Page 54 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘If Omar’s nervous, we’d better step up a gear,’ said Helen. ‘Let me talk to these contacts about what happened to them, then report back.’
‘Be careful,’ Fred warned, and to Ivy, Helen seemed to bask in his concern.
The bell over the door jingled and Ivy glanced over. ‘What we’re doing needs to stay within our small circle. On which note, I should go,’ she announced, standing perhaps too quickly. ‘Jez needs his walk.’
‘I’ll come with—’ Fred began, gulping down his coffee, but Helen interrupted him. ‘Actually, Fred, could you help me with something before you go?’ She tapped a scarlet fingernail on a piece of paper.
Ivy shrugged on her coat, though her fingers pawed at the buttons.
Behind her, Fred’s laughter mingled with Helen’s: jolly, intimate, the kind that belonged to people who shared private jokes and lazy Sunday mornings.
‘Don’t forget – four o’clock, Barnstaple’ Helen called after her, but the words felt perfunctory, already fading as Helen murmured something that made Fred laugh again.
Ivy’s breath came out in ragged puffs. Through the caféwindow, she could see the pair poring over something, Helen’s hand resting casually on Fred’s arm as if it belonged there. As ifshebelonged there.
Ivy walked away without looking back. But she could still hear the echo of their laughter. Whatever subtle currents flowed between Fred and Helen were none of her concern. It was good to see her friend so unmistakably alive.
Eighteen
As Ivy stepped outside her cottage, Omar emerged from Fred’s.
‘I was going to walk Jez,’ she explained, securing the puppy to his lead.
‘I’ll come with you.’
They strode along the pavement, the scrape of Omar’s boots creating a reassuring rhythm against the frozen ground, the puppy squirming, bending around and trying to bite the lead. As she walked, Ivy reflected on how well Jez had behaved around the pheasant on their walk yesterday. Maybe he was intuitively a good dog. It certainly wasn’t a result of her training. She suspected today’s antics were a protest at being cooped up inside the cottage.
Omar reached over and gave the lead a sharp tug and Jez swivelled his head to point forwards. A few seconds later the puppy dragged Ivy sideways to a lamp post, then a few paces up the bank, Omar took the lead off her and tugged the dog back down to the path.
The village green lay in tranquil stillness. At the centre stood the majestic Scots pine, colourful strands of lights sparkling in its branches in the dim afternoon light. Ivy paused, savouring the sight of countless tiny bulbs all pulsing in a mesmerizing, orchestrated symphony of crimson and emerald.
Omar didn’t look at the display. Ivy adopted a cheerful tone, ‘Look at those lights.’ She nodded toward the tree. ‘Aren’t they lovely?’
He gave a small grunt, his face unreadable. ‘Yes.’
Ivy nudged him gently. ‘It’s nice to get out, isn’t it? Walk around and enjoy the Christmas spirit. People are so kind, you know. Look how they decorate. It’s like they’re all trying to make the world a little brighter.’
He passed her the lead and peered at the tree, his expression distant. ‘Bright. Yes.’
The puppy yanked at the lead, dragging Ivy sideways toward a particularly fascinating bush. ‘Jez, for heaven’s sake!’ Ivy tugged him back, only for him to lunge forward again, and before Ivy knew it, she became tangled in the lead. She heard Omar chuckle, a low, soft sound, which she copied, relief flooding through her. God did indeed move in mysterious ways.
‘He’s like a tornado in a tiny package,’ Ivy said in mock exasperation. ‘I swear, I can’t take him anywhere.’
‘He is lively,’ Omar said, with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, though he quickly masked it.
Ivy sighed, trying to untangle the puppy’s leash. ‘Look, I need to tell you something important. I’m digging into what’s really going on at FF.’ The lead now untangled, she looked up at him, hoping to see something on his face – relief, pleasure – that she was helping him, but his expression was blank. ‘Helen’s helping. We—’
His eyes suddenly sharpened. ‘Why did you speak to her?’ His voice was a mixture of fear and rage. ‘I trusted you.’ Jolted by his angry words, Ivy’s voice wavered: ‘I didn’t tell her anything about your past, or that you have a sister.’
She laid a hand on his arm, but he shook it off, making her heart clench. ‘Omar, I haven’t betrayed your trust. She knows nothing about Laila, or why you can’t return.’
His gaze softened and a weariness set into his posture. ‘Let it be.’
‘The thing is, Helen used to be a journalist. She knows how toinvestigate.’
‘No,’ he interrupted, his voice rising. ‘We don’t talk about this now. Not here, not now.’
Ivy froze. His tone was so intense, so final. ‘But—’
