Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House) (6 page)

BOOK: Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House)
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Ron put his hand on Harvey to keep him quiet as the fearful racket echoed around the vast hall and the mayoral party rather grandly paraded in and took their seats on the stage. Ron grimaced at the pomposity of it all. The smug-faced Mayor was resplendent in a red cloak edged in ermine, the chain of office glinting on his chest, his tricorn hat with its white feathers looking preposterous on that fat, balding head. As for the rest of them, they fairly clanked with all the chains and medals they were wearing, and the women’s hats were as overblown as the flower arrangements.

As the Mayor stood to address the audience and started to drone on about all the splendid things his council had achieved over the past year, Ron sighed deeply, crossed his arms over his chest and prepared to snatch forty winks. He still felt a bit worse for wear after last night, and the sound of the Mayor’s voice was proving soporific.

He was startled awake by loud applause and sat up to see what was going on. It appeared he’d missed most of the ceremony, for there was a long line of people proudly displaying their awards for the press while the Mayor was handing over a medal to the leader of the Home Guard for services to the community.

Ron yawned and didn’t join in with the applause. In his opinion, Jack Withershaw was a pompous ass who thought he knew it all, when in reality the only action he’d ever seen during the first shout was in the army kitchens well away from the fighting. Jack was also the Mayor’s brother-in-law, which probably explained why he’d been given something in the first place.

He was about to settle back to his pleasant doze when the Mayor’s voice rang out again and the audience stilled.

‘And now we come to the special award which has been granted through public demand and our government’s approval. It is an award for the extreme courage shown during the perilous rescue of a woman and her child.’

The Mayor’s gaze swept over the front row and even from this far back, Ron could see the growing consternation in the man’s flushed face. Yet he wasn’t about to show himself – not until he was good and ready.

‘Ronan Reilly,’ the Mayor continued, his gaze now desperately searching the crowd before him, ‘has been a citizen of Cliffehaven for many years. He was a stalwart member of our fishing fleet and a decorated hero of the Great War. Even now, he is an active and valuable member of the Home Guard, and we are proud to call him one of our own.’

He peered into the hall, the spotlight glistening on the beads of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. ‘Ronan? Could you please step forward?’

Ron could see heads craning round and decided that as he was here, he might as well play the game and go and collect his award. Sliding out of his seat, he ambled down the long aisle towards the stage. He was aware that every eye was watching not only his progress, but that of Harvey, who was loping along beside him.

He caught sight of Doris’s furious expression and felt a small glow of satisfaction. No one told him what to do, especially someone like bossy Doris Williams. As he came closer to the stage he could see the astonished looks on the faces of the council members, and hear the whispering amongst the gathering that was fast becoming a murmur interlaced with the occasional giggle and titter. He shot a wink at Rosie, who was clearly enjoying his moment of defiance as much as he was.

Ron climbed the few steps up onto the stage and approached the Mayor, his gaze steady as their eyes met. ‘G’morning,’ he said cheerfully.

Always aware of public scrutiny, the Mayor managed to plaster on a smile and shake hands with Ron before passing over the framed citation and small bronze medal hanging from a blue ribbon in a velvet presentation box. ‘It’s a great honour to award you with this, Mr Reilly,’ he said with a rather sickly smile that didn’t reach his furious eyes. ‘Your bravery in the face of danger has saved many lives over the past four years, and in recognition of this, we of Cliffehaven salute you.’

As the thunderous applause rang out, Ron felt extremely silly standing there with his hand clasped damply in the Mayor’s while flashbulbs from the press cameras threatened to blind him. He wasn’t the sort to have his head turned by such goings-on – but at least he’d cut through all the nonsense and accepted the award in his own inimitable fashion instead of kowtowing to the Mayor and his cronies.

The Mayor’s long, unpleasant handshake finally eased and he stepped away, indicating that Ron was now free to return to his seat.

That was not part of Ron’s plan. Having wiped his hand down his hip to rid it of the clamminess left by the Mayor’s grip, he turned to face the audience with Harvey sitting at his feet, grinning like a fool at all the fuss, his wagging tail thudding on the floorboards.

