Rita gently touched Fran’s arm. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ she began tentatively, ‘but would you …? I mean, could you play at our wedding?’

Fran hugged her tightly – or as close as she could around her bump – and laughed. ‘Oh, wee Rita, of course I will. Did you think I’d come all this way and not do such a thing?’

Rita’s dark eyes filled with tears as she thanked her. Wiping them away, she suddenly frowned. ‘But you don’t know the order of service, or the music we’ve already chosen,’ she fretted. ‘How will …’

Fran smiled and patted her cheek. ‘To be sure, ’tis all sorted, Rita. Now let’s get on with your party and have everyone dancing.’

She reached out to retrieve the violin from Peggy who could have sworn there was still a glint of mischief in her eyes – but what further surprises could there possibly be?

Gloria fetched another chair and abandoned the piano to go and lean on the bar and share a knowing grin with Rosie while Fran sat down.

Peggy held her breath as Fran tossed back her hair and nestled the violin into the sweet curve of her neck. The crowded bar became hushed but for a minor disturbance near the doorway that was quickly quelled. It was as if they knew they were in for something very special tonight, for many of them remembered Fran’s violin playing during the later war years which had lifted their spirits and made them forget for a while that the fighting was going on just across the Channel.

Fran met Peggy’s gaze and grinned with such cheekiness that Peggy knew something was afoot, for she’d seen that grin before. But Fran merely ran her bow smoothly over the strings for two beats and then began to slowly build the tempo.

A movement in the surrounding crowd caught Peggy’s eye and she gasped in disbelief as Mary slipped onto the piano stool and began to accompany Fran in the hectic Irish tune which immediately had everyone tapping their feet and clapping in time.

Peggy couldn’t take her gaze from Mary, whose fingers danced with such speed and skill over the keys, for although they’d corresponded often, she hadn’t seen her since she’d left Beach View in 1942, and it was as if the years had melted away, for she was still the same pretty girl, with her dark hair and eyes, her softly curved figure and sweet smile.

Mary had come to Cliffehaven in search of her birth parents after discovering that she’d been adopted. Her quest had revealed the truth eventually, but it had brought her little joy and caused ripples of unease and regret to reach out to Peggy and those who’d been involved so long ago and had kept their vows of silence in the matter. For the childless Rosie, it had dredged up painful memories of her nefarious brother’s deceit and wicked manipulation which had betrayed Mary’s natural mother and snatched away Rosie’s one chance of adopting the baby she’d come to love. The only good thing to have come out of those dark, hurtful revelations was the close friendship Rosie and Mary had forged.