Read Online Wartime Sweethearts by Lizzie Lane - Free Book Online

would be just too unbearable,’ Ruby said, once their father was out of earshot. ‘You know how people gossip.’
    Mary gave her sister’s hand a tight squeeze. ‘I know.’ Then, after a pause. ‘I will miss you.’
    ‘I’ll miss you too.’
    After a good deal of deliberation, the judges made their decision, which was given in writing to the man with the foghorn voice.
    Bullhorn stepped up on to the rostrum, his voice ringing out loud and clear.
    ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the first winner has been decided and will be announced once the other categories have been judged and decisions made,’ he bellowed.
    There was a humming of outraged conversation, a shaking of heads by people impatient to know the results.
    ‘Oh, lord,’ whispered Ruby, her breasts rising tightly against the bodice of her favourite blue and rose-pink dress. It was the same dress she’d worn on her last meeting with Gareth Stead. ‘One more category before the apple loaf gets judged.’
    The same procedure for the split tin was used for the plaited bread, although because of its nature – beautifully twisted seams plaited like golden hair – inspecting the plaits took longer than smelling and tasting. Bullhorn explained the judges were looking for ingenuous presentation as well as smell and texture. ‘A presentation of plaits and twists likely to bring a sparkle to the eyes of John Barleycorn himself!’
    There were a few titters, though some of the professional bakers thought the master of ceremonies should take his job more seriously. A bit of grumbling resumed.
    ‘Shhh!’ he hissed, putting a fat finger to his mouth. ‘Shhh! Quiet please.’
    The crowd’s grumbles quietened but didn’t go away. Their craned necks were leading to dry throats and the beer tent was selling out.
    ‘Get on with it,’ somebody shouted. Ruby recognised the voice. Gareth Stead was here, likely taking a break from running the beer tent. Her heartbeat increased, the blood flowing faster to her face.
    ‘How he’s got the nerve to show his face,’ Mary growled.
    She might have said more, but the proceedings were now moving swiftly along.
    ‘Here it is! We have the results for plaited breads.’
    Bullhorn held up another piece of paper on which each judge had declared their findings.
    Mary sucked in her breath. Her heart refused to stop hammering against her ribs.
    Ruby let out a deep breath like a balloon slowly deflating. ‘I think I’m going to faint,’ she whispered.
    ‘Don’t you dare,’ Mary whispered back. ‘If we win, it wouldn’t look good if you can’t even go up to collect your prize.’
    Yet again she had referred to the apple loaf as though they’d both had a hand in baking it. She felt only a slight twinge of regret. Does it matter, she asked herself? The Sweets baked it. That’s all that really counts.
    Ruby smiled haltingly. Her sister was being outstandingly generous, but there was no guarantee that the apple loaf would win. The suspense was incredible. It was time for the judging of their class.
    Unlike the other categories, small cards were propped up against each of the loaves in this section detailing the ingredients added. Just as Mary had guessed, sultanas, fruit, nuts and alcohol topped the list. As for the bread infused with sun-dried tomatoes and garlic – it might be interesting, but as her father had intimated, it might not appeal to the British palate.
    The chef’s face had brightened on smelling then tasting the savoury offering. The two bakers had been less impressed. Their expressions were almost as impassive when sampling the breads mixed with fruits.
    ‘Get on with it,’ somebody shouted.
    Ruby was in no doubt as to who that was. Gareth – again, and he sounded drunk.
    His outburst was followed by impatient whispers. Obviously the crowd also wanted the judges to get a move on.
    The judges huddled together, the two bakers nodding in agreement, the black-haired chef looking red faced and unhappy.
    Bullhorn joined