Fleur’s eyes widened and she gasped in surprise. ‘Are you – are you proposing?’
‘Of course I am. Oh, I’m sorry – it’s not the most romantic setting, but . . .’
Fleur’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, darling, it is, it is.’
He dropped to one knee, not caring if his uniform got dirty. ‘Darling Fleur, I love you with all my heart. Will you marry me – please?’
‘Oh yes, yes!’ She flung herself at him, knocking him over so that they rolled on the ground together, laughing and crying and hugging each other.
‘’Ere, ’ere, what’s all this, then?’ Harry’s voice came over the fence. ‘Well, I niwer. I know the ground wants a bit of a roll when you’ve planted seeds, but I’ve never seen it done that way afore.’
Fleur and Robbie buried their faces against each other and roared with laughter.
‘Come on,’ Robbie said at last, still spluttering with mirth. ‘We can’t lie here all day.’ Then he murmured against her ear, ‘Much as I’d like to.’ He got up and held out his hand to her to pull her to her feet, then drew her into his arms and kissed her tenderly. He turned towards the old man, still leaning on the fence.
‘You shall be the first to know, Harry. This lovely girl has just consented to be my wife.’
The old man nodded and Fleur was touched to see tears shimmer in his eyes. ‘That calls for a celebration, lad. You go and tell Mary to get the glasses out. I’ll be round in a jiffy . . .’
‘What’s he up to now?’ Fleur wondered.
‘I don’t know, but we’ll do as he says.’
They went towards the house, hand in hand. In the back scullery, Fleur washed her hands quickly whilst Robbie brushed down his uniform. Before she could step into the kitchen to speak to Mrs Jackson, Harry was opening the back door with Ruth on his heels. She had been in his cottage ironing the old man’s sheets.
‘What’s going on? Harry’s dragged me round here just when the irons are hot.’ Ruth looked disgruntled. ‘What’s all the excitement?’
‘Here we are then, lass,’ Harry interrupted. ‘Last bottle of my elderflower wine. Sparkling, it is. Nearest I can get to champagne.’
‘It’ll be better than champagne, Harry. But are you sure you want to use it? I mean . . .’
‘Course I am.’ He winked at her. ‘Been looking for an excuse to open it up. I can always mek some more. I used to enjoy me wine making, but to tell you the truth, I haven’t had the heart since Doris passed away. But now, well, I feel I might have another go. Now this lass has got me all straightened out in the house, I can see the wood for the trees, as they say. Come on, has Mary got the glasses ready?’
‘I haven’t had time to tell her yet.’
‘Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?’ Ruth asked again, but Harry still ignored her, saying to Fleur, ‘You go in and tell Mary and get the glasses ready. Come to think of it, I’d best open this outside. It might make a bit of a mess. Bring a glass, lass. Don’t want to waste any . . .’
‘What is going on?’
Shyly, Fleur said, ‘Robbie’s asked me to marry him and I’ve said “yes”.’
Ruth stared at her. ‘Oh no. You can’t,’ she burst out. ‘Not now. Not while there’s a war on. Oh Fleur!’ She gripped Fleur’s arm. ‘Think about it. Please. What if—’
Fleur blinked. ‘I don’t need to think about it, Ruth,’ she said stiffly, hurt that her friend didn’t seem to be pleased for her. ‘I love him and he loves me.’
‘But . . .’
Squashed together in the tiny scullery, Harry could not help but overhear all that was being said. Gently, he touched Ruth’s arm. ‘Listen, love, I know what’s troubling you. You’re afraid that if anything should happen to that young man out there . . .’ Harry jerked his head towards the back yard, where Robbie was still trying to remove the earth stains from his uniform. ‘That she’ll be terribly hurt. You’re trying to protect her from that, aren’t you?’
Ruth bit her lip and tears filled her eyes. ‘I tried to warn her when we first met.’ She glanced at Fleur. ‘Didn’t I?’
Fleur nodded. ‘But it’s too late for that now. It was even then. We’d already fallen in love. It happened so fast, I can still hardly believe it myself.’
