Finally, Gabe climbed onto a chair and clapped his hands. He’d regained all the weight he’d lost in the grip of pneumonia a year ago and his ponytail was back to looking sleek and healthy. ‘Ladies and gentlemen!’ The noise died as everyone shushed each other. Alexia was reminded of that horrible night at The Three Fishes when Gabe had had to tell the villagers about the money and her stomach rolled.
But tonight was different in every way. Gabe was beaming. Ben’s arm was around Alexia as he gave her a tiny wink.
‘Thank you for joining us to celebrate the opening of The Showcase.’ Gabe projected his voice impressively. ‘Almost everyone knows the story of how and why this fabulous room has risen from the ashes of a terrible time for us.’ Lots of nods. Jodie, who had shut up the café, slipped into the room, pulling off her apron to reveal a party dress. Alexia waved, knowing Jodie would soon want to run home to take over the care of seven-month-old Kaylee from Iona, who’d got her wish for three generations of Jones women to live happily together. Jodie seemed on a much more even keel these days whenever Alexia saw her around the village.
Gabe thanked Carola for her part in making The Angel the well-frequented and profitable business that it had become, before going on, ‘I also want to use this occasion to update you on the events of the past year, beginning with a couple of people who are exceedingly dear to me. My nephew Ben has launched a new business, so you know exactly where to go when you need a little magic working on your conifers – Wizard Tree Services!’ He paused for laughter. ‘And Alexia, apart from overseeing the creation of The Showcase, will start the New Year heading up a new team for property developer Verity Hart, right here in Cambridgeshire.’
After waiting for the applause to die down, Gabe turned on his audience a more serious expression. ‘I’ve never forgotten that so many of you raised money for The Angel. When we got a good portion of it back, I was worried what to do with it. There was no way of dividing it up and returning it so we’ve used it to create this function room, the showcase for what original features were eventually returned to us.’ People began to clap again and Gabe had to raise his voice. ‘And we have Alexia to thank once again for using her design and decorating skills to turn this room into a living storyboard.’ Gabe had to hold up his hands for several seconds this time before the applause diminished.
‘So the way I’ve chosen to give back the funds raised by the village,’ he pronounced, ‘is to make this beautiful and individual function room available for a nominal hire fee to anybody who lives in Middledip!’
The applause was louder than ever, people whooping and even calling out dates they’d like to book. Alexia looped an arm around Ben’s neck, standing on tiptoe to get her lips close enough to his ear for him to hear her. ‘I think they’re pleased.’
He laughed. ‘My uncle is a wonderful man.’ He dipped his head and kissed her mouth.
‘Mmmm.’ Alexia snuggled against him and angled her head to deepen the kiss, sure no one would mind. It was Christmas, a time for kisses, even if the mistletoe had been used up in the greenery boughs.
But Gabe hadn’t quite finished. ‘This is a very special day.’
Ben pulled back from the kiss to murmur, ‘Can’t argue with that. I love you, by the way.’
‘I love you too,’ Alexia whispered.
‘So, ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses,’ Gabe went on, raising his glass of fizz encouragingly, ‘and drink a toast …’ He drew out the moment for several seconds.
‘To The Angel!’ Carola cried, who’d never met a silence she couldn’t fill.
‘The Angel!’ everyone echoed.
‘AND,’ boomed Gabe, ‘to Alexia and Ben who got engaged this afternoon!’
‘What?’ Alexia cried, spinning around in shock. ‘Gabe, it was meant to be a secret!’
‘I know you didn’t want to take the limelight off The Showcase,’ Gabe agreed, beaming fondly at her. ‘But I’m just so pleased that I want to tell the world.’
‘Alexia and Ben!’ everybody roared.
Then the happy couple were almost knocked off their feet by the wave of people who turned to congratulate them. Laughing, Ben shook a forest of hands over Alexia’s shoulder. ‘I kind of want to tell the world, too,’ he acknowledged.
Alexia felt a huge hot rush of love. ‘Telling Middledip is certainly a good start.’ And she let herself be pulled into one enthusiastic hug after another from the people of the village she called home.
Much, much later, when it was actually the wee hours of Christmas Day, they finally locked up The Angel. Gabe hugged them both. ‘Goodnight. Merry Christmas. See you for lunch tomorrow. Today, I mean.’ Yawning, he turned towards his own home, huddling into his coat.
