Chapter 9

She waved away Tilly's protestations and went over to the other wardrobe which contained more everyday clothes.

"Now, let's sort out some ordinary stuff for you. You can't manage with just one dress, and heaven knows when we'll be able to buy anything worth having again. Isn't it lucky we're the same size?"

An hour later, pink with pleasure and clutching a bundle of clothes, Tilly made her way back to her own room. Johnny was waiting outside. She stopped dead, feeling irrationally guilty, as if she had stolen the clothes.

"Your mother ?" she began.

Johnny smiled at her and pushed the stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "My mother has decided to clothe you," he finished for her. "You needn't look so smug. She does things like that all the time. Although," the smile turned into a grin, "I do think you've made a bit of a hit there."

He cocked his head towards the door. "Can we go in?"

Tilly hesitated. "Well..."

"Oh, don't worry. My intentions are honourable. I want to show you something."

Tilly pushed open the door, walked in and laid the bundle of clothes carefully on the bed. Her old print dress poked out at the bottom of the heap, looking cheap and incongruous next to the good tweed, fine linen and cashmere of Dorothy's contributions.

"You look fabulous," Johnny said, looking her up and down. "That dress is ... well, it could have been made for you."

Tilly felt a rush of delight. "It is lovely, isn't it? Your mother is so kind." She stopped, aware that Johnny was looking at her very seriously and holding out a tiny box.

"This isn't the proper thing," he said. "I mean, I just want you to see whether you like it. That's why I didn't buy you a ring in London. I knew we had this and I thought it was probably better than anything we could get at the moment."

Inside the box was a ring - a diamond solitaire. Not extravagantly large, but beautifully-cut so that it reflected the light in a myriad of rainbow colours. It took her breath away.

"Is it all right?" Johnny looked disappointed. "I know it's second-hand, but it was my grandmother's and they had such a happy marriage that I thought maybe it would carry good luck, you know?"

He looked so crestfallen that Tilly's heart turned over.

"It's beautiful," she said. "I love it. But doesn't Dorothy ..."

John laughed. "My mother wouldn't want anything second-hand. And anyway, my grandmother was still alive when they got engaged."

He took the ring out of the box and slid it onto Tilly's outstretched finger. She gave a little gasp of pleasure.

"Does it fit?" he asked anxiously.

"It's very slightly loose," Tilly said, holding her hand out to admire the ring.

"Oh dear."

"That's not a problem, Silly. Any jeweller could sort it out in a moment."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. And I love it. I can't believe this is really happening."

Johnny took the ring back and put it carefully back in its box. Tilly gave a little whimper of protest.

"I'm going to give it to you properly, at the party," he said.

"Party?" Tilly was alarmed. "I thought it was just a few friends coming round for drinks."

"Well, yes," Johnny said dubiously. "But I think there may be more than just a few."

When they walked into the living room, it was absolutely full of people. Not only were Dorothy and James there, along with Mary and Sarah and Ted and all Dorothy's `boys', but the whole of the rest of the village. Dorothy took charge of Tilly, pressed a glass of sherry into her hand and walked her amongst the guests, introducing her to people. "This is Dr Pollock. I've told you all about him."

Dr Pollock was a kindly old man with greying hair and horn-rimmed spectacles.

"And I've heard all about you, young lady," he said, smiling at her from beneath thick eyebrows. "I don't know whether you are intending to continue working after you marry. I know it's not quite the thing. Ahem. But I am in dire need of a practice nurse."

Tilly's heart leapt. "I would love to be considered, Dr Pollock," she said. "To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure what I was going to do all day."

Dorothy nodded at the doctor and Tilly thought she caught her giving him a quick wink.

I'm being managed, she thought. But then, since she was being managed in a direction which entirely suited her she found she didn't mind at all.

"And this is the Reverend Parker. You'll need to have a word with him later."

The reverend was a tall young man with unruly dark hair. He ran his finger around his dog-collar as if he found it uncomfortably tight. Or maybe it was just nerves. He seemed very young to be in such an important position. "Good evening, Miss Whitbread," he gave a little gulp. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Tilly, please." They shook hands formally and he gave her a shy smile.

"And here is someone I know you want to meet."

Dorothy led her up to a small, middle-aged lady, who would have looked perfectly average except for the beautifully-cut dove grey cocktail dress she was wearing.

"Polly from the village, I presume?" Polly gave a little start of surprise.

"How on earth did you know?"

"The dress," Tilly said. "It's beautiful."

Polly beamed at her approvingly. Well, you're a quick one and no mistake," she said. "Not like all those debutantes, eh, Dorothy?"

The pair of them burst into peals of laughter.

"Look," said Tilly, at the end of her patience, "will somebody please tell me what is so funny about debutantes?"

Dorothy gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "I think Johnny should tell you, Darling."

"But if you want to put the wind up him proper," whispered Polly, "just mention Hermione Worthington-Smythe."

"You're kidding," Tilly whispered back. "Surely nobody in real life has a name like Hermione?"

"Shush," Polly interrupted. "Here he comes."

And sure enough, there was Johnny, making his way towards them through the crowd of people, a glass of sherry in his hand.