Between us and the fountain was the largest Christmas tree I’d ever seen. It towered into the night sky and was lit with yards and yards of vivid lights trailing from the brilliant star on top down to the base.
“Norway sends us her best every year,” Peter said. “It’s an ongoing gift of appreciation for our help during World War II.”
I couldn’t find any words to comment on the magnificent beauty of the enormous spruce tree and all the lights and color and swarms of people that had gathered. It was all of the best that can happen in a big city at Christmastime. Publicly sung praises to God, hundreds and hundreds of people with smiles on their faces as they gazed at the lights and hummed along with the Christmas carols. It was peace on earth. It was a gathering of goodwill toward men.
I felt overwhelmed with the joy of the moment and slipped my arm through Peter’s. I rested my head on his shoulder, but only for a moment. It was my innocent way of saying thank you without formulating any words. Such a gift as this required a heartfelt acknowledgment.
He gave my arm a squeeze and I retracted, slipping my hand back in my pocket. Peter kept looking straight ahead, listening to the carols. I hoped he’d read my message correctly and that my sudden cozy expression hadn’t seemed too forward.
A moment later, Peter quietly reached over and pulled my hand from out of my coat pocket. He threaded my arm through his arm once again and slipped my cold hand into his warm coat pocket. His hand clasped mine inside his pocket and he gave me a squeeze. I bravely squeezed back, not sure what this sweet but clearly affectionate gesture was supposed to mean.
Prudence told me to withdraw. Pull back. Don’t be so easily wooed. Be on your guard.
I thought and thought and thought some more.
And then I told Prudence she didn’t have to worry. I knew what I was doing. Everything was as it should be on a night like this and at a moment like this.
The choir sang out, “O ni-i-ght divine, O-o-o night, when Christ was born. O night divine! O-o night, O night divine.”
I was holding my breath on the powerful final note. As soon as the carol came to a triumphant end, Peter and I let go and freed our hands so that we could join the throng around us and offer a wild applause. Such perfection deserved immediate recognition.
It turned out that was the final song. The crowd dispersed. Peter and I didn’t end up navigating back into any sort of naturally occurring hand-holding during the rest of our evening tour of London. I saw that as proof that Prudence didn’t need to worry about a thing.
The connection had been for that moment and that moment only. It seemed as if we’d both needed a way to express our shared appreciation for the experience we’d stumbled upon. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, if he was thinking what I was thinking.
Holding hands was lovely.
The gesture warmed more than my hand. It warmed my heart.
Peter and I found lots to talk about but I was having difficulty staying awake on our trek home. We traveled first by Tube to the train station and then took a somber train ride to Carlton Heath. We rode in a packed train car filled with shoppers and travelers and generally weary folks.
I leaned my head on the closed window and fell asleep within a few minutes. Jet lag had at last caught up with me. Peter was sitting across from me rather than next to me, due to the crowded conditions. He had to rouse me when we arrived at the station.
“Anna. We’re here.”
I looked up, touching the back of my hand to the side of my mouth and hoping I hadn’t drooled while I slept.
Peter’s rather rusty old-model car was parked at the station. He drove me back to Whitcombe Manor with the heater at full blast. I tried to come around and wake up enough to express to him how much I’d enjoyed the tour and how wonderful it had all been.
“It was great,” he agreed. “I especially liked hearing what you said when you talked in your sleep on the train ride.”
My eyes were instantly opened all the way. It was impossible to read his expression in the darkened car to tell if he was teasing me. He punched in the code to the front gate at Whitcombe Manor and drove to the front entrance.
“What did I say?” I asked cautiously.
Peter turned off the motor and got out. He came around and opened the door for me. The amber lights in the alcove over the front door were on, welcoming me back. The Christmas tree was gleaming in the front window.
He offered me a hand. I got out and he let go.
Adjusting my shopping bags and looping my purse over my shoulder, I faced him and asked again. “What did I say on the train?”
Peter grinned. “I’ll never tell.”
He leaned in. Now that I recognized the signs for the proper good-bye kiss procedure, I turned my cheek at the right moment but turned too far. His whisper of a kiss landed just behind my ear.
He paused as if trying to decide if he wanted to try it again with a little more grace.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said. “At the play.”
“Oh, yes. The play. I’ll see you there.” I felt embarrassed and could tell that my face was starting to turn rosy. “Thanks again.”
“My pleasure.” Peter turned and got in the driver’s seat.
I waved as he drove off. Instead of going inside right away, I stared up into the night sky. The rain clouds had cleared and a dozen faithful stars glistened in the inky heavens.
“O, holy night,” I sang softly. “The stars are brightly shining…”
I drew in a deep breath of the chilly air and entered Whitcombe Manor under the motto GRACE AND PEACE RESIDE HERE.
Just as I stepped inside, the grandfather clock in the entry hall chimed.
One, two, three…
I counted until the last chime made twelve in all. It was midnight. I looked down, smiling at the irony of the chiming clock and silently congratulating myself for returning with both shoes.
Even without a tiara, my princess-for-a-day adventure had come to a lovely conclusion.
