Chapter Nine

CHRISTMAS YET TO COME

One Year Later

‘Is Ned definitely going to make it back for Christmas then?’ Tara was clicking half-heartedly through the bookings screen.

Tara had, as far as she was concerned, drawn the short straw – she wasn’t working the rest of Christmas Eve, so she would, she had moaned, have to put up with the family stresses instead. She was just getting ready to hand over to Louisa, and Ailsa was keeping her company for a little while before going home herself.

‘He should make it,’ agreed Ailsa. ‘He was caught up with some IT job in the Highlands, but he promised me he’d be back. So I believe him. He’s never let me down yet.’

‘I bet you’re pleased you don’t have any weddings tomorrow. It was hard work last year, wasn’t it?’ Tara pulled a face, then dragged a plate with the remnants of a slice of Christmas cake on it closer to her. ‘Rosa’s going to make me fat. Honestly, they’ll be stuffing me and putting me on the table for Christmas dinner.’

‘It was hard work, but it had a decent outcome. I wouldn’t have met Ned otherwise. Anyway, did Rosa tell you that she and Joel are heading to Cornwall in the New Year? I can think of warmer places to visit, but there you go. She might make us scones when she comes back.’ Ailsa broke off a piece of her own cake and popped it into her mouth, one eye on the main doors. ‘She’ll more than likely come back pregnant, though. I’ve warned her.’

Tara laughed. ‘That’s kind of you!’

Ailsa grinned. ‘It wasn’t me, it was Ned. Can you remember when she brought her niece in to see us, when her sister Jessie was up at Staithes for something to do with her bookshop?’

‘Ah! Lottie. Yes, she was a cutie.’

‘Ned said then. He said “Oh, there’s a twinkle in her eye – she’ll have one of her own by next Christmas.”’

‘And you believed him?’ Tara shook her head and continued demolishing the cake. She pressed the last few crumbs together into a little wodge and finished them off, licking her fingers, just to make sure.

‘He’s rarely wrong. I mean you for instance—’

‘Stop it!’ Tara held up her hand. ‘No thanks. I don’t want to know!’

‘Okay. Fair enough.’

Ailsa was just about to continue the conversation, when a gentle breeze wrapped itself around her legs and shivered up her spine. She knew without even looking that he had come, just as he’d promised.

‘Ned!’ Sure enough, as she turned to face the main doors, she saw they were opening. Ned came through them, blown in on a light flurry of snow. He paused, kicking the slush off his boots, diamond sparkles in his dark hair as the snowflakes settled and melted and disappeared.

‘Hey gorgeous!’ he said, opening his arms wide.

‘You made it!’ cried Ailsa, hurrying over to meet him. She fitted into his arms and he kissed her, his nose cold but his lips warm on hers. ‘The roads are okay then?’

‘The roads are fine,’ he said. ‘And of course I made it. I’ll always be back for Christmas, never worry about that.’

‘Always?’ she teased him, brushing some snow off his shoulders. Beyond him, the snow was lying in the gardens, and Ailsa thought about all the Christmases that Carrick Park had known. She recalled the dream she’d had again last night, the one about ice-skating near the Abbey and Ella playing carols in the drawing room. It must have been a special sort of place. It still was a special sort of place.

She blushed as she recalled the second part of the dream; the part where the scenery had changed and she was mistress of a big old Georgian house she thought was possibly up in Edinburgh. In that dream, her stomach was as round and as hard as a football, and Ned was kissing her as he pressed his hand against her bump, and she covered his hand with hers and together they marvelled over the whole thing.

She didn’t think she’d ever dare tell him that one – or the fact that in her half-waking, half-dozing sleep, she could almost swear she’d felt the baby kicking and stretching around inside of her. She had been thrown when she woke up, just as slim as she usually was, and certainly not in a big old house in Edinburgh.

‘You know I’ll always come back to you,’ said Ned. He caught her hand in his and kissed it, pulling her closer to him. ‘I’ll always be back for Christmas – for the rest of our lives.’

It was a warming thought. Ailsa snuggled into him, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of winter and frost and pine that clung to his overcoat. She imagined a Christmas with Carrick Park blanketed in a carpet of white, and she and Ned kissing beneath a sprig of mistletoe, her china angel glimmering in the candlelight of a huge, ill-fitting tree.

And somewhere, perhaps in a waking dream, or perhaps in reality, the last few notes of O Holy Night drifted across the hallway and died away with the sound of the breeze.

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