| |
Angel walked slowly through the streets of Holy Island, Hal and his two children at her side, the choir’s voices singing The First Noel floating around her like the snowflakes she was sure were going to fall soon. She’d asked him if they had to drive to her cottage, and he’d laughed, saying it would only take ten minutes to walk from one end of the town to the other.
It was strange to be so near to Christmas. She’d been caught up in finishing at work and getting ready for her vacation, and she hadn’t given it a lot of thought. She’d bought all her presents weeks before, wanting to get them wrapped and delivered before she went away. She’d been so intent on thinking of this as a healing break that she hadn’t really thought about it being the festive season.
Holy Island looked more than ready for the holiday, though. Nearly all the houses in the old streets had Christmas trees in the windows and fairy lights in the trees. Occasionally, a front garden bore a glowing Rudolph or a waving Santa that glittered in the dull morning light.
She hadn’t thought to bring any decorations with her. Maybe she could buy some in the town?
To her surprise, only a minute or so after leaving the house she felt a small hand slip into hers and looked down to see Brenna’s little face staring up at her with hopeful eyes.
“Your hands are cold,” Angel said. “You should be wearing gloves.”
“So should you,” Brenna pointed out.
“I expect mine are all soggy.” She was looking forward to sorting out her clothes and hopefully getting them all washed and dried before the end of the day.
“Ian said one of your cases wasn’t too bad,” Hal pointed out. He glanced at where she was holding hands with his daughter, and he smiled, but he didn’t say anything.
Angel’s heart beat a little faster, but she looked away. She had to stop thinking about Mr. Viking and start concentrating on herself, and on getting her head in the right place this holiday. She had a lot to do today, and not just cleaning her clothes. She had to get supplies in from somewhere, including chocolate and hopefully several bottles of wine.
“What’s the Lindisfarne Mead like?” she asked Hal.
“Fantastic,” he said. “But if you have more than one glass you won’t be able to stand upright.”
She laughed. “It’s an ancient recipe, isn’t it?”
“Supposedly, it was made by the monks who used to live at the monastery. The word honeymoon comes from an old Norse tradition of making newlyweds drink mead for a month. Apparently, it increases fertility and promotes a happy marriage.”
“Because you’re blind drunk and don’t remember any of it?”
“One would assume so.”
Laughing, they turned the corner, and Angel found herself facing a long row of old, low cottages, stone-built and with traditional red-tiled roofs. All the doors had a Christmas wreath on the front, made from holly and ivy, the greenery full of ripe red berries. A sign saying Cuddie’s Cottage marked her destination at the end.
“Here you go,” Hal said.
“Oh, how lovely.” She followed him through the little gate to the door, and he unlocked it, then stepped back to let her pass, handing her the key.
She went into the tiny cottage and fell in love immediately. Much like Hal’s home, it was cozy, and someone—possibly the owner, or more likely Hal—had lit the wood fire, filling the whole house with warmth. The living room had a two-seater sofa and one armchair, and simple but elegant photos of views of Holy Island on the walls. A string of fairy lights ran around the window, and when Hal flicked them on, they sparkled with warm white light.
She walked through, seeing the small buttercup-tiled kitchen, the tiny bathroom with its shower cubicle, and then the bedroom, which looked out onto an enclosed, cultivated garden with a seat facing a bird bath and a paved path that crossed a neat lawn. The bedroom was painted a beautiful peach color, with matching peach-and-vanilla-colored bed linen.
“It’s perfect,” she said happily.
“I’m glad you like it.” Hal gestured to a side doorway. “There’s a laundry room here with a washing machine and tumble dryer.”
“So I won’t have to wear the ketchup-stained sweatshirt all week?”
He smiled. “Is there anything else you need?”
She couldn’t help but look up into his eyes. Was that hope she saw in them? She swallowed hard. “No, thank you. You’ve been incredibly kind, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
“Okay.” He ushered the kids back to the front door. “Say goodbye to Miss Matthews.”
“Angel, please.”
“Bye, Angel,” Jamie said, holding out his hand. She shook it solemnly.
Brenna pouted. “Will I see you again?”
Angel reached out and tucked a stray red curl behind the girl’s ear. “I think you’re going back to your mum’s tomorrow, aren’t you? It’s Christmas Eve.”
“I don’t want to go,” Brenna said.
“Rubbish.” Hal opened the front door. “You want your presents, don’t you?” He directed both kids out, then paused and turned back. “We’ll probably bump into each other over the next week or two,” he commented.
“Maybe,” Angel said.
He looked at his feet. “Okay. The garage is just around the corner. Let Ian know when you decide what you want to do with the car.”
“I will.”
“You have my number if you need anything.”
She nodded.
He met her eyes one more time, his own shining a hypnotic bright blue. “There’s a great coffee house down the road,” he said. “Just past the Post Office, you can’t miss it.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Then he turned and walked away.
“Come on,” she heard him say to the children as he went through the gate and closed it behind him. “Pizza dough!”
They walked along the road, turned the corner, and then they were gone.
Angel closed the door.
She went into the living room and sat on the sofa. It was suddenly very quiet, and rather dark with the oddly tinged sunlight coming in through the window.
