THE OLD, SLIGHTLY BATTERED double-cab utility vehicle felt like a small bus to Harry as he sat in the front passenger seat, but Tilly was handling it as if it was no more difficult to drive than a small hatchback car. She was driving fast but competently, taking the curves of the road carefully to minimise any discomfort to her father, who was propped up sideways on the back seat to keep his broken ankle elevated.
Harry would have been impressed with this unexpected splinter skill Tilly was demonstrating but, to be honest, there was too much else competing for that head space. He wasn’t even paying much attention to the conversation about local people and events that Tilly was having with her father until he dozed off. He was feeling very happy that he’d decided to come on this rather unusual break from the city. No wonder this area of the country was one of the top tourist destinations in the world. It felt as if Tilly was the one doing him a favour now, not the other way around.
The countryside they were driving through was extraordinary. It wasn’t just the towering mountains all around them, there were stretches of sparkling blue water in more than one lake and a huge, fast-flowing river between dramatic cliffs when the road cut through a gorge. The barren dryness of rock-studded hills with clumps of golden tussock but not a blade of green grass to be seen was more than balanced by vineyards that stretched as far as the eye could see with lush foliage.
They went through a small township with stone-built cottages, a picturesque church and an outdoor produce market that could have been a summer destination in Europe, past another small lake and more vineyards before turning into a long, tree-lined driveway that led up the slope of a hill.
‘Home sweet home,’ Tilly announced as the house came into view.
It was another surprise for Harry, this graceful old wooden house with a slate roof that sat tucked into the hill with wide verandas, bay windows and an elegant turret on one corner. It was hugged by terraced gardens and trees, lawns and small paddocks. Tilly slowed the vehicle as they drove past a shaggy pony with its head over a gate.
‘That’s Spud,’ she told Harry. ‘He’s the same age as me.’
‘No way,’ Harry said. He couldn’t resist teasing her a little. ‘Surely ponies don’t live that long, do they?’
‘Some get past forty years old.’ Tilly’s glance suggested she couldn’t decide whether or not he was joking. ‘But thirty-four is getting on a bit for a pony.’
She peered up at the roof of the house as she stopped the car. Harry followed her gaze to see the inflatable red legs with black boots visible above an old clay chimney pot.
‘I’m definitely too old to find Santa legs in the chimney the funniest thing ever.’ Tilly sounded exasperated. ‘I can’t believe you thought that was a good idea, Dad.’
‘It’s been a while since you were home, sweetheart,’ Jim Dawson said quietly. ‘I wanted it to be special.’
Tilly’s gaze caught Harry’s, just for a heartbeat, as she turned towards the back seat. He was already sensing undercurrents of things that weren’t being said and he couldn’t miss the flash of something in Tilly’s eyes that made it suddenly difficult to catch his breath.
Sadness?
No...it was more like a brush of helplessness. Something deeper than vulnerability, even. An admission of failure to fix something because it was simply impossible?
‘It is special, Dad.’
Her tone had a note in it that Harry had never heard before and he could feel a pull towards something else that was as unexpected as everything else he was discovering since he’d got himself entangled with Matilda Dawson’s personal life. A bit disturbing, in fact. It was almost as if he was getting a glimpse of the shattered remains of the dream that both Tilly and her father had once shared of her future.
Jim might have told him he was practically a part of the family, but that was the last thing Harry wanted to be. He was here as a favour to Tilly. If pretending to be her boyfriend was going to be as much fun as he’d hoped—for everybody involved—he needed to take control of these twists and turns as competently as Tilly had done when she’d been driving that vehicle through the gorge. He needed to lighten up.
He opened the door of the ute. ‘I’ll get the wheelchair out of the back.’
The walk-in pantry attached to the large kitchen in Tilly’s childhood home had been stocked with enough food to feed a small army for any Christmas celebrations.
She made ham sandwiches for their lunch, with thick slices of juicy ham on the bone, wholegrain mustard and tomatoes and crisp lettuce fresh from the garden between soft wedges of sourdough bread. They could have eaten at the comfortable everyday table in the kitchen or the formal mahogany table that could seat twelve people in the dining room, but she ended up serving the meal like a picnic on a coffee table in the living room.
