Early in December, as Pendragon Island was waking up to the realisation that Christmas was fast approaching, Margaret visited the estate agent and arranged for the house, Waterside Restaurant, to be sold. There was defiance in her eyes as she answered the estate agent’s questions and even more defiance as she walked into Montague Court and asked to speak to Annie.
“I understand you are looking for an expert housekeeper,” she said as Annie entered the room. Annie was dressed in a perfectly fitting brown skirt and white trilled blouse, with moderately high heels enhancing her well-shaped legs. Her figure was trim and she walked with quiet gracefulness. A long necklace of amber beads moved in rhythm with her strides, the matching earrings joining in the movement. Her jacket was gingery-brown which suited her colouring and gave her a look of confidence and dignity.
Margaret lost some of her battle when Annie quietly asked, “And what makes you think you will suit, Miss Jenkins?”
Margaret had expected the woman to show relief that her hotel would be in such capable hands. “As you well know, Mrs Grant, I owned the place and ran it from the time we opened its doors to the public,” she replied.
“You don’t own it any more and if you’ll forgive me, you ran it until it failed.”
“No, the truth was, I depended on my brother and he let me down.”
“You were in no way to blame?”
“No.” Margaret was emphatic.
“Then you think you could come back and work here, accepting that I am in charge?” Annie’s brown eyes looked at her visitor thoughtfully. “I would have to insist on having the last word, and indeed, the first.” She stared at Margaret for a long moment and asked again. “Could you cope with that?”
“I don’t have much choice.”
“But I have,” Annie said. “I’ll think about it and I’ll call you when I’ve seen the other applicants.”
Instead of going back to her restaurant, where the preparations for three parties of four awaited her, Margaret walked through the gardens of Montague Court, past the lake, and on to the bleak but beautiful pebbly beach. What was she thinking of, going back to her previous home as a housekeeper? Annie was right, she wouldn’t be able to cope with not being in charge.
The Rose Tree Café was open and she looked in and saw Sian, Issy’s wife, serving teas to a group of ladies who had bags bulging with early Christmas shopping piled on a chair near them. Ordinary people with ordinary lives; for a moment she envied them. They were laughing as they unpacked their purchases to show their friends. Margaret realised with dismay that there had been very little laughter in her own life.
Sian was sharing in their jollity as they demonstrated a toy or discussed a record, or joked about a tie. She seemed to be coping well with the near collapse of the family firm and the departure of her husband. Sian had had to settle for a lot less when the family business had got into difficulties, but her disaster wasn’t as devastating as losing a house like Montague Court, a house that had been in the family for generations. Sian had chosen to sell their home and move to a tiny terrace house. Her move hadn’t been forced on her by a stupid brother.
Then she admitted to herself that Sian’s disaster had been caused in part by Issy. He had taken a good living from the family business, and had been negligent, lazy and uncaring. Besides not doing the job Old Man Arfon had paid him to do, he had stolen money. Then, when things went wrong and Weston’s Wallpaper and Paint was on the point of closure, he had left his wife and come to her. Sadly she faced the fact that neither she nor Islwyn were exemplary people.
When she went back to Waterside, she was surprised to see that Islwyn had finishing the preparation of vegetables and fruit, and was cleaning the fish ready for the open-topped pie with creamed vegetables, which, served with duchess potatoes, was one of their more popular choices.
“Thank you, Issy. I’m late.”
“Did you see Annie?”
“I did and I have to decide whether or not I can work with her as my boss in a house that was once mine.”
“You don’t have to, there are other places to work. We can surely earn enough by doing less hectic things to pay for a flat and a comfortable life?”
“I want to go back,” her voice was weak and Islwyn realised that Margaret was near to tears.
“Then we will.”
“She might not have me, I’m not the easiest person—”
“You’re the only one for that position. Annie knows it. She’ll take you. And I hope she’ll find me something too. Ring her now.”
“I’m to wait for her to ring me.”
“Don’t wait. Kick down the fences and tell her how much you want the job.”
“There isn’t time, it’s already six o’clock.”
“There’s time for this.” He picked up the phone, dialled the number and handed it to her.
