Chapter 13

It was not over yet. At nine the following morning the doorbell rang. A small, smiling, grey-haired man stood there.

"Good morning, Miss Waters," he smiled extending his hand. "Victor Tredegar. You, or rather your fiancé, bought an engagement ring from us the day before yesterday.

"Yes we did," replied a beaming Wendy. "Please come in Mr Tredegar."

She led him to the drawing room where Tim had taken his coffee. He was still in his dressing-gown and was clearly slightly embarrassed.

"Darling, this Mr Tredegar."

Tim held out his hand. "Forgive me, Mr Tredegar, for being a bit under-dressed but I still have to have my sore bits anointed."

He smiled at Wendy who blushed.

Mr Tredegar chuckled. "Your fiancée besides being very pretty is clearly either a nurse or a physiotherapist."

Wendy blushed again and Tim grinned. "Neither," he said, "but she's jolly good at it!"

"Tim!"

Mr Tredegar laughed, reached into his pocket and then handed Tim his credit card.

"In the excitement the day before yesterday you left this behind," he said.

"Golly, so I did! Thank you, Mr Tredegar."

"Naturally, we cancelled the transaction..." He looked teasingly at Wendy who shrank.

"No, Miss Waters," he smiled. "We're not going to take your ring back. We're going to give it to you."

"What?" exclaimed both together.

Mr Tredegar nodded.

Wendy collected herself. "Please sit down, Mr Tredegar. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"That's kind of you but no thank you."

They all sat.

"The thing is," went on Mr Tredegar, "you, sir, saved us. Without your intervention we would have had to give up the business which is now in its fourth generation. Insurance for jewellers is expensive and we have to exhibit some of our more expensive items. We can't afford to insure the lot. What was in the show case that that vagabond was attacking was over three-quarters of the sum assured."

Tim whistled. Wendy gawped.

"So you can see why we are so grateful to you."

"Yes," said Tim slowly, "but that is still extremely generous. I think I ought to pay at least half the price."

"No, sir," said Mr Tredegar. "Ours is a family business. As I say, I'm the fourth generation to own our shop and on that site. You, sir, gave my son and my wife a chance to show their devotion to the business. We are more than grateful. What you paid for Miss Waters's ring is in the region of what we would have had to pay in increased premium next year. Please, both of you, accept our offer."

Tim and Wendy looked at each other. The communication and understanding was complete. Wendy got up from her chair and walked over to Mr Tredegar.

"That is still very kind and very generous of you. Don't you think we should go halves though?"

Mr Tredegar looked between the two of them and smiled. "You're both in perfect harmony, aren't you"?

They both smiled and nodded.

So did Mr Tredegar. "I agree. Half to you, Mr Richards, and half to you, Miss Waters, although," he winked, "I can guess where your half is coming from."

Wendy bent and took his hands. "You are a very kind and generous man," she said.

"No," he replied. "Just very grateful."

Wendy bent again and pecked his forehead. "Thank you, Mr Tredegar," she whispered.

Mr Tredegar beamed. "Good!" he said. "Mr Richards, I think you have chosen a very special young lady."

The 'young' was not lost on Richard who smiled broadly. "I think so too," he replied.

Mr Tredegar left and the two of them fell into each other's arms. Wendy looked up.

"I hope," she whispered her eyes sparkling, "that because you haven't paid for it that my ring isn't going to mean less to you."

"Apart from a life-long limp."

"You bloody man."

They both laughed and kissed.

The meeting with Wendy's father the next day was strained initially.

Wendy drove there in her Polo, not her sugar daddy's Mercedes. Tim would not have chosen that even if he had been able to drive. Wendy was pent up which did not help either.

"Hello, Dad," she said with forced brightness.

Ray Waters nodded.

"This is my fiancé, Tim Richards."

Tim fumbled with his crutches and held out his hand with what he hoped was a friendly smile.

"How do you do, Mr Waters?"

Wendy's father shook his hand without a word, looked him up and down and then asked, "Why the crutches?"

"Horse slipped on ice and fell on me."

"Ah! Well, you'd better come in and have a cup of tea."

"Thank you," they chorused and followed him into the house. He led them into the front room. It was clear that there was no woman's hand in the house. There was dust on every flat surface.

"I'll help you, Dad," offered Wendy.

"No need. I know how to make a pot of tea."

Tim and Wendy looked at each other and she shrugged. Tim was more interested in a colour print of a racehorse that hung over the fireplace.

"Wonder who that is," he said.

"No idea," replied Wendy dully. She was repenting ever agreeing to this visit.

Her father returned with a tray which he put down on a table.

"Have a seat," he said abruptly.

"Who's the racehorse?" asked Tim.

"Cottage Rake."

"Really?" exclaimed Tim. "He won the Derby three years in a row," he explained to Wendy.

"Wow! That's quite something!" she replied with some liveliness.

"There must be a story behind that," went on Tim.

"Yeah," said Ray. "My son, John, was one of Vincent O'Brien's stable lads and when Cottage Rake was sold he followed him to Gerald Balding's yard. Then he had to come home to help me out when my wife got sick and they gave him that as a leaving present. He was with Cottage Rake for seven years."