Her father was now ensconced on the huge old sofa with its comfortable feather-stuffed cushions that was positioned in front of a wide bay window offering a view that stretched across vineyards to the craggy rocks of what had always felt like a private mountain range to Tilly. He had pillows behind his back and under his leg but, instead of resting, he was leaning sideways, opening the flaps of a cardboard box that she could see was full of Christmas decorations. There were more boxes stacked up at the end of the couch that Harry must have ferried in while she’d been preparing lunch and he came in with a very long box that Tilly knew contained an ancient artificial Christmas tree as she set the tray down on the coffee table.
‘I did tell Jim he needed to be resting,’ he said. ‘We can do the tree later.’ He eyed the sandwiches on the tray. ‘Those look good.’
‘Christmas ham,’ Tilly told him. ‘You’ll be sick of it by halfway through January, but you can’t beat the first taste of it.’
‘Glazed gammon’s a taste of home.’ Harry nodded as he took a plate and helped himself to a sandwich. ‘It was a favourite of my mam’s.’
‘What else is traditional for Christmas dinner in Ireland?’ Jim asked. ‘I got everything I could think of yesterday, so you’d feel right at home. There’s a turkey, of course, and I’m sure Tilly can look up a recipe for bread sauce. And there’s Brussels sprouts and we can pick fresh peas from my garden. And potatoes. You’ll be able to fill your boots with potatoes. I’ve even got duck fat to roast them in.’
Harry laughed. ‘You’re lucky you Kiwis get associated with a bird. The first thing anyone thinks of when they hear an Irish accent is a potato, which is far less interesting.’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t get me wrong, though. I love potatoes. And I guess it’s an Irish tradition to have more than one sort on the table at Christmas. Roast potatoes, mashed potatoes and my favourite—when they’re sliced and baked with cheese and onions and they go all brown and crispy on top.’
‘Potato gratin,’ Tilly said. ‘Not something I’ve ever had with Christmas dinner.’
‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Jim said.
‘Don’t go to any trouble on my account.’ Harry’s wave was dismissing his favourite potato dish. ‘It does seem strange that you eat a hot dinner in the middle of a summer’s day, but turkey and roast potatoes sounds like the perfect Christmas dinner to me.’
‘Hopefully I’ll feel hungry by then.’ Jim shook his head as Tilly offered him a plate. ‘I’ll just have a cup of tea, thanks, love.’
Tilly looked at the lines of pain she could see on her father’s face. ‘I’ll get you a dose of your painkillers too. Maybe you can sleep for a bit this afternoon.’
But Jim shook his head. ‘I can’t do that. What if I’m needed?’
‘Surely you’re not on call? The clinic’s closed for the next few days, isn’t it?’
‘Yes...but you know I’m always on call. Some of my patients have been coming to me for their whole lives and they know I’m always on call for them. And I’ve got Maggie Grimshaw, who’s home from the hospice to have a last Christmas with her family on the farm. She’s got a syringe driver for her pain meds that I need to refill every day. And I promised I’d be available to help in any way I can.’
‘Oh, no...’ Tilly could see that Harry had abandoned his sandwich as he listened to their conversation. ‘Dad went to school with Maggie,’ she told him. ‘They’ve known each other their entire lives. She’s been battling cancer for a long time but...’ She let her breath out in a sigh. ‘It makes it so much harder, doesn’t it, dealing with something like this at Christmastime.’ She turned back to Jim. ‘I’d be more than happy to cover that for you, Dad. Maggie was like another mum to me.’ Tilly swallowed hard. ‘The only one, sometimes, when Mum was away so often.’
‘I could help too,’ Harry said, his tone sombre. ‘With any calls that you want to respond to. I’ve worked as a general practitioner in rural areas, Jim. In Canada and England. I’ve also done stints in developing countries, so I’ve had enough experience to be ready to tackle anything.’ He was smiling now. ‘And Tilly and I work very well together. We make the best team.’