Ruth sighed deeply as old Harry put his arm round her shoulders. ‘Terrible times we live in, lass. I know that, but if you get a chance of a bit of happiness, you’ve got to take it. Grab it with both hands, ’cos you never know when you’re going to get the chance again. Or . . . or . . .’ He hesitated to say more, but it had to be said, ‘Or how long it’ll last.’
‘I’m sorry, Fleur,’ Ruth said contritely. ‘It’s just . . . it’s just . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘A few weeks before you came I got to know a bomber pilot. Got rather fond of him to tell you the truth and . . . and . . .’
She didn’t need to say any more – both Fleur and Harry guessed what had happened. ‘Oh, Ruth!’ Fleur put her arms around her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m not the only one,’ Ruth said sadly. ‘It’s happening to countless wives and sweethearts. I just . . . I just wanted to stop you getting in too deep.’ She smiled tremulously, the tears still shimmering on her eyelids. ‘Seems I was too late. Oh, Fleur – of course I wish you every happiness. There’s just one thing . . .’
‘What?’ For a moment, Fleur was apprehensive again.
‘Can I be your bridesmaid?’
‘Of course you can.’
Five minutes later it was a merry little party drinking Harry’s sparkling elderflower wine in Mary Jackson’s kitchen.
‘Oo, it smells lovely, Harry,’ Fleur said. ‘Just like perfume. I don’t know whether to drink it or dab it behind me ears.’
‘So when are you getting married then?’ Harry asked, his cheeks beginning to glow pink. His homemade wine was strong.
Robbie laughed and put his arm around Fleur’s shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I suppose I’ll have to ask her old man’s permission.’
The words were said jokingly and everyone in the room laughed. All except Fleur. She was not smiling.
In the excitement, the joy of Robbie asking her to be his wife, she had not given a moment’s thought to what her parents would say at the news.
Twenty-One
‘I don’t care what you say, Fleur.’ Robbie was adamant. ‘We’re going to do this properly. I’m going to see your father.’
‘Not without me, you’re not,’ Fleur retorted. ‘There’s no knowing what might happen. ‘Specially if my mother’s there – which she will be.’
‘You really think he’d withhold his permission?’
Fleur pressed her lips together to stop them trembling. ‘Yes, I do. Not because he wants to,’ she added swiftly. ‘But because Mum will be against it. Dead against it. And . . . and he’ll not want to upset her.’
‘I see,’ Robbie said thoughtfully.
‘Did you tell your mother?’
Robbie had just returned after a brief visit to Nottingham when ops had been cancelled because of poor visibility over the target. He shook his head. ‘No. I didn’t think it right until I’d spoken to your father. As soon as I – as soon as we – have seen him, then I’ll try to see her. I want to tell her myself. I don’t want to write to her. Not with this sort of news.’
‘Will she . . . will she mind, d’you think?’
‘Good heavens, no. She’ll be tickled pink.’
‘Really?’ Fleur still wasn’t so sure.
‘Well, can we both wangle a forty-eight next weekend?’
Fleur nodded.
‘Then we’ll go together. First we’ll go out to South Monkford and face your parents together and then -if there’s still time – we’ll go to Nottingham.’
‘No – no, it’ll be easier to go to Nottingham first and then come back here from South Monkford,’ Fleur suggested. ‘If the trains don’t fit up, it might be easier hitching from there back to Lincoln.’
Robbie f
rowned. ‘Yes, you’re right. But I wanted to do it properly. To ask your dad first.’
Fleur smiled thinly. Much as she wanted to marry Robbie and as soon as possible, the days until the following weekend were filled with dread and, when the time came, she could not stop trembling and the nerves fluttering in her stomach made eating impossible. Fate, or perhaps the weather, smiled kindly upon them. There was no flying and they were both granted leave.
‘There’s no need to worry about Ma and Pops,’ Robbie tried to reassure her for the umpteenth time as they stepped off the train and began to walk towards his home. ‘I bet she offers to make you a wedding dress.’
‘That’s the least of my worries,’ Fleur said. ‘Besides, most people these days are getting married in uniform.’
‘The fellers, yes. But I want to see you in the full works. Long white dress, veil and a huge bouquet of red roses from Harry’s garden.’
