Page 64 of A Perfect Devon Christmas
‘Good night, Ivy,’ said Fred and held her gaze. In his eyes was the promise of something wonderful to come, likethe first chime of church bells on Christmas morning.
It was three hours since the streetlamps had sparkedinto life against the inky sky, and side by side in the pub, Trish and Ivy were working methodically, sustained by a constant stream of strong coffee and hot mince pies. Their focus was on the documents that Hazim had sent.
Ivy was finding it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts kept spiralling away from numbers and onto Fred. Trish had strategically chosen a table at the far end of the pub, close to where the mistletoe hung, ensuring that they weren’t disturbed by customers elbowing their way to the bar. No one wanted to linger under that seasonal decoration.
Trish adjusted her reading glasses. ‘What do you make of these travel expenses?’
Ivy examined a document, wishing it was something other than travel expenses she was questioning. Would she ever shake off that memory of exposing those inflated expense claims? ‘One-way tickets,’ she said. ‘Athens to London. Three different people in the same month.’
‘And here,’ Trish pointed. ‘Five separate hotel bookings in Istanbul. Two nights each, all different weeks.’
Ivy nodded, her lips pursed. Expenses. She’d been there, seen it, done it and was wearing the T-shirt. ‘All seems above board,’ she said carefully. ‘International work requires travel.’
Trish looked at her quizzically. ‘You don’t think it’s odd? All these one-way tickets?’
‘Probably poor planning,’ Ivy replied, shuffling papers. ‘Or maybe they returned on different dates and Hazim didn’t take copies of those trips.’
‘I suppose,’ Trish said doubtfully. ‘But look at this,’ she continued. ‘Payments to Coastal Transport Ltd. What for? FF is effectively a school.’
Ivy sighed and reached a hand around to stretch her stiff neck. Omar said he’d been concerned about the charity paying for something similar. Were they finally getting somewhere interesting? ‘I just wish Omar would get involved. He worked for FF. He might know what that company actually does!’
A mobile pinged and Trish reached into her bag. ‘Give him time,’ she said, pulling out her phone. ‘Hmmm, the delivery guy’s five minutes away. I’ll nip back and let him in.’
Ivy rose. ‘Let me go.’
‘Nah, I’ll be back in ten minutes.’
No sooner had Trish hopped off, than Fred appeared at the table. Ivy felt the static pass between them and was transported to dancing together at last night’s party, but she told herself to ignore it. Her feelings for Fred could wait, she must concentrate on her Omar problem. ‘You look like you could use a break,’ hesaid.
‘We could use a fresh pair of eyes. One that understands accounts.’
‘You know my views. I think the three of you are being reckless.’
Ivy tutted, Fred might as well be talking to one of his students, warning them off making an impulsive decision about their GCSE subject choice. ‘Why not take a breather,’ he suggested. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
She followed him to the bar, to the free space by the beer pumps. Too late, Ivy remembered why that section was empty. She was already stepping under the mistletoe when Fred turned to face her.
Time seemed to slow. The pub sounds faded – the music, the clink of glasses, the evening chatter – until all she could hear was her own heartbeat. Fred’s eyes met hers, seeking permission. She felt the warmth of him, smelled his familiar scent. Slightly musky from working outside, tonight with a trace of linseed oil.
His lips touched hers with exquisite gentleness, as if she might shatter. The kiss tasted sweet, of mince pies and twenty years of friendship. His hand barely touched her waist. Ivy’s eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, the world narrowed to the soft press of his lips, the scratch of his stubbled cheek, the way her heart seemed to stumble and restart.
When they parted, the pub noise roared back. Ivy opened her eyes to find Fred looking at her with wonder and terror, like a bird who had just jumped off a cliff and wasn’t sure yet whether it could fly. His eyes were soft, searching for clues from her.
Ivy’s heart was racing, her thoughts caught up in a tangle of emotion. She barely registered the wink the landlady, Rose, shot her, nor the jokey comment: ‘My, my. I’ll have to keep my eye on you two.’ This was something Ivy wanted, but it was too big. She felt ambushed. And a little frightened. Ivy clutched at the crossround her neck and blurted out the first words that came into her head. ‘I need to pray for guidance.’
His face crumpled. She could see he was interpreting her words as a rejection and she wished he knew she wasn’t saying no, just that she was just too frightened to say yes.
His face creased into a forced smile, but it was the sort she’d seen him paste on for those rare occasions someone had beaten him into second place for his prize dahlias at the Brambleton Flower Show. ‘I’ll get us each a drink. Red wine for you?’
He sounded so normal. She suddenly questioned the whole thing. Perhaps it was an accident? Caught under the mistletoe, maybe Fred thought Ivy might be offended if he didn’t kiss her, and he had just been Fred, generous with his affection? No one but Rose would have noticed. But when Fred handed Ivy a glass of red wine, she couldn’t ignore the way his fingers brushed against hers, nor the way his other hand lifted to touch her elbow gently, just as he had on that icy walk through the village after the Christmas market. Or had that, too, been an accident?
Fred steered Ivy to the table, where she set her glass down with deliberate care, her hand trembling slightly as a flush spread across her skin. It was the shock of realizing, after that kiss, how much she wanted him. But he wasn’t saying anything, so neither could she. How was she supposed to get through the rest of the evening? Pretend nothing had happened? Act normal? How? She stared at the door, willing Trish to come hobbling back in.
Ivy’s phone rang, shattering the strained atmosphere. Relief surged through her as she fished the phone from her handbag, her heart hammering.Please be something urgent.
With one hand cupped over an ear, and her eyes on her shoes she answered. ‘Hello.’
‘Ivy, it’s Trish. I could really use another pair of hands up here. The delivery guy didn’t wait. He just dumped everything outsideand I can’t carry it in on these stupid crutches.’ Trish huffed. ‘I need help before the foxes get wind of it.’
