‘Hear, hear,’ William murmured, bringing them a bowl of gleaming strawberries. ‘Maybe you can begin by choosing whether you’d prefer strawberries with sugar or cream.’ And they all laughed.
The next day, they all set off on foot together, walking to church for Sheila Newton’s marriage to Bernard Bailey. Selina had taken the children aside after breakfast and told them that she and William would be getting married later that year. She had half expected them to be unhappy; children often disliked changes to their routines. But, to her relief, Peter took the news with surprising maturity, shaking William’s hand and wishing them both happy. Jemima hugged her and beamed. Faith simply ran in circles, giggling happily.
‘There you go,’ William murmured, taking her arm as they set off for church. ‘Piece of cake.’
‘I was terrified they wouldn’t like the idea.’ Selina heaved a sigh. ‘Once again, I underestimated them.’ She found herself smiling though, her steps a little lighter as she realised that everything was going to work out. ‘I’ve got to stop doing that.’
It was a marvellously sunny day, the green Cornish hills bathed in brilliant sunshine, a light sea breeze snapping atdresses and locks of hair. She smelt salt and heard the whisper of the tide washing in over the pure white sands of the bay. Soon, Selina thought with a delicious shiver, she would be going to church as a bride, with William waiting for her before the altar. Faith would make a wonderful flower girl, and Jemima a charming bridesmaid. Peter was rather too old to be a pageboy. But perhaps he could be best man. She suggested this to William, who thought about it and then nodded. ‘I’d like that,’ he told her with a smile. ‘An inspired suggestion, if I may say so.’
Behind them came Lily and Tristan, holding little Morris’s hand. And just ahead, pushing Felix in his pram, walked Joan and Arthur.
Arthur had enjoyed a lengthy heart-to-heart with Peter yesterday, Joan had told her in the evening. Tears had been shed, and not just by Peter. But apparently Arthur had every confidence in the boy’s ability to work through his grief and return to being happy and contented, even if he would never quite lose the pain of Bella’s death. Selina had spoken to Peter herself earlier that morning, and been relieved by his level mood. She had done the right thing, arranging to stay with Joan and Arthur over the wedding weekend. Now at least she felt more confident that her nephew was well on the road to recovery, and might yet be able to return to formal education, perhaps at a local school where she could keep an eye on his progress.
At the church, they found a crowd of well-wishers, friends and family, all chatting as they waited for the bride to arrive. The groom was already in the church, according to Reverend Clewson, who was floating about in his white clerical robes with his usual air of panic, trying to herd everyone into theirseats in good time. But nobody was willing to move, not in this fine weather, with the sun beating down and the scent of flowers everywhere. Besides, they were all too busy catching up on gossip …
Alice and Patrick were standing with Alice’s dad, Ernest Fisher. He turned to shake hands with William, looking him up and down with interest. ‘Ah, Selina’s intended … You’re a solicitor in Bodmin, I understand? Tell me, what do you think of this Michael Foot fellow? His father Isaac was MP there for years …’ And the two men stood talking about politics while Selina chatted to Alice and her husband.
‘Hello, stranger,’ a familiar voice came from behind, and Selina turned in astonishment to see her old friend Penny standing there, her husband John by her side.
‘Penny!’ she exclaimed, and hugged the former Land Girl. ‘It’s been ages, I swear …’
‘Another year, another wedding,’ Penny said flippantly. ‘We always seem to meet in a churchyard. Don’t you remember last time? I had the most horrid hairstyle. Better now, though, don’t you think?’ She patted her brown curls, which sat neatly on her shoulders. ‘John wants me to grow it long. Easy for him to say, though. He doesn’t have to wash it over a sink in a fisherman’s cottage.’
Selina shook hands with John, who was grinning. The burly fisherman gave her a wink, glancing towards William.
‘That your new fancy man?’ John drawled in his thick Cornish accent.
