Sealed With a Loving Kiss

by Ellie Dean

  ‘Oh, Peggy,’ Martin chuckled, ‘your face is a picture. Please, never try and play poker.’

  Peggy giggled, and Martin placed his large, warm hand over hers. ‘I know they’re trying, and their attitude hurts me as much as it does you and Anne. But when all’s said and done, they are my parents, so I can’t just ignore them.’

  ‘I realise that,’ said Peggy.

  ‘Then let’s not spoil our time together by being gloomy. You go and make a pot of your famous tea while Daisy and I find some toys to play with.’

  There were tears in Peggy’s eyes as she put the kettle on the hob. Martin was such a very nice man – one of nature’s gentlemen – and she hated the thought that his visits to his parents were made out of duty and not love. It was all terribly sad, for how could any parent not be proud of such a brave son, and of such beautiful grandchildren?

  As she hurried off into the bedroom to fetch Cordelia’s tin of chocolate biscuits, which she’d hidden away in her wardrobe, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that her children loved her, and if it was only possible, they would all be at home now, sitting round her kitchen table and chattering like sparrows.

  The next hour was spent very pleasantly. Martin played on the floor with Daisy and her toys until she fell asleep. Ron regaled him with a very colourful account of the nights in the pub, which reminded him of similar occasions during his boyhood in Ireland. Cordelia passed the delicious biscuits round and told him she was having a lovely suit made out of the tweed her family had sent from Canada, and Harvey sat licking his lips in anticipation of getting his teeth into one of those biscuits.

  Peggy finished writing her note to the lovely couple who’d lent her the cake decorations, then sat and watched them all. Her heart was full, for Martin was one of their own and every precious moment he could spend with them was a gift.

  He finally looked at the clock and got to his feet. ‘I must go,’ he said regretfully, fastening the buttons on his uniform jacket.

  He swept a tearful Cordelia into his arms and gave her a hearty kiss, tickling her cheeks with his moustache to bring back her smile.

  Then he hugged Peggy, who was battling with her own tears. ‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he murmured before turning away to pat Harvey and shake Ron’s hand. ‘Look after them all for me, won’t you, Ron?’

  ‘To be sure, don’t I always?’ Ron grasped his hand firmly as his blue eyes became suspiciously bright. ‘You watch what you’re doing up there, boy,’ he rumbled. ‘My great-granddaughters are relying on you to come back in one piece – and so am I.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Honest to God, Martin, you’ve no idea how difficult it is for a poor solitary man to survive in this house full of bossy women.’

  Martin grinned and softly punched his shoulder. ‘You love it really, you old fraud,’ he teased. Then he put on his cap, shot everyone a smile and was running down the steps and walking towards the back gate.

  Peggy and Ron followed and stood in the doorway, Harvey between them as Martin turned and waved. And then he was gone.

  ‘I’m sick of saying goodbye to everyone I love,’ said Peggy tearfully. ‘When is this awful war going to end, Ron?’

  He put a strong arm round her shoulders and drew her close. ‘When we’ve beaten the ruddy Germans,’ he muttered. ‘And that won’t be long now, to be sure, for I’m betting they don’t have chocolate biscuits.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I seem to remember there are still a couple in the tin, so ’twould be a terrible waste to leave them there to go stale.’

  Peggy dug him affectionately in the ribs. ‘Those are Cordelia’s and you’ve already had six.’

  He looked down at her in feigned disbelief. ‘Ach, to be sure, Peggy girl, you’ll be exaggerating.’

  She smiled through her tears. ‘Not at all, you old rogue. I counted every single one, including the half you shared with Harvey.’

  Chapter Four

  MARY HAD RECEIVED numerous letters from Barbara and Jack Boniface and her best friend Pat over the past weeks, and she’d read them all so many times that she knew them almost by heart.

