“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.
Chapter Thirteen
News of Ernie Griffiths’s intended marriage to Helen Gunner was met with a variety of comments. Most people guessed the reason for the hastily planned wedding, and the happy couple had to suffer remarks like ‘the pudding club’, or ‘one up the spout’ or more politely ‘in the family way’. To Janet and Hywel’s surprise only three fights were begun as a result of this and no one complained at the prospect of a party.
Christmas Day was on a Sunday that year and the wedding was booked for Friday the twenty-third.
“Thank goodness rationing has finished,” Helen’s mother sighed. “The wedding would be followed by a very lean Christmas if this had happened a couple of years ago.”
“No it wouldn’t,” Helen replied. “The Griffithses have never let the lack of a ration book stop them arranging a party or enjoying Christmas.”
“Black market deals and poaching you mean,” her mother said in a hissing whisper. “Well, the less said about that, the better I’ll sleep at night! Imagine you marrying one of the Griffithses. Known for their thieving ways they are and how you ever got mixed up with them after the way you’ve been brought up—”
“Mam, you promised,” Helen pleaded.
“I can’t help it. And this wedding, what will it be except a pile of thick sandwiches and an old sweet jar full of pickled onions?”
“You might surprise yourself and enjoy it!”
“Enjoy seeing my only daughter ruin her life?”
Helen said no more. There wasn’t any point with Mam in this mood.
* * *
Edward was redecorating his shop window. He had several times made a Christmas display but the business was so prosperous he was constantly rearranging it because of so many items being sold. It had been Megan’s advice to ignore the temptation of showing the expensive skiing clothes and equipment and instead concentrate on gifts for children. That it had been a success was clearly shown by the fact he had to go yet again to the wholesalers for more stock.
Old William Jones still called regularly and tutted if the window was anything less than immaculate and one day Edward left Mair and the old man in charge while he went into Cardiff for some football jerseys that had been ordered. When he returned about an hour before closing time he was surprised and pleased to see the shop filled and Megan helping to attend to the customers.
“Megan, how lovely to see you, but where’s Rosemary?” he asked.
“Upstairs and sleeping away the hours. We’ve been up every few minutes to check that all is well but she’s content.”
Edward ran upstairs to reassure himself. Looking at the sleeping child always delighted him. The beautiful, calm face that could pucker up and complain when things were less than comfortable for her was a constant fascination. Now she was peaceful, the long eyelashes resting on rosy cheeks, her arms stretched out above her head in a way he had come to recognise as contentment. He smiled and went back down to help serve.
They were late closing but Mair and William left at the usual time and it was Edward alone who closed up and checked the till. Megan had gone to feed Rosemary in the flat above. There was nothing prepared for an evening meal so they decided to take Rosemary to Sally and eat out.
They sat for a while, nursing and playing with the little girl, listening enthralled to her early-attempts at communication and joining in by replying to her funny sounds as though they all understood each other.
“Is it time d’you think for us to make plans to marry?” Edward asked.
“What about in the spring? Easter is a lovely time for weddings, Edward.”
“Then Easter it will be.”
“There’s been a lot of teasing about Ernie Griffiths’s marriage to Helen being brought forward because of their baby. What will they say about us? I will be going to my marriage to you carrying Rosemary – another man’s child - into the church.”
“Nothing they say will worry me, but I don’t want anyone to upset you,” he replied.
“Upset me? One of the dreadfully bold Weston Girls? Never!” Megan laughed. “There is some satisfaction for many, seeing one of the wild Weston Girls being brought to such a pass.” She smiled. “The general opinion is that you are a fool to marry me and I don’t deserve such an admirable husband and I think they’re probably right.” She reached over and kissed him gently. “I love you dearly, Edward. You are a wonderfully kind man and I do consider myself fortunate.”
“And so do I.”
* * *
On the outskirts of a small village a few miles outside Carmarthen, Percy Flemming, now known as Jones, was working on the plot of land he had bought alongside his new home. He was keeping well out of sight, concentrating on growing his hair and cultivating a beard, while preparing the land ready for the small market garden he planned to open the following year.
Barbara had changed her hairstyle and colour as well as the style of her dress. They both stayed away from the local shops. The children had to attend school but the private school they had chosen was a long way from the village and they would be met and brought home without any more contact with others than necessary. The family drove long distances to buy their supplies, the intention being to only gradually make themselves known to the immediate area.
