After coffee, George retired to his study leaving Mary and Paul to discuss the names of countless people they'd once known and to recall past events, all of which meant nothing to Celia. She listened dutifully for an hour, keen to learn everything she could about her fiancé's background.
But eventually she excused herself and went to sit with his grandfather.
"You know, Grandpa," she began, placing his cold fingers between her palms, "with some folk, when a calamity upsets the fun they were having, they simply switch off, and say: 'It's God's will. If God wants me to sit in a corner and let the world struggle on without me, who am I to complain or try and fight it?' That was my reaction when I first woke up in hospital. Instead of making progress, I refused to co-operate, just to show them how irresponsible they'd been in taking away my leg. I was having to suffer plenty of hurt and pain, and it was up to others to rally round and make a fuss of me. I actually said to a nurse once: 'If I sit here long enough someone's sure to come and help me.' And they did, at first. But, you know, the more I was carried up and down stairs, lifted onto bedpans, fed meals on a tray, the more I began to resent being handled like a useless sack of potatoes. Blow this for a lark, I finally told myself, Hitler may think he's finished me off, but he damned well hasn't, not by a long way. So I began to work at it, fighting this impossible burden they'd thrown at me. It was the same with my Grandma too - remember me telling you, when she had her stroke? One day, I remember - I was probably seven years old - I was downstairs practicing the piano, and I kept playing B natural instead of B flat. This made her so furious she actually picked up a tray and hurled it across her bedroom - yet until that moment, she'd insisted she couldn't even move her fingers. Do you know, within a month Grandma was downstairs giving me music lessons? She even played a few simple pieces by herself - hymn tunes mostly, they have fewer twiddly bits. But the point is, she picked herself up that day and started living again. You think about that. You made good progress this afternoon when you spoke to Paul - oh! and you've no idea the joy that gave him, just hearing you say his name. We're not expecting any ballroom dancing from you yet - no highland flings on Bedford Town Bridge. But practice saying a few new words each day, and in a month's time you'll be amazed at how much you've improved. And bless you so much, Grandpa, for still being here. In a single day you've made Paul's life a whole generation richer, so keep up the good work, you hear me? And another thing, Grandpa, don't let Mary order you around so much. Co-operate, of course, but make your wishes known and you may find she's a lot less bossy. That's just between you and me, by the way. Meanwhile, take care of yourself, and remember how much I love that handsome grandson of yours. Isn't he just wonderful?"
The old man gazed up at her with anxious eyes.
"You too," he nodded slowly. "Celia. Good girl. Paul, and Celia."
Remembering the orders not to tire him, Celia kissed him lovingly and left the room, certain that any former rift between old Mr. Anderson and his German grandson had finally been laid to rest.
After saying goodnight to Paul and his talkative aunt, Celia went upstairs and read for a while before settling down to sleep. She had just turned out the light when Paul knocked and entered her darkened room.
"Just come to share a long goodnight kiss," he whispered, sitting on the bed beside her. "Mary could rabbit on all night if I let her - there's so much to catch up on. But it's a joy to realise I'm still part of a real family."
Celia felt for his hand. "While you were talking I visited that dear old man again. Oh, Paul, it must be awful to get old like that, to have so much time on your hands, and not be able to do any of the things you want to, or even speak. But he said my name just now, quite clearly. He told me I was a good girl. He seems to relate to me somehow. Perhaps with my leg he sees me as a fellow-sufferer. I'm so pleased you've met one another at long last."
"Maybe I'll wake up tomorrow and find this is all a dream," said Paul. "I'm sorry you got neglected this evening, but I've had twenty years of news to swap with Aunt Mary. You can't help liking her; though by the time we leave tomorrow I reckon I'll have had as much as I can take. My mother was far more subdued. I wish you could have met her."
"I know. I wish you could have met Daddy too, and David. But life isn't always what we want, is it? Paul, when can we get married?"