Fleur stared at him. ‘Harry hasn’t got any roses in his garden. It’s all vegetables.’
Robbie laughed. ‘Haven’t you been round the far side of his cottage?’
Fleur paused to think. ‘Well, no, actually I haven’t.’
The paths to the two neighbouring cottages were side by side. Fleur had never had need to go to the other side of the old man’s cottage.
‘Ah, there you are then. Harry’s got a bed of red roses at that end. Well hidden from the road, it is. He says they were his wife’s favourite flowers and no way was he going to dig them up, not even for Potato Pete. He’s already tending them with extra loving care so they’re just right for your wedding day.’
‘Really!’ In spite of the ever-present worry, Fleur laughed. ‘And does he know when that’s to be then? Because if he does – he knows more than me!’
‘Roses last a fair while. He reckons they’ll still be in full bloom by the time we tie the knot.’
As they arrived at the end of the street where Robbie’s family lived, Fleur pulled in a deep breath. ‘Well, here goes then.’
They were welcomed with open arms by Meg, and the old man by the range smiled and nodded his pleasure at the sight of them both.
‘How long have you got?’ Meg asked, bustling about to set the table for a welcome home meal.
Fleur giggled, anxiety making her nervous. Meg paused, glancing from one to the other. ‘What? What did I say?’
Robbie, too, looked at Fleur.
‘Nothing – nothing,’ she said hastily. ‘Honestly. It’s just that my mother always asks, “When are you going back?” The way you ask just sounds so much nicer. It . . . it sounds as if you really want us here . . .’ Her voice trailed away. She was explaining herself badly and sounding very disloyal to her mother too.
Meg smiled gently. ‘I’m sure your mother doesn’t mean it to sound the way it does. We just want to know how to make the very best of the time we’ve got with you.’ She turned away swiftly and hurried out to the scullery, but not before Fleur had heard the catch in her voice and seen tears in her eyes. Meg Rodwell might be putting on a very brave face, but she was just as desperately anxious about her son as any other mother.
When she came back into the room, Robbie got up and put his arm about her shoulders. ‘Ma, come and sit down for a moment. We’ve got something to tell you and Pops.’
Meg’s eyes widened and the colour drained from her face. Fleur felt a tremor of fear. Had she really told Robbie the truth or had she lied to cover up her shameful past? Robbie must have noticed her reaction too, because he glanced at Fleur as he drew his mother to sit down. Still holding both Meg’s hands in his, he knelt down on one knee beside her chair. ‘Ma, Fleur and I are going to get married.’
Meg looked from one to another. Her mouth dropped open and she gave a little gasp of surprise, but it was relief that flooded her face. Relief and then a growing delight.
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ She flung her arms around Robbie’s neck and kissed his cheek. Then she held out her arms to Fleur. ‘It’s wonderful news. Wonderful!’
In his corner by the range, the old man smiled and nodded and wiped away a tear running down his wrinkled cheek.
Gently, Robbie said, ‘You looked frightened to death for a moment there, Ma. What did you think we were going to say?’
‘I—’ Now embarrassment crept up Meg’s face. ‘I just expected bad news,’ she rushed on nervously. ‘Nowadays – you know – I thought perhaps – there was bad news from—’ She glanced at Fleur. ‘From home. That . . . that Jake . . . I mean that someone in your family.’ She pulled her scattered wits together and smiled brightly. ‘But I never guessed it would be that. I mean, you’ve only known each other just over a month.’ She looked at them both again, searching their faces. And she could see the love there, knew they were right for each other and – because of the frightening times they were living in – knew they couldn’t wait. A month, a year – ten years? When had love ever taken notice of time?
‘You are pleased, Ma?’
‘I’m thrilled. I—’ Now she allowed tears of joy to run down her face. Gently, Robbie wiped them away with his finger. Then Meg looked across at Fleur again. ‘Will you let me make your wedding dress for you?’
Fleur and Robbie exchanged a look and then both burst out laughing. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’ Robbie spluttered. ‘I told you so.’
