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the nearby bells of St Mary’s Church. ‘But I’ve found a new happiness with Vera, one I never expected. She really is a remarkable lady.’
    Virginia sat on the arm of Rupert’s chair. ‘I know that, Daddy,’ she said, ‘and Vera is perfect for you. Life is for living, not mourning.’
    ‘Fathers and daughters,’ he muttered, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead.
    Further along the Morton Road, in the vicarage kitchen, Vera made sure all her ingredients were laid out neatly and then paused to look out of the kitchen window. Life was no longer uncertain. She had made her decision.
    Vera loved baking and this was one of her specialities. As she greased an eight-inch-square, shallow cake tin she glanced again at her mother’s spidery, cursive handwriting. It was a recipe she had prepared many times, except, on this occasion, it was for the special man in her life. As she began to work on her spotless kitchen surface she knew with absolute certainty that she was about to make the perfect apple courting cake … and Rupert would definitely understand its meaning.
    That evening outside the village hall, the temperature was dropping fast. The geraniums in the hanging baskets by the entrance were dying now, blackened by the first sharp frost. Down the High Street, the bright colours of summer were just a fond memory and the first log fires were burning in Ragley village.
    Inside, a dozen trestle tables had been covered with smart checked tablecloths and adorned with candles in old wine bottles. At one end of the hall six more tables had been lined up against the wall and covered with snowy white linen. The ladies of the Women’s Institute had taken charge of displaying honey-roasted gammon, joints of beef and ham, bowls of potato salad, a huge mushroom quiche, fruit pies, fresh cream, freshly baked loaves and every variety of home-made jam you could imagine. At the far end of the hall Elsie Crapper was playing some harvest favourites on the old upright piano. ‘Come, ye thankful people, come,’ sang Elsie, ‘raise the song of harvest home!’
    It was a happy occasion and Rupert was in a reflective mood. ‘Do you know, Jack,’ he said wistfully, ‘the sun never used to set on the British Empire.’
    ‘Times change, Major,’ I said.
    ‘Exactly, my boy,’ he said, ‘and
time
is something that is slipping away.’ He looked at Vera and she gave him a gentle smile. Meanwhile, she was reflecting on those happy days in her life, strung together like a necklace of special memories.
    The festive evening was drawing to its close when Joseph found time for a private word with Vera. ‘I think we should put a date in the church diary … for
December
,’ he said simply.
    Vera squeezed his hand. ‘The spirit of the Lord has always been in your eyes, Joseph,’ she said quietly.
    ‘And in your soul, my dear sister,’ said Joseph.
    ‘We’re moving on with our lives, Joseph,’ said Vera. ‘It’s a new beginning – for both of us.’
    It was almost midnight when Rupert was saying good-night to Vera.
    ‘So what do you say, my dear?’ He leant forward and took her hand in his. ‘Shall we get married sooner rather than later … at Christmas time?’
    Vera bowed her head. It was time for a decision. Her youth was gone now, left on a distant shore. A new life was about to begin. She looked at the man she loved and said simply, ‘Yes.’

Chapter Three
Ruby’s Great Expectations
    All the children sent Get Well cards to Mrs Smith. The school governors agreed to an extension of Mrs Earnshaw’s contract as temporary caretaker to the end of November
.
    Extract from the Ragley School Logbook:
    Monday, 11 October 1982
    ‘AH’M GONNA GERRA job, Miss Evans,’ said Ronnie Smith, ‘in t’packaging industry.’ He removed his Leeds United bobble hat and nervously flattened a few wisps of greying hair.
    Ronnie was Ruby the caretaker’s habitually unemployed husband, whose life revolved around his racing pigeons,