"You don't fancy waiting a couple of years?"
"I don't fancy waiting another week, Paul, as long as you're sure you want to spend the rest of your life lumbered with someone like me."
"Darling, there isn't anyone like you. There couldn't be."
"But surely you had other girl friends before you met me?"
"Dozens. Some highly intellectual; others perfect specimens who could win a beauty contest without even turning up. But I'll tell you this, sweetheart. To me, they were dull. Dull to look at, and dull to be with. You're the only girl I've ever found interesting. You were interesting the day I first met you. And soon I began to feel immensely privileged, every time you turned and gave me one of your cute little smiles. Now I don't ever want to spend another day without you, or even a night."
He bent towards her, his face lit only by the dim glow from street lamps. Celia's arm reached out and fondled his hair as he gently lowered his lips onto hers.
"You have the most wonderful mouth," he breathed. "It's like kissing a marshmallow."
"You mean I'm all sticky?"
"Soft and tender as a baby," he whispered. "However, lead us not into temptation. I'd better go, or they'll be spreading rumours about us in the morning. I don't want to go, my darling, but I feel I must."
"The sooner we set the date, Paul, the sooner we'll be together. Good night, my precious guardian angel. Thanks again for being my lifeguard and saving me from drowning. Dream of me, you promise?"
Celia listened to his retreating footsteps, creaking along the corridors of the rambling old house as he made his way to another spare room where his own cold bed was waiting.
The Bedford traffic woke them bright and early. Having nothing presentable to put on over her diaphanous new nightie, Celia wrapped herself in a blanket and crept along to the bathroom, just as Paul appeared in his suave silk dressing-gown.
"Shan't be long," called Mary from inside. "Form an orderly queue to the left of the door."
"Nice bath robe," Paul nodded impishly. "Harrods, was it?"
"I thought I'd better wear something opaque or your Uncle George might have had a seizure. But I approve of what's underneath it."
"Oh, so do I. Is there anything special you want us to do today?"
"Yes," she said. "I want to explore. I want to see the parts of Bedford that Edward and Daddy knew when they lived here."
"The person most likely to know that is on the other side of this door," said Paul. "We'll ask at breakfast."
The bathroom door suddenly opened, and Mary emerged fully dressed.
"I confess, dears, I'm an incurable eavesdropper. I was planning to give you both a walking tour of Bedford, till I realised it might be tough on Celia. But if you'd like a short drive, I can easily take you to several sites where family history was in the making. Bedford town prison, for a start."
They both laughed.
"I'm serious," she said. "Celia's father used to sing in concerts there - not as a resident, merely a baritone with a social conscience who'd do anything for a captive audience. And there's someone else we'll have to call on. Someone you might recognise from your parents' wedding album."
"We haven't got any pictures of their wedding," Celia explained. "Nearly all our family photos were destroyed in the old house."
"Sorry, my dear. Too early in the day for tact. Have you decided who's next in the queue?"
"We could share," said Paul, giving his fiancée a gentle nudge. "Then Celia could sit and watch me shave. But I'm gallant enough to wait my turn. Besides she needs an obliging angel who'll stand outside and guard the door."
As Celia went in to wash, he explained about her fear of falling.
"We could always send George up a ladder," replied Mary. "He'd be most willing to oblige, I'm sure - though as things stand we're likely to be invaded any minute by the local fire brigade. George does breakfast at weekends, and his mind tends to wander - which could mean not only toast, but the whole house going up in flames. He means well, poor dear, but I'd better go and supervise. See you below in fifteen minutes, if that's long enough?"
"To be honest I don't know how much time Celia needs. We still have plenty to learn about each other."
"She manages very well," said Mary quietly.
"She manages lots of things well. Do you know, until Monday she'd never sat behind the wheel of a car - yet yesterday she drove up here, all the way from London? We even arrived a couple of hours early and spent some time on the river where she soon learned how to row a boat."
