I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day - Milly Johnson Page 0,44

expected Bridge to chirp up again, but she didn’t.

‘Not sure what I believe either,’ put in Jack. ‘If I could have a sign, that might help any faith issues.’

‘Faith is having a belief without the need for proof, though,’ said Mary.

‘You have such a wise head on your young shoulders,’ said Charlie. ‘I wish I was part-Norwegian.’

‘I believe in God too. I don’t go to church or push my faith down any unwilling throats, but I say my prayers at night before I go to sleep,’ said Mary.

‘Are they ever answered?’ asked Bridge.

‘Some,’ she replied, and the way in which she said the word told that she had no plans to elaborate.

Mary had prayed very hard for God not to let her dad suffer at the end of his life and he hadn’t. She’d asked God to please make the six wives of Henry VIII turn up on her A-level history exam paper because she knew everything about them, and it had. She’d asked God to please let Jack Butterly somehow find out that she fancied him, no more, because she wanted him to do all the work if he fancied her back. That prayer remained unmet. She’d also prayed for guidance before she set off on this trip with him and – oh boy – he’d really answered that one.

Chapter 14

Wearing Charlie and Robin’s wellingtons, padded gloves and snow coats, Jack and Luke ventured outside to bring in some logs. The wind was howling, tossing the snowflakes up in the air as if juggling with them. At this rate the inn would be buried in days.

Across from them, the unoccupied buildings of Figgy Hollow looked chocolate-box pretty under a felting of snow. In summer, this must be such a picturesque and tranquil place to stay, thought Luke. He’d like to bring Carmen here one day, maybe even hire one of the cottages for the weekend.

The wood store was packed solid with logs, chopped up in readiness, bigger ones on the left, thinner ones for kindling on the right. There were some hessian sacks and a bank of newspapers tucked in the driest corner, dated from years ago, the headlines seeming to be from another age: Tony Blair Wins Labour Leadership Bid. Mandela Becomes First Black President of South Africa. Madonna Tells Letterman to ‘Smell my Pants’.

‘Well, that’s a mix of news,’ said Jack. He flicked through one, for amusement purposes and read aloud: ‘Why the New American Series Friends is Doomed to Fail, by TV Tim.’

‘Wonder why I haven’t heard of TV Tim,’ said Luke. ‘It’s a shame to burn these papers, it’ll be like burning history books. Look: Channel Tunnel Finally Opens.’

‘Stolen Masterpiece The Scream Recovered.’

‘Britain’s First National Lottery Rollover Winner Nets £17.9 Million.’

‘The World Welcomes Genetically Engineered Tomatoes.’

The raging gale rattled at the shed walls as if to remind them why they were there. They stopped reading and filled up four enormous sacks with wood and papers. As they dragged them from the log store, the wind pushed at them from behind as if hurrying them back to the sanctuary that the inn afforded.

* * *

Charlie passed a crystal angel up to Mary who was standing on a stool to reach the higher branches of the tree. He didn’t ask but he wondered what had happened in the cellar between them when she and Jack were looking for games, for it was a different Mary who had returned to the one who went down the steps. She had been almost fully restored after their cheerful game of draughts and a nice lunch. Almost but not quite.

Charlie was very intuitive and he was rarely wrong in his summings-up. If ever there was a woman more like a real-life Anne Elliot than young Mary, he was yet to meet her. So proper and capable and far too lovely to sit on a shelf waiting for her Captain Wentworth while her bloom faded. He fancied her heart had already been set on someone, a heart that would not settle for second best, so it waited for love to be requited, love she had for Jack, her boss, because there was a light that turned on in her eyes when he was in her physical orbit.

He liked these people in his present world far more than the short time they had been together should have allowed. Bridge: he wasn’t sure about her at first, but yes – she was a soft kernel fiercely protected by her case of hard nut. Luke: