Read Online The Village Newcomers by Rebecca Shaw - Free Book Online
Authors: Rebecca Shaw
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and I shall pay for the vehicle, as often as needed. That’s settled.’
Kate knew before Ford replied that he was about to drop the proverbial brick.
‘No, I’m sorry, it isn’t. I can’t allow you to feel you have to chip in. It’s not right, and you retired and living in this rented flat.’
A slight flush flooded Mr Fitch’s cheeks and in the iciest tones any human being could have summoned he said, ‘I don’t think you realise who I am. I own Fitch Enterprise Europe. The construction company. If I say I shall pay for the transport, that’s exactly what I mean.’
Ford, who hadn’t heard of the company, was only briefly fazed by this revelation. He quickly recovered and thanked Craddock profusely for his generosity.
Kate interrupted him. ‘Look, Venetia and I will discuss all this with the members this Friday and see how they feel about it. I agree they should make some effort to pay for these trips, if only on a character-building basis, and perhaps we could hold fundraising events to help them all, especially the ones whose parents can’t afford such expense. How about that, Ford? Would that be a good idea?’
Ford nodded his approval, and Kate asked Mercedes what she thought.
‘That’s fine by me. I don’t have anything to do with his charitable . . . efforts, I leave it all to Ford; he loves getting involved.’ Then Mercedes saw Mr Fitch’s reaction to what she’d said and sank back into her chair, vowing not to say another word.
‘You’re in the habit of giving a lot to charity, then?’ Mr Fitch said.
Kate heard the hint of sarcasm in his voice and wished she could think on her feet and divert the conversation to something less confrontational, but she didn’t. In fact, she hadn’t a chance because Ford plunged immediately into listing his recent donations, mentioning in particular the purchase of the state-of-the-art lawnmower for the church.
Mr Fitch almost jerked with surprise; he’d not heard a word about that. ‘A lawnmower for the church! I didn’t even know they needed one.’
‘Oh. Yes, the old one nearly killed that Zack the virgin. I saw to that pronto. You see, I feel I need to give something back.’
‘Back? To what exactly?’ Mr Fitch said sharply.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why do you feel the need to give something back? To what are you going something back?’
‘Well, I’ve been lucky, you see, and made pots of money, so I give it back as a thank you.’
‘What are you, then?’
‘A philanthropist, I suppose.’
‘No, no. How did you earn your money?’
‘I’ve sold my metal business outright,’ Ford replied with a hint of pride in his tone.
‘You mean you were in scrap metal?’
Ford loathed that description, and began to lose his temper. Mercedes wished she could curl up and die. She slowly slid her foot over the carpet towards Ford’s ankle and kicked it slightly but it was all too late.
‘I describe myself as having dealt in metal. The phrase “scrap metal” makes the whole business sound seedy and illegal, thank you very much, Craddock . . .’
It was the spine-chilling look at the use of his first name that stopped Ford in his tracks. Who the hell did this Mr Fitch think he was to be so scornful of the pride of his life’s achievements. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘None at all. It’s just that “scrap metal” seems to me to be common usage, surely?’
There was no doubting the underlying scorn in Mr Fitch’s voice, and Ford wasn’t going to put up with it for another moment. He searched feverishly in his mind for a cutting reply. Too late.
‘My paying for the transport for your . . . little enterprise . . . isn’t going to take anything away from your charity work, now is it? It’s simply a small helping hand.’
‘Well, I won’t spoil our concept for the sake of a man who can’t take no for an
Kate knew before Ford replied that he was about to drop the proverbial brick.
‘No, I’m sorry, it isn’t. I can’t allow you to feel you have to chip in. It’s not right, and you retired and living in this rented flat.’
A slight flush flooded Mr Fitch’s cheeks and in the iciest tones any human being could have summoned he said, ‘I don’t think you realise who I am. I own Fitch Enterprise Europe. The construction company. If I say I shall pay for the transport, that’s exactly what I mean.’
Ford, who hadn’t heard of the company, was only briefly fazed by this revelation. He quickly recovered and thanked Craddock profusely for his generosity.
Kate interrupted him. ‘Look, Venetia and I will discuss all this with the members this Friday and see how they feel about it. I agree they should make some effort to pay for these trips, if only on a character-building basis, and perhaps we could hold fundraising events to help them all, especially the ones whose parents can’t afford such expense. How about that, Ford? Would that be a good idea?’
Ford nodded his approval, and Kate asked Mercedes what she thought.
‘That’s fine by me. I don’t have anything to do with his charitable . . . efforts, I leave it all to Ford; he loves getting involved.’ Then Mercedes saw Mr Fitch’s reaction to what she’d said and sank back into her chair, vowing not to say another word.
‘You’re in the habit of giving a lot to charity, then?’ Mr Fitch said.
Kate heard the hint of sarcasm in his voice and wished she could think on her feet and divert the conversation to something less confrontational, but she didn’t. In fact, she hadn’t a chance because Ford plunged immediately into listing his recent donations, mentioning in particular the purchase of the state-of-the-art lawnmower for the church.
Mr Fitch almost jerked with surprise; he’d not heard a word about that. ‘A lawnmower for the church! I didn’t even know they needed one.’
‘Oh. Yes, the old one nearly killed that Zack the virgin. I saw to that pronto. You see, I feel I need to give something back.’
‘Back? To what exactly?’ Mr Fitch said sharply.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why do you feel the need to give something back? To what are you going something back?’
‘Well, I’ve been lucky, you see, and made pots of money, so I give it back as a thank you.’
‘What are you, then?’
‘A philanthropist, I suppose.’
‘No, no. How did you earn your money?’
‘I’ve sold my metal business outright,’ Ford replied with a hint of pride in his tone.
‘You mean you were in scrap metal?’
Ford loathed that description, and began to lose his temper. Mercedes wished she could curl up and die. She slowly slid her foot over the carpet towards Ford’s ankle and kicked it slightly but it was all too late.
‘I describe myself as having dealt in metal. The phrase “scrap metal” makes the whole business sound seedy and illegal, thank you very much, Craddock . . .’
It was the spine-chilling look at the use of his first name that stopped Ford in his tracks. Who the hell did this Mr Fitch think he was to be so scornful of the pride of his life’s achievements. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’
‘None at all. It’s just that “scrap metal” seems to me to be common usage, surely?’
There was no doubting the underlying scorn in Mr Fitch’s voice, and Ford wasn’t going to put up with it for another moment. He searched feverishly in his mind for a cutting reply. Too late.
‘My paying for the transport for your . . . little enterprise . . . isn’t going to take anything away from your charity work, now is it? It’s simply a small helping hand.’
‘Well, I won’t spoil our concept for the sake of a man who can’t take no for an
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