Page 63 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
Across the room, Helen had coaxed Omar into dancing, demonstrating some moves that seemed to involve a lot of shoulder shimmying. The young man watched, entranced, before attempting to mirror her. His usual solemnity dissolved into laughter when he bumped into the Christmas tree, knocking off a few ornaments which bounced merrily on the carpet, as if joining in the dance.
Two songs later, Ivy collapsed onto the sofa, flushed and giddy. Fred disappeared into the kitchen, returning with refilledglasses and a large bowl of crisps.
‘You’re full of surprises tonight,’ Ivy said as he settled beside her, close enough that she felt the warmth radiating from him.
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Madam Vicar.’
Something in his tone made her heart flutter.What is happening?she wondered, accepting another glass.Was Fred flirting? Or was he trying to tell her that he was having a secret dalliance with a younger woman?
The evening blurred pleasantly: more music, more dancing, Helen teaching them all a ridiculous drinking game involving Christmas carols and forfeits. Ivy guffawed, watching Fred’s attempt to sing ‘Good King Wenceslas’ while hopping on one foot.
During a slow song, while Ivy was catching her breath over a glass of Prosecco, she noticed Omar pull Helen close. Before she could register her surprise, he leaned down and kissed her, tentatively at first, then with more confidence when Helen made no move to pull away.
Ivy nearly choked on her Prosecco. The brazen hussy! Poor Fred must feel crushed; Helen was flitting between men like a deranged Christmas butterfly.
‘They make a lovely couple,’ Fred murmured, following her gaze.
‘Couple?’ Ivy spluttered. ‘But she’s been flirting with you!’
Fred’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Helen?’ He chuckled. ‘I don’t think so. She’s been trying to get Omar to notice her for weeks. Besides, she’s far too young for me.’
Ivy inhaled, feeling those words sending a tingle of excitement through her body. She might still be in with a chance.
By eleven, Helen was decidedly wobbly, slurring her words as she attempted to explain investigative journalism techniques.
‘I think someone needs her bed,’ Fred observed as Helen missed the sofa entirely and landed on the rug with a giggle.
Ivy sighed. ‘I’ll help her. Why don’t you two start clearing up?’
‘C’mon, Helen,’ she said, hauling the younger woman to her feet. ‘Big day tomorrow.’
‘Christmas soon,’ Helen mumbled happily, sounding as if she was only twelve. Ivy guided her up the narrow staircase, keeping the younger woman pressed close to the wall. Helen stumped upwards, apologizing, explaining she couldn’t make tomorrow to discuss FF – it was the Parent Teacher Association night. ‘You had fun tonight, didn’t you?’ she asked, slumping on the steps.
‘Yes, it was good fun.’ And Ivy realized she reallyhadenjoyed herself. ‘But you’ve got a class of children waiting for you in the morning.’ She put her hand under Helen’s armpits, hefting the teacher upright. ‘Let’s get you some water.’
Helping Helen onto the bed and passing her a rinsed-out tooth mug full of water, Ivy paused to reevaluate the facts. If Helen only had eyes for Omar, and had never been flirting with Fred, that meant that there was a chance –she had to admit, quite a big chance – that the feelings for Fred that she’d been wrestling with might not be one-sided.
Shutting the door on Helen, Ivy descended the stairs, her heart thudding. She found the men in the kitchen washing up the dirty glasses, their sleeves rolled up, working in companionable silence.
Fred looked up as she entered, a dishcloth in his hands, his smile making something pleasant unfurl in her heart.
Omar passed a rinsed glass to Fred, who polished it vigorously, as if rubbing away the sins of those who would soon drink from it.
‘I’m going to check on Helen, before I go home.’ said Omar, grinning. Then he left.
‘Subtle, isn’t he?’ Fred chuckled.
‘Transparent as glass,’ Ivy agreed, blushing.
‘More wine?’ Fred offered, moving slightly closer.
‘Just a little,’ she said, though her glass was still half full. Sensing another flush of heat, she took a gulp of wine to disguise it. His hand grazed hers and she didn’t move away, unsure if the contact was intentional. She valued Fred’s friendship too much to complicate things. This careful balance they’d maintained for years – the odd dinner, helping with parish events, cleaning out her roof gutters – it worked perfectly.
Upstairs, floorboards creaked as Omar moved about, no doubt congratulating himself on his matchmaking scheme. Ivy suppressed a smile. The man could barely manage his own affairs, yet here he was, orchestrating hers.
She looked at Fred’s calloused gardener’s hands imagining her softer ones in his. The thought was dizzying, delicious. And, suddenly, terrifying.
She set down her glass. ‘I should get home, see to Jezreel,’ she said.
