Rita and Ivy had so many things to catch up on and discuss in their excitement for the coming day, and being together again, that they’d still been chattering long after the rest of the household had settled down for the night. Ivy had fallen quiet and hadn’t responded to Rita’s latest enquiry, and Rita realised that her friend had gone to sleep, curled like a child beneath the covers of the other single bed.
As the Town Hall clock struck one, Rita lay there staring at the ceiling, and wondering if Peter was doing the same in his boarding house billet along the coast. Restless and still unable to sleep, she eventually drew back the covers and tiptoed barefoot to the window in her soft, faded pyjamas.
Opening the curtain just enough to peek through, she leaned on the sill and gazed out over the rooftops to the moon which was almost full, and reflected in the small sliver of sea visible between the chimneypots, and then looked up to the dark sky to watch the stars twinkling. She wondered if they were the same configuration of stars on the other side of the world, for it would be reassuring to have something familiar to look at so far from home.
She tucked her curly dark hair behind her ears and gave a soft sigh. She had an inkling now of what Ruby must have gone through before her marriage to Mike and subsequent migration to Canada, for she was nervously excited about tomorrow and all the hullabaloo it would entail. Although she’d never been one to take centre stage, she could hardly wait to dress up in her beautiful gown to share her wedding vows with Peter.
Yet throughout all the plans they’d made for their big day – and the even bigger adventure they were about to embark upon – there ran a thread of fear which she couldn’t quell. She would be going into the unknown once they boarded the ship for Australia, and even though she’d have Peter at her side, and he’d described so well what awaited them there, it was clearly very different from all she’d ever known.
As she looked out of the window and the bedside clock quietly ticked away the seconds, Rita thought again of all she’d be leaving behind. Beach View had been her refuge after her own home had been fire-bombed, and Peggy had been a constant, loving presence in her life even before her mother had died too young. Rita knew that if it hadn’t been for Peggy’s love and care, her father would never have coped with the trials of bringing up his six-year-old daughter while he struggled to grieve and support them.
Rita felt the prick of tears and blinked them away. She could barely remember her mother now, for the few photographs of her had been destroyed during the fire-bombing. Yet, in the silence of the night, she could still hear faint echoes of her voice, and feel the comfort of her arms about her in those moments when she missed her the most. The thought of leaving her father behind troubled her, and despite all his assurances to the contrary, she seen the sadness in him when he’d thought he was unobserved, and knew he would be bereft at her departure.
And then there was Peggy, who’d been a mother, confidante and wise adviser during her formative years, and dear old Ron, who’d been a grandfather and font of knowledge about the world. And Beach View, which had been her home; this room shared with Ivy who’d become as close as a sister, and who’d been with her during moments of great fear and deep sorrow, as well as times of fun. Was her love for Peter and the promise of a new life strong enough for her to make such a sacrifice? Or would their adventure together turn sour through her longing for home and those she loved?
Rita took a shallow, quavering breath, knowing their love was indeed strong enough to see them through whatever they had to face – and that although she might get horribly homesick, she was meant to spend the rest of her life with Peter, even if it was on the other side of the world.
‘Rita? What you doing there? You’ll catch yer death, gel.’ Ivy threw the old dressing gown over Rita’s shoulders and hugged her waist. ‘Not ’aving second thoughts, are yer?’ she teased.
Rita shook her head and dismissed the doubts as last-minute nerves. ‘Not about getting married to Peter. But I was thinking about you, Dad and Peggy, and this place. It’s going to be so hard to leave you all behind, and I feel horribly guilty about abandoning Dad.’
‘Then you mustn’t,’ said Ivy firmly. ‘Yer dad will ’ave Peggy and Ron to talk to, and he’ll be so busy with ’is workshop, I reckon he won’t ’ave time to worry about what you’re up to. Besides, he promised to visit you out there when you and Pete are settled and start ’aving kids.’
‘I know,’ Rita sighed, leaning her head on Ivy’s narrow shoulder. ‘But I still wish he’d agreed to come with us and set up over there.’
‘Jack’s a man what knows ’is own mind, Rita, love. He’s been away from home right through the war and is too old to be going gallivanting again. I know it won’t be easy for yer, but you gotta give it a go, gel. A chance like this don’t come that often, and Pete’s a good bloke. He’ll look after yer.’