Tilly found herself smiling as well, a warm glow curling through her body at the praise of how good a team they made. It was true. It might have only been the first time they’d worked together in dealing with that anaphylactic shock but it had been seamless. Smooth. As if they had worked together for a very long time.
Jim’s smile was suspiciously misty as he looked from Harry to Tilly and then back again. ‘You couldn’t have said anything to make me happier, son,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll have a word with Maggie soon and let her know what’s going on.’
‘We could drop in this afternoon, perhaps,’ Tilly said briskly, shutting down that glow before the warmth became an uncomfortable heat. ‘When I take Harry for a bit of a tiki tour.’
‘A tiki tour?’
‘It means having a good look around.’ Tilly handed her father the cup of tea she’d poured. ‘Harry’s still learning Kiwi,’ she told him. ‘He didn’t know what togs were either.’
‘I am learning a lot,’ Harry agreed. He waved his hand towards a section of wall beside where the Christmas tree was standing, that was covered in framed photographs. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that your mother was an international model? Or that you’re half Italian?’
Jim didn’t seem to notice the brief awkward silence between them. ‘Chiara pretty much gave up the modelling not long after she married me,’ he said. ‘Her merino wool fashion business took off and she wanted to spend more time with her horses. Oh...that reminds me. I’m supposed to be judging the dress-ups at the pony club Christmas do later today. I can’t let them down.’
‘I’m sure they won’t mind if I step in to help with that,’ Tilly assured him. ‘It was only because of me that you got involved with the pony club in the first place, after all.’
‘But what about tomorrow?’ Jim was frowning deeply. ‘I’m always Father Christmas at the village barbecue. I’ve done that for fifty years. I’m not about to let someone else do it.’
‘You might have to,’ Tilly warned.
‘There’s nobody that could do it like I do,’ Jim muttered. ‘And the kids think I’m the real thing. They’ll stop believing there’s a Santa Claus.’
‘It might be a bit of a giveaway that Santa’s wearing the same big boot on his foot and using crutches just like their family doctor.’ Tilly picked up her sandwich. ‘They’re not going to guess it’s not you if someone’s wearing the full outfit with that padded stomach and the bushy fake beard.’
‘It’s not just what I look like. It’s how I talk to the kiddies. And what I say.’
‘You’ve got time to pass on all your Santa wisdom,’ Tilly told him. ‘So all you really need is a good actor to take on the role. It’s a good thing I happened to bring one with me, isn’t it?’
From nowhere, Tilly could suddenly hear an echo of Harry’s voice.
‘I missed my vocation, really. I could have been an actor...’
And it wasn’t only his voice that she was remembering. She could almost feel the touch of his hands on her shoulders and that heat that had been generated in her entire body. The heat that she’d both wanted, but been so scared, to feel again was hovering just out of reach, like a fragment of a dream that was playing hard to catch.
Tilly took a big bite of her sandwich. Because she didn’t dare catch Harry’s gaze. He might guess the turmoil that was going on as the reactions of her body and brain vied for emotional supremacy. That a part of her wanted nothing more than for him to touch her again.
But an even bigger part wanted nothing more than to run as fast and as far away from him as possible.
No... Harry couldn’t believe what he was hearing. A dress-up competition? A village party? Dressing up in a full Father Christmas outfit with its long sleeves and fur trim and probably an itchy fake beard and moustache and then cooking in blazing summer sunshine?
It was more than weird.
It was...
Perfect, that was what it was. Utterly foreign, which meant there was no danger of it reminding him of any Christmas from his childhood or stirring up the sadness of losing his only family, which had been the main reason he’d left his home country in the first place.
In fact, the more he threw himself into whatever bizarre traditions that were followed in this part of the world, the easier this was going to be. It really would be acting, and he hadn’t been lying when he’d told Tilly he was good at it. He was so good at it, in fact, that it was automatic. Often, he didn’t even need to make a conscious effort.
Like now, as he let his smile widen until he looked like he was being offered an opportunity he’d always wanted.