In her unusually emotional state she was more reasonable and she listened intently as Annie Grant explained her duties. When she replaced the phone she stared at Issy in disbelief.
“I’ve got it. The job is mine and d’you know, Issy, I think I can cope; so long as you don’t leave me I can cope.”
In the small town the burglaries continued. The thief seemed to know when a place was empty, and where and if burglar alarms were set. At a house in Chestnut Road, not far from Barry’s former home, Bob and Greta Jones were avid collectors of medieval weaponry.
On learning that the Joneses were out for the evening, Percy went in and began carrying the unwieldy treasures out through the garden to where he had parked the van. Pikes that were almost ten feet long were difficult to handle but he patiently carried them, wrapped them in sacks, and propped them over the passenger seat, along the length of the vehicle. There was a separate journey with some sixteenth-century rapiers, again long and awkward to handle. One had its matching dagger, which would have been held in the left hand of the swordsman, with his hand protected by his cloak. Beautifully decorated, he paused for a moment to admire the exquisite craftsmanship.
There were several display cases holding arrow heads as well as some early guns, including a wheel-lock, the precursor to the flintlock. He carried these in a bag brought for the purpose, and was making his last journey when he was interrupted.
The Joneses had gone to the New Theatre in Cardiff, but during the first act, Greta had become ill. She had a severe headache, felt hot, and her skin was burning up. Apologising to the patrons for disturbing them they left and drove home.
Percy Flemming was still in the house, and as he failed to hear the low, expensive purr of the car pulling up outside the front door, he was trapped in the upstairs room where most of their treasures were kept.
The windows were all securely locked and the only way out was via the back door which he had unlocked in readiness as soon as he had entered. He had come in via the pantry window set high above the ground outside and which had been considered too small to be a problem.
Although he had entered by the window he couldn’t use it as an exit. Climbing up and coming in head first, he had fallen gently onto the work surface with his arms outstretehed to help his landing. But going out the same way he would fall several more feet and risk injury. Trying to get out feet first was impossible too. The lights were now on outside the building and although it was a quiet area there was the possibility that a pair of legs dangling through the window would cause some curiosity. No, he was trapped unless he could get past them and out through the front or back door.
Bob Jones was escorting his wife up the wide staircase and Percy decided to wait until they were in a bedroom before running down the stairs and through the gardens. Unfortunately, Bob noticed a door left ajar.
“Wait,” he hissed to his wife. “Someone’s been in here!”
“Oh no. We haven’t been robbed, have we?” Greta whispered back, clinging to his arm.
“Come on, let’s get you up to your bedroom. I’ll lock you in, then I’ll investigate. It’s probably nothing; we could have simply forgotten to close it.” Although, he thought, that was unlikely. They were fastidious in their routine, and shutting all the bedroom doors was a part of it, but “Anyone can make a mistake,” he told Greta, “and forget a small detail.”
No longer believing there was anything wrong, he stepped back onto the landing and bumped straight into Percy Flemming.
Masked and wearing a well-cut suit, chamois gloves and shiny black shoes, Percy was unrecognisable and he pushed Bob Jones into the bedroom where he fell heavily. Greta heard the noise and opened the door, stepping out to investigate. Percy grabbed her arms and spun her several times, then ran down the stairs calling back in a hissing whisper, “Run for it, Eddie!”
Confused, Bob and Greta – whose aching head was forgotten – went from room to room expecting to confront the second man: All they found were empty display cases, the weaponry missing. On the floor, discarded in Percy’s haste lay arrow heads and coins still attached to their display boards.
Belatedly, Bob ran out into the dark garden, shouted his frustration to the night air, and rang the police. He told them one of the two men involved was called Ed or Eddie or perhaps Edward.
Two days later another burglary was interrupted; this time Percy had engineered the break-in to coincide with the owner’s return. He didn’t intend to steal anything. He simply used the opportunity to confuse the police. The man who ‘disturbed’ him swore he had heard the thief calling for ‘Lew’ to bring the car.
Tired of being questioned yet again about his movements, Edward went to see Lewis.
“Why are we being suspected of these thefts?” Edward demanded. “I’ve never been involved in anything even slightly shady.”
