Peggy had mulled things over during the afternoon and decided she’d take Mavis Anderson as she found her and focus on the exciting prospect of her new job. She was still feeling positive about things when she went to the crèche to pick up Daisy at the end of her shift. It was Fran’s turn to cook the tea, Ron had promised faithfully that he’d sort out the dripping overflow from the upstairs washbasin as soon as he’d been to see Father O’Leary, and Sarah had planned to do the shopping during her lunch break – so if all that had been achieved, she had only to get Daisy to bed after tea and then put her feet up. If there were any letters in the post, then that would be a bonus.
She pulled up her coat collar as she waited impatiently for someone to open the door to the nursery, for the wind had strengthened and become quite cutting.
‘Ah, Peggy,’ said Nanny Pringle as she opened the door. ‘You’d better come in.’
Peggy was a little alarmed at the other woman’s serious expression. ‘Why, what’s the matter? Daisy’s all right, isn’t she?’
Nanny Pringle stepped aside and closed the door behind Peggy before replying. ‘I’m sorry to report that we have an outbreak of nits,’ she said, bristling with disapproval.
‘Oh, is that all?’ said Peggy, relieved. ‘I thought there’d been some sort of crisis.’
Nanny Pringle’s usually pleasant smile was not in place as she regarded Peggy sternly. ‘Being infested with nits is very serious,’ she said. ‘With so many children, they are inclined to spread like wildfire. I’ve had to telephone for Sister Danuta to come and deal with it all. Daisy is still waiting her turn, so I’m afraid it might be a while until you can take her home.’
Peggy felt duly chastised and bit down on a smile as she followed the bustling figure into the large, pleasant room at the back, which was now crowded with anxious mothers and fractious children. Nanny Pringle’s bark was worse than her bite, but at times she made Peggy feel five years old again.
Nanny Pringle started issuing orders to one of her two young helpers to clear away the scattered toys, and then firmly separated two small boys who were tussling over a toy truck. The other girl was trying to bring some order to the line of children who were waiting for Danuta to comb their hair and apply the nit powder.
Danuta caught Peggy’s eye and grinned as she handed over a box of powder and fine-toothed comb to the mother of the child she’d just treated, and then turned her attention to the next in line. Peggy saw that Daisy was right at the end of the queue, so she dumped her bag and coat and went to see if she could help in any way.
‘I’d appreciate it if you could keep that little lot amused until we’ve finished here,’ Nanny Pringle said, tipping her head towards a cluster of toddlers who’d already been treated and were getting raucous. ‘They aren’t due to be picked up for another hour or so.’
Peggy rounded them up, took them to the far end of the room and got them sitting in a semi-circle. Plucking a colourful book from a nearby shelf, she settled down to read the story and show them the bright pictures which accompanied it.
As she read, she kept an eye out for Daisy. One by one the children were treated and sent home with their mothers, the room quietened, and order was restored.
Daisy came running up to her just as she’d finished the story. ‘Nuta put powder on my hair,’ she complained, dumping the box of powder and a comb in Peggy’s lap before scratching furiously at her head. ‘Don’t like it.’
Peggy gave her a hug. ‘But everyone else has got powder – look.’ She pointed at the other children. ‘You don’t want to be the only one without, do you?’
Daisy shook her head, but still looked doubtful.
To ward off any tantrum, Peggy quickly fetched their coats, noting that Danuta was packing away her things and reaching for her cloak. ‘Come on, Daisy, let’s see if Danuta will walk home with us for our tea.’
To Peggy’s mind, Danuta was still far too thin after her long weeks of recovery in the Memorial Hospital, but despite what the Gestapo had done to her, she’d never lost her fighting spirit, and having beaten all the odds and survived, there was now a healthy glow in her face, and her hair was a glossy dark brown beneath that fetching little starched cap.
‘I’m sorry, Mamma Peggy,’ she said as they headed for the door, ‘but I have to return to surgery first to check I am not needed. There is a mother expecting her baby very soon, and I might have to visit her before I can come home.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Peggy. ‘I do worry that you’re doing too much after all you’ve been through. Have you eaten yet?’
