Village Fortunes (Turnham Malpas 17) by Rebecca Shaw Read Free Book Online Page A

colourful make-up intolerable, but nevertheless she liked her. In fact it was more than liking really, as she held Merc in great affection and was glad to have her back. As for Ford, he reminded her of her late husband. He was just enough of a rogue to delight her like her husband had, and he was ultra charming with it.
    As the clock in her sitting room chimed noon, Grandmama propped open her front door and hurried back into the kitchen to check the vegetables. She hoped they wouldn’t be late or the leeks would be mushy and the chicken pie crust sacrificial. Then she heard the brisk footstep which characterised Ford, and the pair of them were calling through the open door, ‘Can we come in?’
    Merc opened wide her arms in welcome and enclosed Grandmama in them. ‘So lovely of you to invite us. Food is the last essential on our list, and I was beginning to wonder what we would do as both of us have arrived here with scarcely any money in our pockets, having forgotten to call at the cashpoint before we set off. Just one of those things.’ She turned to look at Ford who was hanging about behind her, hesitating over whether to come in. ‘Ford, for heaven’s sake, we’re amongst friends, come in, come in.’ And so Ford followed her in.
    It was only when they were in her kitchen that Grandmama noticed the change in Ford. ‘Why! Ford. You’ve lost weight. You must have been very disciplined. How much have you lost?’
    ‘He’s lost four stone. Doesn’t he look different?’
    ‘Different, I should say he does! What a change.’ Then it occurred to Grandmama. ‘Was it prison, was that what made you lose it?’
    Ford nodded. ‘It was. The food, I couldn’t eat it. Nothing wrong with it, in fact it was rather good, but I just couldn’t eat it. Thanks for the invite; we didn’t quite know how people would receive us.’
    ‘How people would receive you? Why with open arms, of course. We’re all delighted. You’ve served your sentence and that’s that, all over and done with.’ Grandmama squeezed his arm to reassure him. ‘You’re out now. Come and try my home-made chicken pie with jacket potatoes and buttered leeks. Sit down. What would you like to drink? I’ve got cider, orange juice or wine. Which is it to be? Merc?’
    ‘Orange juice for me.’
    ‘And me. We don’t drink at lunchtime, as we’re trying to cut down.’
    ‘Orange juice it is. Oh, you’ve no idea how glad we all are that you’re back where you belong. Bring us up to date with the news, then.’
    Merc helped herself to the home-made chicken pie, buttered leeks, and a jacket potato, and picked up her knife and fork. She loved every mouthful. They were home at last, and it seemed there’d be no recriminations about prison or anything else. Ah! Most important. She had to know. ‘Is the embroidery class still going? Evie’s, you know.’
    ‘Of course it is! More pie, Merc? They can’t wait for you to join them again; they’ve talked of nothing else since we first heard you were coming back. Another jacket potato? Ford, what about you? Help yourself to the leeks. I hate leftovers.’ Ford was remarkably quiet and not his usual chatty self at all. Maybe he’d feel better after a few days. Moving house could be a great strain. Somehow Grandmama found that the thin, strained-looking Ford didn’t suit the chap she’d known who’d been so full of himself and full of energy when he was fat. Ford, thin and withdrawn, didn’t seem right. He was, well, really a very different man. Outspoken as she always was, Grandmama ventured to be up-front with her comments. ‘You’ve nothing to fear, you know, Ford. None of us care one jot that you’ve been to prison. We all consider it a big mistake.’
    Merc looked up and swiftly intervened when she realised Ford wasn’t prepared to reply. ‘He is innocent but we just couldn’t prove it.’ She reached across and patted Ford’s nearest skinny leg. ‘It’s made life very difficult, you know, not