Rita giggled. ‘You’re right, Ivy. I’m just suffering from last-minute nerves, that’s all.’
‘It’s the time of night,’ said Ivy, shivering in her thin nightdress. ‘No one can think straight at two in the morning, and you’re just letting yer imagination run away with yer.’ Ivy drew Rita from the window towards the two single beds. ‘It’s time you was in that bed and sleeping,’ she said bossily. ‘Come on, gel, or you’ll be fit fer nothing in the morning.’
‘I am going to miss you, Ivy,’ Rita murmured, giving her a hug, and then gasping in delight and awe. ‘Oh, my goodness, Ivy. I felt the baby move.’
Ivy grimaced and gently ran her hand over the small, hard swell beneath her nightie. ‘Yeah, he’s inclined to do that. Usually when I’m trying to sleep.’
‘Do you think it’s a boy?’ asked Rita.
‘It would be nice for Andy, but it don’t really matter what it is as long as it’s all right,’ Ivy replied. She pressed Rita down onto her bed and pulled up the covers. ‘Go to sleep, Rita, and don’t worry about nothing except them big bags under yer eyes you’ll ’ave in the morning if you lie there worrying about things.’
Rita slid down the bed and nestled into the pillows. ‘Thanks, Ivy. You always did know how to cheer me up,’ she said drily before jerking upright again and touching her face. ‘I won’t really have bags, will I?’ she gasped.
‘Course not, you silly mare,’ scoffed Ivy on a giggle. ‘But I will if you don’t shut up and go to bloody sleep. Me and the baby is wore out.’
Rita slid back down beneath the covers and closed her eyes. Ivy wouldn’t stand for any soppiness, but at this moment, she could have kissed her and told her she was the very best friend and sister a girl could have.
On that comforting thought, Rita drifted off to sleep and dreamed of floating down the aisle towards Peter in the fairy-tale dress Sally had made for her.
Peggy had slept surprisingly well considering that Daisy had crept into her bed sometime during the night and was rather restless, and it was barely light when she rose from her bed, eager for the coming day. As she quickly dressed in an old blouse and skirt and tied the wrap-round pinafore over everything, she could already hear that the rest of the household was up and about. They’d clearly caught wedding fever too.
Peggy left Daisy sleeping off her late night and went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast, only to find the porridge already simmering and the table all but cleared. It seemed that everyone had already eaten, but for Anne and her family
As she stirred the porridge to keep it from sticking to the pot, she could hear the usual squabbles over whose turn it was in the bathroom, which made her wonder for the umpteenth time if she should dip into her savings and turn the small single bedroom currently used by Danuta into a second bathroom with a toilet. However, the thought was fleeting. The expense and upheaval it would cause would be wasted, for once all the girls had left and Anne was back in her cottage, one bathroom would suffice – and there was still the perfectly good outside lav if one got desperate.
Peggy looked up from the range as Rose and Emily came running into the kitchen, closely followed by their mother. She hugged the girls and cheerfully wished Anne a good morning. ‘Did you sleep all right?’
Anne grinned. ‘Like a log once I knew there were no nasty consequences of Grandad’s daft carry-on with those ferrets. I was coming out of the bathroom when I overheard you giving Grandad earache and I asked Martin what it was about. He reluctantly confessed, and I thought we’d be in for a disturbed night, but the girls slept right through without a murmur.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Peggy. ‘Perhaps it would be a good idea to take them to the Anchor on Sunday so they can see the ferrets in their cage and get to understand them a bit more. It would be a shame if they stayed frightened of them. They’re quite sweet really.’
Anne tucked her shining dark hair back from her face. ‘I’ve never been that fond of them myself, but as Grandad seems intent upon carrying them about wherever he goes, I suppose they should get used to them.’
Anne settled the girls at the table and tied bibs around their necks. ‘I’ll wait until the last minute to dress them,’ she said. ‘They’re bound to get dirty otherwise, and white is so unforgiving.’ She glanced at the cleared table. ‘Has everyone already eaten – and where’s Daisy?’
‘She’s still asleep after all the excitement last night. I’ve left her to it so I can get on and clear up before Sally comes to do any last-minute alterations.’
