOPLE

Part II

By PHIL BOAST

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2014 Phil Boast
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-4907-2339-6

Contents

Chapter 1 Perishable Goods, 1, 
Chapter 2 Cast-Iron Alibis, 31, 
Chapter 3 Love and Hatred, 67, 
Chapter 4 The Age of Innocence, 93, 
Chapter 5 The Road to Hell, 117, 
Chapter 6 Life and Death, 139, 
Chapter 7 Making tracks, 163, 
Chapter 8 Angels and Demons, 183, 
Chapter 9 Night Shift, 223, 
Chapter 10 Visitations, 249, 
Chapter 11 Homecoming, 275, 
Chapter 12 Baking Day, 293, 
Chapter 13 Five Seconds, 321, 
Chapter 14 Seeds, 353, 
Epilogue, 375, 

CHAPTER 1

Perishable Goods

Victoria was sitting on the stone steps which led up to the front door of the Manor House. The steps were wide; some twenty feet at their widest and lowest point, and shallow, and had in their former, grander days, echoed and one time or another to the footfalls of most of the landed gentry of these islands, which the Tillington family had always called their home. Kings and Queens would have stepped upon them, having alighted from grand carriages, together with their loyal and sometimes not so loyal subjects. Now, some three centuries after their construction which had formed a part of the renovation of the much older house, they had fallen somewhat into a state of minor disrepair, and moss and lichen had taken a now well established hold, although the rounded edges, perfectly curving outer extremities and close-jointing of the stone slabs still bore testament to the skill of the craftsmen who had built them, who had in all likelihood been paid pennies for their workmanship.

She sat, in fact, on the third stone from the left on the second step down, just at the point at which the steps began to curve inwards towards the stone buttresses which marked their respective ends. She sat upon this particular stone for the simple reason that she had always done so. Ever since she could recall, which was ever since, at the age of six, she had been able to make important decisions for herself such as which step she should sit on, she had sat on this stone. She had sat here after she learned that she had passed her examinations during her years at Roedean, after she had graduated from University, when she had begun a new relationship or one had ended, and when she had heard the news about her beloved brother. In fact after more or less every significant event which had occurred in her life, she had looked over the same view of the garden; of the lawns that swept down to the boundaries of the Manor House grounds in the middle distance, and on to the fields and woods beyond.

The view had changed over the years, of course. The high brick boundary walls had fallen down or into disrepair in places and had been rebuilt, the new bricks looking incongruous with the setting. The trees which marked the garden boundaries and had been young trees when she was growing up had grown tall now, and some others beyond in the farmland which she could remember had been removed in the name of agricultural efficiency. Still, the view was more or less the same, and throughout all of the doubts, joy and disappointments of her still young life, this stone had been her comfort; her place, and now at the age of twenty seven she came here, especially when the emptiness took over. Here she could smoke cigarettes, carefully putting them out and placing the used filters in her jacket or coat pocket for later disposal. Her parents, Lord and Lady Tillington, knew of and disapproved of her smoking habit and would not allow smoking in the house, but beyond this they thought it better not to interfere or further impose upon or attempt to control their daughter, who had been difficult enough, after all.

So, she had sat here on her special days, but today was just another Saturday morning in mid-winter, at the beginning of a new year. She had put on a coat against the chill north winds, and her genuine Russian fur hat which had been given to her by a rich admirer from Moscow in a vain attempt to win her affections, and was deciding what to do with her day. Having graduated with degrees in Modern Languages and Art History, she worked as an assistant curator at one of the big galleries in London, specializing in escorted tours for Spanish, German and French tourists. In the former two she was nearly fluent; in the latter she was virtually flawless. Her work meant that she had every third weekend free, and although in truth the days of the week meant little to her, there was still somehow a deeply ingrained feeling that Saturdays were supposed to be special, which to her added an additional burden, and she must work especially hard against the emptiness on such days. She thought that she might go and investigate the new delicatessen which had apparently recently opened on the village green. News of village events filtered through only slowly to the Manor House, since neither her fathers' private secretary nor Jack, the head gardener, came from the village itself, but travelled in from the outskirts of town, and Molly and Susan, respectively the housekeeper and cook, lived in the servant's quarters. Thus the occupants of the Manor House and the people who lived in the houses which had once been its' mainstay had, in the course of the passing centuries, become strangers to one another.