“Don’t look at me like that! I haven’t either!” Lewis pointed a finger in the direction of the back yard where Charlie and Gwyn were bathing the dog. “I’d put it down to being involved with him, the ex-con. But now I think we’re just being used. Only one person is ever seen, and the man is stupid enough to call out the name of the other one. D’you think that’s believable?”
“No, and neither do the police. I agree with you. I think they have a suspicion about the real thief and are saying nothing in the hope of making him overconfident. He’s cheeky, you have to admit that.”
“I’ll kill him for using my name! Causing all this aggravation,” Lewis spat out in indignation.
“I wonder who he is? Smartly dressed, tall and neat, well spoken and as nimble as a monkey.”
“That should let us out. You with a gammy leg and me almost fifty. We’re hardly to be described as nimble, are we?”
William Jones had settled happily into the house of Catrin Gwilym and every afternoon he walked around the area where he had previously searched for oddments of food to steal, and marvelled at his good fortune. With three hundred pounds in the bank and a comfortable home, he counted his blessing daily.
He often called in to the shop to see Edward, sometimes fortunate enough to choose a quiet moment and share a pot of tea. A sudden surge of appreciation towards the man who had made such a difference to his life, led him to the sports shop one Saturday afternoon, where Edward and Mair were serving four brothers with football boots, jerseys and socks for their first match in the school team.
Edward invited him to sit and he waited until the boys were satisfied and went out with their father, excitedly carrying bags and boxes filled with their treasures.
“I just wanted you to know how I appreciate you finding me and helping me like you did. My life is wonderful now and it’s all down to you, Mr Jenkins,” William told him in the brief lull.
“I’m pleased, really pleased,” Edward smiled. Old William never failed to thank him when they met. He wished he could make him believe that further thanks weren’t necessary.
“Now if someone could solve my problem for me,” he said to change the subject, “I’d be content too. I’ve – just had the police here yet again. It’s these burglaries. They seem determined to prove that Lewis Lewis and I are responsible. Isn’t it crazy?”
“Of course it’s crazy. I know who the thief is.”
“You do?”
“Until you saved me from my miserable life, I wandered around a lot at night. I saw him going into a derelict house one night and I watched. He came out dressed like a toff. I thought he was carrying on with another woman, you know how men seem to want a bit of excitement sometimes.”
“And?” Edward was impatient.
“Later, I saw him running out of a garden as if his pants were on fire, with a zipped bag banging against his legs,” the old man chuckled. “We weren’t far away from the main road and I saw him get into a tatty old van. I cut across the fields back to the derelict house and saw him coming out of there wearing his usual clothes, denim trousers and an old jacket. Percy Flemming it was. Saw him as clear as I’m seeing you now.”
Although Ernie Griffiths and his fiancée Helen Gunner had implied they had told Helen’s parents of the unplanned baby, in fact they hadn’t said a word.
Ernie felt embarrassed as well as ashamed. It was always the woman who took most of the blame but he knew he could have held back and didn’t. Telling his family was the easiest, he’d known that and they had both hoped to gain confidence from the reaction of Janet and Hywel.
As he was leaving the Gunner’s house a couple of weeks before Christmas, Ernie finally came out with it. Gloria screamed at the top of her voice. Wilfred tried to sooth her for a moment then told her to “Shut up!”
“But what will people say? What about all the arrangements I’ve made?” Gloria wailed.
“They’ll have heard worse things and the arrangements will have to be unmade,” Helen said calmly. “Come on, Mam, d’you think I don’t know why you and Dad never celebrate wedding anniversaries?”
“What d’you mean?”
“I mean that we haven’t committed a criminal offence. We just loved each other too much and too soon. Now, what about a Christmas wedding?”
“A register office? Never!”
“Pity, because it’s booked.”
It was midnight when Ernie finally left, after being assured by Helen that she would go straight to bed and not allow her parents to harangue her any further that night. He walked home in a gloomy mood, wishing he and Helen had been brave enough to disappear and marry in Gretna Green as Jack Weston had done. He wondered idly whether it was too late.