It had been a long time since she’d spent a significant amount of time on her own. She felt a little flutter of panic in her stomach. All her life, she’d relied on other people. First her parents, then her sister, and finally Eoin. And then when they weren’t there, she’d fallen apart. She hated herself for that, and she was ashamed of and embarrassed by the lows to which she’d sunk that year.
But she wasn’t going to wallow in misery. She was young and relatively healthy, she didn’t look like the back end of a bus, and she had a brain between her ears. Okay, it might be a bit rusty, but she knew enough about engine oil now to realize a little lubrication would soon have it running smoothly.
She’d been incredibly lucky to meet Hal the Viking and his lovely children. But instead of focusing on the fact that she’d said goodbye, she needed to give thanks for his help and then put it aside.
He was gorgeous, though. She was still wearing his sweatshirt, and when she lifted the material to her nose, she could still smell him. Mmm.
Placing her hands on her knees, she sighed and pushed herself up. She had lots to do today, and it was time she got a move on.
First, she collected her cases, took them into the bedroom, covered the dressing table with a towel, and lifted the first one onto it. The case looked wet, and as she opened it, she could see that everything was soaked. Gritting her teeth, she collected a washing basket from the laundry room and brought it into the bedroom, then began to unpack, throwing the wet clothing into the basket.
Luckily, her toiletries and makeup were sealed in waterproof bags. She took it all out and placed it in the bathroom, then returned to the case. Her jewelry roll was wet, and she spread it out on top of the radiator, glad to see the few necklaces and sets of earrings she’d brought were undamaged. They’d dry soon enough.
Once the case was emptied, she took it into the living room and stood it open in front of the fire to dry. Then she went back into the bedroom and lifted the second case onto the table.
This one had been on top of the other one, and it didn’t seem quite as wet. She unzipped it and folded back the lid. The first thing she saw on the top was the plastic bag containing the flyer from the service station.
She stared at it, then turned it over. It was her wish list, the one she’d stuffed in the glove compartment. Her eyes went straight to the item at the bottom. Orgasms. Lots of!
Holy shit!
Who’d found that? Was it Ian from the garage? Or was it... Hal?
Her face burned, and she pressed a hand to her cheek. Okay, no need to panic. Firstly, he might not have seen the note on the back; he might have just put everything he’d found in the compartment into the case. Secondly, even if he had seen the list, he might not have read it all.
And thirdly, and most importantly of all, even if he had, what did it matter? She was a grown woman, and it was a private list, not meant for prying eyes. If he’d seen it, she hoped she’d given him a good laugh.
Smiling, she placed it to one side and unpacked the rest of the case.
Some of the clothes on the top of the case were either dry or slightly damp, so she took those into the living room and hung them on a clothes rack she’d found in the laundry room. Then she separated the rest of her clothes into several piles and began the process of washing them.
Within a few hours, all of her underwear and those items which could be tumble dried were folded and placed in the drawers in the bedroom. As other items came out of the washing machine, she hung them on hangers and hooked them on the living room door frame, knowing they would be dry in a couple of hours.
When she was done, she took a shower and washed her hair, blow-dried it with a hairdryer she found in the cupboard, dressed in fresh underwear, and found a clean pair of jeans, a tee, and her favorite blue sweater.
Luckily, one of the pairs of boots she’d brought with her had been in the top case, and she shoved her feet in them and zipped them up, then pulled on the pink jacket she’d washed and tumble dried.
Finally, she grabbed her bag, and headed out.
Her first stop was to find out if there was a supermarket, or at least, a general store where she could buy some groceries. She headed down to what looked like a high street and wandered along, passing a pub, a National Trust shop, a B&B, and finally the coffee house that Hal had recommended. She stopped there and bought herself a latte.
“Are you visiting?” the woman asked.
“Yes, I’m staying at Cuddie’s Cottage,” Angel told her as she paid for her latte.
“Oh, that’s a lovely little place.”
“It is. And so’s this coffee house.” Angel looked around at the cream walls decorated with chocolate-brown swirls, loving the rich caramel coffee smell. “Hal Carlson recommended you.”
The woman laughed as she steamed the milk. “He should—he comes in here often enough! He’s a sweetie.”
“He seems nice,” Angel said, sure her face was turning red.
“He is. I used to sing in the choir with him back in the day.”
Angel grinned. “I bet he had a lovely voice.”
“He still does—he came to my cousin’s wedding and I could hear him singing above everyone else. He’s one of the good guys, everyone around here says so.”
Angel didn’t say anything else, watching as the woman poured the hot milk onto the espresso, but she felt a glow inside at the thought that he was well liked in the town.
When the coffee was ready, she asked where the best place was to buy groceries. The woman said there was no supermarket, but she directed Angel back up the road to a general store.
Angel went there and bought herself some basics—bread, milk, instant coffee, cereal for the mornings, ham and cheese for sandwiches, a few ready meals for the evenings, snacks if she got the munchies, and a couple of bottles of wine. She wasn’t planning to do a lot of cooking, and hoped that a few evenings she might be able to eat out at the pubs. She also bought herself a new mobile phone and a SIM card that let her transfer over her old number.
When she’d dropped it all back at the cottage, she left again, a map in her hand, and this time headed south, toward the English Heritage site.