Ron waited until the noise had died down, then adjusted the microphone, determined to have his say. ‘I’m honoured to have been awarded this,’ he said as he took the medal from its box and dangled it from its ribbon. ‘But this medal and citation don’t belong to me. To be sure I did no more than any man would have in the circumstances – and I wouldn’t even have done that if it hadn’t been for Harvey.’

The audience was so still one could have heard a pin drop.

Ron touched Harvey’s head and the lurcher lifted his nose to nuzzle the palm of his hand. ‘There are no medals awarded to animals, but they serve their country as faithfully as any citizen. They might not have a voice, or wear a uniform, but by their very actions, they have proved worthy of our praise and devotion and must not be forgotten.’

Ron could see he had them all engrossed, and as he stroked Harvey’s head and gazed out over the audience, he continued. ‘It was Harvey who heard those feeble cries under the rubble. Harvey who dug his way through the shifting, lethal debris of that fire-strewn bomb site to get to the girl and her baby. It was he who carried the baby in his mouth up to the surface before returning beneath that building – and his continuous barking which led us to her injured mother. So it is Harvey who should wear this medal.’

He slipped the ribbon over Harvey’s head so the medallion gleamed against the brindled chest and the dog looked back at him with hazel eyes filled with love and trust.

The room erupted as the audience rose as one to cheer and clap and stamp their feet – and Ron basked in the adulation for his beloved dog. It was worth wearing this awful collar and tie just to know there probably wasn’t a dry eye in the house, and that Harvey’s courage had finally been recognised.

Harvey gave a single loud bark, his tail windmilling as he fairly danced on his toes in delight. Unlike Ron, he loved the limelight, and before anyone could stop him, he’d bounded off the stage to mingle with his admirers and garner every pat and stroke coming his way.

Ron turned to wink at the Mayor, who’d gone puce in the face, then hurried down the steps to be with his Rosie and finally rid himself of his blasted tie.

3

Peggy’s emotions were all over the place as they left the Town Hall in Bertie’s little car and headed for Beach View. Ron was the absolute limit, hijacking the ceremony like that and flouting the rules. The poor Mayor had been sweating and sneezing for a long while after the applause had died and people began to drift away, for he was seriously allergic to animal hair, and Harvey had insisted upon licking his hand and pawing at his ceremonial robes.

As for Doris, she was incandescent, threatening to disassociate herself from Peggy’s entire family; not that such a thing would be entirely disagreeable – Doris was a complete pain in the neck at the best of times.

Yet despite all that, she couldn’t have been more proud of Ron and Harvey, and it had certainly enlivened what had started out as a rather stuffy event. Her younger sister Doreen would have loved it, and Peggy could just imagine her being the first on her feet to congratulate him on not only defying Doris, but the entire town council. Peggy made a mental note to write to Doreen and tell her all about it.

Today’s shenanigans would be the talk of the town for a while, and Ron would make the most of all the offers of free beer he’d no doubt get. As it was, he and Rosie had gone to the Anchor with an entourage of well-wishers, and she suspected he wouldn’t return home until very late again.

As they arrived at Beach View and Bertie helped Cordelia up the steps to the front door, Peggy hoisted a fractious Daisy onto her hip and went to put the kettle on.

Once Bertie had helped Cordelia off with her coat, he’d left for the golf club where he’d arranged to play bridge with some of his fellow members. He would return on Wednesday to take Cordelia out to lunch at the Conservative Club, which she was looking forward to immensely and had already planned her outfit.

It was now almost six o’clock, so Peggy quickly put the vegetable stew in the oven, heated some of it for Daisy in a saucepan, and then fed her. A comforting bottle of milk and a teaspoon of malt extract soon soothed her and within the hour she was fast asleep in her cot.

Cordelia had made the tea and was sitting by the range fire with her knitting. It was in a tangle as usual, but she didn’t seem to notice. ‘Ron will make the most of all the fuss,’ she said as Peggy sat opposite her with her own knitting. ‘He might pretend not to like it, but I bet he’s propping up the bar at the Anchor and regaling all and sundry with his adventures as the beer flows.’

‘He’ll be lucky if it is flowing,’ said Peggy. ‘Rosie told me only the other day that the stocks are getting shorter by the week.’

‘There’ll be even less after Ron’s celebration.’ Cordelia looked across at Peggy and smiled. ‘Bless him. He’s an utter scallywag, but you can’t help but love him and Harvey, can you?’