Peggy glanced at the clock and doled out bowls of porridge and glasses of the free orange juice provided by the government to all children under five. ‘Cordelia and the girls have had theirs, so I’m surprised Martin hasn’t come down yet with all the noise they’re making up there.’
‘He was up at the crack of dawn as usual,’ said Anne. ‘I suspect he grabbed some bread and jam before he left for the airfield.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He and Roger are evidently conferring about the meeting that’s planned with the town council next week.’
‘Then I hope he doesn’t lose track of the time. Rita’s counting on him being one of the ushers.’
‘He’ll be there,’ said Anne firmly.
Peggy raised an eyebrow, but Anne wasn’t going to elaborate further, and changed the subject. ‘I’m so glad Sally’s got her home dressmaking business up and running again. I thought she was quite potty when she started buying all those old wedding dresses and tatty ballgowns from jumble sales and so on, but she’s actually been very clever and forward-looking.’
‘Sally’s always had a sensible head on her shoulders,’ said Peggy, sitting down with a cup of tea.
Anne nodded. ‘It’s a case of having to grow up quickly with a useless mother like that, but it’s stood her in good stead. I popped in to see her the other day and that front room is positively crammed with all those second-hand cast-offs, but she’s slowly using the material from each and every one of them to make something new and utterly gorgeous.’
‘You didn’t happen to spot Rita’s dress by any chance?’ Peggy asked hopefully.
Anne laughed. ‘No such luck. Sally had it covered very thoroughly by a sheet. And before you ask, I didn’t see Ivy’s either. So you’ll just have to rein in that awful curiosity of yours, Mum, and wait like the rest of us.’
Peggy drank her tea, and when the children had finished eating, Anne went with them into the garden to feed the chickens and then play in the makeshift sandpit Ron had made out of offcuts of wood and pilfered sand from the beach.
Standing in the doorway for a minute to watch them, Peggy lit a cigarette and then tackled the last of the washing-up before going to wake Daisy. If she left her any longer there would be tears before bedtime, and nothing was allowed to spoil today.
Daisy threw a bit of a tantrum because she wanted to wear her new white dress with its frothy petticoat. Eventually, Peggy got her into dungarees and a jumper, and coaxed her into eating her porridge and drinking her orange juice. Grimacing at the taste of her daily spoonful of cod liver oil, Daisy then hurried off quite happily to play with Rose and Emily in the garden.
While Anne kept an eye on the children, Peggy took the opportunity to hurry upstairs to use the bathroom now it was free, and some minutes later, returned to her bedroom to put on her make-up. She planned to wear the lovely blue silk skirt and jacket Sally had made her five years ago for Anne’s wedding, and it hung on the wardrobe door, fresh from the dry cleaner’s, with the matching shoes placed beneath it. She’d splashed out on a new and very fancy hat for Ruby’s wedding, and had worn it at Ivy’s. It would do sterling service today, and next weekend when Doris and Colonel White tied the knot at the Town Hall, so it hadn’t been money wasted.
Pausing in the act of putting on her lipstick, Peggy wondered again what had kept her sister from the party the previous evening, and decided she’d telephone her once she was finished here. Hunting out the delicately worked gold earrings and matching necklace Jim had sent her from Burma, she put them on and admired the effect in the mirror. They were utterly gorgeous, even though they looked rather incongruous teamed with a wrap-round apron. But that didn’t matter, for she just knew they’d be perfect with her outfit.
Anne and the children were still in the garden, so Peggy went into the hall and got through to the exchange. Doris answered on the second ring and sounded a bit flustered. ‘Hello, Doris. Is everything all right? Only we missed seeing you last night.’
‘I thought it was the doctor returning my call,’ she replied. ‘John has hurt his back and he’s in absolute agony – barely able to move. I couldn’t leave him on his own, poor man.’
‘Oh, Doris, how awful. But how did he do it?’
‘His foot caught in a rabbit hole on the golf links and he fell awkwardly, aggravating an old injury. I’m sorry, Peggy, but I’ll have to ring off. The doctor’s receptionist promised he’d telephone the minute he finished morning surgery.’
‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do,’ said Peggy, and put down the receiver.
Doris was clearly in a terrible state, which was hardly surprising as their wedding was only a week away. Peggy could only pray that John’s back healed in time, and they weren’t forced to cancel.