Victoria Tillington was not what one might describe as especially pretty, but her high cheek bones and Roman nose which had for many generations been a feature of her family, at least if the ancestral paintings which hung in the dining room and up the central stairway could be believed, gave her a distinguished look, and she held herself with the airs of the aristocracy, albeit nowadays the lower aristocracy, in which she had been raised. Her youngest brother, Alexander, four years her senior, had had the good looks in the family. He had also had the wild nature and a love of fast cars and high living, the combination of which had ended his life in a car accident when he had been twenty two years old. This event, which might have brought some families together in a show of mutual support and shared grief had merely served it seemed to emphasize and perhaps increase its' emotionally dissipated nature. Her mother had become rather more highly-strung and unpredictable than before, traits which she had passed on to or perhaps gradually instilled in her only daughter, and her father had withdrawn further into himself. Victoria had lost the one person in the family to whom she had felt any real emotional connection during her formative years, and although relations between her and her eldest and one remaining sibling, Michael, had remained mostly cordial, they had never been close in the same way. After the funeral Michael had returned to Italy to continue his tempestuous relationship with his wife, the wayward and passionate daughter of an Italian Count and Countess, which Victoria had always read as her parents' last attempt to elevate the status of the Tillington family to something like its' former glory.

The match had, in the event and at times of brutal honesty, been a disaster from the beginning, and was only held together by a threadbare and transparent attempt to save face in the upper echelons of Italian and English society. No offspring had resulted from the marriage, and, despite her parents' best attempts to remain optimistic, nor was any likely to; the Tillington name which had been held in high esteem at certain times during the past three or four centuries, would in all probability die with Victoria's brother.

This left her, Victoria, as the one remaining child with the ability to at least carry on the blood-line, a burden which she felt more keenly with each passing year. Lord and Lady Tillington had, over the years and particularly when their daughter had been in her early twenties, made many attempts both at social functions and private visits to and by suitable families, to find for her what they would consider an appropriate partner in marriage, but thus far these attempts had not been even remotely successful. Indeed their daughter had made no secret of the fact that she found such occasions boorish, shallow and false, a fact which had caused viscous and heated family rows on more than one occasion. She had simply dug her heels in and refused to accept the responsibilities which came with her position in society, and which were, as far as her parents were concerned, as much a part of her birthright as had been her education and the considerable privileges which had been bestowed upon her since birth.

'But I don't want their damned privileges!'

She could well remember the last time she had argued the situation with Michael, indeed the last time that she and he had engaged in any form of meaningful dialogue.

'Oh come on sis, I know it's not easy, but, you know, it's just the way things are. We all have to face up to our responsibilities'.

'So what are we, a couple of performing seals swimming around balancing balls for the entertainment of all and sundry, to be married off and told to breed like pedigree dogs? Don't we have a right to a life too? To do what we want, live like other people, marry whom we want or marry nobody. Are we to be denied these simple things which everybody else takes for granted just because our father and mother happen to have money and 'position'?'

'Other people don't have what we have. Other people don't attend good schools, go on foreign holidays whenever they want, attend banquets, drive fast cars ...' He realized his mistake as soon as the words had left his mouth, and knew that anything he now said would be pointless.

'Well then go back to your rich Italian tart if that will make you happy. I want nothing to do with any of it'.

Victoria had regretted her harsh words when she had cooled down, as she often did, but the damage was done. They had both made a mess of it and in doing so had lost any mutual support that they could have offered one another. Those few words spoken in haste had guaranteed their future estrangement, and they would both have to face the world with one less ally, which, as they both knew at some deep level were in short enough supply.

As Victoria's thoughts wandered through this and other, more secret and even more painful aspects of her past life, she came to realize two things; that she was cold, and that she had to move. She had to stop the thoughts. She had to move before the blackness came over her; before the emptiness returned. She put out her cigarette, placed it in her pocket and stood up.

'Bathsheba! Prince ...!' The two English Setters ran from their kennel and formed a sea of grey and white enthusiasm in front of her. She walked to the side door which lead to the kitchen and took down the two leather dog leads from their hooks, clipped them to the collars and headed down the gravel driveway towards the village. It would only be the second time in her adult life that she had been there, the first was just after the meteorite had fallen, but she had not been back since.

* * *

Meadow was leaning with her elbows on the counter of the Delicatessen, distractedly waiting for the next customer, her bare feet working against the cold floor. She and Keith had re-opened the shop on the 2nd of January, but it seemed that the world was slow to wake up to the new year, and business had been slow for the last couple of days.

'It's really hardly surprising' Keith had said 'everybody's been doing nothing but eat for the last week or so; probably food is the last thing they'll be thinking about.'

Nevertheless they had done good trade over the festive period, and were still in the process of re-stocking for the new season. Tarragon, their eldest daughter, was due at the shop shortly to help her mother take down the holly and other decorations which adorned the shop. Keith had borrowed a van from Ron at the garage and had gone to the wholesalers in town.

Meadow watched as the young, rather nervous looking but well dressed young lady struggled to control her two dogs across the village Green. They looked to Meadow as though they wanted to run for miles; to feel the wind in their faces. So did the young lady. Instead she tied their leads to the metal ring on the wall of the shop, which they had inherited from the previous tenant when the place had been a general store, and the wind chimes sounded agitated as she came in.