"Good. I was going to suggest a picnic on the Ouse this afternoon, as long as you both guarantee not to fall in."
"Fall in?" echoed Paul, hoping Celia could hear him through the door. "Really, Aunt Mary! Fall in the river? As if we would."
"Of course not. By the way, George has transferred your damp trousers to the laundry room. He thought they'd dry there a lot more quickly than in the stables where you left them."
After breakfast, George agreed to stay and keep an eye on his father-in-law while Mary took the others on a nostalgic outing. Heading first through the town centre crowded with bustling Saturday shoppers, she drove past the college where she and her sister had long ago trained to become teachers. Then, after pointing out the town prison and also Bedford School, formerly attended by the young Edward and his friend Tom, she stopped the car abruptly outside a small tobacconist's shop, and ushered her guests inside.
"Jumbo!" she greeted the man behind the counter, "you're about to serve two long-lost celebrities. This tall lad is Paul, my stray nephew, son of your old pal Edward Rustington."
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jumbo, coming round to shake hands. "Young Rustington junior, eh? Well I'm damned."
"And that's not all, Jumbo, because here stands his charming fiancée Celia, and you'll never guess who she is. You are looking at the daughter of Tom and Florence Moss, can you believe that? Sadly Tom was killed in the war, but Florence has just remarried and - this'll knock you flat - she's now Mrs. Edward Rustington the second. How's that for a bobs-worth of boiled sweets?"
The genial Jumbo turned to Celia. "You won't remember me, my dear, but I can see the family likeness. Your Dad and I were in the same class at school, once upon a hell of a long time ago. In fact, I was later invited to your parents' wedding. So poor Tom didn't make it through the war, eh? How sad! But old Edward's still fighting fit, I hope?"
"Enjoying a new lease of life on his Paris honeymoon," said Celia.
"Lucky dog. Wish I could go to Paris, especially with someone as charming as young Florence. She must be getting on a bit now though. I guess we all are."
He paused to serve a quarter of chocolate limes to a small boy in a Bedford School uniform.
"Your Dad and I looked more or less like that once," he laughed. "Slender as a bean-pole, he was. I've probably still got a picture somewhere. Mary, my love, guard the shop for a tick while I take these two celebrities on a treasure hunt."
Paul and Celia followed Jumbo into his private quarters, strewn with so much litter it resembled a child's playroom. Jumbo waded through masses of files and discarded papers making his way towards an oak bureau where he fumbled around and finally produced a thick wad of photographs, secured by a stout rubber band.
"Must get these sorted one day," he chuckled, "but I seldom throw anything out. You can tell, I suppose. Aha!" he exclaimed in triumph, as he thumbed through the contents. "We're definitely getting warmer - yes, eureka! Here's what I'm after. Knew I had it all along."
Carefully extracting it and wiping it with the sleeve of his overall, he handed Celia a curled-up enlargement of her parents' wedding. She was so overcome, she almost burst into tears.
"Oh, wouldn't Mum love a copy of this," she murmured unsteadily. "Our house was bombed in the blitz, you see, and we lost absolutely everything."
"Then you take it, dear, with my love. Lucky I've still kept it. Sorry it's a bit cockled, but I reckon it'll straighten out once it's put in a suitable frame."
"Look," said Paul, standing by her side and pointing to a portly wedding guest. "Isn't that Edward?"
Jumbo took the photo over to the window and raised his bifocals.
"Yes, that's him all right. Unmistakable shape. Good old Teddy! There's me also, standing on the end. Well, well! And now those two have married each other, eh? There's a turn-up for the old books. Perhaps you'd oblige me and take them a belated wedding present from a forgotten school-friend?"
Returning to the shop, he selected an expensive box of assorted chocolates which he hastily gift-wrapped. "Give them that, will you, with love from old Jumbo Morris."
"Of course," Celia exclaimed, "I'd heard your name lots of times."
