The quiet ceremony that transmuted Florence Moss into Mrs. Edward Rustington took place a month later on an autumnal Monday morning in the local register office, attended by immediate family members and the entire staff from Edward's staff.
The bride wore a simple grey jacket and skirt, allowing herself the extravagance of a bright blue hat. Edward wore a favourite brown suit that had served its owner faithfully for years.
"Still," Celia muttered as the couple were being photographed, "if his clothes didn't look lived in, he wouldn't be our lovable Uncle Edward."
"Ah, he's lovable Father Edward now," Paul retorted, earning himself a reproachful dig in the ribs.
Robin looked thoroughly bored, as if he resented taking time off from work, while Gladys Howard appeared frail and emotional. To Celia, the good woman looked extremely overworked, and she wondered if perhaps she hadn't harboured secret fantasies about marrying Edward herself.
There followed an informal reception at Edward's house with a buffet lunch for which Gladys and Celia were jointly responsible. After a few simple speeches, the newly married couple left to catch the mid-afternoon express down to Folkestone for a short sight-seeing honeymoon in Paris. The name of their hotel remained a well-guarded secret.
"It's not that were shy," said Florence, "but Edward wants to be sure no-one disturbs us for a whole week, not even you, my pet."
Edward caught a fleeting look of dismay on Celia's face.
"If your mother knew you were likely to get in touch," he explained kindly, "she'd spend every minute hovering by the phone and we'd see nothing of Paris. I'll call the office mid-week to check that all is well." Raising his voice, he added: "But if I hear one word about drains or building regulations, you'll never see either of us again."
Everyone laughed, but the point was well made. He and his bride needed time to redefine their relationship which had been held at a proper distance for over thirty-five years.
"Goodbye, Mum," said Celia as the couple climbed into a taxi. "Look after each other."
Florence nestled close to Edward, waving as they set off towards Charing Cross, confident that she'd left her daughter in safe hands.
"Right," said the practical Robin. "Now that bloody nonsense is over, I'm off. See you two at supper time." He turned to Celia. "I suppose we've got to endure your cooking now instead of Mum's."
"Not necessarily. I don't see why you shouldn't act as chef once in a while. Men are allowed in kitchens, you know."
"Maybe I'll eat out," he yelled, and sped off down the road.
"Well, there's one obstacle taken care of," Paul observed. "How does it feel to be my step-sister?"
"You stop that right now," Celia snorted. "That's not how I plan to spend the rest of my life, and you know it. I suppose you're itching to get back to work too?"
"Yes, if you'll agree to join me. You can act as my new secretary."
"You're not thinking of sacking poor Mrs. Howard?"
"Gladys is Edward's secretary, not mine. Besides, I've already told everyone what I'm planning for the next couple of days. How do you fancy driving down to Bristol?"
"When? Now? You're joking! It'll take hours. What about Robin's supper tonight?"
"Leave him a note. Say we'll be late. I'll leave ten-bob so he can buy himself fish and chips if he's not able to cook. It's time he learned to be independent. Come on, precious lady, what's it to be? If we don't leave soon we may have to stay overnight in a hotel somewhere."
"Without Mum's consent?"
"And how would you obtain that? Actually, she already knows, and she's perfectly happy about it."
"Well, then. We'd better leave that note for Robin."
"And you'd better pack a small suitcase too, just in case we need to stay overnight."
"Paul," she warned, "I do hope you're not planning something like a dirty weekend?"
"Me? Have I ever led you astray? We'll find two hotels if need be, on opposite sides of town. But I would like your decision soon."
As Celia faced him, she felt her resistance melting away.
"All right, you impetuous boy. Are you going to be like this when we're married?"
"I wasn't aware we were even engaged."
"I'm beginning to feel engaged now."
"To your own step-brother? You don't mind staying overnight on a brother and sister relationship?"
"As long as you promise not to behave like Robin. Look at him."
Down the road her mad-cap brother was racing along in a manner she could never begin to emulate, even if she'd wanted to.
