of the sweet, yellow wine, 'you might as well know that I want the wedding to be in Ringford.' She looked at her mother, dreading the wobbly chin and eyes filling with tears.
Her mother was a very emotional person, and it was not easy to know which way she would take things.
'Oh, I do agree, dear,' she said to her only daughter. 'A village wedding, white dress with a long train, your little cousins for bridesmaids, and Robert in one of those lovely suits. I can see it now . . .' She had a dreamy look on her face, and Mandy knew that all was well.
'It is the most beautiful village,' said Nigel to Sophie. He had returned very late the night before absolutely exhausted, but so cheerful that Sophie knew it had gone well. She made him go straight to bed, promising to listen to a full account the following morning. 'Seems the other applicant was only two years off retiring, and the churchwardens sensibly thought it would be mad to have to go through the whole thing all over again so soon. '
'Tell me about the village, and the house,' said Sophie.
'Ah,' said Nigel, 'yes, the house. Well, it is a lovely eighteenth-century, three-storey stone house. It has five bedrooms and attic rooms, and a wonderful drawing room and a huge dining room, and big kitchen, scullery, walk-in larder, tiled hall the size of this room, and big garden with paddock behind.' He waited anxiously, trying to read Sophie's expression.
A slow smile spread over her face. 'Let's go, then,' she said.
They talked about the village, and Nigel described the wide Green and the chestnut trees leading to the Hall. 'It was a beautiful evening, and I had the feeling I was stepping back in time. The village lies in the Ringle valley, and with wooded hills all round it's like a forgotten hamlet. One of the last to get main sewerage, I was told! Of course, it is an illusion. They are firmly in the twentieth century, and the folk I met were straightforward, practical people, and very kind and welcoming.'
He paused, decided not to mention Miss Beasley, and continued. 'Richard Standing seemed a nice enough chap- bit feudal, as we thought; but very approachable- and Mrs Price, the farmer's wife, was a very comfortable sort of soul. Kindness itself, I should imagine.'
'Anybody I would like?' said Sophie, already beginning to think of a donkey in the paddock, and summer walks by the Ringle.
'A very nice woman called Peggy Palmer keeps the shop. She didn't stay long at the meeting, but said some very sensible things and had a good sense of humour. Seems her husband died last year, and she works hard keeping the shop going.'
'So when do we start?' said Sophie, with a big smile.
The Welsh parish had already got wind of Nigel's intentions, and with unseemly haste had got a new incumbent in mind. He was young, known for his youth work, and one hundred per cent Welsh. He could come as soon as needed, and nothing stood in the way of a quick handover.
'End of August, I should think,' said Nigel.
'Right in the middle of harvest,' said Sophie happily. 'Round Ringford, here we come,' she said, and gave Nigel a big, impulsive kiss on his handsome face.
There was general agreement in Ringford that the Reverend Nigel Brooks seemed a decent sort of chap. One or two of the men in the pub, led by Tom Price and backed up by Foxy Jenkins, who had been bullied along to the meeting by his insistent wife, said they thought he was 'a bit smarmy', but Colin Osman had whooped at the news that Nigel was a cricketer and already had plans for the opening match on Ringford Green.
The Honourable Richard and Mrs Standing were perfectly happy with Nigel Brooks, although Richard said he could not imagine why such an all-round good sort of man should want to come to a tiny living like Round Ringford, and the village should count itself very lucky.
'Perhaps you'd want a complete change if you had been holed up in a frightful little Welsh town,' said Susan. 'I can quite see Ringford must have
Her mother was a very emotional person, and it was not easy to know which way she would take things.
'Oh, I do agree, dear,' she said to her only daughter. 'A village wedding, white dress with a long train, your little cousins for bridesmaids, and Robert in one of those lovely suits. I can see it now . . .' She had a dreamy look on her face, and Mandy knew that all was well.
'It is the most beautiful village,' said Nigel to Sophie. He had returned very late the night before absolutely exhausted, but so cheerful that Sophie knew it had gone well. She made him go straight to bed, promising to listen to a full account the following morning. 'Seems the other applicant was only two years off retiring, and the churchwardens sensibly thought it would be mad to have to go through the whole thing all over again so soon. '
'Tell me about the village, and the house,' said Sophie.
'Ah,' said Nigel, 'yes, the house. Well, it is a lovely eighteenth-century, three-storey stone house. It has five bedrooms and attic rooms, and a wonderful drawing room and a huge dining room, and big kitchen, scullery, walk-in larder, tiled hall the size of this room, and big garden with paddock behind.' He waited anxiously, trying to read Sophie's expression.
A slow smile spread over her face. 'Let's go, then,' she said.
They talked about the village, and Nigel described the wide Green and the chestnut trees leading to the Hall. 'It was a beautiful evening, and I had the feeling I was stepping back in time. The village lies in the Ringle valley, and with wooded hills all round it's like a forgotten hamlet. One of the last to get main sewerage, I was told! Of course, it is an illusion. They are firmly in the twentieth century, and the folk I met were straightforward, practical people, and very kind and welcoming.'
He paused, decided not to mention Miss Beasley, and continued. 'Richard Standing seemed a nice enough chap- bit feudal, as we thought; but very approachable- and Mrs Price, the farmer's wife, was a very comfortable sort of soul. Kindness itself, I should imagine.'
'Anybody I would like?' said Sophie, already beginning to think of a donkey in the paddock, and summer walks by the Ringle.
'A very nice woman called Peggy Palmer keeps the shop. She didn't stay long at the meeting, but said some very sensible things and had a good sense of humour. Seems her husband died last year, and she works hard keeping the shop going.'
'So when do we start?' said Sophie, with a big smile.
The Welsh parish had already got wind of Nigel's intentions, and with unseemly haste had got a new incumbent in mind. He was young, known for his youth work, and one hundred per cent Welsh. He could come as soon as needed, and nothing stood in the way of a quick handover.
'End of August, I should think,' said Nigel.
'Right in the middle of harvest,' said Sophie happily. 'Round Ringford, here we come,' she said, and gave Nigel a big, impulsive kiss on his handsome face.
There was general agreement in Ringford that the Reverend Nigel Brooks seemed a decent sort of chap. One or two of the men in the pub, led by Tom Price and backed up by Foxy Jenkins, who had been bullied along to the meeting by his insistent wife, said they thought he was 'a bit smarmy', but Colin Osman had whooped at the news that Nigel was a cricketer and already had plans for the opening match on Ringford Green.
The Honourable Richard and Mrs Standing were perfectly happy with Nigel Brooks, although Richard said he could not imagine why such an all-round good sort of man should want to come to a tiny living like Round Ringford, and the village should count itself very lucky.
'Perhaps you'd want a complete change if you had been holed up in a frightful little Welsh town,' said Susan. 'I can quite see Ringford must have
Similar Books