'Hi' said Meadow, brightly 'how may I help you?'

The young lady looked around the shop as though she had never seen one before. She had a lost look under her dignified if clearly rather nervy exterior, and needed help.

'Just feel free to look around.' said Meadow 'Please take your time'.

'Thank you' said Victoria, and she smiled for the first time, a smile which to Meadow looked rather forced and sad.

'I don't think I've seen you in the village before.' said Meadow, trying to engage the young lady in what she hoped was light, easy conversation. 'Have you come far?' She was certain that the young lady had not come by car; she would have parked nearer the shop on the track which ran between the houses and the Green.

'My name is Victoria.' said Victoria 'Victoria Tillington; I live in the Manor House, well, sometimes anyway.'

'Ah, forgive me.' said Meadow. She was tempted to say 'My name is Meadow and I live on a bus.' but thought better of it.

'That's quite alright' said Victoria 'I don't.... you know.' She was struggling.

'Well anyway welcome to our humble little shop,' said Meadow 'my name's Meadow, I live on a bus just outside the village.'

Victoria extended her hand, it was a stiff, reflex action and about the last thing that Meadow was expecting. She took the offered hand and the two women smiled at each other; the face was beginning to relax a little but the eyes were still working overtime.

'Perhaps ... perhaps I'll buy some cheese then.' said Victoria.

'Of course, which sort would you like?'

'I'll um, I'll leave it up to you.' said Victoria 'Just whatever you think.'

'Yes, of course.' said Meadow. She began sorting and slicing some cheeses and wrapping them in paper. Just then Tarragon came in looking raw from the cold and in the eyes of her mother, very beautiful. Tarragon was seventeen years old.

'Hi mum!'

'Hi Sweet Pea; everything okay ..?'

'Yeah, it's just bloody cold out there, excuse my French.' She glanced at the rather odd-looking customer. 'Nice hat' she said 'is it real?'

'Tarragon!' said Meadow 'Forgive my daughter, I've done my best to bring her up with some manners, but the results are disappointing sometimes'.

'It's okay, really' said Victoria 'Yes, it's real; it came from Russia, in fact.'

'That's cool' said Tarragon in a rather disinterested way. 'Shall I start then mum?'

Tarragon busied herself collecting the short step-ladder from the store room and began taking down the foliage from the inside of the shop. She decided to leave the outside until she had a least warmed up a bit.

'So, anyway' said Meadow 'is that enough to be going on with?'

'I'm sorry?' said Victoria

'The cheese?' said Meadow

'Oh' said Victoria 'Yes, yes that's absolutely fine, thank you. How much do I owe you?'

Meadow tapped the prices into the till-register and put the cheeses into a paper bag, Victoria handed her a fifty-pound note and took the change. In the matter of human encounters, timing is everything, and Victoria hesitated a second too long once the transaction was complete.

'Is there ...' began Meadow 'Forgive me but are you okay?'

'What?' said Victoria 'Yes, yes I'm fine, thanks. Well, better get going then; thank you again, good bye.'

Victoria made for the door a little too quickly, again her timing was off; Tarragon and Meadow exchanged looks.

'Um, excuse me, Victoria?'

'Yes?'

'You've forgotten your cheese.'

'Oh, yes, how silly of me.' said Victoria. She took the bag from the counter, Meadow gave her what she had hoped was a reassuring 'we've all made that kind of mistake' smile and Victoria once again headed for the door. She hesitated in a thoughtful way when she was halfway out, however, made as if to say something but apparently thought better of it, or perhaps the words just weren't there, untied the dogs and made her way across the track to the Green. The wind chimes sounded relieved before they went silent.

'She was odd.' said Tarragon as she threw down some holly from the top of the steps 'You know who she was?'

'She's from the Manor House.' said Meadow 'She must be the daughter of Lord and Lady what's-there-name.'

'Yeah, she was dressed like a toff.' said Tarragon 'Talked like one as well; that hat was a joke; where does she think she is, the Siberian steppes or what? More money than common sense, wouldn't you say?'

'Tara, dearest and most beloved child, I wonder sometimes where you get your language.'

'What do you mean?'

'Toff ...?'

They smiled together; Meadow leaned on the counter again and watched Victoria as she struggled with the two dogs and the additional burden of the paper bag.

'I think she looked lost.' said Meadow 'I hope she feels the wind in her face sometime.'

'What, in that hat?' said Tarragon.

Meadow smiled again. 'Come on, let me give you a hand.' she said.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from ORDINARY PEOPLE by PHIL BOAST. Copyright © 2014 Phil Boast. Excerpted by permission of Trafford Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Trafford
• Publication date: 2014
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1490723390
• ISBN 13: 9781490723396
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 386