Paul took Celia firmly by the arm and led her towards a car parked on Edward's drive. Celia was about to open the door and get in when she realised it wasn't the Rover.
"Wait a minute, Paul, this is Edward's Jaguar."
"Correct. But we have his permission, and I meant what I said about driving it yourself if you want to. I'm serious," he grinned as he opened the passenger door.
"Paul, I can't drive a car."
"Maybe not, my love, and you never will unless you learn. That's why we need Edward's Jaguar. It's one of the latest models with an automatic gearbox, ideal for a person with only one good leg."
He reached into the glove compartment and took out two L-plates.
"But Paul, be sensible, people need licences to drive a cars."
"You have a provisional licence. It's all you need."
"But I haven't, Paul. What's the matter with you? I've never even thought of getting a licence."
"Here," he said, pulling something out of his wallet. "Read this."
It was a driving licence made out in the name of Celia Moss.
"An act of skulduggery by your new step-father," he explained. "Hop in."
Paul helped Celia into the passenger seat, then took his place behind the wheel.
"I know it was a bit naughty of us," he admitted. "You'll have to scold Edward when he gets back from Paris. You'll need to sign there, by the way, the same way as you signed the plans of the bungalow, because that's where we lifted your signature for the application form. Stop looking perplexed and pay attention. Concentrate on what I'm showing you. I've been practising this with my left foot all week, so I know it's possible."
Paul started the engine and eased the car out of the driveway. "Road clear both ways, apply a little pressure and off we go. When we need to stop, we press on the left pedal and hey presto, the car slows down."
"What happens when I need both pedals at once?"
"I doubt if you'll need to brake and accelerate at the same time."
Celia watched everything Paul did, copying all his movements as they drove back to Harrow Street. The house made a poignant contrast with Edward's spacious dwelling which would soon be Florence's new home. No-one had yet made a decision as to where the others might live.
Celia quickly packed her overnight clothes and left a note for Robin. She knew he'd probably draw the wrong conclusions, but that didn't matter when she had no intention of doing anything immoral.
"Don't you need to pack for yourself?" she asked as she rejoined Paul in the car.
"Did that this morning," he replied. "I like to plan ahead."
By mid-afternoon they were in Windsor, but instead of continuing west Paul took a quiet country road.
"This avoids Maidenhead," he explained, pulling over and switching off the engine. "And it's far less congested. Now, we have a choice. We can either race down to Bristol, do half of what I have in mind and be home by midnight. Or we can give you your first driving lesson, explore Bristol more fully, and come back some time tomorrow. Either way, you could at least humour me by sitting in the driving seat while you make up your mind."
"What? Now?" She gave an involuntary shiver. "What if I go and touch something I shouldn't? I feel scared."
"Celia, my sweet, you're an intelligent young woman. Would you rather wait until you're fifty? If so, why?"
Realising this was pointless, Celia took a deep breath.
"I'm really not prepared for this, Paul."
"Neither was I when we took off on our first bombing mission, but I assure you this is far safer. No-one will be firing bullets, I promise."
They both got out. Paul helped Celia into the driving seat, and after attaching L-plates front and rear, he took his place beside her.
"Now sit back," he said. "Relax. Your hand-brake is on, your gear's in the parking position, and we're perfectly safe. When you feel quite comfortable, turn on the ignition."
With trepidation Celia started the engine, and offered a silent prayer as Paul set the gear and released the hand-brake.
"Now gently ease your foot off the brake and we'll roll forward. It's under your control, but if you've ever ridden a bike, this is much easier."
Paul allowed her time to experiment, then suggested she put a little pressure on the accelerator.
"If you're still worried, I can operate the hand brake any time you like, and put the gear into neutral. All you have to do is steer."
Celia soon gained confidence. She drove at a moderate pace for over five miles, and finally she brought the car to a safe halt. Paul was about to applaud her efforts, when he noticed a look of anguish on her face.
"Something wrong?"