Another Griffiths was feeling miserable. Frank Griffiths hadn’t given up hope of a date with Mair Gregory, even though her father was a copper. He was sitting in the kitchen of the sports shop on the following morning, having been called back to retouch some paint that had been scraped while moving a heavy display unit. Having finished the small job he was sitting drinking coffee, while Mair washed a shelf, when his attention was caught by one half of a telephone conversation taking place in the shop area.
“Yes, Mr Lewis,” Edward was saying on the telephone. “I am almost certain that these robberies are carried out by a man called Percy Flemming. Now, shall we meet and discuss it?”
“All right, I’ll come,” Mair said to Frank, having been invited to the pictures. Frank didn’t reply and she poked him with a soapy finger and said, “You deaf then? I said yes.”
“Sorry, Mair, I’ve got to go.” Leaving Mair staring at his retreating back with eyes filled with fury, he ran out of the shop.
He ran as fast as his long, skinny legs would allow. This message couldn’t wait. Percy had to be warned they were onto him. Percy wasn’t at home. He left a message with Barbara asking Percy to meet him at The Railwayman and warned her that it was something very urgent.
Back at the shop, he asked Mair again to go out with him, pretending to be unaware she had agreed and had been ignored.
“Get lost!” she replied. Frank sloped off home offended, to complain to Janet about the unpredictable behaviour of women.
Edward didn’t go straight to the police with William’s information. He discussed it by telephone, with Lewis, the conversation overheard in part by Frank. Edward and Lewis agreed that after the inconvenience of being accused of his crimes, they deserved the pleasure of catching the man themselves. Edward smiled at the story he would have to tell Megan, and Lewis imagined how he would stretch the story out and have Dora thinking he was a hero. Like two children playing out an adventure story, they devised a plan. A plan in which Willie Jones, to his great delight, was invited to take an active part.
There was no distress involved in the selling of the restau rant. Losing Montague Court had been so traumatic Margaret thought she’d never feel anything so painfully again. Several viewers called in the first week and she carried on with the routine of the restaurant, while Islwyn showed them around, as if selling was the least important part of her life. Any questions directed at her were answered briefly, to the point of rudeness.
So they were surprised to hear that a Charles and Peggy Covington had made an offer, something below what they were asking. Islwyn wanted to accept but Margaret dug her heels in and insisted on the full asking price.
“We should have some reward for the work and effort we’ve put into the place,” she complained.
“I think you should accept. We could wait months for another offer and the position of housekeeper at Montague Court might be taken by someone else.”
With little interest on Margaret’s part, and enthusiasm on Islwyn’s, they were soon quarrelling practically daily until they decided not to discuss the transaction except when the solicitor was present. Agreement was finally reached and the contracts were drawn up for completion in January.
As there was a licence to sell alcohol involved, possession would take place on the same day as completion, with a court appearance in which the new owner would receive a protection order which at the next sitting of the Brewsters court would be confirmed. It had all happened so recently when they had sold Montague Court that the procedure revived her original sadness. Unreasonably, she was irritable with Islwyn, needing to take out her frustration and disappointment on someone.
Islwyn said nothing, he knew she was still finding it difficult to think of returning to her old home as a paid employee.
When Percy Flemming was told that Willie Jones had recognised him and had passed the information on to Lewis and Edward – his two scapegoats – he smiled.
“They haven’t gone to the police yet,” Frank added. “I think they’ve got some plan to catch you themselves.”
At this Percy laughed out loud. Confidence had grown over the years he had been actively stealing and he had no doubt that he could outwit a couple of amateurs like Edward Jenkins and Lewis Lewis. It might even be amusing. One more job and then he’d have his fun.
“Thanks,” was all he said after Frank had repeated carefully everything he had heard. Frank, who had been hoping for a fiver for his trouble, was disappointed.
Willie Jones felt like a child again. He was shadowing Percy Flemming, hiding behind corners wearing an oversized coat and carrying a bag, as he had done for so many lonely years before Edward had found him and returned his self-esteem and his money.
“It’s almost like I’m invisible,” he told Edward and Lewis. “I wander around the streets and look in dustbins and I’m disregarded as no one of any importance.” He took out a notebook and read out what he had observed so far.