Her thoughts fled as there was a knock on the front door. Opening it, she found Sally and her husband, John, on the doorstep, their arms laden with cloth clothes bags.
‘Hello, Auntie Peggy,’ she said, stepping into the hall and kissing her cheek. ‘I’m not too early, am I? Only I thought it would be best to come now so that I’d have time to do any last-minute alterations to Ivy’s dress.’
‘Not at all,’ said Peggy, her fingers itching to open the bags and see what was inside. ‘Come in, come in, the pair of you.’
‘Sally!’ Rita came running down the stairs with an equally excited Ivy following more slowly. ‘Here, let me help you with those,’ Rita said, quickly taking charge of John’s burden before he let it slip to the floor. ‘And thanks for giving Sally a lift up, John,’ she added, glancing past him to the fire station truck parked outside. ‘She’d never have managed to carry this lot up the hill.’
‘There’s more to come,’ he said, shooting her a grin before he quickly ran down the steps and reached into the truck for two shoe boxes.
‘Oh, Sal,’ Rita breathed. ‘You did it. You really managed it when I honestly thought it would be impossible.’
Sally laughed. ‘John, you’d better give those boxes to Aunt Peggy. As you can see, Rita and I have our hands full.’
‘I’ll take ’em.’ Ivy snatched the boxes from John before Peggy could get her hands on them. ‘Don’t want to spoil the surprise,’ she said with a naughty wink to Peggy. ‘You’ll see everything all in good time, Auntie Peg.’
John left and the three girls giggled as they carefully carried the precious clothes up the stairs and into the large front bedroom. Peggy stood at the bottom of the stairs as the bedroom door was firmly closed behind them, and gave a frustrated sigh. One peek wouldn’t have hurt, surely?
‘Come on, Mum,’ said Anne with a smile in her voice. ‘You’ll be up there the minute Rita’s ready for you, so savour the anticipation and watch the girls for a minute while I go and get changed. I doubt Rita would want me turning up in these old trousers and twinset.’
Peggy went out into the garden to mind the children, her ears pricked for a call from Rita to come and help her get dressed. But there was still no summons by the time Anne returned, so Peggy went and got dressed in her finery, feeling more than a little put out that Rita didn’t seem to want her help.
The ceremony was to be held at noon, and by eleven everyone but the bride and Ivy were downstairs, ready and waiting to leave for the church. The three little girls looked utterly cherubic in their white dresses edged with pink ribbon, the delicate froth of netting petticoat just peeking below the hem. They wore white shoes and socks and coronets of pink flowers were pinned firmly on their heads. Each would carry a small basket of confetti, but for now they were in Anne’s safekeeping.
Martin had returned and quickly changed into a suit before hurrying off to do his duties as an usher, and Jack had arrived freshly barbered and shaved with a rose in the lapel of his new tailored suit. The bridal flowers had been delivered by the local florist, and Stan, the stationmaster, had provided the blooms from his allotment to decorate the church, which his niece, April, was busily arranging.
Jack had really splashed out for his only child’s wedding, for not only had he organised limousines for the bridal party, but he had also booked the fully catered reception at the Officers’ Club. Peter had paid for all the dresses and booked a short honeymoon in a swanky London hotel, with theatre tickets and a boat trip on the Thames organised.
With all the arrangements out of her hands, Peggy had nothing to do but relax and enjoy the day. But that was impossible, for time was swiftly disappearing, and still there was no call from Rita.
Sarah, Jane and Danuta had looked fresh and pretty in their summer frocks and straw hats when they’d left Beach View with Charlie in plenty of time to walk to the church, and Cordelia’s friend Bertie had arrived looking as dapper as always, to ferry her there in his car. Peggy, Anne, Ivy and the three children would travel together in one of the limousines while Jack rode with Rita in the second. The liveried chauffeurs were now waiting outside, their gleaming black cars fluttering with white ribbons which drew quite an audience from neighbours and passers-by.
Peggy was trying not to fidget as she sat with Jack at the kitchen table which was laden with the bouquets, and distractedly watched the clock while Anne kept the three children amused by reading them a story.
Jack looked nervous and kept straightening his tie, which was already perfectly knotted, and continued to mutter the words of his speech under his breath.