‘Sounds like this is going to be a Christmas to remember,’ he said. ‘Bring it on.’
‘They don’t really dress up the ponies, do they?’
‘Of course. I won the first prize when I was eight. Spud had a unicorn horn on his bridle, a pink mane and tail and glitter all over and I had the most beautiful princess dress and a cone hat with a long veil.’
Tilly was driving her own vehicle—a rugged old Jeep that had as many scrapes and dents as her father’s ute—as she took Harry for his ‘tiki tour’ that would eventually see them attend the finale of the local pony club’s Christmas event.
Currently, they were on an unsealed private road that was part of the Grimshaws’ high country sheep station, winding through hills that were providing an increasingly impressive view. The drop off the side of the road was slightly hair-raising at times, however. Like when they came around a tight down sloping bend to find a small mob of sheep in the middle of the road. Tilly braked instantly and then turned the vehicle into the direction of a skid that could have sent them sideways into a fence, with all the skill of a rally driver, before bringing the Jeep to a halt. It was seriously impressive.
‘Where on earth did you learn to drive like this?’
‘Right here.’ Tilly’s gesture took in the countryside stretched out below them before being cut off by distant mountains. ‘Dad taught me to drive by making me his chauffeur on all his weekend call-outs. Shingle roads, four-wheel driving off road, unexpected encounters with livestock, black ice and dealing with snowstorms was all part of the training.’ She threw Harry a wry smile as she drove slowly towards the sheep, who were now standing completely still, staring at the vehicle. ‘It was a different story trying to deal with rush hour traffic in a big city, mind you. I hated it for a long time.’ She tooted the horn and the sheep finally began moving out of their way.
‘Do we need to get them off the road and back into the field?’
Tilly shook her head. ‘They’re grazing the long acre.’
Harry snorted. ‘You really do talk a different language around here.’
‘It’s the grass verge on either side of the road. Easier to let the sheep out to eat it down than use a tractor to mow it. You’ll see farmers using electric fences on public roads, but this is private land. There’ll be another gate you can open soon, and we’ll make sure it’s shut behind us so the sheep don’t go anywhere they’re not supposed to, like the homestead gardens.’
Harry watched a few sheep that were trotting in front of them. ‘They’re very dirty sheep.’
‘They’re merinos. They always look a bit grubby on the outside, but they’ve got beautiful white wool underneath. New Zealand produces the best merino wool in the world and this station’s famous for their micron count. Under eleven is about as low as it gets.’
‘There you go again. Foreign language.’
‘Micron count is how fine the wool is. A human hair is about sixty to seventy microns, so that gives you an idea of how fine the wool around here is.’
This time it wasn’t a physical skill that impressed Harry. It was her breadth of knowledge. Tilly must have caught what he was thinking as she glanced at his face because she shrugged off any compliment.
‘I only know this because my mother started a business in creating high-end merino fabric. And by high end, I mean the best. With her contacts in the fashion industry, she ended up being in huge demand to supply the kind of quality that you see in Armani suits or a Dior coat.’
‘That sounds like a high-pressure career.’
‘She was always away,’ Tilly told him. ‘For fashion weeks or photo shoots all over the world. Taking suitcases full of samples and meeting with designers and tailors. She took me to Italy with her on one trip but I hated it. I missed her when she was away, but I missed my pony and my dad too much when I went with her.’
‘Your dad didn’t go too?’
‘No. He adored my mother but he was just as passionate about his work. He’s always had a huge sense of responsibility to his patients and community. He still does.’
Harry nodded. ‘I can see that. He’s going to hate being out of action for as long as it takes for his ankle to heal.’
‘I might have to take some more time off and help out until a locum can be found. It’s the least I should do after he practically brought me up by himself, even before Mum died.’
‘How old were you when you lost your mum?’
‘Nine.’
‘What happened? Was it sudden?’
Tilly nodded. ‘Instant. She had a cerebral aneurysm—at a fashion show in Paris. They said she wouldn’t have known anything about it.’
