A Village Feud by Rebecca Shaw Page B

washing machines, the stunning iron and the ironing board that came out of a cupboard with no more effort than the use of her little finger, Dottie was enchanted. She should be paying them to clean here. What a pleasure it was going to be.
    Caroline laid down a few more ground rules. ‘I’m Doctor Harris and my husband is the Rector and we’ll keep to that. If you’re interested and want to work for me we can discuss terms.’
    ‘I do want. I’d be honoured to work here, believe you me, and thank you for offering me the job.’
    ‘Another thing: if I’m not here and someone comes to the door for the Rector or for Anna, you’ll need to knock on the study door, open it and tell them who has come to see them and then show them in. Right! We’ll say a month on trial and we’ll see how we like each other. It’ll take a while for me to get used to someone different because I’ve been so used to Sylvia, knowing what’s where and what not, so you’ll have to be patient with me. Thank you for coming round so promptly. Now, another cup of tea while we discuss terms?’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    When Dottie left the house her mind was in a whirl. A kaleidoscope of memories, a rainbow of colours. All the ornaments. The beautiful furniture. The sitting-room fireplace. Absolute bliss. She almost danced along the road on her way home. What luck. And to be paid well, too; it was beyond belief. Start Monday. Yes! She punched the air with her clenched fist. Roll on Monday!

Chapter 5
     
    This was the day when Andy Moorhouse decided to begin his campaign of ruining Jimbo. The secret thing he’d planned, turning it over and over in his mind, and the whys and the wherefores of it, had obsessed him all his waking hours. He’d sort him out for ignoring him like he’d done when he was at college. Very superior he’d been, too full of himself to even learn the names of college servants.
    Andy’s cunning plan was only half-conceived when he arrived in the Store just as the mothers were coming in for vital bits and pieces before meeting their children coming out from school, that way he’d have the largest audience possible. In his hand he had a piece of Brie, which he intended using as his ammunition.
    ‘Mr Charter-Plackett about?’ he asked Tom in the Post Office ‘cage’.
    ‘He is. I’ll give him a shout.’ Tom unlocked himself and discreetly called down to the back office, ‘Gentleman to see you, Mr Charter-Plackett.’
    They could hear his sturdy stride coming into the front of the Store. He cut an admirable figure this particular day. He wore his vivid red-and-white striped apron with his red-and-white striped bow-tie and the ribbon around his boater that matched it exactly.
    He raised his boater in greeting and smiled cheerfully. ‘What can I do for you?’
    ‘This Brie. I only bought it yesterday and while I like ripe cheese this is above and beyond. Thought I ought to let you see it.’ Andy used a loud voice to make sure that above the hubbub at least some of them would hear. He held up his little parcel of cheese and began to take the wrapping off. ‘Here. Look, and I don’t need to ask you to smell it. You can’t help but smell it.’ The offending cheese was held directly under Jimbo’s nose. He backed off, took hold of the parcel and examined the wrapping paper. It was his special wrapping paper, he agreed, and the cheese was way beyond being used.
    ‘Very sorry about this. Do you have the receipt?’
    Andy pretended to search in his jacket pockets, although he knew exactly where the receipt was, and finally came out with it. ‘Here we are. Good thing I didn’t throw it away. That’s a lesson for you, ladies, keep your receipts.’ He smiled almost triumphantly at them. At least they’d heard that bit.
    Jimbo immediately did some magic with the till and, with a lot of whirring and clicking, he produced the exact amount Andy had paid for the cheese without causing chaos in his accounts. ‘That’s your