  Barbara had written long, rambling letters full of love and news and gentle gossip of the goings-on in the Sussex village of Harebridge Green. The young, rather simple-minded Gladys, who’d lost her mother on the same night as the rectory had taken a direct hit, was still happily living with her fearsome aunt, who was encouraging her to help with the WVS. All was well at Black Briar Farm, but two of the land girls had left, so they were a bit short-handed while they waited for their replacements. Her husband, Joseph, was still working long hours and doing his fire-watch and warden duties, but he was well and keeping very fit.

  There hadn’t been any raids or tip-and-runs since Mary had left the village, but the school had mysteriously burned down one night and it was suspected a couple of the local boys had made a camp in there and set it alight by accident. Its loss was felt by everyone, for the hall had become a popular meeting place for dances, parties and jumble sales.

  Pat’s letters were quite short, but she was still working at the rope factory and enjoying a hectic social life, and was now courting a young French Canadian soldier. She bemoaned the fact that the clothing ration was stricter than ever, and that the dowdy grey, black or navy utility clothing in the shops did absolutely nothing to flatter even the prettiest and most shapely girl.

  Jack’s letters had become more hastily written and were much shorter as he’d been immersed in his qualification course for the commandos, which he was finding far tougher than he’d expected but was enjoying immensely. He was still hoping to get some leave, but if he made the grade and got into this elite regiment he wasn’t at all sure if it would be possible. He thought about her often and missed her horribly, and hoped she hadn’t forgotten about him in all the excitement of her new life in Cliffehaven.

  Mary had written back to them, describing her job and her billet, the rehearsals for the charity concert, and the new friends she’d made here in Cliffehaven. She made no mention of Findlay but had told them about playing the piano in the pub, the delightful surprise at discovering how talented Fran was on the violin, and the invitation to play the organ at the wedding.

  She’d assured Barbara that although Doris was a bit of a tricky customer, her sister Peggy was lovely, and had gently taken her through the rather distressing news that Cyril Fielding was not the sort of father to pursue – and that her mother’s identity and whereabouts were still unknown, and would probably stay that way.

  Nothing had been resolved really, but she realised her search was at an end. Barbara had tried to persuade her to return to Black Briar Farm, but she had tactfully declined. She was enjoying her new freedom in Cliffehaven, and revelling in the chance to grow and mature and find her own path until it was time to take up her place at Lewes teacher training college.

  She also assured Jack that of course she loved him still and thought of him constantly throughout the day as she sifted through the airgraphs – and at night, just before she went to sleep and dreamt of their future together. She didn’t go into any details about her search for Cyril to him, but merely mentioned the fact she’d decided to accept the way things were and move on. The precious locket was always kept close to her heart, and if he could get leave over Christmas, she would try her hardest to get back to Harebridge Green to see him.

  There had been no more news of any leave, and now it was the 18th of December and the wedding was the following afternoon. Peggy had been working non-stop to get the house ready in time, and tonight would be hosting a dinner for Suzy’s parents as well as Doris, Anthony and Edward.

  Doris was in a complete lather over all the arrangements for the reception she was holding in her home. She had bullied and bossed Mary and Ivy about to help clean, dust and polish the house until it shone, before commanding them to iron acres of white linen tablecloths and napkins and clean the silver. It had reached the point where they’d had more than enough.

  They’d had a
scratch supper of spam fritters and baked beans in the kitchen – the dining room had been off limits for two days as Doris had fussed over the table plan and decorations – and were about to escape for the evening when Anthony and his father came through the front door loaded down with boxes, cases and morning suits on hangers.

  ‘We’re just off,’ said Ivy firmly. ‘Mary’s got to do a last rehearsal on the church organ and I’m meeting me mates at the pictures. We done what we can, but she ain’t never satisfied with nothing, so we’ve given up.’

  Mary smiled up at the two men as she greeted them. Edward Williams was a very ordinary-looking man in comfortable middle age, with a gentle outlook on life and a benign smile. He’d always been gracious to her and Ivy on his few visits home, and Mary liked him very much.

  Anthony was tall and rather thin, his dark brown hair flopping over his brow, the horn-rimmed spectacles constantly slipping down his long nose. Dressed in his usual tweed jacket, corduroy trousers, shirt and sleeveless sweater, and with a shy, sweet smile, Mary could see why Suzy had fallen for him.