“He’s walked past number sixteen Bell Lane several times. He doesn’t appear to be taking a great interest, but I think he’s checking on windows, alarm systems, drainpipes and all that.”
“I wonder who lives there?” Lewis frowned.
“Major and Mrs Bloom-Davies,” Edward supplied. “They used to eat regularly at Montague Court. He’s retired and I remember him telling me he was interested in Oriental china and porcelain. That must be what Percy’s after.”
“I know where he hides the van he uses too,” William smiled. “I’ll take you to see it, shall I?”
Acting as though they were taking part in a crazy amateur film, they went separately to a part of Pigog Wood where, hidden by undergrowth and overhanging trees, they saw the battered old van.
Edward called on Major Bloom-Davies with the excuse he wanted him to mention his shop at the golf club to those who hadn’t yet used it. During the conversation it was easy to learn that the major and his family were going to London for the weekend.
On Friday evening, having seen the Bloom-Davieses on their way, Edward parked nearby and waited. At three in the morning, Lewis came to take over and although he waited until ten, nothing suspicious occurred.
At ten o’clock it was William’s turn. In the way of many elderly people, he had no difficulty sitting still and silently waiting. He sat there all Saturday morning, hidden in the garden of the Bloom-Davies’ house and watched for movement.
The postman called, a neighbour knocked and went away disappointed, but there was no sign of Percy. At intervals during the day, the three conspirators changed places and Saturday night too passed without incident.
Convinced they had been mistaken, Lewis was prepared to give up when William came to relieve him at midday. “Sunday afternoon’s a good time to choose,” William whispered. “Let’s wait a while longer.”
“Surely he’d move before this? There’s a risk of them coming back early. Percy wouldn’t take that chance, not when he had the whole weekend.”
“You get off,” William said. “Sit in your car for a while, to give Percy a chance to see you, then drive off. Pass the major’s house slowly as if you’re checking for the final time.”
“You think he knows we’re here? How can he?”
“If he’s survived all this time without being caught he’s got to have a sixth sense about danger.” William settled himself comfortably. “Well, I’ve got a sixth sense too and it tells me we won’t be disappointed. Hurry off and don’t be too obvious. Then wait where we arranged, near the lane leading to the wood.”
At four o’clock on Sunday afternoon, Percy drove the van in through the gates of the Bloom-Davies’ drive. The weather was icy and the headlights caught the glitter on the tarmac before they were snapped out as Percy negotiated the gateway. William watched as he stepped out, observing the man’s smart suit and immaculate shoes and gloves in the fading light. Percy walked up to the door and knocked, and William’s heart was racing with excitement at the prospect of catching a thief. He saw Percy don a mask and climb up the drainpipe to a small bathroom window. After slipping the catch with a thin blade, he pushed the sash window up and slid inside.
Then Willie made his move. He scuttled through the shrubbery with practised stealth, hardly disturbing the foliage, and went out through a garden gate onto the road. Signalling to where Lewis’s car was parked, hidden by shadows, he hurried on to the telephone box on the next corner.
Percy went straight through the house and opened the back door, then paused a moment to take in the remarkable decor of the house. Chinese wallpaper, luxurious rugs and ornately carved cupboards filled with delicate porcelain and ancient pottery from China, Japan and Malaya, all displayed and carefully labelled. He began to fill the bags he had brought, wrapping each item swiftly but with care. With two bags filled and placed by the open door, he ran up the stairs.
Every room had items of value but he didn’t try to take everything, just pieces he could easily carry. After the medieval weaponry he’d had enough of awkward shapes. The most valuable items were two Ming vases, about which the major had boasted in talks given around the area. Percy picked them up reverently. He had a dealer waiting for these.
As he was leaving the back room with the last of his load he froze, his eyes darting around, assessing his best move. Someone was opening the door. He hadn’t heard the car. He must be getting careless. Definitely time to stop.
Because of a bad-weather warning, Major and Mrs Bloom-Davies had left early for home. The major was following his wife up the stairs towards where Percy was hiding, when he became aware of a draught.
“That’s odd,” he said, looking towards the back of the house, “I think we left the back door open.”
“No, we didn’t!” His wife’s eyes showed fear. “I locked it and even went back to check. We’ve had a burglary. I always knew we would one day.”