Peggy smiled at him fondly and stilled his hand. ‘Don’t worry, Jack, you’ll be fine. It’s a good speech, and everyone will love it.’
Jack was about to reply when Ivy yelled from upstairs. ‘Auntie Peg! Are you still down there?’
Peggy shot to her feet and hurried into the hall. ‘Of course I am. What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing. Only Rita wants to speak to you.’
Peggy ran up the stairs to find Ivy and Sally waiting for her on the landing. Ivy looked positively radiant in a blush-pink dress that draped from a close-fitting bodice to just below her knees, and on her feet were matching pink shoes decorated with tiny, sparkling butterflies on the heels and toes.
‘D’ya like ’em, Auntie Peg?’ Ivy asked, excitedly waving her foot about. ‘Ain’t Sal clever? She made ’em all ’erself.’
‘They are gorgeous, and so are you, Ivy. That pink really suits you.’ She gave Ivy a gentle hug before turning to Sally. ‘My goodness, Sally, you’ve done the most marvellous job. You are such a clever girl.’
‘It’s always easy when the bride knows what she wants,’ replied Sally cheerfully. ‘I’ll be off home now to get changed. See you at the church.’
As the two girls went downstairs, Peggy eagerly stepped into the bedroom and gasped at the sight of Rita standing there looking so very beautiful that she could have stepped straight out of a fairy-tale book.
The sheath of white lace skimmed over her slender figure to the toes of her butterfly-studded white shoes, and pooled behind her in a short train. The neckline scooped from shoulder to shoulder with a scalloped edge, and the sleeves ended in an elegant point over her wrists.
On closer inspection, Peggy discovered there were tiny silver butterflies embroidered on the sleeves and hem which shimmered in the light. The delicate cloud of veil was tethered into her dark curls by the diamanté tiara Peter’s mother had sent from Australia, and Peter’s wedding gift of diamond earrings and necklace sparked fire at every beat of her heart.
‘Oh, Rita,’ Peggy managed, desperately trying not to cry. ‘You’re the most beautiful and regal bride I’ve ever seen. Fairy Queen Titania in all her glory couldn’t outshine you today.’
Rita shot her an impish grin. ‘I scrub up all right, don’t I? Do you think Peter will like it?’
‘Of course he will,’ breathed Peggy. ‘And consider himself the luckiest man in the world to have such a stunning bride. I still can’t believe that my little tomboy could be so elegant and feminine.’
Rita reached for Peggy’s hand. ‘I love you so much, and I can never repay you for everything you’ve done for me and Dad over the years. You don’t think too badly of me for deserting everyone, do you?’
Peggy took her gently into her arms and breathed in her delicate scent. ‘My darling girl, I could never think badly of you. You and Peter are on the brink of having the most marvellous future, and although I shall miss you dreadfully, I wish you all the happiness and success in the world.’ She touched her cheek to Rita’s for a moment and then drew back. ‘Do you want to have a word with Jack before you come down?’
Rita’s eyes were suspiciously bright, and her lower lip quivered as she nodded.
‘Remember, Rita,’ said Peggy softly. ‘You’re only allowed to shed happy tears today.’
She went downstairs to tell Jack he was needed and assure Ivy that she didn’t look fat and ugly, but really rather wonderful in the pink dress which made her skin glow and her eyes shine. She then put on her hat and checked there were plenty of handkerchiefs in her handbag; she and Cordelia always enjoyed a good cry at weddings.
Peter had been saddened to discover that one of the Polish pilots he’d come to know and like during his time at RAF Cliffe had been badly injured during a dogfight over Holland and was now recuperating at the sanatorium on the Cliffe estate. When he’d gone to see him, the large Pole had bellowed a delighted welcome and struggled from his seat to stand on his prosthetic legs to give him one of his famous bear hugs and enthusiastically plant smacking kisses on his cheeks.
Wing Commander Baron Stanislaw Kowalcyzk – or Stan as everyone called him – was a larger-than-life character who possessed a soft heart and generous soul. He cried easily and got emotional about everything except his own plight, and endeared himself to everyone he met. When he’d been in action, he’d had to cram his great body and long legs into the cockpit of his Spitfire – which was made for someone half the size – and would often yell ‘Chocks away,’ and be roaring down the runway seconds later to a whoop of sheer joy.