  ‘I think you’ll find your mother’s in a bit of a flap,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I suspected as much,’ muttered Edward dolefully as he hung the morning suits on the rack in the hall.

  ‘That’s why we’ve come,’ said Anthony, pushing his glasses up his nose. ‘Mother has clearly run you two ragged over the past few days, and we thought it best to take some of the pressure off you. But at least you’ll have a quiet evening, as we’re all due to go to Aunt Peggy’s for dinner at eight.’

  ‘Well, good luck,’ Mary replied as she pulled on her coat and reached for her gas-mask box.

  ‘Anthony, darling!’ Doris rushed out of the sitting room and threw her arms about her son, ignoring her husband completely. ‘You have no idea how much there is still to do, and these girls have proved to be utterly useless when it comes to ironing napkins correctly.’

  Mary and Ivy bridled at this, for they’d spent hours trying to please her, but before Ivy could respond sharply, Anthony steered his mother out of the hall while his father tipped them a wink.

  ‘Take no notice,’ he said softly. ‘Doris loves making a drama out of everything and doesn’t think before she speaks.’

  ‘Edward? What are you doing out there? We have things to discuss.’ The imperious call came from the sitting room.

  ‘It seems my presence has been royally commanded,’ he said with a gentle but wry smile. ‘Enjoy your evening, girls. Tomorrow can only get worse.’

  Mary and Ivy were giggling as they left the house. ‘He’s all right, ain’t he?’ said Ivy as they hurried through the wintry night to the end of Havelock Road. ‘Though Gawd knows how the pair of them put up with ’er.’

  ‘The same way we do,’ said Mary. ‘By not letting her ride rough-shod over us – but I can honestly see why Edward moved into his flat. Having to put up with her day after day over so many years must have been a terrible strain.’

  ‘Yeah. Did you see the way she virtually shoved him out the way to get to Anthony? Blimey, my dad would never have stood for that, and no mistake.’

  Edward reminded Mary of Gideon in so many ways – although he would never have gone as far as being unfaithful to Emmaline – but she made no comment as they turned left to walk up the High Street, past the forlorn remains of the old church and vicarage which still tugged at her heartstrings and brought all the sad memories back.

  They reached the point where Ivy would turn off for the large hall that had now been turned into a cinema courtesy of the Americans. ‘I’ll see you back at the house,’ said Mary.

  ‘Aren’t you going to dinner at Peggy’s afterwards?’

  Mary shook her head. ‘She did ask me, but she has enough people to entertain tonight, and it’s really a family thing, so I’d’ve felt a bit out of it.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Ivy. ‘Just don’t eat all them biscuits we managed to buy this afternoon. I might be peckish when I gets back.’ She grinned and headed down the side street as Mary continued on up the hill.

  It would have been quicker to go along Camden Road, but as it meant having to pass the Anchor she preferred to use the back streets to get to St Andrew’s. Findlay still gave her the creeps, though she managed to ignore him when he was working behind the bar and only went to visit Rosie when she was certain he was out. Yet she still dreaded bumping into him when she was walking on her own at night.

  St Andrew’s was a rather ugly Victorian church of red brick. It stood on a corner in about an acre of land, with the equally unattractive vicarage standing in the next plot. There was a graveyard and garden of remembrance at the back which had a memorial to the fallen of the First World War, and as Mary headed for the vestry door she noted that the wreaths of red poppies at the foot of the memorial were faded and battered after all the rain they’d had since early November.

  The vestry was icily cold and made even darker by the blackout curtains that had been hung over the two small windows that overlooked the churchyard. As she switched on the light and went through the door into the body of the church she was greeted by the familiar scents of damp stone, candle wax and incense, poignant reminders of home and her father’s church.