Best of all, I was going to see Peter again tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve
I slept in the next morning and by the time I found my way downstairs, the Whitcombe household was in a flurry of activity. Ellie was in the kitchen writing out a grocery list for everything she needed for the Christmas feast.
Julia was concentrating on adding just the right amount of sprinkles to all the cookies she and Ellie had baked that morning.
Edward had gone into town to get the programs printed and then was planning to help get everything set up at the community theater for the play that evening.
“Did you have a nice time last night?” Ellie asked. “How was your night on the town?”
“Wonderful!” I described how much I enjoyed seeing Big Ben and how we’d had fish and chips and ended up at Trafalgar for the surprising and meaningful Christmas celebration. “I can’t wait to go back to London again. There’s so much to see.”
“I wish I could have gone with you,” Julia said with a pout. “I like fish and chips.”
I leaned across the counter and looked Julia in the eye. “Well, I have something to tell you, then.”
She looked at me expectantly. Her innocent little face filled with Christmas hope and wonder.
“Your mom and dad have invited me to come back in the spring. Why don’t you and I plan to go to London together when I come back? We’ll have fish and chips and go to the art museums you were telling me about. What do you think?”
“Will Peter come with us and take us around in a taxi?”
I turned away because I felt my face beginning to turn rosy at the mention of Peter. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that.” I opened the refrigerator and helped myself to some orange juice.
“That sounds encouraging.” Ellie caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. Clearly, she was hoping for additional hints on how things had really gone last night.
I felt bashful and avoided Ellie’s gaze. Last spring my hopes about Pet
er had grown wild like an overly fed and watered rosebush. Peter’s clarification on my first day here had cut us way back to being “friends.” Just friends.
When I was dressing that morning, I could hear Prudence reminding me that my severely cut-back dreams were now down to a stump. If, indeed, that stump had sprouted a hint of something more last night, then it was best to let it take its time to grow naturally. Or wither.
Either way, I wanted to return in the spring without any awkwardness.
“So,” I held my glass of orange juice with both hands and looked over Julia’s shoulder. “How goes the cookie-decorating project?”
“I’m nearly finished. How do you like this one?” Julia held up a star-shaped sugar cookie with an excessive amount of multicolored sprinkles.
“Beautiful.”
“You can have it. Here.”
I took a bite and felt all the sugar sprinkles clinging to my lips. “Mmmm. Delicious.” I looked over at Ellie. “I love the flavor.”
“I use almond instead of vanilla extract. Gives it that little something extra. Each year the critics become a little more vocal about the treats we serve during intermission at the play. I’ve had to step up my contributions.”
“These will definitely be a hit.”
“Miranda is baking this morning as well. She called earlier and asked if you wanted to go over and keep her company. That is, if you didn’t have plans already with anyone else.”
“I don’t have any plans.” I gave Ellie an unflinching smile, hoping it would curtail her from doing any more fishing to try to catch details about Peter. “I’d love to help her.”
“All right, then. I can give you a ride over to Rose Cottage in a few minutes. Julia and I were about to do our shopping.”
“Great. I’ll grab my things.” The main item I wanted to take with me was the purple notebook from Harrods. I had a very important Christmas gift that needed immediate attention. I loaded up my large shoulder bag with all my art supplies and grabbed my coat and scarf.
By the time I’d returned downstairs, Ellie had efficiently packed up the finished cookies, put away the washed cookie sheets, and had Julia bundled up and ready to go.
“I certainly wasn’t much help this morning,” I said on our short drive to Miranda and Ian’s.
Ellie brushed off my sort-of apology. “You’ll have plenty to do in helping Miranda.”
Their quaint little cottage had belonged to Sir James and was tucked away in an idyllic setting. I had begun a sketch of Rose Cottage on the morning after Ian and Miranda’s wedding but hadn’t finished it. That was the morning when I saw Peter riding his bike with Molly. She was riding in her special wagon-like seat that he’d affixed on the front. I remembered being touched by the way he treated her with such patience and kindness.
I waved good-bye to Julia and sauntered up the path to the front door. It was decorated with a beautiful wreath that appeared to be crafted from fresh greenery and dried wildflowers. I knocked and heard Miranda call out, “Come in!”
I stepped inside and all my artistic senses were filled with a rush of Christmas beauty and joy. Amber flames danced in the fireplace. A thick garland of greens dotted with red berries lined the mantel. The inviting fragrance of gingerbread mixed with the scent of the fresh greenery caused me to stop where I was and draw in a deep breath. Christmas carols played in the background. The windowsills were decorated with ivory candles and in the center of the small dining table was a beautiful, old-world style nativity scene.
The tree was lit with white twinkling lights and the branches were adorned with deep red roses along with a simple collection of ornaments. Crowning the top of the tree was the delicate angel Miranda had purchased yesterday at Harrods. The angel figurine’s silver-white wings were spread in a protective pose over the tree and, it seemed, over this blessed cottage.
“Miranda!”
She stood in the tiny kitchen space that was open to the rest of the living area. She had oven mitts on both hands and was wearing a cute red-and-white Christmas apron covering her jeans and T-shirt. Her smile was contagious. “Merry Christmas! I’m so glad you came over.”