On his return to base, it had always taken two men to unplug him from the cockpit, and four to carry him out of the bar at the end of titanic drinking sessions and deliver him to his hut.
It seemed the loss of both his legs hadn’t dented his humour or tamed his rather gung-ho attitude to life in general. As far as he was concerned, he’d been blessed, for he was still alive to drink copiously and enjoy the company of beautiful women. He loved women – and they were drawn to him like bees to nectar.
They had talked for hours on that first visit, and Peter had made a point of going to see him every day to make sure he really was following doctor’s orders and not drinking. It was a forlorn hope, for Stan enjoyed his vodka and would bribe the orderlies to bring some in. Peter had taken Rita to see him, and he’d completely charmed her, so on his next visit Peter had asked him to be his best man.
Stanislaw had burst into predictable tears and hugged him so hard Peter could have sworn he’d heard his ribs creaking under the strain. The bachelor night had been riotous, with Stan taking centre stage at the Crown and proceeding to drink everyone under the table, until he’d had to be poured into a taxi. It had taken three days for Peter to get over it, but Stan was as bright and cheerful the next day as he always was, and had returned to the Crown to continue his outrageous flirting with the most receptive Gloria.
They’d hired a taxi to get them to the church in plenty of time, and as it pulled into the large car park, Stan looked up at the red-brick Victorian building and grimaced. ‘Why the English build such ugly things? In Poland we make our basilica beautiful with gold and icons and mosaics.’
‘I don’t know, mate. Perhaps the Victorians liked their churches plain,’ Peter replied. ‘We have wooden ones in the outback. They’re easy to rebuild if a bush fire shoots through.’
He paid off the taxi but didn’t offer to help Stan out of the taxi because his friend loathed being treated like a cripple and always refused. Peter waited and watched nervously while Stan struggled out, swearing under his breath as he dug the two walking sticks firmly on the ground and heaved himself to his feet. Peter knew he hated those walking sticks with a vengeance, but they were a necessary evil, for without them Stan would fall over, and suffer the indignity of having to ask for help to get back up again.
Peter felt quite amazingly calm as he smoothed the hem of his blue-grey RAAF jacket and tugged the sleeves until they were aligned with his shirt cuffs. He’d been to the barber’s earlier for a haircut and close shave, and had pressed the trousers until the creases were knife-sharp before spending over half an hour polishing his shoes, belt buckle and medals.
Stan had made an effort too, for he’d had a haircut and shave, and his thick black moustache had been carefully trimmed and waxed at the ends so he could twirl them to his heart’s content. He was also in his dress uniform, the Polish eagle insignia on his cap and jacket lapels; his medals in perfect alignment across his broad chest.
As it was still early and there didn’t seem to be anyone about yet, they found a bench in the garden of remembrance and sat down. The memorial to the fallen of both wars stood sentinel in the middle of the garden, and through an archway, they could see the graveyard.
‘We have plenty time. Perhaps we go for a drink?’ asked Stan hopefully.
‘No flaming way, mate. We both need to stay sober.’ Peter lit cigarettes for them both and leaned back. ‘I hope your speech isn’t too long or too rude. There’ll be ladies there today and they might take objection to your dubious sense of humour.’
Stan waved away this comment. ‘My speech will be beautiful,’ he said. ‘All the ladies will love it.’
Peter sincerely hoped that would be the case, but Stan could be unpredictable, and if he took it into his head to go off at a tangent, then there was no telling what he’d say.
‘I will not spoil this special day, Peter,’ murmured Stan. ‘You have honoured me by asking me to stand with you, and I will repay that with the finest speech you’ve ever heard.’
He was distracted by something beyond Peter’s shoulder and his brown eyes lit up. ‘Who is that goddess with the hair of fire?’ he breathed.
Peter turned and grinned. ‘That’s Fran, and she’s well and truly spoken for, so keep those great Polish paws to yourself.’
‘There will be other girls like that today?’ Stan asked, his gaze following Fran until she disappeared into the church.
Peter chuckled. ‘You’re an incorrigible old rogue, and I feel sorry for any Sheila you pounce on today. But you could have your work cut out. Not all of them will fall for your charm – they’re far too sensible.’
Stan’s brown eyes were full of hurt. ‘But, Pete, all women like to be charmed.’
