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Writer: Rex Merchant

No Title

Chapter One

The tones of the church clock carried over Thickwick village. It was exactly noon as Peter Ball locked the door of his antique shop and headed down the main street towards the Thickwick Arms. The morning had been boring. There was no business. No one had called at the shop to view the stock, let alone to offer to buy. After three months in the old butcher's shop in the tiny Rutland village he was beginning to think he had made a big mistake ever leasing the place.

As he walked the length of the main street, Peter thrust his hands deep into his pockets and mulled over his problems. His divorce settlement meant the Stamford shop went to Vickie, his ex-wife. She had kept their thriving antique business, with the goodwill and regular clientele built up over the years, while he had to look for new premises and virtually start again. The split from Vickie had cost him dearly.

"And she got most of the best stock." He muttered under his breath.

The timing had been unfortunate. When he had been forced to look for alternative premises in the area, the only shop he could find, which he could afford. was the empty butcher's shop in Thickwick.

"If only my solicitor had done a better job. If only Vickie hadn't been so bloody minded. If only the bank manager had been a bit more understanding. If only..." He kicked a loose stone off the pavement, putting all his frustrations into that explosive action.

Thickwick was a small village set on the south shore of Rutland Water and completely off the beaten track. It took only four minutes of gentle strolling for Peter to pass by all the stone houses that lined Main Street, travelling the length of the entire village, from his antique shop at the top of the hill, to the church and pub at the far end of the village. He hesitated outside the Thickwick Arms and read the board advertising their lunch menu. The choice of food was still the same. Nothing much changed in Thickwick.

Before going into the pub, Peter hesitated and checked he had enough money in his pocket. As he searched he glanced idly across the street at the old vicarage. Now there was a surprise! It seemed that some things did change. The tattered sign, which declared the house and outbuilding were for sale, had a brand new Sold sign nailed across it.

The dealer shook his head in disbelief. When had that happened? The vicarage had been empty for some time. Judging by the dirty windows and the general unkempt air about the grounds, he guessed it had been for sale for some years. He shook his head at the thoughts of all the work needed to make the house into a home again. It was really no surprise that it had remained empty. It was a huge rambling house with at least ten bedrooms and with several outbuildings and barns at the back of it, making it far too big for a modern family home. It might have attracted a business buyer if the village had not been such a quiet backwater; Peter knew to his cost that Thickwick was not on the main road and was bypassed by all the through traffic. He turned on his heals, crunched over the gravelled car park to the front entrance of the pub and went into the empty bar.