But I being poor have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.’

‘That’s beautiful,’ she breathed.

Freddie took a deep breath. He sensed the golden ribbons being wound around them. He was almost there – almost.

‘Now I’ve got to ask you a question,’ he said intently.

‘Go on, then.’ Kate smiled encouragingly.

‘Do you – do you think you can love me, Kate? The way I love you?’

The answer came warm and swift, carrying him effortlessly into the moment he’d waited for all day.

‘But I DO love you, Freddie. With all my heart,’ said Kate warmly.

Freddie looked at her joyfully. He let go of her hands, reached into his heart pocket and slowly withdrew the velvet box. He hoped he wasn’t going to cry, but his voice broke a little as he gave it to her.

‘Freddie!’

‘Open it, Kate.’

She lifted the velvet lid, and gasped as the sun caught the diamond and the facets winked with the colours of sunlight.

‘I want you to have it, Kate. Because you are the diamond in my life. I’d like it to be an engagement ring – if —’

‘Freddie!’ Kate whispered, again, and her eyes brimmed with happy tears. She took the ring out, held it up to the light and then slipped it onto the ring finger of her left hand. ‘How wonderful. I’ve always loved you, and hoped you would love me too. I’ve truly – never, ever felt so blessed.’

They stared at each other, and the humour came dancing back into Kate’s brown eyes.

‘And now,’ she said bossily, ‘you are going to kiss me, aren’t you?’

Freddie took her into his arms. She felt warm and her tears tasted salty like the sea. The long slow kiss melted them together, there by the sparkling water, for one moment of time.

Chapter Twenty-Two

ONE YEAR LATER

Daisy stood patiently in the stable at the back of Herbie’s yard, wondering what all the fuss was about. She was an old horse and she’d done everything from ploughing, hauling timber in the woods, dragging hay carts, and being paraded at shows and carnivals. She’d done it all obligingly and carefully, she’d endured being muddy and wet and tired, or tolerated being dressed up in jingling brasses. Now there were three people round her: Freddie, who was grooming her vigorously with a brush, Herbie, who was shampooing her huge legs, and Joan, who was standing on a box plaiting her mane into little braids, looping them and tying in brightly coloured ribbons and tassels.

‘She’s looking good!’ Herbie grinned up at Freddie. ‘Look how white her socks are. Don’t know how I’ll ever get them dry.’

‘I’ve never done this before,’ said Freddie who was enjoying polishing the big solid horse’s coat, leaning his weight on the brush until she shone like a conker. Daisy seemed to like what he was doing.

‘Oh I have,’ said Joan brightly. ‘My parents had show horses. Now – where are those brasses?’

‘In that box.’ Freddie handed her the clinking box of horse brasses Annie had spent hours polishing. ‘They still smell of Brasso.’

‘Never mind the Brasso. This is hoof oil going on now,’ said Herbie, sloshing it on with a paintbrush. ‘She’s going to use up the whole tin with hooves this size.’

‘Hadn’t you better go and get ready?’ Joan looked pointedly at Freddie. ‘You’ve got one hour.’

Herbie turned and winked at Freddie. ‘Go on. Don’t be late.’

Freddie put the brush down and stood back to gaze in awe at Daisy’s transformation from a shaggy muddy carthorse into a proud, gleaming show horse. Daisy lowered her great head to him, as if she knew everything. He reached up and rubbed one of her silky ears. ‘Thanks – Daisy,’ he said, and the horse nodded graciously.

‘Cheerio, Freddie – and good luck!’ Joan called after him as he headed down the road in long strides, his clothes smelling of horse, his eyes watching the swifts and swallows diving and sweeping in the skies about Monterose.

Down at the station, Charlie sat on his bench in the morning sun, his green flag rolled up beside him. He was energetically polishing a trombone to a mirror-like shine, buffing and buffing it until he could see reflections of the station footbridge and the walnut tree and the cerulean blue of the June sky. One more train to meet, then he could go. His band uniform was hanging up in the back of the ticket office and his fingers itched to be playing that tune and marching up the street with the band.

He’d seen more posh hats that morning than he’d ever seen in his life, he thought, watching the ten-thirty train come steaming in. More women in fancy hats and men in grey top hats and tuxedos got off and strutted past him. He was glad to see the relief stationmaster jump down from the train.

‘’Ello, Sid.’ Charlie handed over the green flag, the whistle and the timetable. Then he changed quickly into his band uniform, dark green with a smart green and gold cap, gold epaulettes and buttons. Hyped with excitement he set off for the Jarvises’ house where the procession was assembling in the courtyard. All Charlie wanted was one special smile that day from a girl he had secretly admired ever since she came to his station as a bright-eyed schoolgirl with red ribbons in her plaits.

In the town hall, Betty and Alice were bustling up and down the trestle tables, arranging napkins and plates of ham. There were jars of pickles, plates piled high with boiled eggs, tiny sandwiches and wedges of cheese, round bowls of ripe strawberries and cherries, dishes of clotted cream, and a tray piled high with fresh lardy cake.

George was pacing up and down the hall, checking his pockets and looking at the clock.

‘Come on, girls. We’d better get up there,’ he said.

‘What about Mother?’ asked Alice.

‘What about her?’ said George. ‘She won’t come. ’Tis no good trying to drag her.’

‘We won’t DRAG her,’ said Alice huffily. She went to the mirror and arranged her blue and white hat. ‘Leave her alone. She never is going to go out. I hope I don’t get like that.’

‘I hope I don’t either,’ echoed Betty.

It had been an effort for Bertie and Sally to make the trip to Monterose, especially going over the ferry and thinking of Ethie being swept away in that fierce tide. They’d taken some roses and thrown them overboard when the boat reached the middle of the river. Bertie was ill, but determined, and Sally felt the time had come for her to stop working and give him devoted care. She was glad of the support of the extended Loxley family around them, but she missed her daughters, especially Kate.

‘I’m going to cry when I see Kate in her dress,’ she said, as she and Bertie waited, sitting in two basket chairs on Joan’s veranda.

At last the door opened and Kate emerged, beaming, in her long cream silk bridal dress. It was simple but beautiful, and instead of a veil she had chosen a dramatic wide-brimmed hat trimmed with tiny flowers and a white ostrich feather.

Bertie stood up, speechless as he gazed at his beautiful daughter.

‘You look – perfect,’ breathed Sally, just perfect, dear. Now – here’s your bouquet.’

‘Twelve red roses,’ smiled Kate. ‘It’s what Freddie wanted – and his mother has made it up. Hasn’t she done it beautifully?’ She sniffed one of the cool roses. ‘It smells divine. I can’t WAIT to find out how I’m getting to church. You’ve all been keeping it a secret!’

Bertie and Sally looked at each other happily. ‘You won’t have to wait long,’ said Sally and as she spoke Joan swept into the room in a flurry of ostrich feathers and mustard-coloured silk.

‘Your carriage awaits!’ she cried. ‘Oh, you look marvellous, Kate!’

Bertie held out his arm. ‘Here we go.’