Harry could remember being nine years old. When his mother was by far the most important person in his world and her love had been as sought after as sunshine. Losing her mother like that—not even being anywhere near her when it happened—must have been an incredibly traumatic part of her childhood, but Harry wasn’t about to step onto such personal ground by asking any more questions.
‘You’d be the perfect locum,’ he suggested instead. ‘You probably know all his patients as well as he does.’
‘Hardly. I left to go to university and I’ve never been back for more than a few days at a time since then.’
Harry regretted his suggestion as Tilly turned away. He could almost feel shutters coming down and the way she leaned on the horn to scatter the final sheep from the road was the kind of warning signal you might expect from an Ice Queen. This wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, was it? And it wasn’t any of his business anyway.
So why was he becoming increasingly curious?
Tilly might have had a closer relationship with her father, but had she been hurt by her mother’s absence in her early years? Left feeling abandoned at times? Was that part of why her father worried about her being lonely as an adult? And, if she and Jim had such a close bond, why had she been avoiding spending time back here?
Harry could almost see the curling corners of layers to Matilda Dawson, and it was tempting to try peeling them off to discover what was underneath but he knew that wasn’t a good idea. Getting too involved with anything—or anyone—was never a good idea because it inevitably led to tears and even if they weren’t his own tears, or if they were symbolic rather than real, Harry had learned it was better to avoid them as much as possible. You kept your distance and, as an insurance policy, you moved on and made a fresh start as often as possible.
It was a relief to distract himself as well as Tilly as they rounded the next bend and then pulled to a halt. He jumped out to open and then close the wide wire gate that would keep the sheep safely enclosed in the ‘long acre’. And minutes later they had arrived at their destination.
The sprawling old homestead they arrived at was a hive of activity. A tent was being put up on the front lawn. Several small children, wearing bathing suits, were playing in the spray of a garden sprinkler, shrieking with delight. A man about Harry’s age was on a ladder on the veranda, winding long strips of tinsel through the wrought iron lacework.
‘Hey... Tilly... I heard you were going to drop in.’ He climbed down off the ladder. ‘Long time, no see.’
‘Hi, Doug. How’s it going?’
‘Oh...you know.’ He was rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Kind of crazy, but wonderful. Biggest gathering of the clan we’ve ever had for Christmas, but knowing it’s the last one for Mum is...well...’ He cleared his throat. ‘We’re under instructions to make it the best one ever and apparently that means putting up every Christmas decoration that five generations of Grimshaws have accumulated.’
Doug was giving Harry a curious glance and he wondered how Tilly was going to introduce him, but it seemed that wasn’t necessary.
‘You must be the boyfriend we’ve heard about. You’re very welcome, mate. I went to school with Tilly, and we all knew she was going to end up being a doctor like her dad.’ Doug was smiling as he held out his hand to shake Harry’s. ‘Knows her own mind, this one. Bit bossy, even...’
Wow...news travelled fast in these parts. Harry caught Tilly’s gaze and could read what felt like a confirmation that information was not only widely shared around here but would be a subject of great interest. That there could be repercussions for anything that was seen or heard by others and that Tilly was nervous about an upset that could spoil the next few days. Mainly for her father, he suspected, but also for herself. She might be choosing not to live where she grew up, or even visit very much, but this place—and its people—were important to her.
It didn’t even feel as if Harry was acting as he gave her the kind of reassuring, loving smile that a couple might share before returning Doug’s firm handshake.
‘Sometimes bossy can be a very good thing,’ he said. ‘Tilly’s the one you want to be in charge if you’re badly injured or sick, that’s for sure.’
It was Doug who was smiling at Tilly now. ‘I’ve heard that. You probably don’t realise how proud your dad is of you. Come inside. Mum’s looking forward to seeing you.’ His smile widened. ‘And the first man you’ve ever brought home.’
The interior of the old homestead had been renovated over the years to create a huge open area of a kitchen and living area—a welcoming space that was full of light. It was also very full of Christmas decorations at the moment. The tip of a real pine tree in one corner touched the high ceiling and was smothered with fairy lights and decorations. The bucket it was anchored into was invisible behind a mountain of brightly wrapped parcels. Tinsel and paper streamers were looped over the rest of the ceiling, numerous stockings were attached to a wide mantelpiece over the fireplace and every available flat surface had some kind of seasonal ornament on it.