I motioned to the stunning décor all around me. “Miranda, this is adorable. No, not adorable. It’s extraordinary! Gorgeous! Wow! I feel like I just walked into a magazine picture of Christmas perfection.”
“I love Christmas. I never had any of this while I was growing up, so all of this is new to me and I can’t stop myself. You’ll have to see what I did in the bathroom. Ian started calling me a ‘Christmas-crazed American.’”
I put down my shoulder bag brimming with art supplies and took off my coat. “I’m going to check out the bathroom right now.”
She pointed the way. I peeked inside and saw that Miranda had added a string of white twinkle lights to the rim of the oval mirror. The white bath towels hanging on pegs on the wall were tied with wide red ribbons with sprigs of green holly berries tucked in the bows.
Miranda joined me. “Like I said, Ian is tolerating my fancy touches. He likes the living room a lot but decorating the ‘loo,’ as he calls it, seems excessive to him. I love it, though, and he says if it makes me happy, he can navigate his way around all the fluff for a few weeks.”
I was studying the wall where Miranda had hung an assortment of small frames. Each one had a different antique-style image of Father Christmas wearing a white fur-trimmed robe and a long, pointed cap that folded over his shoulder.
“I found those old postcards at a bookshop in the next village over. Aren’t they great? They look like the style of costumes that are worn each year for the Dickens play.”
“I love these.”
“I know. So do I. My favorite is the one on top. It reminds me of how Ian looked last Christmas when he wore the vintage costume for the play.”
“I remember someone talking about it at your wedding. He must have made a memorable Father Christmas.”
“It’s a big deal here in Carlton Heath, as you have probably heard. Sir James started the tradition a long time ago. He used to play the role of Father Christmas and after he was gone, Andrew took on the role. But when Andrew was ill last year, the part fell to Ian. He was great at it. So good with all the kids.” Miranda smiled.
I looked at the top picture more closely. The long white beard on the Gandalf-esque Father Christmas flowed to his waist. He was holding a small Christmas tree decorated with miniature carvings of woodland creatures. The details in the drawing were impressive. I couldn’t determine the method used to draw it unless I could take it out of the frame and look at the paper more closely.
“This is an exceptional drawing,” I told Miranda. “It makes me want to sketch a Father Christmas card right now. I never had much of an interest in drawing a Santa. But this would be a nice challenge.”
“You’re welcome to take it down or take it with you, if you want.”
“No, I better finish the projects I brought with me—that is, after you let me help you with all your baking. Ellie seemed to think you were in need of some backup assistance.”
Miranda chuckled. Her dark hair was pulled back with a wide red ribbon that looked like it came from the same spool as the ribbons on the towels. “I’m sure she said that because Ellie knows I’m not much of a cook or a baker. This year I’m only making goodies that I can pour into a pan and cut into small squares. The gingerbread is almost done. The brownies go in next.”
“Do you need help with anything?”
“No. All the batter is mixed and ready to go for the next three batches, but my oven is too small to do more than one pan at a time. And I only have two baking pans. That’s why it’s going to take most of the day.”
“Would you mind if I sketched while the goodies are baking?”
“Of course not! Please make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”
I pulled out my art supplies and thought a moment. “Not to sound too much like a Scandinavian from Minnesota, but do you happen
to have any coffee? Dark coffee?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. I’m a coffee drinker, too. I like tea, but in the morning I do much better if I start with a cup of dark coffee. Is French press okay?”
“Sounds fancy, so yes. Absolutely.” I settled in one of the high-back chairs by the fire and made sure I was facing the kitchen so that it would be easy to keep our conversation going while Miranda baked.
The unmistakable fragrance of deep, dark coffee wafted my direction and I smiled. It was like having the best of all worlds. A bit of home, a lot of English countryside charm, and a blossoming friendship with Miranda. I knew it was going to be excruciating to leave all this in less than a week. I closed my eyes and breathed in the moment. I didn’t want to forget any of it.
Chapter Thirteen
I’ve been meaning to tell you how glad Ian and I are that you came for Christmas.” Miranda turned down the volume on the Christmas music. “I didn’t realize how much I missed hearing a familiar accent and being around a fellow American. It’s wonderful to have you here. I only wish you were staying longer.”
I told her about Ellie’s invitation and how I hoped to return in the spring. The first question she asked after that was about Peter. Unlike Ellie and her politely subtle raised eyebrow style of probing, Miranda dove right in.
“Do you think there’s something there?” she asked. “I mean, you two seemed to hit it off nicely at our wedding.”
“We did,” I agreed cautiously. Once again Prudence was telling me to guard my secret thoughts and not entrust myself to anyone. I found it difficult to do so because I liked Miranda very much and wanted to keep our cousin connection growing even closer.
“How has it been for you to be around Peter now? Is he showing an interest in being more than friends?”
“No.” The answer popped out before I could decide if that was the most honest assessment. “I mean, he’s nice and friendly. We had a great time last night and he was a terrific tour guide. But he made it clear the first time I saw him after I arrived that he’s only interested in being friends.”