As the speeches ended, everyone rose from the tables and left the marquee, spilling onto the lawn and gathering in small groups.
Len and Norah were standing on their own, a little to one side, though Norah’s gaze constantly followed William and his family. Bess stood in front of them.
‘Len Dawson, I want a word with you.’
Len sighed and said heavily, ‘Aye, I thought you might. Get on with it then, woman.’
‘High time you put an end to this nonsense for Norah’s sake, if not ya own. Get yarsen across there and shake your son’s hand and meet your grandsons.’
‘Oh Bess . . .’ Norah murmured, but there was a yearning in her tone.
Slowly Len began to move. Norah clutched Bess’s arm as they watched him cross the grass to stand in front of William. Bess and Norah moved closer to see Len hold out a hand that trembled visibly.
Not caring now who heard, Len said, ‘William, thank you for what you did to save Luke. I’ve been a stubborn old fool for far too long and I’m truly sorry for the hurt I’ve caused.’
William stood for a moment, staring at the man that he had not seen for over fifteen years. Len was changed. He was thinner and more stooped and his face was ravaged by time. Instead of taking his proffered hand, William put his arms about his father and drew him close. No more words were spoken, but the years of bitterness and heartache fell away.
‘Well said, Len,’ Bess Cooper now spoke up. ‘I never thought I’d see the day, but I’m glad it’s come. Norah, duck, go and give your grandsons a hug.’
Amidst the laughter and the tears, Mitch slipped away from the guests milling about the lawn and went in search of Betty.
‘Is everything ready?’ he asked her.
‘Yes, Mr Hammond. Me and Jake have done everything you asked.’
‘Thank you,’ he said and kissed a startled Betty on both cheeks before returning to the wedding party with a grin that seemed to stretch from ear to ear. The bride and groom, indeed all the Maitland family, were still chatting and laughing and not wanting this glorious day to end. After an hour, Mitch went in search of Pips. He found her talking to Luke and Gill, arriving beside her to hear her say, ‘So, another wedding next spring, is it? What are you going to do then, Luke?’
Luke glanced at Gill. ‘We’ve talked it over with Gill’s parents and my granddad and it’s all agreed. Once I’m out of the RAF, I’ll set up a branch of Granddad’s wheelwright and blacksmithing business on Gill’s farm. Her dad’s already given us a piece of land. And Granddad has agreed that, in time, Sam and Harry will run this end. And it sounds now as if young Bernard wants to stay here. He’s taken to the country life.’
‘What a splendid idea, don’t you think so, Mitch?’
‘It is.’ He smiled. ‘So, everyone’s going to be perfectly settled.’
Pips pulled a face. ‘All except me. I’ve no idea what on earth I’m going to do with myself now.’
‘Ah, I have an idea about that. Just come with me. Excuse us . . .’
Mitch took her hand and led her through the throng.
‘Where are you taking me?’
He led her round the side of the house to where a car, gleaming in the sunshine, was parked.
‘Oh, Mitch. A Bugatti.’ She paused, her glance roaming over it and coming to rest on the number plate. ‘Oh. Oh! It’s my Bugatti. Wherever did you find it?’
‘In my garage at Brooklands. It’s been there ever since you sold it.’
Pips gasped as she stared at him. ‘You – you bought it?’
He nodded. ‘Jeff repaired it after your crash and has kept it in good order ever since.’
‘Oh Mitch. I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t say anything. Just get in. We’re going for a spin. I’ll have to drive, though, as it’s licensed to me at the moment.’
He helped her to climb in.
‘But we can’t just go for a drive. This is Daisy’s wedding day . . .’
‘And you really think those two lovebirds are going to miss us?’
‘Well, perhaps not, but—’
He started the engine and drove carefully down the drive. One or two guests watched them go but only Henrietta and Daisy, hand in hand with Johnny, came to the edge of the lawn and waved, their faces wreathed in smiles.
As Mitch guided the car through the gate, Pips said, ‘Where are we going?’
Above the noisy engine, he shouted, ‘Gretna Green. Philippa Allender, will you marry me?’
As he gathered speed, the wind whipped through her hair and she gasped. Life with Mitch Hammond would be a roller-coaster; there would never be a dull moment. But it was exactly what she wanted.
Pips threw back her head and laughed aloud, the merry sound bouncing on the breeze. ‘Yes!’ she shouted back. ‘Yes, I will.’
The Spitfire Sisters
Margaret Dickinson, a Sunday Times top ten bestseller, was born and brought up in Lincolnshire and, until very recently, lived in Skegness where she raised her family. Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. She has now written over twenty-five novels – set mostly in her home county but also in Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire and South Yorkshire. The Spitfire Sisters is the third in the Maitland trilogy, after The Poppy Girls and The Brooklands Girls.
ALSO BY MARGARET DICKINSON
Plough the Furrow
Reap the Harvest
The Miller’s Daughter
Chaff Upon the Wind
The Fisher Lass
The Tulip Girl
The River Folk
Tangled Threads
Twisted Strands
Red Sky in the Morning
Without Sin
Pauper’s Gold
Wish Me Luck
Sing As We Go
Suffragette Girl
Sons and Daughters
Forgive and Forget
Jenny’s War
The Clippie Girls
Fairfield Hall
Welcome Home
Daughters of Courage
The Poppy Girls
The Brooklands Girls
First published 2020 by Macmillan
This electronic edition first published in 2020 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
The Smithson, 6 Briset Street, London EC1M 5NR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5290-1848-6
Copyright © Margaret Dickinson 2020
Cover images: Women © Colin Thomas, background © Shutterstock
The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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