Major Bloom-Davies had a quick look around the ground floor and realised she was right. “I think he’s still here,” he whispered. “There are bags near the back door.”
Upstairs Percy realised with dread that his best escape was down the stairs and past them. Exiting through the bathroom window – as he had entered – would involve a slow and careful climb down the drainpipe. But the telephone was in the hall. They’d surely get the police here before he could get away. Perhaps he could tug on the telephone wire as he passed and maybe wrench it from the wall. It was worth a try.
All these years, and for it to end now, when he was leaving Pendragon Island and starting afresh somewhere else. Life could be very unfair.
To his relief, the couple didn’t go for the telephone. Desperately hoping to save his treasures, the major continued up the stairs, the woman holding onto her husband’s arm.
On the landing, Percy felt a surge of hope.
In the telephone box, after phoning the police and then Edward, William was standing waiting for the police, as they instructed. In a lay-by, Lewis was parked ready to follow Percy’s dirty old van. William, that happy night wanderer, who knew the area almost as well as the Griffiths boys, had described the route, through fields and green lanes, which Percy would most likely travel to avoid being seen on the roads, and Lewis waited for his signal before setting off to intercept him.
At number sixteen Bell Lane, Percy was poised for his run for freedom. Closer and closer the two people came and Percy tensed for action. When they reached the top of the stairs, he jumped out and punched the major and pushed him into a bedroom, then he spun the woman around several times, as he had done so successfully on a previous occasion, before shoving her towards her husband inside the room and locking the door.
Grabbing all he could, including the precious vases, he ran down the stairs and out of the back door, pausing to close it after him. Laden with valuables he was loath to leave behind slowed him, but he made it to the van and, opening a five-barred gate, he drove through and again closed it after him. He didn’t want his route to be easy to follow.
He drove without lights although it had been dark for some time, the clouds having brought the day to an early end. Along a track through the trees, down a rutted lane and across a field. There were only a few miles to go and he’d be safe.
At the edge of the field was a brook and although the banks were high in places, there was a spot where he could drive down and through the water and up the other side without much difficulty. Still without lights he went slowly through the muddy edge and was in the slowly moving stream when lights blinded him. Headlights.
He couldn’t see a thing, his night sight completely destroyed, but he pressed the accelerator, revved furiously and tried to drive on. The bulk of another vehicle stopped him. Beside the driver’s door stood Edward, and outside the passenger door stood Lewis.
“First, Percy Flemming, you’ll tell us why you used our names,” Lewis said.
“I’m sorry, but I only wanted to confuse the police. Let me go, eh?” he pleaded. “It didn’t harm you, did it? No one would suspect two upright citizens like you for long.”
“You chose the wrong ones,” Lewis said. “We got mad.”
“We’ve been pestered, used and embarrassed, and that’s why you’re sitting there now, with nowhere to go but prison,” Edward added.
“Come on, lads, you wouldn’t want me to go inside and leave my two girls and a sick wife, would you? What will happen to my daughters if I’m in prison and Barbara dies? That’s what’ll happen. I was doing this to send her to Switzerland. She’s seriously ill with TB and only the clean fresh mountain air will save her. Please, think of my children if not me.”
“Is this true?” Edward was weakening.
“No it isn’t,” said a breathless voice and William appeared, panting and leaning on a convenient tree.
Behind him, torches could be seen and in the distance, the pinpoint headlights and drone of a car aproaching.
“Sound as a bell, is Barbara Wheel. Better state than me and that’s for sure,” he puffed.
Percy briefly studied the three men. Edward was the weakest link, the one who wouldn’t fight hard to capture him. He wasn’t committed to rough stuff, he knew that. He eased the door handle down and with a sudden movement rammed the door open against Edward before jumping out and pushing him so he stumbled. Edward got in the way of Lewis before falling into the water. Carrying the vases, Percy stumbled off through the stream and climbed out into the field he had just left.
When the police arrived, Edward and Lewis were there with the spoils of the latest robbery, together with their informant.
Fortunately for Lewis and Edward, William’s story was convincing, and later, the van showed Percy’s fingerprints and none of theirs. The van was registered to Barbara Wheel but when the police went to Percy’s house to talk to her they found it empty and the family long gone.