She gave a quick nod. "Touch of cramp, but I can't do anything about it. It's in the leg."
"Can I massage it for you?"
She gave a dull smile. "You can, but it won't do any good. It's six inches below my right knee - known as a phantom pain. It aches in places where I don't exist - and don't say it's my imagination or I'll slosh you. I know cramp when I feel it, and it's right there."
She touched the leg with the palm of her hand.
"Well, I claim you deserve some sort of reward," Paul said, putting his arm around her and giving her a gentle kiss of approval. "Is there no way I can help?"
"Just hold me for a few minutes."
"Will that ease the pain?"
"No, but it'll give me something else to think about while it lasts. I'll have to tell you a lot more about this leg business one day, when the time seems right."
"I look forward to sharing anything you want to tell me, whenever you're ready." He waited a few minutes. "Feeling any better?"
She gave an affirmative smile, and they exchanged places. Back in the driving seat, Paul set off at a pace that Celia found quite exhilarating. A few miles beyond Chippenham, she took the wheel again and drove as far as the outskirts of Bristol, where Paul advised her to stop right outside a hotel called The Eagle.
Under his guidance she parked the car in a small courtyard at the back of the hotel and they went inside to make enquiries. There Celia discovered Paul had already booked two rooms in advance, and a fleeting doubt crossed her mind. With Florence out of reach, was Paul taking too much for granted? She had only his word that her mother knew anything about the unannounced trip to Bristol.
During dinner, Celia decided to confront him. She asked outright what his intentions were.
"Nothing you need worry about," he tried to reassure her. "I promised myself a trip to Bristol a while ago, remember? And hoping you might come too, I felt it better to book two rooms than book only one and find ourselves in an awkward position."
"But why exactly have we come to Bristol? Is this business or purely personal?"
He poured her a modest measure of wine. "I have a client here who wants to open a large restaurant on a site we need to inspect tomorrow morning."
"And that's the only reason?"
"No. While we're here I also want to locate the house where my mother once lived. And since you're in a mighty inquisitive mood, I may as well tell you, there's something very special about this particular hotel. I confess my curiosity got the better of me, though I'm sure it's changed considerably in the last three decades."
Celia was horrified. "You're not saying this is where Edward and your mother stayed that night, all those years ago?"
"So I am reliably informed. I wasn't around at the time, so I can only go on hearsay."
"And will you assure me you're not intending to let history repeat itself with me?"
"I'm not intending anything. I want this evening's events to unfold naturally and spontaneously."
"Well, let me inform you, Paul, history is not going to repeat itself, not here, not anywhere. I'm not like your mother," she added rather too strongly. "Oh, Paul, no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."
But Paul was deeply offended. "How did you mean it then?"
"Merely that any decent girl - any girl who - sorry, maybe I'd better shut up until I've thought out what I'm trying to say."
"As far as I'm concerned," he glared with frosty indignation, "my mother was the most decent woman that ever lived. I needn't have told you about this place, Celia, but I felt I wanted to share my private secret with you. Clearly it was a mistake."
"No, Paul it wasn't." She placed her warm hand over his. "I'm sorry. Please try to understand. All my life I've been sheltered from things like that. You may not believe it, but this'll be the first night I've ever spent away from home, apart from that beastly time in hospital. I'm only trying to prevent any misunderstanding, that's all."
"Did you think I'd bring you all this way, just to climb into bed with you?" he scolded her. "What's wrong with Harrow Street, if that's all I was after? I wanted you to share a sensitive, personal pilgrimage, not have you spoil it with nasty moralising and innuendoes. We both know I was conceived out of wedlock, and yes, there's an ugly word for people like me. But regrettably I wasn't given any choice."
"Paul, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Please don't be beastly to me tonight, I don't think I can take any more. I'm feeling hurt and very lonely if you want the truth. Mum's been with me every step of the way since the bomb, and today was for the first time I ever heard her say she didn't want to hear from me. It was a nasty jolt, Paul. She didn't mean it, I know, but I felt suddenly rejected, quite unwanted."