‘They’re both a complete nightmare at times, but yes, life wouldn’t be the same without them.’

They fell silent as the mantel clock ticked and their knitting needles clicked, and the aroma of vegetable stew began to permeate from the oven. Knitting had become a part of everyday life for the women of Cliffehaven, and the scarves, gloves, balaclavas and socks they produced from recycled wool were carefully packed and sent to the troops fighting abroad, along with little notes of encouragement, picture postcards and snippets of news.

‘Have you noticed that Fran’s out of sorts lately?’ asked Cordelia some time later. ‘It looks to me as if we’re in for a bumpy ride in the not too distant future.’

‘I agree. She’s certainly simmering over something, but I suspect it’s nothing too serious, and will blow over as usual.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ said Cordelia. ‘But I’ve also been a bit concerned about Sarah and Jane.’ She put down her knitting and took off her half-moon glasses. ‘They both seem quieter than normal, and although I realise they must be enormously worried about their father and Philip, I get the feeling there’s more to it than that.’

Peggy didn’t want to break Sarah’s confidences of this morning, and as the girl had given no hint of what had been worrying her to her great-aunt, it was clear she didn’t want her to know. ‘I expect they’re just feeling low like the rest of us,’ she said carefully. ‘This war has dragged on for too long, and even though the Allies have made huge advances in Africa and Russia, we’re still a long way from winning.’

Cordelia’s gaze was steady as she regarded Peggy. ‘If you say so,’ she murmured, ‘but I get the feeling they’re both hiding something.’

‘Well, I did wonder if Jane had found herself a young man,’ Peggy admitted.

‘That’s highly likely. But if she has, then why doesn’t she bring him home so we can give him the once-over?’

‘You know how shy she is – and if it’s a very new romance, perhaps she’s just wary of bringing him home so early in the relationship. We have to trust her, Cordelia. After all, she’s nineteen and no longer a child.’

Cordelia gave a deep sigh. ‘Things were very different in my day. If a young man wanted to court you, he’d ask your father’s permission to call. Now it seems there are no rules and youngsters simply do as they please. I’ve even seen the girls walking out with the foreign servicemen, which can’t be right.’

‘It’s a different world and a different time, Cordelia. We have to accept that boundaries between nationalities, colour and religion have broken down – and who knows, perhaps it will bring better understanding and make this world a more peaceful place.’

Cordelia fell silent and picked up her knitting again, and Peggy stared into the fire, wondering where it would all end. The sight of the black American GIs had come as quite a shock to the people of Cliffehaven, but it seemed they’d been accepted along with the dark-eyed, rather exotic-looking Indian soldiers in their turbans, and the fierce little Gurkhas who’d stayed in the town for a few days at the beginning of the year. And yet there was an undercurrent of mistrust and wariness that no amount of accord could dismiss, and Peggy didn’t know how she would feel if one of her girls came home with such a man.

The slam of the back door and the heavy thud of boots on the concrete steps snapped her from her thoughts. Rita came stomping into the kitchen, and Peggy abandoned her knitting and put the potatoes on to finish boiling.

Rita pulled off her First World War flying helmet and goggles and dragged off her moth-eaten flying jacket to reveal her black fire service uniform jacket, tie and shirt. ‘Whew,’ she said as she ruffled her dark curls and plonked herself down in a chair to wrestle with the leather over-trousers she always wore when riding her motorbike. ‘I’m glad today’s over. I’ve had my head stuck under the bonnets of fire engines since eight this morning, because John Hicks decided they all needed a good service while it was quiet.’

Having divested herself of the bulky clothing, she kissed Cordelia’s cheek and gave Peggy a hug. ‘How was the ceremony?’ she asked with an impish grin. ‘I bet Ron did something outrageous – and that Harvey was involved as well.’

Peggy laughed and told her what had happened as she checked on the stew and handed plates and cutlery to Rita so she could set the table. ‘I thought the poor Mayor would have an apoplexy,’ she confessed, ‘but because the press was there he didn’t dare say anything.’

Rita giggled. ‘I wish I’d been there, but no doubt I’ll hear all about it later when I go to the Anchor.’

BOOK: Sweet Memories of You (Beach View Boarding House)
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