‘Eh?’ She stared at him, mystified.
‘The villagers and the council want to give you an award,’ he explained gently.
‘Blimey.’ Sheila couldn’t breathe properly. ‘An award?’ She shook her head, rejecting the idea as nonsense. ‘Oh, you’repulling my leg … Why on earth would anyone want to givemean award, of all people?’
‘For your good works, Sheila,’ Bernie told her. ‘You’ve become something of a local celebrity, and the people of Porthcurno wanted to give something back in return for your kindness and generosity.’
For once, Sheila could not think of a single thing to say, staring dumbly as Bernie steered her up the wooden steps onto the raised platform.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, addressing the villagers as they crowded closer to hear him, ‘I’m Bernard Bailey, Chair of Porthcurno Parish Council, and I’d like to thank you for coming to this historic event. You will all know Mrs Newton as Arnie Newton’s widow, a lady who bravely took on the job of reopening the village shop after Arnie sadly left us … I’m sure we can all agree that she’s done a sterling job. Indeed, few would deny it’s the best village shop for miles around.’
‘That’s because it’s theonlyvillage shop for miles around,’ Sheila muttered under her breath.
‘Following her co-option to the Parish Council, Mrs Newton has given up her precious time to support this village during the difficult times we’ve suffered since the war. Not least in administering the food drop that kept us going during the big freeze, plus all her hard work supporting those who lost so much during the floods.’ Applause broke out again and he inclined his head, waiting for it to die down before continuing, ‘But Mrs Newton’s biggest contribution to our community has been the parish fund she set up for those in need of special help since the war. It’s changed lives and brought a new spirit of community to this village. In lightof her many achievements, the council and village together would like to ask a very special guest to step up here and present Mrs Sheila Newton with a small token of our appreciation.’
Sheila gawped at him, mystified.Special guest? Whoever could he mean?
Beaming, Bernie went on, ‘Today, we’re greatly honoured to have a former Member of Parliament and well-known philanthropist in our village.’ He turned to help a smart lady in a large floppy hat up the steps onto the platform. ‘Please, let’s have a big round of applause for our special guest, all the way from London … Mrs Newbury-Holmes.’
Sheila clapped a hand to her mouth, finally recognising the lady’s distinctive profile as she turned smiling towards the crowd. She could scarcely believe her eyes, blinking in astonishment.Mrs Newbury-Holmes? Here in Porthcurno? Surely the busy former MP had not only come to see her, though? This had to be a mistake …
‘Thank you so much for that kind introduction, Mr Bailey. But I can assure you, it is I who am honoured,’ Mrs Newbury-Holmes was telling everyone, her posh BBC accent curiously out of place in the tiny Cornish village. ‘Honoured to have been invited and to be awarding this token of the Parish Council’s appreciation to a highly industrious and committed soul, a lady who is not only a pillar of her community, but is providing a vital service in these times of need to everyone in and around this most charming village of Porthcurno.’ She paused, turning slightly as Bernie handed her something wrapped in crepe paper. ‘Now, if you would come forward, Mrs Newton?’
Sheila stepped forward in a daze, the applause and cheersfrom the crowd deafening. Tears had blurred her vision, but she blinked them away and saw Mrs Newbury-Holmes smiling broadly and holding something out to her. ‘F-for me?’
There was a moment of silence as she unwrapped the award and stared down at it in shock. It was a handsome carriage clock, with a gold plaque beneath, which read in beautiful copperplate,To Mrs Sheila Newton, with grateful thanks for all her good works, from the people of Porthcurno, June 1947.
‘Oh my Gawd …’ She gulped, barely able to find her voice. ‘Thank you,’ was all she could manage in broken tones, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Thank you so much.’
Down in the crowd, she saw Violet applauding, a proud smile on her face, and Joe at his wife’s side, grinning as he balanced Sarah Jane on his shoulders so the little girl could witness her grandmother clutching a gold clock and bawling her silly eyes out. Grace put her fingers to her lips and gave a shrill navvy’s whistle, while Caroline and Tilly cheered. Beyond them, she saw her sister Margaret in a pretty frock, beaming and clapping for all she was worth. All her regular customers were there as well, plus Mrs Treedy and her children, the vicar and his wife, and young Joan and Arthur Green too, so many people she knew, she couldn’t count them all.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ Mrs Newbury-Holmes was saying as she shook Sheila’s hand. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Newton. A well-deserved award, if I may say so.’
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Newbury-Holmes. Though I’m sure you shouldn’t have come all this way just for me.’
‘It’s been a pleasure.’ The lady beamed. ‘I hope you haven’tforgotten my suggestion of standing for election to Cornwall Council.’
‘Oh, you …!’ Sheila was half laughing, half crying. ‘Well, maybe once I’ve got me breath back.’ She cradled the clock happily. ‘I’ll treasure this, Mrs Newbury-Holmes. Thank you again foreverything.’
Bernie had stepped back to let her and Mrs Newbury-Holmes take centre stage. But he smiled when she turned her head, seeking him out. ‘This is your day, Sheila,’ he told her, and she saw tears in his eyes too. ‘Congratulations.’
Soppy old fool, she thought, weeping along with him. But he did look a little sadder than she remembered. What could be making him unhappy? she wondered. And why had she let too many weeks slip past without meeting him for lunch, or a bracing walk and a chat, like they’d done so often last year?
‘Well, if nobody needs me anymore, I shall go and sample some of those delicious-looking scones,’ Mrs Newbury-Holmes murmured, heading down the steps with her gaze fixed on the refreshment table. ‘Perhaps with a little strawberry jam and cream too.’
‘Cream first,’ Sheila called after her quickly, ‘not jam,’ and then spun as she spotted Bernie trying to slip away too. ‘Oh no you don’t, Bernard Bailey … I’d like a word with you.’
Across the green, others were also beginning to head for the white-clothed tables set out with summer refreshments. Already, some of their fellow councillors had gathered about Mrs Newbury-Holmes, others staring curiously from a distance. It wasn’t often the village had a celebrity visitor, and Sheila guessed they intended to put a few political questions to the former Member of Parliament.
Bernie looked round at her warily. ‘Oh yes?’
‘How did you get hold of Mrs Newbury-Holmes?’
‘Your daughter,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Violet still had the envelope to hand from one of her letters to you. Her London address was printed on the back.’
‘I see.’ Sheila made a mental note to take her daughter to task for sneaking around behind her back to arrange this … But then shook that thought away. It had been a lovely gesture, after all, and she was pleased as Punch. ‘Well, all right … You asked me a question a while back, and I said no. Or at least, no for now. Do you remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ He gave a rueful grin.