‘I had lunch,’ said Danuta, leading the way outside, ‘and a biscuit with tea just before I was called here.’
‘Well, that’s not enough to keep you going until teatime.’ Peggy scrabbled in her string bag. ‘I didn’t get around to eating all my sandwiches today,’ she said, handing over the small packet. ‘Do try and get those down you before you go rushing off again.’
Danuta smiled, her green eyes lighting up with affection. ‘You do not practise what you preach, I think. Why you not eat at lunchtime?’
‘I had my mind on other things and simply forgot,’ Peggy replied, grabbing Daisy to stop her from running into the road.
‘Is something the matter, Peggy?’ the girl asked with a frown.
Peggy explained about her new job. ‘I’ll have to tell the others tonight,’ she said, ‘and I’m rather dreading what Ron will say.’
Danuta gave a little shrug. ‘It is not his decision,’ she said. ‘And it is good that Solly thinks so highly of you. Well done.’ She placed the packet of sandwiches in her basket, gave Peggy a hasty kiss on the cheek and tethered the bag and box on the rack of her bicycle. ‘I will bring the powder for the rest of the household with me when I come home,’ she promised. ‘And thank you for the sandwiches.’
Peggy watched her cycle away, and with a sigh, began the walk home, tired now after a long day and ready for her tea.
The overflow pipe was no longer dripping, she noted with relief when she arrived home at last. Climbing the concrete steps from the scullery to the kitchen, she found it wonderfully warm and welcoming after her chilly walk. The atmosphere was calm and happy as everyone sat around the table eating their tea and the two dogs snored contentedly by the range fire. There was no sign of Queenie the three-legged cat, but as it was her time to prowl the neighbourhood, Peggy wasn’t too concerned.
Daisy ran straight to the elderly and much-loved Cordelia to have her coat and hat taken off. ‘I got nits, Gan-Gan,’ she declared proudly, whipping off her woolly hat to show her the powder in her dark curls.
There was a general groan, and Fran got up from the table to fetch Peggy and Daisy’s supper plates which had been put in the warming oven. ‘Ach well,’ she sighed. ‘These things happen. At least it’s not an outbreak of measles or mumps.’
‘They’ll come soon enough,’ said Peggy, admiring the golden crust on the pigeon pie. ‘My goodness, that does look lovely,’ she praised.
‘It tastes all right too,’ Ivy said with her mouth full.
‘It is not made of paste and glue,’ said Cordelia crossly. ‘Really, Ivy, do think before you speak. Fran has done a lovely job.’
‘I never said …’ Ivy made winding signals with her hand. ‘Turn yer hearing aid up, Grandma Cordy. You ain’t makin’ sense.’
‘There’s no need to shout,’ the elderly woman retorted. ‘I should think they could hear you in Scotland!’
‘Only if they remember to turn up their hearing aids,’ Ivy muttered, rolling her eyes and stuffing down more food.
‘What’s that? What did you say?’ Cordelia fiddled with her hearing aid and winced as it screeched.
Rita and Ivy stifled their giggles and bowed their heads over their plates to hide their amusement.
Ivy and Rita were a couple of naughty imps and Peggy shot them a glare of warning to behave – for all the good it would do. She then settled Daisy in her chair and made sure her food wasn’t too hot before she tucked into her own meal.
Once the initial pangs of hunger had been satisfied, she turned to Fran who was looking very pretty in a moss-green cardigan she’d knitted that enhanced the colour of her lovely Irish eyes. ‘No Robert tonight?’
‘He’s working late up at Castle Hill Fort,’ Fran replied. ‘There’s some sort of flap on as usual, so if it isn’t resolved, he’ll probably have to spend the night up there.’
Robert’s work for the MOD was a complete mystery to all of them, and it wasn’t unusual for him to stay at the Napoleonic fortress overnight, but Peggy understood how difficult it made things for the newly-weds. She cleared her plate and gave a sigh of satisfaction. ‘That was delicious and very welcome, Fran,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how you managed it, but the potato topping was scrumptious.’
