here for a start. One look at Betty McDonald’s face and it’s a wonder they don’t all run a mile – to say nothing of the rotten food here. I hope he does get permission.’
‘You would, Jimmy. That’s you all over. No thought for the village green getting churned up ’cos they can’t be bothered to park in the proper places. Oh no. It’s time that Jimbo was taken down a peg or two anyway. Too clever by half, he is.’
‘Vera, that’s not fair. He does a lot for the village.’
‘Oh yes? Like what – jumping naked into that pool of his? I seed ’im one morning when I was off to work extra early. By gum, Pat,’ she nudged her friend and nearly made her spill her lager, ‘he’s got nothing missing.’ They both laughed raucously.
Harriet didn’t begin to come round to Jimbo’s way of thinking until she answered the phone to find herself talking to an eager job applicant. After a moment or two of confusion it dawned on her what he’d done. She took the young woman’s name and telephone number, and promised that Jimbo would ring her back.
She put the piece of paper down in front of him as he ate a lonely pork pie behind the bread counter. Linda, who ran the post office and the stationery section, was nearly dying of laughter at the sight of Jimbo in the dog-house.
‘There’s someone who thinks we need extra help on the catering side,’ Harriet announced. ‘I can’t think why they’ve rung us, can you? That’s their number if you think they’re needed.’
Jimbo kissed her hand as she turned to go. She hesitated for a moment but then went on her way. She’s softening, she’s giving in, thought Jimbo elatedly.
As she had threatened, Betty McDonald started a petition, wrote letters, campaigned and spread malicious rumours in an effort to stop Jimbo opening the restaurant, but it was not to be. Plenty of the inhabitants of Turnham Malpas signed her petition, but the majority liked Jimbo and didn’t like Betty McDonald. The planning committee met only a month after Jimbo’s application had gone in. They could see no reason for withholding their permission and in fact quite welcomed the idea of an up-to-date restaurant, to supply a service to the tourists who visited the village.
Jimbo was beside himself with delight. The three new part-time girls he had employed eased Harriet’s burden, while he flung himself into organising the complete refurbishing of his latest project. The whole building required attention: rewiring, replastering, mains water and electricity, decoration, and of course brand-new kitchens. Jimbo whirled around phoning and writing, cajoling and compelling until within four weeks he had completely changed the cottage both outside and in.
A few people had hazarded guesses as to what it would be called, but he had remained mum on that issue. Harriet knew but she refused to tell. The sign was being put up as Pat Duckett wended her way to open up the school. The transformation from tumbledown house to smart village restaurant in such a short space of time had amazed her.
‘It’s these Londoners, you know. They don’t let grass grow under their feet. Their motto is “Time is money”. Get taking money in as fast as you can.’ Michael Palmer only half-listened to her. He’d had years of Pat Duckett and he knew she’d waste hours talking, so he never encouraged her.
‘He’s calling it Henderson’s, would you believe! Old Phyllis would be tickled pink having it named after her. Fancy Henderson’s. What do you think, Mr Palmer?’
‘Sounds good enough to me. I shan’t be eating there.’
‘Time you got out and about a bit, Mr Palmer. Man your age should be enjoying himself, not be shut up with his books every night. You enjoyed Mr Charter-Plackett’s party, didn’t you?’
‘I did indeed. The children will be here shortly, Mrs Duckett. Could we get on, please?’
‘Has it gone through yet about Mrs Meadows and that playgroup thing?’
‘The committee meet
‘You would, Jimmy. That’s you all over. No thought for the village green getting churned up ’cos they can’t be bothered to park in the proper places. Oh no. It’s time that Jimbo was taken down a peg or two anyway. Too clever by half, he is.’
‘Vera, that’s not fair. He does a lot for the village.’
‘Oh yes? Like what – jumping naked into that pool of his? I seed ’im one morning when I was off to work extra early. By gum, Pat,’ she nudged her friend and nearly made her spill her lager, ‘he’s got nothing missing.’ They both laughed raucously.
Harriet didn’t begin to come round to Jimbo’s way of thinking until she answered the phone to find herself talking to an eager job applicant. After a moment or two of confusion it dawned on her what he’d done. She took the young woman’s name and telephone number, and promised that Jimbo would ring her back.
She put the piece of paper down in front of him as he ate a lonely pork pie behind the bread counter. Linda, who ran the post office and the stationery section, was nearly dying of laughter at the sight of Jimbo in the dog-house.
‘There’s someone who thinks we need extra help on the catering side,’ Harriet announced. ‘I can’t think why they’ve rung us, can you? That’s their number if you think they’re needed.’
Jimbo kissed her hand as she turned to go. She hesitated for a moment but then went on her way. She’s softening, she’s giving in, thought Jimbo elatedly.
As she had threatened, Betty McDonald started a petition, wrote letters, campaigned and spread malicious rumours in an effort to stop Jimbo opening the restaurant, but it was not to be. Plenty of the inhabitants of Turnham Malpas signed her petition, but the majority liked Jimbo and didn’t like Betty McDonald. The planning committee met only a month after Jimbo’s application had gone in. They could see no reason for withholding their permission and in fact quite welcomed the idea of an up-to-date restaurant, to supply a service to the tourists who visited the village.
Jimbo was beside himself with delight. The three new part-time girls he had employed eased Harriet’s burden, while he flung himself into organising the complete refurbishing of his latest project. The whole building required attention: rewiring, replastering, mains water and electricity, decoration, and of course brand-new kitchens. Jimbo whirled around phoning and writing, cajoling and compelling until within four weeks he had completely changed the cottage both outside and in.
A few people had hazarded guesses as to what it would be called, but he had remained mum on that issue. Harriet knew but she refused to tell. The sign was being put up as Pat Duckett wended her way to open up the school. The transformation from tumbledown house to smart village restaurant in such a short space of time had amazed her.
‘It’s these Londoners, you know. They don’t let grass grow under their feet. Their motto is “Time is money”. Get taking money in as fast as you can.’ Michael Palmer only half-listened to her. He’d had years of Pat Duckett and he knew she’d waste hours talking, so he never encouraged her.
‘He’s calling it Henderson’s, would you believe! Old Phyllis would be tickled pink having it named after her. Fancy Henderson’s. What do you think, Mr Palmer?’
‘Sounds good enough to me. I shan’t be eating there.’
‘Time you got out and about a bit, Mr Palmer. Man your age should be enjoying himself, not be shut up with his books every night. You enjoyed Mr Charter-Plackett’s party, didn’t you?’
‘I did indeed. The children will be here shortly, Mrs Duckett. Could we get on, please?’
‘Has it gone through yet about Mrs Meadows and that playgroup thing?’
‘The committee meet
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