Page 42 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
From behind the counter, Ivy watched Helen leaning towards Omar, speaking in a low voice. Since their joint encounter with that man in the Smuggler’s Inn, he seemed relaxed with her, more so than he ever was with Ivy. It was unsettling. Despite her efforts to help him, he hadn’t opened up to her in the way he appeared to be doing with Helen. Maybe it was because they were the same age. Or their shared knowledge of who Robby was?
Helen stood abruptly, said her goodbyes and left. Omar brought their dirty mugs to the counter. Ivy noticed the way his shoulders slumped. He deposited the cups and thrust his hands deep into his pockets as if trying to disappear. Now was Ivy’s chance. Sometimes, the only way to get people to speak was to ask them a direct question. ‘Are you running from something?’ she asked.
He didn’t reply, but the stiffness in his posture told her enough.
‘Omar,’ she pressed, her voice firm now. ‘I feel responsible. You are living with Fred because of me. If you’ve done something – I need to know.’
Still nothing. Just the jingle of the bell as a customer left.
Her frustration flared. ‘Tell me the truth.’
Omar’s gaze darted to her, then away. His jaw clenched. His silence spoke volumes. Her instincts told her Omar was an honest man, and by being direct, she had cornered him. He either had to lie or reveal his secret – and she sensed it would be the latter. But a voice interrupted them. Victor, placing the finally untangled tinsel on the counter, smiled knowingly and spoke authoritatively. ‘For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light.’
Ivy exhaled. She didn’t need Victor to cite the source of hisquotation:Luke, chapter 8, verse 17.
Picking up the tinsel, she watched Victor leave. The small victory she’d felt earlier – finally asking the right questions, pressing Omar for answers – crumbled away. Maybe she wasn’t up to this anymore. Maybe she’d lost her touch. Should she suggest Omar move on? Run away from this man Robby? Go back to her job hunting, although she hadn’t applied for anything for over a week? The questions gnawed at her, each one chipping away at the fragile confidence she’d been rebuilding. She untied her apron with sharp, frustrated movements. One thing she was certain of – Omar wasn’t going to tell her anything significant. Not now. ‘Come on. It’s getting dark. I’d better get home before Jezreel takes revenge on another cushion.’
They took the shortcut through the churchyard. The gravelled pathway scrunched underfoot as Ivy and Omar made their way past weathered headstones, some buckling with age, listing like broken teeth, their carved names barely legible in the dim light. As they passed the church, a figure emerged from beneath an ancient yew which stood guard over a lichen-streaked stone bench.Helen.
Ivy stopped, her gaze on Omar. And she noticed, with a twist of irritation, how his posture relaxed when he saw the other woman. There seemed to be a mutual awareness, an understanding. A cold wire of uneasiness threaded through her. She held her breath, watching the subtle play of expressions across his face – expressions she had never seen when he looked at her. Ivy felt suddenly alone, a chasm opening between them which she didn’t have the right claim to bridge.
‘Omar, why don’t you go on ahead?’ she said, a little too quickly. ‘Fred might be wondering where you’ve got to, now it’s dark.’
Omar hesitated, glancing between the two women. Then he shrugged and strode off toward the lychgate.
‘You didn’t have to send him away,’ Helen said.
‘I needed to speak with you.’ Ivy lied smoothly, sending up a silent prayer of apology for the sin. She started walking again, forcing Helen to fall into step beside her.
They moved slowly past the church, its leaded windows reflecting in the pale moonlight. The bell tower loomed against the sky, its outline softened by mist curling through the graveyard. ‘I have spent over half my life in and around this church,’ said Ivy.
Helen folded her arms. ‘It’s beautiful, in a stark kind of way. How old is it?’
Keeping her tone deliberately light, Ivy launched into the history. ‘It’s been here since the twelfth century.’ She looked fondly at the square Norman tower rising above the nave, its narrow arched windows peering out like watchful eyes. The steeply pitched roof, clad in weathered slate, seemed to glisten under the cold, damp sea air. She pointed to the low, simple, round arched doorway. ‘If you look closely, there are traces of Norman carvings on that stonework.’
Helen made a noise of acknowledgement, then was silent for a moment before she spoke again. This time her tone abrasive. ‘Ivy, I know you don’t have anything specific to say to me, but there’s something I must say to you ... I know Omar.’
Ivy stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck lifted, and a strange, sharp anxiety spiked through her. Omar had denied knowing Helen. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked carefully.
Helen didn’t reply immediately, instead, glancing toward the village, where cottage windows cast pools of light across frost-touched gardens and empty lanes. The pause felt endless. When she finally spoke, Helen’s voice was hesitant, as if the words were being dragged out of her. ‘I only met him once before I came here. But I knowwhohe is. And I knowwhyhe’s hiding.’
So that, thought Ivy,would explain why Omar had shiedaway from Helen when she first arrived. He had lied to protect his past.
A burst of wind rattled the bare branches overhead. Ivy’s stomach twisted. Deep down, she hadknown that Omar was running from something. She took a slow breath, but it didn’t ease the tightness in her chest. ‘What is he hiding from?’
Helen’s lips pressed together and, suddenly, this confident, composed woman looked uncertain.
‘Helen,’ Ivy pressed, her voice taut. ‘Tell me.’
Helen sighed. ‘He’s been accused of something deeply unpleasant.’
Ivy’s fingers curled around the edge of her coat. A chill that had nothing to do with the frostyair spread through her, as her imagination ran wild. Was Omar connected to the ruthless Taliban? Her voice came out in a croak. ‘How unpleasant?’
Helen hesitated again, then shook her head as if dismissing something. ‘I no longer think he’s guilty.’
The ground seemed to tilt beneath Ivy’s feet. Blood rushed in her ears. ‘Guilty ofwhat?’
Helen exhaled sharply. ‘Drug smuggling.’