Fran went pink with pleasure. ‘I just made up a little dried egg and mustard powder with some water and a smidgeon of grated cheese and brushed it over the really thinly sliced potato,’ she said. ‘It was a trick I learned from Mammy when we had no butter or flour to make pastry.’
Peggy saw the sadness in Fran’s eyes and reached for her hand. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Ireland?’
Fran shook her head, her copper tresses glinting in the firelight. ‘All me letters have been sent back unopened,’ she replied. ‘To be sure, they meant what they said, and I’ll not be hearing from them again.’
‘Oh, Fran,’ sighed Peggy. ‘I’m so sorry to hear you say that. Is there really no hope they’ll come round to you having married Robert?’
Fran tossed back her hair in an effort to appear defiant. ‘I’ve made me bed, and now I must lie in it,’ she said firmly. ‘But once this war’s over, Robert and I have decided to go to Ireland and make them face up to the fact that I’ll not be cast out of their lives just because they’re so blinkered and cruel – and we’ll fight to make them understand that the old ways are not always the best.’
A heavy silence fell, for no one knew what to say in the light of such a desperately sad situation.
Ron clattered his cutlery on his empty plate. ‘It strikes me that religion is the cause of too many troubles,’ he said grumpily. ‘And we’d all be better off without it.’
‘I take it things didn’t go too well with Father O’Leary,’ Peggy teased.
‘We had our usual exchange of opinions, so we did,’ he replied sourly. ‘I’m thinking he gets lonely stuck out there and is enjoying making me life a misery. To be sure, he can argue the legs off a table given half the chance.’
‘He’s not the only one,’ Peggy replied, trying not to laugh. ‘Especially if there’s whisky involved,’ she added with a glint in her eye.
‘Oh, aye, we might have had a drop or two,’ he conceded. ‘To help oil the wheels so to speak – but the man still talks a lot of drivel if you ask me.’
‘So you’ll be going to Mass from now on?’ Peggy continued. ‘That’ll be nice. We can walk up there together for the early service on Sunday mornings.’
Ron glared at her and heaved himself out of the kitchen chair. ‘Don’t be counting your chickens just yet,’ he rumbled. ‘There’s time enough for all that palaver – for now I’m taking Monty home to Rosie.’
Peggy eyed him sharply. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Ron?’
‘If I am, then you’ll hear about it soon enough,’ he muttered.
‘But you can’t let Rosie down,’ she gasped. ‘You know how much store she’s set on having a church wedding.’
‘Aye, and that’s the rub,’ he said on a deep sigh. ‘Leave it be, Peggy. Me head’s pounding with it all, and I’m in no mood to be answering any more questions on the subject.’ He grabbed his army issue greatcoat he’d kept after the First World War and dragged it on over his tweed jacket and smart trousers, his expression making it clear the conversation was at an end.
Peggy knew that when Ron was in this sort of mood she’d get nothing more out of him – but it was all very worrying. She could only pray that he wouldn’t do or say anything to throw a spanner in the works when everything seemed to be going so smoothly after what could only have been called a roller-coaster courtship of many years.
She watched him pull his new tweed cap over his thick salt and pepper hair, and remembered she’d yet to tell him her news. ‘Before you go there’s something I need to tell you,’ she said quickly.
He eyed her from beneath his brows, his bright blue eyes suspicious. ‘Oh aye?’
Peggy met his gaze and told him about her new job. ‘And before you say anything, Ronan Reilly, he’s paying me six guineas a week.’
The blue eyes widened and there was a chorus of gasps from the others. ‘Well now, that’s a fine amount of money,’ he replied, ‘but what sort of hours is he expecting from you for that?’
‘The same as always, although I might go in an hour earlier than usual once we get busy,’ she admitted. ‘It’s a godsend, Ron, and will more than make up for the rent I’ll be losing when you move out.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Aye, that it certainly will. I was worrying you’d be left short.’