Paul looked at her, the warmth returning at once to his eyes.
"Can I ask you one question?" he said softly. "And a truthful answer, please, because it is important. Was it a mistake to come here?"
Celia knew straight away and shook her head. "No, Paul, it wasn't. In fact, on reflection, it might give me just the opportunity I need."
"Opportunity for what?"
"Later, Paul. When we're alone."
"Okay. You're sure you're not angry with me for bringing you here?"
"You told me you didn't want to come alone, remember? No, everything's fine, as long as I won't be in the way."
Paul was now gazing at her very thoughtfully as if trying to make up his mind about something else.
"In a few minutes," he said, "I'm hoping to ask you another question. But we need both to be in the right frame of mind. See if you can guess why I really wanted to bring you here."
"At least we've established you're not trying to seduce me."
He leaned forward, beckoning her until their faces were only inches apart.
"Celia, my darling, this is a special pilgrimage and I'm very happy to have my dearest friend here to share it. The thought of this hotel has haunted me ever since I learned about Edward and my mother, and a certain ghost needs to be laid to rest. I want to see where Mother lived and went to school, where she waited for her bus each morning, the corner shop where she used to buy her sweets, maybe even the garden where she played as a little girl. All these images are missing from my knowledge of her, you see, like an empty scrap-book, like gaps in a bookcase waiting for the right books to come and fill them. It's a necessary homage to someone I loved very dearly, someone I'll never see again, thanks to a lousy bomb, so it's an emotional time for me. I'm sure you understand as much as anyone can. Sorry if I was jumpy with you just now, but it's important we both feel happy to be here. Now it's time we had another drink - fancy something extra special?"
"Why not, if you're having one too?"
Paul signalled the waiter who responded as if well rehearsed. Suddenly he was standing beside them, holding a chilled bottle of champagne which he opened with great ceremony. As the other waiters turned to watch, Celia was aware she'd become the focus of evryone's attention.
"Paul?" she murmured self-consciously. "This wouldn't be another of your magic red rose moments, would it?"
"No, my love, this time we're aiming for the jackpot. The day is appropriate too, but most of all it's time we laid that ghost. In future I want to remember this hotel, not as the place where I was carelessly conceived, but where I offered my future wife a gift that I hope will fit perfectly on the fourth finger of her left hand."
Paul produced from his pocket a small red box and flicked it open with his forefinger. Nestling inside on a luxurious white satin pad sat a gleaming diamond ring. It looked extravagantly expensive, though not in the least pretentious. Celia stared at Paul, biting her lower lip as an involuntary gasp robbed her of words.
"It's something I hope you're ready for, my darling, something I pray you'll accept, please, as the first official token of my undying love."
Paul held his breath in nervous anticipation. Celia nodded, blinked her eyes, and held out her left hand for him to slide the ring smoothly onto her finger.
Ever practical, she murmured: "How did you know the size?"
"Your dear mother lent me one of your dress rings, hoping you wouldn't notice it was missing."
"You mean, she knows you're going to do this?"
"She rather thinks it'll be after they come back, but I'd prefer you started wearing it today, my love. It'll mean so much to me if you agree."
"It means even more that you want me to," she said.
She leaned forward to kiss him, and every other guest applauded.
"A toast," he proposed. "To the future Mrs. Paul Rustington!"
"Eh? You mean Muller," she whispered.
"I've thought it over," he said. "From now on I prefer to honour my real father's name, if you don't mind. In this country you can change your name if it doesn't suit you. I believe Celia Rustington sounds more elegant than Celia Muller, don't you?"
He was right. It did flow nicely. She lifted her glass, allowing the diamond of her engagement ring to glint through the champagne.
"To my future husband," she responded. "Bless his romantic heart! And a long and happy marriage to the nicest man in the world."
"You don't want the nicest," he laughed, "you've just agreed to marry ME."
"To the nicest man in my world," she replied, as their two champagne glasses rang together, foretelling the not-too-distant chime of wedding bells.
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