Once a few months had passed and the dark days of winter had helped them to remain hidden, they would be accepted without curiosity and no one would be looking for Percy Flemming and Barbara Wheel. Any clues Percy had given in the past had been false, such as stating his intention one day of moving to Cardiff.
* * *
The closed-in evenings and the dankness, the cheerless skies and constantly wet roads of the darkest period of the year, were brightened for a few weeks by the reflections of decorated Christmas trees, coloured lights and cheerful displays emanating from every shop wi
ndow. The years of blacked-out streets and the shortages of so many basic needs were long past. Yet, beside the religious festivities, Christmas was still an excuse to celebrate the end of the war, with the shortages and tragedies it had brought.
Every shop in Pendragon Island did its best to add to the town’s display and even shops with no contents relevant to the season, like ironmongers and builders’ suppliers, managed a few streamers or added bows of ribbons to bucket handles to cheer and amuse the passers-by.
Something of the jubilation turned sour for Dora, aware that once again she would be on her own, so when Lewis called to discuss their plans for the Christmas weekend she finally braved herself to say, “Lewis, I think you should come home.”
“Properly home?” he asked, staring at her with a quizzical expression.
“Properly home? What d’you mean?” She knew what he meant. She knew he was thinking about sharing her bed and she wanted it so much, yet couldn’t bring herself to admit it.
“What exactly are you suggesting, Dora?”
“Come home was what I meant!” she said, her voice sharp in her distress at being incapable of telling him how she really felt. Was it shyness? How could it be after all the years they had spent together? Or was it that stupid hurt pride that she couldn’t shake off?
She plumped up a couple of cushions, afraid to look at him. He was standing perfectly still and the moment seemed to go on and on. He was waiting for her to speak and she was tongue-tied. Why couldn’t she say it? She loved him, so why wouldn’t the words come?
“I’ll think about it,” he said quietly and then he left.
* * *
The day of Ernie and Helen’s wedding was dry and with a very cold, easterly wind that found its way into every corner of every house. Gone was the hope of the guests dressing up in smart suits for some cheery photographs. Everyone put on their finery then added thick coats, scarves, and hats and shoes more suitable for a walk in the country than a wedding.
The ceremony was short and colourless but Helen and Ernie weren’t expecting anything more. They knew that the real celebration awaited them at the Griffiths’s small cottage.
No formal invitations had been sent. The cars were those owned or borrowed by the few who attended the simple ceremony. Gloria Gunner had tried to add some formality to the wedding of her only daughter but had given up and allowed the day to happen in the casual, easy manner that the Griffithses had made into an art.
Several people had helped with the food and the tables borrowed for the occasion groaned with the weight of it. Even on such a cold day, the doors were open and people came and went during the day and into the evening. Sian arrived with her son Jack and his wife, Victoria. Rhiannon and Charlie came with Gwyn. Joan and Viv Lewis arrived later than the others as they had to wait until the wallpaper and paint shop had closed.
With the weather making it impossible for people to spill out into the garden, the rooms were soon crammed with people, each one determined not to be the first to leave.
Sian looked across at her twin sister Sally who had arrived with Edward, Megan and the baby. Neither of them had their husbands with them and it saddened the occasion to realise that her husband, Islwyn, was somewhere with another woman and Sally’s husband was recovering from a nervous breakdown.
“Remember how we used to look down with disapproval on these people, Sally?” Sian whispered. “Yet they seem to have the best of it, don’t they?”
“Their expectations were low and they’ve achieved more than they’d imagined. While ours were high and dropped like the proverbial stone,” Sally smiled. “But at least they don’t bear us any ill will. I feel very welcome here, don’t you?”
Edward handed Caroline a parcel. “It’s for young Joseph-Hywel,” he told her.
Barry watched, then his face fell with disappointment as a cricket ball and child-size bat were revealed. “I’ve made one for him,” he explained, “but I thought it was a little early to give it to him.”
Seeing the disappointment on Barry’s face, Janet quickly said, “Marvellous, Barry. He’ll need two when his friends come to play.”
“Don’t be daft, woman,” Hywel growled. “You only need one bat to play garden cricket; you don’t have two batsmen at once! The ball will be handy though.”
“Shush!” Janet warned. “Joseph-Hywel is clever enough to invent his own games; he’s not one to follow the herd!”
“Of course he isn’t. He’s a Griffiths isn’t he?” someone shouted. Everyone laughed, including Barry. This wasn’t a day to look for reasons to complain.