"Favourably, I hope?" he smiled as more customers entered the shop. "Yes, we had some rare old times in the twenties, your Dad and I. Edward too, but he wasn't as athletic as Tom - utterly useless on the football field, between you and me, but a great guy nonetheless. You must bring him with you next time you come."
Celia was almost sobbing as they returned to the car.
"I can't believe it! A picture of Mum and Dad's wedding, after all these years."
"You'll certainly have plenty to tell them when they get back from Paris," said Mary. "What time are they arriving?"
"This evening," Paul replied. "Ten o'clock. We've arranged to meet them at Victoria."
"Then you'd better start making tracks soon after tea. It's a pity you can't stay till Sunday, but there'll be other times, I'm sure. And you must bring your parents too if the car's big enough for Teddy's ample frame, provided poor Celia can face another weekend of reminiscing. We were a bit selfish last night, weren't we?"
"Next time," said Paul, "we'll be more altruistic."
But Celia was quick to defend him.
"No, truly, this trip's been just as exciting for me - especially with this lovely wedding photo. I still can't believe it."
"That reminds me," said Mary, "I must have plenty more snaps of Betty somewhere in the house, and several of you too, Paul, when you were little. If we head back for an early lunch, I'll fish them out while you prepare for your afternoon picnic."
"Is there a chance we could stop first in the High Street?" Celia begged. "I want to buy a frame for this picture. Then I can present it to Mum and Edward tonight. If you could drop me off, I can easily walk home."
"My dear, are you sure?" asked Mary anxiously.
"Of course! It's all in a straight line. I shan't get lost."
"Very well, my dear. But I'll expect you for lunch at twelve-thirty sharp, or we'll be sending out the hounds and a search party."
"I'll be there," Celia assured them, and she got out of the car.
She soon bought an ideal frame, and as the church clocks began chiming twelve, she set off towards the town bridge. It was the longest walk she'd yet attempted without her stick, but she was determined to prove she could do it, if only to give Paul another sound reason for feeling proud.
Half an hour later as she reached St. John's she saw Paul outside, not running forward to help her cover the few final yards, but standing by the open front door, a stopwatch in his hand, and holding a small paper flag which he waved triumphantly as she crossed the threshold and stepped into the hallway.
"What was it Aunt Mary called you yesterday?" he cried. "A bloody marvel? But you must admit it's worth the walk, just to come through the door and catch that wonderful aroma of a traditional Sunday roast."
"This is meant to be a Saturday," she said, taking his arm. "Surely it hasn't taken me twenty-four hours to get here?"
"Blame George. He insisted he'd prefer to enjoy his Sunday lunch today amid convivial company, and make do tomorrow with leftovers."
After lunch Mary stayed behind to hunt out family photographs while George took his visitors on the promised river picnic. Maybe forewarned against a precarious canoe or rowing boat, he hired a punt and let Celia recline in the back like a sedate Victorian lady of leisure.
"I've seen scenes like this in films," she said dreamily, reaching out to grasp occasional low-hanging willows as they draped over the boat and brushed into her hair. "I never realised it could be so relaxing. It's blissfully peaceful."
"Very different from twelve years ago," said George. "I bet you're bloody glad that shemozzle's over and done with! I know I am."
They lay to enjoy their tea on a gentle grassy slope near Honey Hill, lazily throwing bits of crust and biscuits at the passing ducks and swans.
"Makes a change from sitting in the Harrow Street garden," murmured Paul. "Bedford's well worth another visit, and soon, I'd say."
"Just think," mused Celia. "Imagine our new bungalow being built near a river like this, Paul. We could enjoy this kind of outing every day."
"Yes," retorted George, "provided you can find some willing muggins to come and paddle the damned boat for you. How about you taking us boys back to town under your own capable steam, young lady?"
When the picnic was over and everything was packed away, Celia rose to George's challenge and in due course set her passengers safely ashore at the very same spot where twenty-two hours earlier she had come close to a ducking.
