There were loud cheers from the audience, as both ghostly and living residents showed their delight at the news.
‘Oh, Callie! That’s brilliant!’ Polly and Ray’s great-niece Shona, who ran Mrs Herron’s Teashop in the village, jumped to her feet and clapped loudly. ‘Congratulations to you both. Max and I will make the wedding cake!’
Callie laughed. ‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ she admitted. Both Shona and her partner, Max, were excellent bakers.
Brooke felt a pang of disappointment as she realised that whatever concoction the two of them created for the happy couple, she’d never get to taste it.
‘When’s the big day then?’
‘How’s Immi taking it?’
‘Are you getting married at All Souls’?’
Brodie held up his hands as the couple were suddenly bombarded with questions – and he’d only heard the ones from the living. He couldn’t hear the ones from the ghosts because poor Brodie didn’t have the gift.
As grandson of Sir Lawrence Davenport, the former owner of the Harling Estate, which included Rowan Vale, it had been hoped that Brodie would inherit Lawrie’s ability to see and hear the ghosts of the village. Unfortunately, Brodie had become the second generation in a row not to possess the ability, which had forced Lawrie to sell the entire estate to someone who did.
A chance meeting with single mother Callie had been the answer to everyone’s prayers, because Calliedidhave the gift, and after some gentle persuasion she’d bought the estate from Lawrie for ten pounds, as tradition dictated.
After a bit of a dodgy start, Callie and Brodie had fallen in love, and now they ran the estate together. Some of the older living residents weren’t so sure about a woman owning the place, as it had never been known before in all the centuries that the Harling Estate had existed, but most people liked and admired her.
The ghosts, meanwhile, had quickly realised that she had the best of intentions, and wanted to make their afterlives more interesting and fulfilling, so they already felt a deep loyalty to her.
And Brodie – well, he couldn’t see them or hear them, but they all knew he was concerned for their welfare, just as his grandfather was, and that he did all he could to help Callie to help them.
Brodie was tall and dark with piercing blue eyes, and Brooke always felt a flutter of pleasure when she saw him. He was almost as good-looking as Danny. And a lot more cheerful, it had to be said.
‘We haven’t set a date yet,’ he told them all. ‘It will probably be next year.’
‘So why the big fuss now then?’ grumbled Gordon Thwaite.
Percy nudged him furiously, though it was a waste of time as Gordon couldn’t feel a thing. Brooke suspected it made Percy feel a bit better, though.
‘Immi’s really happy,’ Callie added. ‘Especially since we’ve promised she can be a bridesmaid, along with Florrie of course.’
Immi, who was Callie’s eleven-year-old daughter and possessed the gift just like her mother, was good friends with a little evacuee girl called Florence who’d died, aged ten, while staying at Harling Hall during the Second World War.
‘We haven’t really thought about where we’ll get married yet,’ Brodie said, to answer the final question. He glanced at Callie. ‘But I suspect All Souls’ will be high on the list.’
‘What we wanted to add,’ Callie explained, ‘is that we’re planning to have an engagement party to celebrate, and we’d like to invite you all.’
‘We’ve spoken to Penny this morning,’ Brodie added, ‘and after a bit of debate we’ve decided to have the party at The Quicken Tree. It’s more central for everyone, and the function room is fairly big. And,’ he admitted, ‘it will be nice for us to get away from Harling Hall for a bit. We’re very lucky to live and work there, but a change of scene will make it feel more special for us. We hope you’ll be able to join us.’
‘When is it?’ asked Ingrid, who worked at the Swinging Sixties Hair Salon.
‘Saturday 11 April,’ Brodie said.
‘Just over two weeks?’ Polly whistled. ‘Not long, is it?’
‘Your social diary full, is it?’ her brother asked, grinning.
Polly nudged him in the ribs. ‘Watch it, cheeky.’
Shona called, ‘I’ll make your engagement cake.’
There was a cry of dismay from Barry and Jeannie Wilson, who together ran Blighty’s Bakery next door to Mrs Herron’s Teashop.
‘Not fair!’ protested Jeannie. ‘You’ve already bagged the wedding cake.’