Sally was the first to leave. She took baby Rosemary home in a taxi leaving Megan to enjoy the rest of the evening.
“I don’t really want her to go,” Megan admitted to Edward. “I only feel she is perfectly safe if I am with her. Is that silly? Am I turning into an overprotective mother?”
“You might not believe it but I wanted to go with her too. She’s so precious I want to be with her every moment, even though that’s impossible. But your mother will take the best care. We really can relax and enjoy this peculiar wedding feast.” He accepted a sandwich as a plate was pushed past his face and handed one to Megan. “No serviette I’m afraid,” he grinned. “What would my sister Margaret think of us!”
* * *
In Waterside Restaurant, Margaret was giving no thought to the party at the Griffiths’. But Islwyn was aware of the wedding party, knowing his wife Sian and their son, Jack would be there with his shy wife, Victoria. He had no wish to join them. The thought of spending time in that awful hovel appalled him.
Even thinking of Jack and Victoria, whom he liked, was no draw. He no longer seemed to be a part of the Weston family. That stage of his life seemed such a long time ago it was almost like a film he had once seen or a book he had read. Not real at all. This was real. He and Margaret preparing to start a new life together; not the one they had planned, but still exciting.
“Margaret, time to go, love,” he called.
“I’m ready Issy. Will I do?” she asked, turning this way and that to show him the smart, dark green swagger coat she had decided to wear, the carefully chosen amber-coloured dress and the green and amber high-heeled shoes.
“You look wonderful,” he said admiringly. Her hair shone and there was an unmistakable look of defiance in her eyes as she took his arm and went with him to the car.
At Montague Court they were met by Annie Grant who took them straight up to see the room they had been given. The furniture had all belonged to the house when Margaret had lived there and she was grateful for Annie’s thoughtfulness in providing it for her.
“It’s small,” Annie apologised, “but you have a pleasant view and there are shelves and things so you can bring some of your favourite pieces with you.”
“We’ve brought them, can we place them now?” Margaret asked.
“Of course. Although you won’t be starting work here for a few more weeks, the room is yours.”
After a cup of coffee and discussion on their various responsibilities – Islwyn being given the vague role of odd-job man – they went to the car and carried up several boxes, a couple of rugs and a small bedside chest of drawers.
Ornaments were arranged, four oil paintings and one or two family photographs were found places on the walls, and a clock was soon ticking merrily on the chest of drawers.
“We want the room to show we live here, Issy,” Margaret said. “I couldn’t bear to live with someone else’s personality on show, could you?”
Putting down the set of hairbrushes Margaret had bought him, the only item he had brought, Islwyn smiled, hugged her and said, “With you here, what more do I need?”
He watched her as she set out then rearranged the personal items. Margaret didn’t reply and he sensibly remained quiet, knowing how difficult it was for her to return as a housekeeper to the place she had once owned and called home.
* * *
The bedroom extension to the Griffit
hs’s house that had been a bedroom for Frank and Ernie, was full of people from the overspill of guests from the small cottage. Once Barry had finished taking photographs, he and Caroline put an overexcited Joseph-Hywel to bed and tried in vain to find somewhere to sit and talk.
The air was frosty and the trees and grasses were glistening. Feet and hands were painfully cold, but they stood close to the goats’ pen where they could see lights flooding the ground from doors and windows and hear voices filling the air with laughter and song. They kissed and then hugged each other. It was a time for the truth, they both knew that.
“I’ve always felt insecure about your loving me,” Barry said. “I’m so different from my lively, charming brother. I feel dull by comparison, and I’m big and clumsy where he was light-hearted and as agile as a monkey. I loved him dearly and I can’t imagine anyone being satisfied with me after loving him.”
“I’ve never escaped from the thought that you married me because you felt sorry for me and it was at a time when you were in shock after Rhiannon had left you.”
“You were never second best. It was never like that with me.”
“Neither were you, Barry. There’s always something special about a first love, but it’s you I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“We’ve been fools, haven’t we?”
“Afraid of opening out and admitting how we feel.”
“And now?” he coaxed.
“Now everything is going to be all right.”
* * *
The fire was almost out and no one bothered to revive it. Janet did notice it but the thought of trying to push her way through the ever swelling throng to do something about it made her decide not to bother. Everyone was red-faced and the room was like an oven anyway.
A few guests were already dozing in their seats; the thought of going out for some reviving fresh air was tempered by the thought that they would never find a seat when they returned.
A Shop in the High Street Page 23