‘Well, that was easy enough,’ Robbie said as they climbed on the train the next morning back to South Monkford.
‘Yes,’ Fleur said dryly. ‘Now comes the difficult bit.’ As they settled themselves in the carriage, she added, ‘You know, your mother never asked if we’d told my parents, did she?’
Robbie, having stowed their small overnight bags on the rack, sat down next to Fleur. ‘She asked me later. When you were out the back.’
‘What did she say?’
‘Just asked if we’d told them yet and I said, “No, but we’re going to tomorrow.”’
‘And?’
‘She just said, “Well, I wish you luck,” but it was said with a sort of wry smile.’
‘Mm,’ Fleur nodded. ‘She knows, doesn’t she? She knows how they’re going to react.’ She paused a moment and then bit her lip. ‘Robbie – you are absolutely sure she told you the truth. Don’t get me wrong,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I love your mother – I think she’s great – but, well, I just wondered if she’d been protecting you.’
Robbie smiled, put his arm around her and kissed her hair. ‘I know what you mean.’
Fleur closed her eyes, marvelling at how understanding Robbie was. He reminded her so much of her father . . . Her eyes flew open in horror. It was still there. Would it always be there? This terrible fear that perhaps . . . She dragged her thoughts back to what Robbie was saying.
‘I really don’t think, Fleur, that my mother would have been so delighted to hear that we’re getting married if there was the remotest possibility that your father is mine too. Now, seriously, do you?’
‘Well – no – but . . .’
He hugged her to him. ‘We’ve got to put all that right out of our minds.’ He frowned. ‘There is something in their past, though. That’s obvious – but I don’t think it affects us.’
Fleur was silent. She wasn’t so sure.
As they walked along the lane towards the farm, Fleur’s heart was thumping in her chest and her hands were clammy. As she pushed open the yard gate, she heard Kenny’s voice.
‘Hey, what are you two doing here?’ He loped across the yard to envelop his sister in a bear hug and to shake Robbie’s hand. ‘Come on in. Mum and Dad’ll be pleased to see you.’ He paused and then, with a wry grin, added, ‘Well, Dad will be.’
He led the way across the yard, flinging open the back door and shouting. ‘Mum? Mum? Look who’s here.’
They stepped in through the wash house and into the kitchen just as Betsy turned round from the sink, drying her hands on a towel. For a brief moment, she began to move towards her daughter, but then her glance took in Robbie standing behind Fle
ur in the doorway. Betsy dropped the towel and she gave a little cry. Then she opened her mouth and screamed. ‘Jake! Jake!’
‘Mum—’ Fleur began, taking a step towards her and holding out her hands. ‘Please . . .’
‘Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me. And get . . . him,’ she panted, ‘out of here. Out of my house.’
Kenny was shocked, glancing helplessly between them. He’d heard Betsy ranting about Robbie, but he’d never seriously thought she would take it this far. To forbid the young man’s entrance to her home.
‘Mum . . .’ he began helplessly but, at that moment, Jake opened the door that led from the kitchen into the living room, a newspaper in his hand. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Then he spotted Fleur and, behind her, Robbie. ‘Ah.’
‘Dad – please . . .’ Fleur began. ‘We just want to . . .’
‘Of course you do,’ Jake said easily. ‘Come in and sit down. Betsy, make us all a nice cup of tea, love, will you?’
‘Tea? Tea? You want me to make tea?’ Betsy’s voice rose hysterically. ‘You think a cup of tea’s the answer to everything?’
‘Now, Betsy.’ Jake’s voice suddenly held a note of firmness, a tone that all his family – including his wife – recognized at once.
Jake was an easy-going man. He liked a contented, peaceful life and rarely did he raise his voice or insist on things being done just his way. But once in a while, when he felt strongly about something, he put his foot down very firmly and all his family knew that he meant it. There was no arguing with Jake when his mouth was a firm line and his jaw hardened. Even his dark brown eyes lost some of their velvet gentleness.
He held out his hand to Robbie and shook his hand, indicating his own easy chair near the range for the young man to sit down.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Robbie said. There was a tension in his voice and a slight flush to his face.
Wish Me Luck Page 15
