A Village in Jeopardy (Turnham Malpas 16) by Rebecca Shaw Page B

were christened, married and buried for generations, and God willing to have our own children christened there, is all I want. To be married to you, Alice March, for I yearn for you every moment .
It is what I want more than anything in the world and I long for your reply. I know there are hurdles to overcome, namely a divorce from Marcus, but perhaps if his book gets published . . . he won’t mind too much .
All my love, my dearest ,
Johnny
     
    Alice folded the letter, opened it, read it again, folded it and held it pressed to her cheek. So after all the pain she’d gone through and now . . . this. Oh! Johnny, oh! Johnny! I love you! More than life itself. It had taken only one small phrase from Johnny to rid her of Marcus and frankly one small phrase was all he deserved. Alice glanced at the clock; she’d be late for accompanying the dancing group! Help! But her heart sang as she raced upstairs, sang louder when she recollected she’d no need to listen for Marcus tapping away at his computer any more because Johnny would see to that for her. One glance in the bathroom mirror and Alice recognised the face of a woman in love and she rejoiced.
    At the dance recital Alice accompanied the group with more vigour and enthusiasm than in any of the many rehearsals they had done. They were Irish and danced with such speed and delight that when she finished playing Alice felt as exhausted as the dancers. The crowd in the church hall clapped and clapped and begged an encore. Luckily they’d got the music for another one that Alice had familiarised herself with just in case. The roof almost lifted off the hall at the end of their exhibition of Irish Dance and Bridget, who’d planned it all, was thrilled. Alice got a hug and a kiss from her. ‘Oh! Alice, I’ve never heard you play so well. Are you sure you haven’t got Irish blood in you?’
    ‘Not that I know of. Right! I’ll go get us a drink.’
    ‘Sure the drinks are on me; here, take this,’ said Bridget, holding out a twenty-pound note.
    ‘I don’t want that, I did it for the flood fund!’
    ‘Well, put the whole note in their money box and tell them to keep the change, then.’ Alice got another hug, then Bridget dashed off to make some announcements about the raffle and spur everyone on to buy from the stalls. Her rallying tone had the desired effect and everyone who came endeavoured to find something to spend their money on. There were plenty of quality things to choose from. Bridget had even got an Irish Tourist Board company to come from miles away and give a percentage of all the money they took for their souvenirs and traditional handcrafts to the cause. Little Derehams and Penny Fawcett had both had collections to help swell the fund too.
    Caroline did well on her nearly new stall, though Sylvia, who had pledged to give her a hand, felt uncomfortable after Beth’s difficult visit the previous day. ‘I’m so sorry about Willie and Dottie. Heaven alone knows where she’s gone.’
    ‘Look, don’t worry. Willie shouldn’t have reminded her, but he did only say the truth . . . but he still shouldn’t have said it. Beth’s very close to Dottie, after . . . you know . . . Africa and all that, so I do wish for her sake we could find her.’
    ‘I tell you what; I could go see her cousin in Little Derehams. She might know where she’s gone. In fact she might be here. When we have a quiet moment I’ll go have a look round.’
    ‘Thank you, Sylvia.’
    It was the turn of the village school choir to perform next and their parents had turned up in droves to support their children. A space was cleared for the choir to assemble themselves with Bridget announcing their programme of songs, and the recorder recital too. The next ten minutes were exceedingly special to everyone, not just the parents.
    Kate Fitch, the headteacher, was profusely thanked for the children’s excellent performance and she said a few words. ‘Thank you! Weren’t the children