Alexia carried her party shoes, having slipped on her snow boots for the walk along the bridleways to Woodward Cottage, which Ben was renting from Christopher Carlysle now he was no longer an estate worker but heading up his own company once again. There had been a couple of light falls of snow in the last week and the estate had frozen into an eerie moonlit landscape that crunched beneath their feet.
Ben lifted Alexia over the stile so she didn’t mess up her dress, then they walked on, glancing into the icy waters of the little lake as they passed. ‘Fancy a dip tonight?’ Alexia joked, though she shivered to remember the desperation on Ben’s face as he’d tried to keep his head above water that day. The kittens he’d rescued had all been found good homes and Gabe had begun a ‘Cats of Middledip’ Facebook page so their owners could keep him up to date with their antics.
Ben gave Alexia’s hand a squeeze. ‘I’ll give the swim a miss, thanks. Though I wouldn’t mind the hot shower.’
By mutual consent, when they reached the cottage they walked around it to look in on Barney who, because he was an owl, was wide-awake and looking back at them with a regal expression. His ‘HEHHHHHHH!’ was a thorough screech now. Aside from the permanently motionless wing, he’d grown into a handsome adult barn owl, his speckled feathers and creamy breast making him look as if he wore a jacket and smart shirt.
‘And Merry Christmas to you,’ replied Alexia as Barney hopped down from a branch and scuttled towards them along the floor, his good wing flapping. They crouched down to say hi to him.
‘You know,’ Ben murmured. ‘When Gabe asked me to rear Barney I thought he was trying to give me a message about Imogen. But I think now it was a message about me. About learning to live with things, even when they’re bad. I don’t think he realised how very, very good they were about to get.’
Alexia leant her head on his shoulder. ‘For me, too. I didn’t get what I wanted but what I got was so much better.’ She took Ben’s hand and began to rise to her feet. ‘Merry Christmas Barney Owl, but excuse us. It’s time I took my fiancé to bed.’
Acknowledgements
Every author needs help along the way and this is where I get the opportunity to show my appreciation for the help, time, expertise and experiences of so many wonderful people.
Heartfelt thanks to those who helped with vital research: Mark Lacey, independent member of the parole board and retired detective superintendent of police, for his help on prisons and law; Keith Martin for putting right my plans for a bank scam (it’s OK – we’re both ex-bank staff); Michael Matthews for teaching me all I know about construction; Jo Askew of Icarus Falconry for her advice on all things owl-related, reading the manuscript and pointing out where I was endangering Barney’s life; Giulia Lunghi, Andrea Crellin and Julie Vince for their views on and experiences of TV; Heather Korbey and Lord Bungle for advising on what Alexia needed to know about setting up a café; Homes Under the Hammer for keeping me occupied when I couldn’t use my left arm for a couple of weeks; and the Offenders’ Families Helpline website for so many small details that it was important I get right. Also, Facebook and Twitter friends for their views of whether Ben should turn Lloyd in and the correct treatment of ornery old ponies; Paul Matthews and Ashley Panter for vital advice on current social tr
ends and mores, including knowledge of Betty Boop.
Huge thanks to my faithful beta readers Mark West and Dominic White. Their commentary on an early draft provided its usual valuable insight on the male point of view, especially when they saw hilarious boy-jokes in what I intended as innocuous lines.
Thanks to the stalwart members of Team Sue Moorcroft for their endless support. Special mentions for Mark West and Joanne Baird for help with the naming of characters.
I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the publishing industry professionals who work with me and help me write the best books I can: my lovely agent Juliet Pickering and all at Blake Friedmann; along with fab editor Helen Huthwaite and the entire Avon Books UK team.
I consider it a privilege to earn my living as an author, so thank you, lovely readers, for reading my books, following me and sending messages via social media. Every book’s for you.
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About the Author
Sue Moorcroft writes award-winning contemporary fiction of life and love. Her last Christmas novel, The Christmas Promise, was a #1 bestseller. She also writes short stories, serials, articles, columns, courses and writing ‘how to’.
An army child, Sue was born in Germany then lived in Cyprus, Malta and the UK and still loves to travel. Her loves include: writing, reading, watching Formula One on TV and hanging out with friends. She’s worked in a bank, as a bookkeeper (probably a mistake), as a copytaker for Motor Cycle News and for a typesetter – but none of these jobs made her as happy as her current one of ‘author’.
You can follow Sue on Twitter @SueMoorcroft and find out more by visiting www.suemoorcroft.com.
About the Publisher
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United Kingdom
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