by Ellie Dean
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.
3
Peggy’s older sister, Doris, was also looking up at the stars. It was almost midnight, but the letter that had been delivered by hand today had disturbed her to the point where she was finding it impossible to sleep. Wrapped in a thick dressing gown and sheltered from the wind in a corner of the back garden of her rented bungalow, she sat on the bench Ron had made for her and wondered why she hadn’t just destroyed the letter the moment she’d realised who’d sent it.
It had arrived at her home whilst she was at work in the factory estate office with her neighbour and friend, Colonel John White. Addressed in a bold, unfamiliar masculine hand, it contained a single page of expensive notepaper that bore the Chumley coat of arms. Shocked that Sir Walter was writing to her at all, she’d had to sit down to read it, and when she’d got to the end, she’d spent a long while wondering what had prompted it, and if it held some hidden agenda she’d yet to understand.
Doris reached into the dressing-gown pocket and drew the letter out to read again by the flickering light of the lantern that sat on the garden table. It was quite brief and shockingly direct but, against her better judgement, she was intrigued by it.
My dear Mrs Williams,
I hope this finds you well and happily settled in your new home. I apologise for not writing earlier but felt it wouldn’t be appropriate so soon after losing my dear wife and your own recent bereavement.
I have always admired you, Mrs Williams, not only for your stalwart help with all my late wife’s charities, but for the gracious manner in which you have conducted yourself. Your absence has been sorely felt, not only by the good ladies of the charity committees, but by myself. To this end, I was wondering if you would do me the honour of having dinner with me at the Officers’ Club this Saturday evening?
I await your reply in the hope we may renew our friendship and become better acquainted.
Most sincere
ly,
Walter Chumley, KBE
Doris returned the letter to the envelope and shoved it back into her pocket, her emotions mixed. Wally Chumley had a nerve. Did he expect her to jump at his invitation just because he had pots of money and a title, and was used to getting his own way? They’d been merely passing acquaintances when Lady Chumley was alive, and although he’d been kind to her on the day of the memorial service, he had no right to assume that because they’d both been widowed, he could take liberties.
However, she couldn’t help but be flattered by the invitation and the possibilities it opened up for revenge on those vicious women in Lady Aurelia’s circle. What a coup it would be to be seen having dinner with him at the club. It would certainly ruffle feathers and stoke gossip, perhaps even cause some alarm amongst those who were angling to be the next Lady Chumley – and there were several of those, she was sure.
The thought made her smile, for they’d shown their true colours on the day of the memorial service for Lady Chumley and the women who’d died in the V-1 blast, making it all too plain with their sneering remarks and cold eyes that she wasn’t, and never would be, a part of their elite set.
That day had been one of the worst in her life, but it had also been a revelation, and she’d turned her back on the lot of them, handed in her notice to the WVS and all the other committees she’d been on and set about making a new life for herself. She’d vowed then that she’d have nothing more to do with any of them – but this invitation had shaken her resolve.
Doris lit a cigarette, closed her ears to the RAF planes flying over, and contemplated the vast sweep of the Milky Way. Wally Chumley was a bit of a rough diamond who’d never quite shaken off his lowly beginnings as a miner’s son, but, rather like Solly Goldman, had a good eye for the main chance and enough charm and gift of the gab to sell anything. He’d made his fortune in the First War by dealing in armaments, and was adding to his coffers in this one. Wally had been awarded his life peerage for services to his country, and his pomposity had grown along with his waistline as he’d settled into the smaller of Cliffehaven’s two manor houses and taken up the reins of running the estate.