Barbara and the girls had moved on the previous week and Percy had stayed behind to do one more job before joining them in a small village not far from Carmarthen, where they were already becoming known as Freddy Jones and family.
Lewis went home after being questioned for, hopefully, the last time and called at number seven Sophie Street. To his dismay, Dora wasn’t there. He went to Trellis Street and knocked on number forty-four. Sian opened the door and told him Dora and she were going through the menus to decide on the Christmas fare for the following week.
“I’ve been catching the burglar the police had been chasing for months – no – years,” he said proudly, when he went inside.
“You’ve been doing what?” Dora asked, her blue eyes staring at him in alarm. “Wasn’t that dangerous?”
“Very. Attacked we were and poor Edward Jenkins ended up in the stream. Dangerous all right, especially when the only help we had was poor old Willie Jones from the old draper’s shop.”
Lewis took off his coat, drew up a chair and began to tell them about his weekend’s adventure. Although enthralled, Dora’s face showed concern when he reached the part where Percy had made his daring escape.
“He hit someone in a previous raid you know,” she said. “He could have killed you if you’d stopped him getting away.”
“I was ready for him.”
“And that other break-in where a man was beaten. He could have knocked you unconscious or he might have had a gun! Really Lewis, you should have left it to the police.”
Lewis smiled his special smile and looked at Dora, “Would you have been frightened for me if you’d known? Would you have cared, love?”
Sian made herself scarce, busying herself with tea and cakes, while Lewis put out his arms and pleaded with his beautiful eyes, sparkling with the excitement of his adventure and with love for her. She hugged him and said gruffly that she’d hate to think of him being hurt.
Megan was surprised to see Edward when she opened the door to his knock. There was such an animated look about him that she stepped back and said, “Come in, you obviously have something to tell me.”
“Can William come in too?” he asked and from behind him stepped the old man, changed now out of his ragamuffin clothes.
“What have you two been up to?” Megan asked as she led them into the lounge where her mother sat looking through a boxful of photographs.
“Tell them, William,” Edward coaxed.
“We’ve caught the burglar.” He shrugged casually. “Well, the police weren’t doing anything so we thought we’d catch him for them.”
“Unfortunately he got away again,” Edward laughed. The merriment continued as the two men told their story and the two women listened. As Dora had done, Megan recognised the danger they had faced.
“Edward. You could have all been killed.”
“Percy Flemming didn’t look dangerous when he realised he was cornered. In fact he was utterly dejected. Told us he needed the money for his wife who was desperately ill and needed to go to Switzerland. Begged us not to send him to prison and leave his girls without anyone to look after them.”
“I’m glad you weren’t soft enough to let him go,” Megan said. Then she saw an expression on his face that made her suspect he had done just that. “Edward?”
“I didn’t allow him to escape, although for a moment I did wonder whether I could cope with knowing I was responsible for sending a man to prison.”
“Edward,” Megan said again, softly, affection and love in her eyes.
“I just didn’t expect him to ram me with the door and jump out like he did.”
“But you were thinking about letting him go?” she accused.
“Until William put me right,” he admitted.
“You could have been killed,” she repeated.
“Actually, it was all great fun. In fact,” he said with a smile at William, “if the shop doesn’t succeed, William and I might begin another career as private detectives!”
“Edward. You need a keeper!”
Edward looked at her and said, “The job is yours if you want it.”
“Is that a proposal?”
William looked from one to the other wondering whether he should leave. Sally bent her head lower towards the box of photographs.
“It was, and I’ll ask you again tomorrow and the day after and on and on until you say yes.”
“For how long?” she asked, smiling at him.
“I’ll never give up And I might warn you now that I want a big wedding with all the trimmings and –” with a swift glance at Sally he added, “– and your father will be there to give you away.”
Edward took Megan’s hands in his, pulled her up out of her chair and stared down into her eyes, leaving her in no doubt about how much he loved her. “Say yes,” he whispered, oblivious of the others. Quietly, William and Sally crept out into the kitchen, leaving them to relish the kiss that sealed their promise.