  Her footsteps echoed beneath the vaulted roof and into the dark corners of the vast edifice as she walked down the stone slabs of the broad aisle, past the lines of pews towards the altar steps. She looked at the pulpit and had to smile, for it was very imposing compared to the one her father had preached from. Set high above the steps, it was made of ornately decorated oak and had two silver candle sconces and a canopy embellished with small symbolic figures of a lamb, roses and a cross.

  Dipping one knee and bowing her head to the large crucifix that stood on the altar, she said a silent prayer and then glanced across at the wooden lectern which had been carved into the shape of an eagle whose open wings held the leather-bound bible. Suzy’s father would be reading from it tomorrow, and the page was marked by an embroidered white ribbon with long, silken tassels.

  The scents and sounds of this church might have reminded her of the ancient one back in Harebridge Green, but actually it was on a much grander scale and didn’t really possess the same quiet and rather majestic atmosphere of age and history. Yet she had to admit that the Victorian artisans were certainly skilled and took pride in their work as they decorated their churches, for there were carved heads of saints at the top of every stone pillar and ornate barley twists at the end of every pew, and although the stained-glass windows were now heavily covered in board, the vicar had shown her photographs of how lovely they were.

  She climbed the steps to make her way through the choir stalls to the organ. It was a beast of a thing which soared up to the high ceiling and had more knobs and pedals and layers of keys than you could shake a stick at. The wooden surround had been intricately carved with birds and cherubs peeking out of climbing vines, and the organ pipes gleamed richly behind the delicate and rather dusty fretwork.

  Mary lit the candles set in brackets on either side of the keyboards, found the music she needed and then settled onto the broad stool. The cold of the church was beginning to seep through her warm overcoat, and if she didn’t start practising soon, her fingers would stiffen up.

  She pulled out various stops and then touched the keys, her feet lightly dancing over the pedals as she played Handel’s lilting and peaceful Water Music, which she would play as the congregation came in to wait for the bridal party to arrive. Then she went through the traditional ‘Here Comes the Bride’, and followed this up with the two hymns Suzy and Anthony had chosen.

  As she played ‘I Vow to Thee, My Country’, and the music soared to the great high rafters and filled the church with its beauty, she heard the accompanying strains of a violin and turned to smile with surprise and delight at Fran, who was walking towards her.

  ‘How lovely to see you, but what on earth are you doing here?’ she said after they’d come to the end of the hymn.
/>
  ‘To be sure, I needed to escape for a wee while,’ Fran replied as she plucked at one of the violin strings and adjusted a tuning peg. ‘I’ve done all I can to help Peggy, and now Suzy’s parents have arrived I thought I’d make myself scarce.’

  ‘What are they like?’

  ‘He’s tall and rather handsome with wings of silver in his hair and grey, friendly eyes. She’s elegant, blonde and beautifully turned out – just like Suzy really. They’re obviously very rich and well connected and used to the very best of things, but there were no airs and graces and they put Peggy and everyone at ease immediately.’

  She grinned wickedly, her lovely eyes glittering with fun. ‘You can always tell real class,’ she giggled, ‘and poor Doris doesn’t stand a chance of pulling it off. She’ll no doubt be busting her corsets to try and impress them, but end up looking very silly.’

  ‘I’m sure Edward and Anthony will rein her in if it looks likely,’ said Mary with a smile. She blew on her cold hands and rubbed them. ‘Look, I’d better get on before my fingers seize up. This place is as cold as a morgue and I still have to practise my piece for when they’re signing the register.’

  ‘Well, ’tis that I was going to ask you about,’ said Fran rather hesitantly.

  Mary frowned. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I thought that as I had the violin it would be a chance to do something really special for Suzy,’ she said in a rush. ‘I wondered if you’d mind if I played while they were signing the register?’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, and I’m sure Suzy would be delighted. But what about your duties as chief bridesmaid? Won’t you be needed in the registry?’

  Fran shook her head. ‘I’ve already had a word with Sarah, and she’ll look after everything while I’m playing.’ Her expression was pleading. ‘Please let me do it, Mary. I so want to.’

  Mary laughed. ‘You don’t have to ask my permission, Fran. What are you planning on playing?’