"Is this where Paul got his feet wet yesterday?" George asked smugly.
"This," replied Paul, "is where a couple of your local lads proved they know less about the etiquette of boating than a mere novice like my very capable fiancée. Well done, sweetheart, yet another string to add to your bow."
"Or stern," chuckled George.
By five o'clock they'd returned to the house where Celia and Paul said goodbye to Grandpa Anderson. The old man made a point of firmly holding their hands together to denote his whole-hearted approval, and Celia responded with a loving hug, vowing they'd meet him again very soon.
Then, with a final wave to the Oliphants, Paul eased the car out of the driveway and headed south towards London.
"You know, Paul, you've got a wonderful family back there, with the effervescent Aunt Mary, the dry wit of Uncle George, and that dear helpless old man. But she made no mention of having any children of her own. I wonder how much she misses that? Of course, you gain quite a different perspective on life as you get older, but it must be very rewarding to have children, I would imagine. A big responsibility too, of course."
Paul gripped her hand.
"Sweetheart, who knows? Medical science is forever making new advances. When you were advised to give up hope of a family, that was back in the early forties and in war time. Things have made leaps and bounds since then. Lots of new discoveries, on all sorts of things, including fertility."
"Have you been talking about this to Florence?"
"Certainly not. I'd never dream of discussing such a subject with anyone else - not without your permission. No, I'm simply saying - keep an open mind. Take each chapter of life as it comes. Wait for a new page to unfold in its own good time. The future holds loads of exciting new adventures and prospects that most people haven't even dreamed of, like colour television, electronics, even space travel. It's all out there, my love, way over the horizon beyond them there Chiltern Hills. What would Shakespeare make of this car, for instance, and of us being able to motor from Bedford to London in little over an hour?"
"He'd think he was back on Prospero's enchanted island. Time certainly plays tricks, even today. Already I feel as if I've known your Aunt Mary and Bedford for years - and you for a whole lifetime."
"In a way, perhaps you have, simply by knowing Edward. I've always been his son. Everything feels so right since you told me, and today it seems I finally came home. I think tonight we all ought to celebrate with a Jumbo-Morris-sized bottle of champagne. Something with loads of fizz and sparkle to it - just like you."
"Like you and me both," she laughed, "all corked up inside and waiting to burst. Do you realise, the others don't even know we're engaged. Who's going to tell them?"
At Edward's house Celia stayed behind to prepare a buffet supper while the two boys met the honeymooners off the boat train. After a rough Channel crossing it was nearly midnight when they finally arrived home, and neither of them were at all hungry. Celia felt in the circumstances it was unwise to present them yet with the chocolates from Jumbo Morris - though there were other gifts to be unwrapped, including several from Paris - a silk tie for Robin, an exclusive bottle of perfume for Celia, and a large bottle of Champagne for Paul.
"In anticipation of an impending announcement," said Edward.
As Paul opened it, Celia showed them her new diamond ring and gave them as much news as she felt they could accept at that time of night. Then with due ceremony she produced the newly framed photograph.
"I know it may seem tactless when it's not the most recent family wedding," Celia apologised, "but you've simply got to display it somewhere. I'm sure Uncle Edward won't mind. Hey, what on earth do we to call you now?"
"How about plain Edward?" the man suggested. "I mean, we are all adults."
Paul passed round his own collection of pictures, and in one Edward pointed to the unmistakable figures of Florence and Tom Moss, attended by two small children - the five-year-old David and his cute little sister. For several minutes, Celia stared in silence at her own three-year-old image, the face so innocent, so unblemished, naively unaware of the many traumas to come, and she shared with Paul the poignant evidence that she once had two chubby little legs.
Monday morning brought drastic changes to their daily routines which were to set a new course for the future. After consultation with Gladys Howard, Edward immediately sanctioned the employment of Celia as Paul's personal secretary. He also established Florence in a part-time teaching role, providing her with a small studio where she gave lessons in elocution and English grammar to anyone wishing to improve his pronunciation or vocabulary.