‘Well, now’s your chance to look them over and decide on your victim,’ said Peter, watching the elderly Cordelia being handed out of the car by Bertie as the Beach View girls appeared from around the street corner.
‘She is lovely lady,’ murmured Stanislaw, ‘and like my grandmother, so she will laugh at my teasing.’ His gaze moved on to the five girls who were approaching the church steps. ‘Beautiful,’ he sighed. ‘Tell me their names, Peter.’
‘The two blondes are sisters, Sarah and Jane; the little one in the velvet hat is April, and I’m not sure about the dark-haired plump one, but from what Robert said last night, it could be Mary.’
‘And the pretty little one in the frock dancing with flowers?’ asked Stan.
‘Ah, well, you’ll be glad to hear she’s from Poland. Her name is Danuta Chimelweski or some such – you lot have unpronounceable names – and she’s far too serious about things for you, Stan. In fact, she’ll be leaving soon to go back to nurse in Warsaw.’
‘Do you mean Chmielewski?’ asked Stan with a frown. ‘I knew a flier with that name. He was with me in the Spanish conflict. Aleksy was a very brave man and good companion. Sadly, he was killed during the Battle of Britain.’
‘That was her brother,’ said Peter. ‘Rita told me that Aleksy had been billeted with Peggy for a while and Danuta turned up at Beach View looking for him within days of his death. He’s now buried at St Cuthbert’s alongside her baby. The baby’s father was murdered by the Gestapo.’
Stan nodded thoughtfully and stroked his moustache, his sad gaze fixed on Danuta as she stood chatting with the other girls by the church steps. ‘She is planning to go back to Poland, you say?’ At Peter’s nod he struggled to his feet and leaned heavily on the walking sticks. ‘You must introduce me,’ he demanded.
Peter took a deep breath and wondered if it really had been a good idea to have Stan as his best man when he seemed so determined to conquer every woman there.
Peggy was sharing the limousine with Anne, the three excited little girls and Ivy. The car made its stately way along Camden Road and up the High Street, the ribbons fluttering on the bonnet and the children waving to everyone they passed.
‘I feel like a princess,’ squeaked a breathless Ivy who was clearly as excited as the children. ‘Ain’t never ’ad a chauffeur before or been in one of these posh cars. It’s smashing, ain’t it?’
Dear Ivy, thought Peggy with great affection. She had missed her since she’d gone back to London, but life had certainly been quieter and calmer.
The car drew silently to a halt by the church steps where the photographer was waiting. The chauffeur opened the doors and Peggy shepherded the children out, warning them to stay together, wait for the bride, and smile to the man with the camera.
Ivy tottered out on her high heels clutching her posy of pink roses and white gypsophila, then straightened her dress. ‘You go in,’ she said to Anne and Peggy. ‘I’ll watch this little lot.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Peggy with a frown.
‘It’ll be good practice for when this one comes,’ she said cheerfully, patting her stomach.
Peggy looked beyond her, saw the second limousine slowly nose its way into the car park, and realised there wouldn’t be time for any mischief. She smiled her thanks to Ivy and followed Anne into the church to be greeted by the familiar scents of damp stone, dusty old books and burnt candlewicks. Today there were the added perfumes of Stan’s flowers which April had arranged in glorious profusion on the altar, by the choir stalls and lectern, and in small bunches at the end of the front rows of pews,
Despite the beautiful organ music that Mary was playing, their footsteps echoed up into the high, vaulted roof as they walked down the broad aisle of stone slabs and past the many empty back pews. St Andrew’s was a vast, cold edifice even on the warmest summer day, but its saving grace was the stained-glass windows which had been revealed again now war was over, and the warmth of the colours drenched the entire chilly space in a soft, warm glow.
Peggy smiled a welcome to Gloria who was in bright pink, and to Rosie in her pale blue dress and coat. Ron looked very smart for once in a suit and tie, and Sally had changed into a floaty dress of rose-printed chiffon with a large-brimmed cream hat. Her husband and the rest of the fire station crew were all in uniform; Sally’s brother, Ernie, was in his new school uniform, and little Harry, who’d refused point-blank to be a page boy, was in a smart jacket and short trousers.
