Chapter 5

We were happy. At least, I think we were happy. The emaciated, shy girl I'd met back in December and fallen in love with, had become a lissom sylph and gained confidence. There were still moments, though, when she slipped back into uncertainty and I enjoyed convincing her of my opinion that she was beautiful. From time to time, though, she became very quiet and I noticed her looking strangely at me when she thought I wasn't aware.

I had an internal battle too. Perhaps 'confusion' would be better. I hated the idea she might find someone else and leave me alone, but the thought of making a lifetime commitment was equally daunting. I became sure, though, that a lifetime commitment – marriage – was what I wanted. It was just ... finding the right moment.

I wasn't poor. Because of my parents' deaths, I had the house and a certain amount of capital, so I hadn't needed student loans. On the other hand I wasn't wealthy either and I was very careful how I spent my money. While we're on the subject, I certainly had no reservations about Rose-Marie's 'running costs'. She was definitely not in the 'high maintenance' category. I don't know if that was really a factor. Anyway, I went looking for a ring, eventually finding one I thought might do; an amethyst set with small diamonds in gold. I thought it simple, elegant and lovely, like my beloved. I carried the box in my pocket for several weeks.

One day in early July, Dulcie Hanson called quite early, asking if she could come to see us. We'd been considering going for a ride, perhaps to the nature reserve at Blacktoft Sands, but her tone suggested it was important and I immediately agreed, going to put the kettle on as soon as I hung up the phone.

I'll say in passing, Dulcie is a very lovely young woman of about my own age. I knew something of her story because she was prone to refer to her own experiences in her preaching; no-one could doubt the devotion she had for her husband, or he for her. She had a wonderful way of communicating love without any sensual connotation. I have no doubt she was a major factor in the success of St. Jude's.

When Dulcie arrived, I called Rose-Marie, who rushed downstairs and immediately embraced our visitor in a warm hug, asking what she'd like to drink. Both of them wanted Earl Grey tea and despite my preference for coffee in the morning, I decided to join them. I also got out the Wedgwood.

Dulcie's eyes lit up when she saw the tray and she spent a few minutes describing her initial encounter with Peter Hanson and his first wife, Sara; how a china cup and saucer had breached her defences. But then she got serious.

"We ... Peter and I ... have had a series of calls from the Pastor of the Free Apostolic Church of Christ," she said.

I was certain I detected more than a hint of irony in her tone as she reeled off the name.

"Pastor Grey seems to be of the opinion that we ... the Anglican church in general and St. Jude's in particular ... are so seriously in error as to be heading rapidly in the direction of the fiery pit, and we are leading you," she nodded at Rose-Marie, "with us to eternal damnation. He has been pestering us for your address so he can come to convince you of the error of your ways. We have not, of course, given it to him."

We nodded in acknowledgement of her discretion.

"However, I doubt if he would be thwarted indefinitely. He could employ a private detective; for that matter, he could follow you from the University. Perhaps more worrying, he said something about your father sorting you out, Rose-Marie."

Rose-Marie nodded. "Dad may ... probably will ... come home and be furious at the waste of time and money. Taking him away from the vital work he's doing. Putting him through all the hassles in and out of Congo. The costs of travel..." she shrugged. "Personally ... now ... I could not care less. He will be ... unpleasant. I'm not sure he might not become violent..." she looked down at her feet for a few seconds then looked at me. "Come and find me, Edward. Give me five minutes, please. Excuse me, Dulcie."

As she left the room, Dulcie and I looked at each other. Then she spoke.

"Ted, I'm glad for an opportunity to speak to you alone. Ted ... are you thinking of making an honest woman of her?"

I smiled. "Yes, Dulcie, I am. Just waiting for the right moment. I bought a ring a couple of weeks ago."

"Well, first of all, I hope you won't consider getting married anywhere than at St. Jude's, and I'd consider it a privilege to preach at your wedding. I know Peter would love to officiate and we can probably waive many of the fees. You would have to have the Banns read at Rose-Marie's parish church ... that would be All Saints Ecclesall, I think?"

I was pretty sure that was right, so I nodded.

"Don't leave it too long, Ted. She needs the assurance of your commitment."

I showed Dulcie out and went in search of my beloved. I found her on her face on the bed in our bedroom, crying her eyes out, so I kicked my shoes off and lay down beside her.

"I said ... five ... minutes," she sobbed, "I haven't ... nearly finished ... my cry yet."

"I'm not stopping you," I said, "but it's my privilege to hold you while you do it."

Now ... I'm not a violent sort of chap, normally. I hadn't been in a fight since primary school. But I was beginning to think it might be appropriate to make a couple of exceptions. I held Rose-Marie while her tears soaked my t-shirt, which took rather more than five minutes. When she'd wound down, she kissed me, which soon heated up until we were thoroughly involved. We had a very late lunch. As we got up to go downstairs, she held me against her.

"Thank you, Edward. That's really taken the nasty taste out of my mouth. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Well, that was an opportunity if ever there was one, but I muffed it. Instead of popping the question, I kissed her again, which delayed our lunch even further.

One snippet that might be amusing ... pet names. Having begun the policy of using our full names, it became impossible to shorten them. Assorted endearments worked, of course. I used Sweetheart, Petal, Flower. She used Lover, Honey, Darling. We both used Love and Chuck (with a northern 'u' that's more of an 'oo' as in 'book'). Sometimes I called her 'Tiger' and occasionally she responded with 'Stud'. Ah well, it's nice to fantasise.

It was late July when there was a knock on the door. It's a big house and if I hadn't been coming downstairs on my way to the kitchen I wouldn't have heard it. Why don't people use the door-bell? It's obvious enough and we carry the (wireless) bell with us.

On the doorstep was a very thin, very tanned, balding man, in a dark suit with shirt and tie – in July!! And probably the sourest expression I've ever seen.

"Where is she?" No, 'Excuse me', no name, explanation or any other courtesy.

"I beg your pardon," I retorted.

"My slut of a daughter. Where is she?" Sure – go on demanding without an explanation; just the way to get someone's co-operation.