‘I’m concerned that you’re trying to do too much,’ said Fran. ‘I’m sure Robert and I can pay a bit more rent if that would help.’
‘You’re paying quite enough,’ said Peggy firmly. ‘And I’m looking forward to doing more at the factory, so don’t worry on my behalf.’
Sarah, who’d remained silent throughout all this, leaned forward and took Peggy’s hand. ‘It’s wonderful news, Peggy, and we’re all delighted for you.’
‘I know it’s asking a bit much to expect you to help about the place and so on, but with Jim and the rest of the family away, I’d go mad sitting about here doing nothing.’
‘Hmph,’ snorted Ivy. ‘Chance’d be a fine thing. You’re never still.’
‘We’ll help out whenever we can, you know that,’ said Rita, ‘but what will you do when this war finally ends? Will you carry on working?’
Peggy shrugged. ‘I have no idea,’ she replied, ‘but once I get used to earning that much money, I doubt I’ll give it up in a hurry.’
‘Jim won’t like it,’ said Cordelia.
‘He’s not in a position to have an opinion,’ said Peggy with rather more defiance than she actually felt. ‘He and I will discuss all that when he comes home,’ she added firmly, thereby bringing the subject to a close.
Rosie had spent the afternoon with the dressmaker having a second fitting for her wedding outfit, and she’d returned to the Anchor with a gorgeous hat she’d purchased in Plummer’s department store that would complete the outfit perfectly.
She ran up the stairs to her rooms above the Anchor, rather surprised to find no sign of Ron or Monty – which meant that either Ron was still at the church or he’d taken Monty home to Beach View whilst he fixed Peggy’s leaking pipe. Whichever was the case, she was quite glad to have the place to herself, for she was eager to try on her hat again.
Shedding her coat and scarf, she hurried into the bedroom and opened the hatbox to carefully draw out the scrumptious confection of velvet, lace and net. It was half a hat, really, and had cost her a whole guinea, but as she regarded her reflection in the mirror, she knew it was worth every brass farthing.
The broad, dark blue band of velvet sat perfectly over her crown amid the curls and waves of her platinum hair; the clusters of pale blue lace rosettes on either side lifting it out of the ordinary – as did the delicate, bird-cage netting which veiled her face and added a touch of mystery and glamour. ‘Perfect,’ she breathed. ‘Just perfect.’
Rosie had taken great care in choosing what she’d wear for her big day, for she was in her early fifties and it was an awkward age for any woman – especially one who was about to walk down the aisle. There was always the danger of overdoing things and ending up looking like mutton dressed as lamb, but on the other hand she had a real dread of turning into a frump.
She put the hat back in its box and stowed it away on top of the wardrobe in the spare room. Today’s fitting had pleased her, for the pale blue jersey dress and coat bridged the gap between mutton and frump, and with her white fox fur stole and the new hat, she’d be a sophisticated and very glamorous bride. Ron couldn’t fail to be impressed, and she could barely contain her excitement at the thought.
Returning to her kitchen, she discovered she had enough time to make a cup of tea before she had to open up for the evening session, so she put the kettle on and went to get changed into the black skirt and white blouse she always wore behind the bar. She had two identical skirts and blouses which had become her uniform over the years, and although they were definitely showing their age now, they saved her good clothes from getting spoiled from beer splatters and the general wear and tear of running a busy pub.
She made the tea and went into the sitting room to stand by the window to drink it. It was after five-thirty, but Camden Road was still busy with straggling queues of last-minute shoppers hoping to find anything useful or edible from the sadly depleted shop shelves. A cluster of children were kicking a can about with noisy enthusiasm in the road, and a large ginger tom was sitting hopefully outside Fred the Fish’s shop, tail twitching in anticipation that Fred would relent for once and throw him a morsel – which was most unlikely, for the housewives wasted nothing these days and everything went into the pot to make stock or soup.