‘Fiancé, thank you. William MacGregor.’ William turned his head and Selina hurriedly introduced them, saying, ‘Penny and I were Land Girls at the farm long before Joan came along. In fact, Penny, Caroline and I were the originalthree at Postbridge Farm. Though it all seems so long ago now.’
‘Well, I remember it like it was yesterday,’ Penny retorted, her bright gaze narrowed on Selina’s face. ‘If you recall, you and I fell out over a boy. That’s why I left. You thought I was making eyes at someone you fancied, so you and Caroline browbeat me for days over it. Not that I’m complaining … After all, if I hadn’t moved to Bude, I would never have met John. And he’s the love of my life, so I suppose I should be grateful to you for being so …’ She paused, her chest heaving.
‘Careful now, Pen.’ John took his wife’s hand.
‘I was only going to sayforthright,’ Penny finished in a burst, but Selina didn’t believe her. ‘Oh, and did you hear about Eva and Max? She’s expecting again. This will be her second child.’ Eva had been a glamorous friend of Violet and Hazel Cotterill back in the day, who’d kept in touch with them all in Porthcurno after moving to London with her husband Max, a handsome American pilot. ‘I bet she’s still a smashing dancer, though,’ Penny added enviously.
‘Everyone is pregnant,’ Selina complained, throwing up her hands.
‘Well, I’m not.’ Penny looked dissatisfied.
‘Not for want of trying,’ her loving husband pointed out.
‘Early days yet,’ Selina said into the silence that followed, trying to sound encouraging. ‘One day, I’m sure …’
William, sensing a change in the conversation was required, cleared his throat. ‘I believe that’s the bride arriving. Shall we go inside?’
They turned to find Mrs Newton marching sturdily along the path to the church, resplendent in a pink linen dresswith a plunge bodice and a vast corsage of white satin appliqué flowers sewn to one shoulder, a bouquet clutched in her hand, Joe Postbridge by her side. Her heels clacked on the path as she came to a halt beside them. ‘Why aren’t you lot in church yet?’ Alice’s gran demanded, puffing a little as she adjusted her bodice. ‘I’m not taking my vows to Bernard Bailey with a load of scrapin’ and shufflin’ going on behind me. Go on, get inside.’ She smiled at Penny as an afterthought. ‘Hello, love, nice to see you again.’
‘Nice to see you too, Mrs Newton. Congratulations! Is Mr Postbridge giving you away? I think that’s a lovely idea,’ Penny replied breathlessly while being dragged away by her husband. ‘And so sorry. We’ll be in our seats in a jiffy, honest.’
Selina and William dashed after them into the church, thankful to see that Peter had already had the presence of mind to usher his sisters inside. Bernard Bailey stood in readiness at the altar, lean and upright in a grey pinstriped suit, his profile austere but handsome, waves of silvery hair at his temple. The bridegroom looked nervous, which Selina thought was rather sweet.
In the front pews, wedding guests in suits and hats and fancy dresses had turned, craning their necks to see who had just come in.
Caroline wagged a finger at the latecomers, looking amused. Grace was seated to one side of her, Tilly on the other, with a dark-haired lad Selina didn’t recognise squeezed in rather close beside the youngest Land Girl. That must be the infamous Benny, she realised, mentioned in Caroline’s letters. It seemed love was in the air for all of them that summer, she thought happily …
Violet too was peering around at them, Sarah Janefidgeting and kneeling up mischievously beside her. Ernest Fisher sat bolt upright on her other side, holding a squirming Morris on his knee, with his two fair-haired daughters Lily and Alice, along with their husbands, sitting in a row beside him.
In the pews opposite, Penny and John were hurriedly shuffling into place beside Joan and Arthur and baby Felix. Beyond them, she could see Mrs Newton’s sister Margaret blubbing into a hanky, a wiry lady in a floppy hat keeping her company. Half a dozen ginger-haired cherubs also sat crowded into the pew, giggling and whispering incessantly, while the Reverend Clewson frowned down on them to no avail.
