Page 31 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘You are British. It is not the same thing,’ Omar replied smoothly, handing him a hunk of flatbread. ‘But you can learn.’
Jez, meanwhile, was utterly delighted by the new arrangement, convinced someone had designed itfor him. He snuffled between cushions, attempted to climb onto the food mat, and, when shooed away, sat alarmingly close, ears pricked for any opportunity.
Before eating, Ivy bowed her head with a smile. ‘Even on a carpet, God still expects the niceties,’ she said, voice warm withhumour. She offered a brief, heartfelt grace, then tore a piece of bread, using it to scoop up the glossy, spice-laden sauce. The first bite was pure indulgence – silky, slightly tart from the plums, with a warmth that lingered on the tongue. The chicken, browned and seared before being braised in the sauce, was impossibly tender, collapsing at the slightest nudge.
Fred groaned. ‘This is obnoxiously good.’
Omar shrugged, pleased. ‘I told you. Good food is worth waiting for.’
Jez pressed forward, his nose twitching as he sniffed.
Fred pushed the puppy away, then leaned back on his elbows and glanced at Ivy. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve actually read that dog training book I gave you?’
‘Of course I have,’ she lied, nudging Jez’s nose away from the sauce dish.
‘Then why is he still behaving like aferal goat?’
She defended her puppy. ‘He’sspirited.’
‘He’strouble,’ retorted Fred.
Omar grinned. ‘He is anartist of chaos.’
‘He’s anartist ofdestruction,’ said Fred.
Ivy smiled. ‘He hascharacter.’
‘He needsrules,’ replied Fred.
‘Rules are an illusion,’ she said.
‘Well, when he’s the size of a horse and stealing people’s sandwiches, don’t come crying to me.’
Ivy leaned back against the cushion. Outside, the wind whipped through the bare branches, sending a scatter of brittle leaves skittering across the garden. She too had felt restless, unrooted.
She glanced at Omar, stacking the dishes with habitual care, then at Fred, scratching Jez behind the ears, his expression peaceful.
A small smile touched her lips. She bowed her head slightly, inquiet gratitude.Thank you,she thought.
Ivy had just returned from church when she heard a knock at her door. When she opened it, her hand flew to her mouth. Outside, stood Fred and a clean-shaven Omar. He had also cut his hair. The new smoothness of his jaw made him look younger, less guarded, and she congratulated herself on her perceptions – she’d been right to think of him as a Bollywood actor. Even his usual scowl seemed to have softened.
‘Fancy walking that dog?’ suggested Fred.
Ivy smiled in agreement as she collected Jez and stepped outside.
Overnight, snow had transformed Brambleton into a Christmas card scene. The puppy clambered through pristine drifts, his excited yaps echoing in the crystalline morning air.
They set off for a wood beyond the village, where leafless brancheswore a fragile lace of snow. Sunlight slanted through the canopy, transforming ice crystals into a dance of diamond dust. The stillness of the air enhanced the winter silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of their boots pressing into fresh powder and Jez’s occasional throaty bark when he unearthed some hidden treasure buried beneath the snow’s white shroud.
‘How is the job search progressing?’ Omar asked, surprising Ivy with his politeness.
Ivy winced as something banged against her shins, her thoughts momentarily interrupted by the sharp jolt. She reached down to pull a branch from Jez’s eager jaws, suppressing a weary breath.
‘Not well,’ she admitted. ‘There aren’t many positions for retired vicars.’
Emboldened by his apparent openness, and mindful of Helen’s warning, she added, ‘what about you? Where did you teach after you left university?’
The shutters came down. ‘Does it matter?’