Rosie sipped her tea and her thoughts turned to Ron. She’d been glad to have the distraction of going to the dressmaker this afternoon, for she’d been fretting over how he was getting on with Father O’Leary. The two men had never seen eye to eye when it came to religion, but there was a certain mutual respect that made them enjoy each other’s company, even if it did often descend into heated debate. Rosie suspected they’d reached a compromise by accepting that they’d never agree on the subject, and as the whisky went down, so did the heat in the arguments.
Rosie’s smile was soft as she thought about her darling Ron. They’d had more than their fair share of ups and downs over the years, and although he could be maddening at times with his habit of going his own way, and disappearing for hours without explanation, she’d never stopped loving him. He’d proved that he was deadly serious about wanting to marry her, by smartening up his appearance and taking her out and about like a proper suitor, but she had been very surprised when he’d agreed with hardly a murmur to a church wedding.
She finished the tea, checked the time and lit a cigarette, her thoughts suddenly and unexpectedly troubled. Ron had never been a religious man, and having heard something of what he’d been through in the trenches, she could understand why. And yet, he was willing to go through the service because it was what she wanted.
A cold rush of realisation washed over her. She’d been so caught up in the excitement of planning the wedding she’d dreamed of for so long, that she’d lost sight of what she was asking of Ron. He might have agreed to it all, but was he really happy to play along with the charade? And that’s what it would be, for he didn’t possess a religious bone in his body, and although the vows he made would come from his heart, the rest of the ceremony would be meaningless to him.
Rosie sat down with a thump. Ron had certainly been rather quiet of late, but she’d put that down to him being a bit grumpy at having to decorate these rooms, put up sheds in the back garden for his ferrets and his clutter, and see to all the repairs at Beach View. But what if he was regretting his decision to go along with her plans, and didn’t know how to tell her?
She tried to get to the bottom of her own feelings on the matter. The dream of marrying Ron in a church filled with beautiful music and the aroma of incense and flowers had been with her for so long that she’d never considered the alternative. Her Catholic upbringing had certainly coloured her life, but it hadn’t ruled it, and as the years had gone on, she’d let things slide. She didn’t go to church very often, couldn’t remember the last time she’d made her confession, and no longer felt she was worthy of taking communion. So why on earth had she been so adamant about getting married at St Cuthbert’s?
Her troubled thoughts were shattered by heavy rapping on the pub door as the mantel clock struck six.
She stubbed out her cigarette and ran down the stairs to open up. Plastering on a smile to hide the turmoil in her heart and mind, she welcomed the group of impatient factory girls, took the towels off the pumps and began to pull pints. She and Ron needed to have a serious talk before their wedding plans went any further.
Ron couldn’t face Rosie yet, so instead of going to the Anchor, he took the dogs for another walk in the hills in the hope that the exercise and cold air would clear his mind and bring him some sort of peace.
Harvey and Monty were delighted at this unexpected treat and shot off to hunt rabbits, whilst Ron settled down on a fallen beam in the ruined farmhouse and stared out at the darkening landscape, his heart heavy, his thoughts in a whirl. He was barely aware of the RAF planes going overhead, or the booms and crumps as yet more V-2s exploded somewhere to the north and shook the very earth beneath his feet despite being so far away. He watched the orange glow of fires suddenly light up the black sky and looked away, unable to bear the thought of more lives lost to this endless bloody war.
He lost track of time as he wrestled with his conscience and watched the sickle moon rise serenely over the water to drift towards the apex of the black sky which was filled with stars, the sweep of the Milky Way like a vast, silvery brushstroke above the silent land. This was his cathedral, more magnificent than any church made by man, and it instilled in him a sense of awe at how immense it was, and how small and insignificant his troubles were compared to what was going on in the world.
Ron’s inbuilt clock eventually warned him it was getting late, so he got to his feet, whistled up the tired dogs and headed back down the hill. He dropped Harvey off at Beach View, and with no explanation for a startled Peggy, reluctantly continued on his way with Monty to Camden Road and the Anchor.
His heart was heavy, his mood dour as he reluctantly approached the pub, for he knew that before the night was over, he could very well find himself without the woman he loved so dearly, the future they’d planned shattered forever.