The most notable feature of the room, however, was a hospital bed that was positioned so that its occupant had a clear view of the living area, the kitchen and the views of the gardens and mountains from the windows. The bed had silver tinsel wound around the metal framework, a cheerful red blanket and two small children sitting quietly on the end of the bed playing with toys. As Tilly and Harry approached, two teenagers moved closer to gather up the children and Doug scooped up a toddler from the floor nearby.
‘Let’s all go outside for a few minutes,’ he said, ‘and let Dr Tilly talk to Nana.’
Harry had seen Tilly approach all sorts of people in her work environment, patients and colleagues, in all sorts of situations. Even in an emergency—okay, maybe especially in an emergency—she always gave the impression of being perfectly calm and in total control. Just the way you’d expect an Ice Queen to behave.
He’d never seen her like this. With tears in her eyes and a wobble in her voice as she reached to hug the woman propped up amongst a cloud of pillows.
‘Oh, Maggie...’
‘If it can’t be Jim looking after me, I’m so glad it’s you, darling.’ Maggie’s skin was almost as pale as the white pillows she was resting against but her eyes were bright as she shifted her gaze. ‘And you must be Harry. It’s another gift for me this Christmas, to know that she’s found someone special enough to bring home.’
Oh...help...
Suddenly, this game of pretending to be Matilda Dawson’s boyfriend for a day or two had become something very different. Something that really mattered to people that Tilly cared about. Something significant.
‘It’s a privilege to meet you, so it is, Maggie,’ Harry said.
‘Oh...’ Maggie’s face lit up with a smile that was directed at Tilly. ‘That accent... I can see why you fell for him.’ She looked back at Harry. ‘I had such a crush on Tilly’s father when I was at school,’ she told him. ‘I still had my eye on him after he came back as a newly qualified doctor, but then he met Chiara when she was here for a fashion shoot in the mountains and that was that. Mind you, I could hardly blame him. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen and then she became my best friend...’ Maggie paused for breath and then patted Tilly’s hand. ‘I’ve got a photo of us in the box over there. I was just sorting them. Can you find it to show Harry?’
It was an old photo. Black and white. It was only Maggie’s smile that made her recognisable as one of the young women sitting on a rock beside a lake, but Harry could have sworn that her companion was Tilly. Chiara’s dark hair was long and loose, being lifted by a gust of wind, and she seemed to be laughing as she tried to keep it out of her eyes.
And Maggie was right. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen as well.
He raised his gaze to Tilly and realised that he’d only ever seen her like this, with her hair scraped back so hard it almost looked like glossy black paint on her skull. If she let it escape from that tight style she could look like her mother’s twin. A vibrant, dark angel with no hint of ice anywhere.
Harry listened quietly as Tilly got on with what needed to be done on this visit. She topped up the syringe driver that was delivering a steady dose of narcotics beneath Maggie’s skin and she changed the transcutaneous patch that was also part of her pain relief. They talked about how effective the medications for nausea and other symptoms were and whether there was anything else that was needed medically at the moment.
And he kept sneaking more glances at Tilly’s face. Imagining her with her hair loose. Taking notice of more than simply her hair. He’d noticed the difference this morning, when he’d seen Tilly wearing clothes other than the baggy scrubs she wore at work, but she’d chosen jeans and a designer sweatshirt to travel in. She’d changed almost as soon as they’d arrived home, and now she was wearing a pair of light cargo pants that ended below the knee and she had a white singlet top beneath a shirt that was mostly unbuttoned. How had he not noticed the generous curve of her breasts on that slim frame? That subtle hint of cleavage, even?
He was seeing the shape of her body in a whole new light as he realised how attractive Tilly actually was.
No... Harry could feel his heart sink as he corrected himself. As he realised how attracted he actually was to Tilly.
This was definitely not a part of the plan.