Peggy’s youngest son, Charlie, grinned back at her, resplendent in his first grown-up suit, and looking more like her Jim than ever, which made her heart twist. There was no sign of Doris or the Colonel, and Frank seemed to be without his wife Pauline. His son, Brendon, sat with Betty and their baby, and there was a smattering of patients from Cliffe who’d come to know Peter during his recuperation there.
As Anne went to sit next to Martin in the front pew, Peggy noted that Fran was now standing by the organ to accompany Mary on the violin, their music soft and unobtrusive as it mingled with the quiet murmurs of the wedding guests. Fran looked stunning as always in a crêpe de Chine dress of tawny ochre which set off her lightly tanned skin and autumnal hair to perfection.
Peter was standing rather nervously at the foot of the steps leading to the choir stalls and altar, the vicar murmuring quiet words of encouragement. The enormous and moustachioed best man seemed quite calm and sober, and Peggy breathed a sigh of relief. She’d yet to meet this Polish baron, but had heard enough about him to know he enjoyed a drink and could be the life and soul of the party, but it seemed he was on his best behaviour today.
She went to give Peter a peck on the cheek, assured him that his bride was on her way, and was introduced to Stanislaw, who bowed over her hand and kissed it.
‘It is always a great pleasure to meet a beautiful woman, Mrs Reilly,’ he murmured, his mesmerising gaze making her go weak at the knees. ‘I hope you will do me the honour of talking with me later.’
Peggy nodded, then snapped out of her trance and retrieved her hand before quickly sitting down next to Cordelia. ‘Whew,’ she breathed, reaching for the order of service card to fan her hot face.
‘He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?’ giggled Cordelia. ‘My goodness, if I was three decades younger, I’d certainly give him a run for his money.’
‘I have no doubt of it,’ replied Peggy distractedly. ‘No woman’s safe with him around.’
‘Stanislaw and I have a lot in common, so we do,’ rumbled Ron, wriggling his eyebrows. ‘To be sure I know how hard it is to be so attractive to women.’
Cordelia snorted. ‘Only in your dreams, you deluded old rogue,’ she retorted, swiping his arm with a gloved hand.
Their exchange was halted by the sound of the church door creaking open, and as the vicar nodded to Mary and Fran, the music soared to the rafters to welcome the bride.
There were soft gasps of delight, surprise and admiration as Rita slowly walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. The silver embroidery on the hem of her dress and the tiny butterflies on her shoes shimmered with every step. Her veil couldn’t quite dim the sparkle of the tiara, and her necklace and earrings caught the light from the windows and shot reflected fire around her like a halo, until it was as if she’d come from another world entirely and was being carried to Peter on a sunbeam.
Peggy could hear Cordelia sniffling beside her and she had to blink back her own tears as she shot a quick glance at Peter. The young Australian was clearly stunned, his gaze fixed in awe on this ethereal beauty approaching him.
Peggy lost her battle with her tears as the three little girls held hands and followed Rita and Jack towards the altar. They looked so endearingly sweet that she wanted to snatch them up and kiss them. But she managed to restrain herself, and mopped up her tears as Ivy brought up the rear and shot her a wink.
Rita had reached the steps and, having squeezed her father’s arm in love and thanks, took Peter’s hand and gazed up at him. He bent to whisper something in her ear and she giggled before turning her attention to what the vicar was muttering to them.
As the service was about to begin, Ivy took charge of Rita’s bouquet, herded the children into the front pew where Anne and Martin were waiting for them, and then sat down next to Andy.
Peggy’s tears soaked her handkerchief. She did so love weddings, and none could possibly be as beautiful or moving as this one.
Peter had always known that Rita was beautiful, but today she was so utterly stunning that he found he could barely breathe, let alone speak. He stumbled through the hymns and over the vows, making a complete hash of them and getting hot under the collar until Rita reached up to touch his face and whisper that she loved him.
He relaxed and smiled down at her and suddenly felt calmer than ever before. He promised to love, honour and cherish her until death parted them, and then carefully eased the gold band onto her finger.
‘I now pronounce you man and wife,’ said the vicar, his voice ringing out in the hush. ‘You may kiss your bride.’
Peter lifted the veil from her beautiful face, saw the light of love in her eyes and with aching tenderness kissed her lips, his heart swelling with such emotion he thought he might weep at the power of it.