Closing time had come and gone, but to Monty’s confusion, Ron didn’t go straight in, but remained in the shadows to watch Rosie through the diamond-paned window as she moved with her usual sinuous grace behind the bar to clear the dirty glasses and wipe down the counter.
Her platinum hair gleamed like a halo in the soft light above the bar, her neat hourglass figure enhanced by the tight skirt and white frilly blouse that gave tantalising glimpses of the curve of her peachy breasts. Rosie was like a film star to his mind and he adored the bones of her – had waited for years to make her his own – so why couldn’t he just go ahead with this wedding and be done with it?
It was a rhetorical question, for he knew the answer – had been plagued by it ever since they’d booked the church – and if he didn’t do something about it now, he’d never be at peace. He moved from the window and took a deep breath before he went into the pub by the side door.
Rosie had decided during the busy evening that she’d see how the land lay with Ron before she said anything, for it had suddenly – and rather shockingly – occurred to her that it might not be the church he was being moody about, but the actual fact of getting married. If he was getting cold feet, then she had no idea how she’d cope.
Hearing the side door slam and the scamper of Monty’s claws on the bare stairs as he raced to his bowl of food, she forced a smile and turned to greet Ron who was looking decidedly disgruntled – which was not a good sign.
‘Well, it’s about time you got back,’ she teased, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I thought you and Father O’Leary were either making a night of it, or murdering one another.’
‘We had a few drams, to be sure,’ he confessed. ‘And although there are times I’d like to strangle him, the old divil was still alive when I left.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she said, regarding him more intently for any sign of what he might be thinking. ‘So who won the debate this time?’
‘’Twas no battle, Rosie,’ he said gloomily. ‘He thinks he has me where he wants me and I let him believe it – but to be sure, it’s a hollow victory on both sides.’
Rosie frowned and folded her arms. ‘You’re talking in riddles, Ron. Just what happened between you today?’
‘Rosie,’ he began, his expression very serious as he reached for her hands. ‘Rosie, let’s turn off the lights and go upstairs where we can talk properly.’
Her heart skipped a beat and a cold trickle of dread slithered down her spine. ‘We can talk down here just as well,’ she said, rooted to the spot.
‘This is no place for what I have to say, Rosie,’ he said, his face creased with anxiety. ‘Please, wee girl, do as I ask.’
Rosie could scarcely breathe. ‘You’re frightening me, Ron,’ she managed. ‘What is it you’re trying to tell me?’
Without replying, Ron stepped past her and switched off the light above the bar, then steered her towards the narrow hallway and the stairs leading up to the apartment.
Rosie’s legs were threatening to give way as she climbed the stairs, and her hands trembled as she switched on the light and quickly drew the curtains. Was this the end? Did he really mean to call off their wedding? His expression certainly boded ill – but perhaps it was something entirely different, she thought with a surge of hope – after all, her own focus had been centred on the wedding, so it was logical she’d jump to the conclusion that his had too.
Impatient with her swirling thoughts and heartsick with anxiety, she kicked off her high heels, took a breath for courage, and turned to face him. ‘Has something happened to one of the family?’
Ron reached for her hand, kissed the palm and held it to his heart. ‘Nothing like that,’ he said, his voice rough with emotion as he avoided looking into her eyes. ‘But to be sure, what I have to say will not be easy for you to hear, Rosie.’
Her heart thudded as she snatched back her hand and folded her arms tightly about her waist. ‘Then you’d better get on and say it,’ she said, lifting her chin, determined to be brave and keep her emotions in check.
‘I can’t marry you, Rosie – not …’ His voice broke with emotion.
‘Why not?’ she demanded, the pent-up anxiety making her temper flare. ‘Is it because you can’t face getting married to me – or just a general dislike for marriage in particular?’
He opened his mouth to reply but the stresses and strain of the past few hours meant she was too fired up to stop now. ‘Is there someone else?’ she stormed. ‘Have you been cheating on me, Ronan Reilly? Because, if you have, I’ll kill you!’