Soon a riverside site was chosen for Paul and Celia's new bungalow which began taking shape in a quiet Surrey village on the banks of the Mole. It wasn't close to any shopping centre, but this didn't deter Celia, who woke one morning to find she'd become the registered owner of a suitably adapted car.
With his exams finally behind him, Robin's next ordeal came a few months later when he was invited to act as best man for Paul and Celia's wedding.
"I still say it ought to have been a friend of the groom," he teased, the night before the ceremony.
"Maybe," replied Paul. "But it'll do you good to endure an hour of abject misery, just as I had to one evening not so long ago."
At Celia's request, the wedding took place in St. John's Church, Bedford, where Florence and Edward were delighted to meet again the aging Jumbo Morris and many other long-forgotten friends. For Paul there was an added thrill when his aunt and uncle wheeled from across the road a bewildered old gentleman who insisted on being photographed with the bride and groom.
To everyone's surprise and Celia's profound embarrassment, Robin gave a merciless speech as best man, claiming he'd been urged to emulate his brother-in-law in every possible way, and assuring all male guests that the only way to succeed with ladies was to develop a sexy German accent.
He then turned to the subject of his hapless sister and her false leg, saying he'd never quite knew which way up she wore it since he understood that the top always went close to the bottom. Celia responded by placing a napkin over her face and leaving it there until he'd finished.
But the biggest round of applause came for some heart-warming words, composed with great effort by old Mr. Anderson, and delivered on his behalf by his daughter Mary.
"Intense old age," she began in the rounded tones of a kindergarten teacher, "has robbed me of the power of coherent speech. Some say this is justice. Others see it as a blessing for all mankind. But when words no longer come easily, you have to think more carefully what you want to say, and in that there is a lesson for us all. Years ago, when I was even more stubborn than I am today, I saw my young child Betty run off and marry a foreign man whom I didn't know. In my foolish ignorance I allowed her to suffer for that determination for the rest of her short life. And if ever I'm given the chance of rejoining her, either above or below, I expect she'll give me as hard a time as I gave her. I know I'll deserve it. But I can't forgive myself for depriving Paul of the pleasure of knowing his generous, lovable, and extremely handsome grandfather throughout the whole of his childhood."
The old man nodded as a ripple of laughter told him his humour was well received.
"My grandson and I met for the first time a few months ago, and I'm truly sorry it wasn't thirty years earlier. On that same day I also met his lovely bride Celia, and oh, what a wonderful lady she is! She made me feel young again and gave me the will to write these words you're hearing today. I'm gloriously proud of both of them, of Paul for choosing such a magnificent young wife, whose love and goodness will inspire him for years to come, and of Celia for having the innate good sense to marry an Anderson who will always provide her with the very best kind of shelter. Paul and Celia, we wish you a long and happy life together. Thank you for letting this humble black sheep return to the fold and share your lovely day."
The young couple began a week-long honeymoon in the Cotswolds, and then went on to tour Europe where they visited a certain Paris hotel highly recommended by Edward and Florence. Before returning home, they crossed the German border to Frankfurt, to see the surviving haunts of Paul's childhood, and finally to stand arm-in-arm beside the Mullers' family grave.
Paul's voice was quietly relaxed, confirming to Celia that he was now totally at peace within himself and with history.
"I never imagined I could return to this place with such a restful heart," he said, after a moment's respectful silence. "So many people who once loved us are gone, but maybe our own special guardian angels are formed by these very same spirits, still loving us, still caring for our happiness, and looking after all our needs."
"I'm sure they are, Paul. Let's hope they're all on full alert when we revisit that gynaecologist next week. Meanwhile whatever the future may hold, at least we've found each other and we have our own little riverside nest in England that needs to be furnished and decorated. So come on, sweetheart, there's work to be done. Time we raced each other home again."
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