Neither was getting emotionally involved. With a family determined to make the most of a last Christmas with a beloved mother and grandmother, or with someone who had ties with this family that were linked to her own, possibly complicated, past.
He could see the tight grip of Maggie and Tilly’s hands. He could feel the emotion and bond between them.
‘I’ll be back around the same time tomorrow but don’t hesitate to call before then if there’s anything bothering you.’
‘I’ll be fine.’
They all knew that Maggie was not going to be fine but Harry saw the way Tilly followed the older woman’s courageous lead. She even found a smile.
‘We’re off to the pony club party now. I’m filling in for Dad to help judge the fancy-dress competition.’
‘I’ve got two of my grandies there. Look out for Sammy and George. They’re twins. Do you remember Doug’s older brother, John?’
Tilly nodded. ‘Of course. He’s got a farm just outside Arrowtown, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes. But the twins brought their ponies here to get dressed up for the party so I could see them.’ Maggie’s smile was overly bright. ‘They’re being Christmas elves and the ponies are reindeer. Nice and easy this time. Do you remember when you won? With your princess costume?’
‘You took me,’ Tilly said, nodding. ‘Mum was away and Dad got called to an accident at the last minute and I was so upset because I thought I wasn’t going to be able to go to the party. I remember him ringing you in a panic.’
‘He’ll be so happy to have you home for Christmas,’ Maggie said. ‘Are you staying around a bit longer this time?’
Harry could sense that Tilly was trying to put those shutters up again, the way she had when he’d suggested she could work here as her father’s locum. It was obviously harder for her to try and shut Maggie out, however.
‘Ah, well...’ Maggie reached up to touch Tilly’s cheek. ‘You’ll be back when you’re ready, darling. It’s your home.’ She lay back against her pillows, letting her gaze drift around the room with all its decorations and the smell of Christmas baking. ‘We all need to be home in the end,’ she said softly.
Both Harry and Tilly were quiet as they drove back through the mob of sheep on the farm’s private road. Maybe Tilly was already feeling the grief of losing someone special in her life and he could understand that. All too well. He might be trying to stay uninvolved but maybe it was already too late. And maybe he could offer Tilly a small amount of comfort?
‘It’s very sad,’ he said finally. ‘But how lucky is Maggie to be at home with her whole family gathering around her? I was the only family my mam had, and I was too far away when she died.’ Harry found himself swallowing hard. ‘It’s something I’ll have to live with but it’s made it too hard to go home ever since.’
Tilly didn’t speak but her wide-eyed glance said it all. Harry could see surprise that he’d shared something so personal and a connection in that they’d both lost their mothers too soon. It was a glance that only lasted a heartbeat but it gave Harry a glimpse behind the shutters and he could see a child who had lost something she’d never been able to replace. That perhaps she’d never had enough of in the first place? He could feel that vulnerability he’d sensed when he’d wondered if she was lonely and that sense of connection that had hit him like a brick when she’d explained why she had decided to pretend to her father that she was in a serious relationship. After his own revelation when he’d seen that photograph of her mother, there was physical attraction adding a powerful new element to the mix.
Had he really thought he could stay uninvolved?
That ship had already sailed, hadn’t it?
And the mix of emotion he was wading through was suddenly enough to make something else seem crystal clear.
‘I think Maggie was right,’ he added. ‘We do all need to be home in the end. I keep going to new places thinking I’m going to find whatever it is I’m looking for and I never do. I think it might be time for me to go home. Perhaps whatever it is, is waiting for me back in Ireland.’
All he could see in Tilly’s glance this time was curiosity. ‘What is it that you’re looking for?’
‘I don’t know exactly,’ Harry admitted. ‘I just know there’s something missing.’
‘Have you ever thought that you might have already found it, but you kept going because you didn’t recognise it?’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’d know.’
‘How?’
Harry shrugged. Then he shook his head to signal an end to a conversation that was getting far too philosophical. ‘How are you going to know,’ he countered, ‘who the best dressed-up pony is?’
Tilly threw him a smile. ‘I’ll know,’ she said. ‘Because it’ll feel right.’