‘No, no,’ he cried. ‘That’s not it at all. What I meant was, I can’t marry you in that church.’
She stared at him, the fury abating as swiftly as it had risen. She expected to feel relief, but instead she was overwhelmed by a burning desire to get her own back on him for frightening her so badly. ‘But you swore to me you were happy to go through with a church ceremony.’
‘I know I did,’ he said, ‘but I realised today that my conscience won’t let me.’ He seemed to sense that this was not the moment to approach or touch her, so kept his distance. ‘It’s hypocritical when it all means nothing to me, and as much as I adore and cherish you, I cannot go through with it.’
Rosie regarded him for a long, silent moment and then, to play for more time, went to the side table to mix a large gin and tonic. She continued to say nothing as her mind raced and she battled against the need to punish him for giving her such an awful scare, and not being man enough to have told her sooner. She gulped down half of the strong drink. ‘You married Mary in that church, so why not me?’ she asked finally.
‘Because when I married Mary I was little more than a callow youth who was already having doubts about God and the Church and the part it was supposed to play in my life,’ he replied. ‘But Mary was already in the family way and a church wedding was what everyone expected of us, so I went along with it to keep the peace and make Mary happy.’
Rosie felt a stab of jealousy which she dismissed instantly as unfair and indecent. ‘So why can’t you do it again for me?’
‘Because I’d be living a lie. I’d be spouting prayers to a God I can’t believe in, in a church where I no longer belong, in front of a priest who can see into my soul and knows me for the unrepentant sinner that I am.’
Rosie felt her heart melt with love at this raw honesty, but she wasn’t finished with him quite yet. She turned to face him, the drink forgotten in the need to see the truth in his eyes when she asked him the question that had plagued her since this afternoon. ‘Is it really the church service you can’t face, or the thought of getting married again that’s brought you to this moment?’ she asked.
‘Oh, Rosie,’ he groaned. ‘How can you even think that of me? I’d marry you in a heartbeat. It’s what I’ve longed for ever since we got together. Please don’t ever doubt the feelings I have for you.’
She wanted to feel his arms about her, to tell him that she’d suspected his reluctance and was ready to accept it. But a quirk in her character wouldn’t let her.
‘You should have said something before we booked the church,’ she said. ‘I knew you were only agreeing to it to please me, but I had no idea you felt so strongly. Didn’t you trust me to understand?’
‘I could see how set on it you were and didn’t want to spoil things,’ he admitted. ‘But as time went on I felt more uneasy about it, and then today with Father O’Leary I realised the whole thing was turning me into a liar. And that’s not the way I can live, Rosie.’
Rosie saw the anguish in him as he hung his head and couldn’t bear it any longer. She reached out to him and lightly lifted his chin until he was looking at her again. ‘We said back in the summer that there would be no more secrets between us,’ she reminded him softly. ‘And yet you’ve kept this to yourself for weeks. Why today, Ron? Why tell me now when the banns are about to be read and all the arrangements are in full swing?’
He clung to her hands like a drowning man. ‘I thought I could ignore the doubts and silence the voice of my conscience, but it got louder, the doubts multiplied, and as much as I love you and want to give you everything you desire, I simply couldn’t live that lie.’
He pulled her towards him. ‘Do you still love me, Rosie? Please say you love me and want to marry me even though I’ve let you down so badly.’
Rosie’s heart swelled with such love she thought it would burst. She held him close. ‘Of course I do, you silly man,’ she murmured, the tears rolling down her face. ‘And if the only way we can get married is in the registry office, then so be it.’
She pulled back from him and saw that his eyes were brimming too. ‘But you’d better see to it that there’s music and flowers and the whole kit and caboodle.’
Ron drew her back to him and kissed her passionately. Then he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom until they were standing by the uncurtained window. ‘I’d give you the moon if I could,’ he murmured against her damp cheek, ‘but for now you’ll just have to make do with those stars.’
Rosie looked out to the crescent moon and diamond-studded sky and knew then that it didn’t matter where they got married, for as long as they had each other, they possessed the world and were complete.