Chapter Thirty-Five

Present

For the prompt attention of Miss Viola Arthur. Come to Rose’s garden at midnight on Christmas Eve. Your carriage awaits.

It was intriguing, exciting, thrilling . . . all of that and more.

‘Why did she need to come here?’ Tegan asked. ‘And who asked her?’

‘I can’t answer the first question,’ Ryan said. ‘But I can make an educated guess as to the second one. I think, for whatever reason, Laurie sent her that note. I compared the handwriting to the story I found and they’re the same.’

‘Forensic investigation. I like it.’ She smiled.

He smiled back. ‘Not sure it’s part of my job description.’

‘Maybe not — but, you know what?’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m really pleased we’ve been working together, Ryan. You’ve helped me make sense of a lot of things. Like, both here.’ She indicated the house. ‘And here.’ She tapped her heart and was kind of glad that it was maybe a little too dark for him to see her cheeks redden. ‘I’ll — miss you, when you go to Glasgow. I really will.’ And there it was — out in the open. She could have kicked herself. What was it about this sparkling, magical garden that had made her blurt that out?

‘I’m glad we worked together too,’ he said. His voice seemed somehow softer and gentler, and she felt her shoulders relax. It had taken a lot of courage to admit what she’d just told him, but she was so pleased it hadn’t been thrown back in her face.

The old Ryan, the one she’d known at Glasgow, might have done that. He might have scowled and huffed and grumbled and argued. But then again, the old Tegan wouldn’t even have given him the time of day, never mind thanked him for anything at all.

‘But you won’t miss me, Tegan.’ He sounded convinced of that fact.

‘Wait. What?’ She looked up, confused. She would miss him dreadfully, she really would. She was in fact considering looking for something up there herself when her contract came to an end at Pencradoc. She wouldn’t be going back to Sicily. She wouldn’t be returning to Angelo. She’d be returning — home. Returning, really, to wherever Ryan was . . .

He smiled and pushed his hands into his pockets, embarrassed, almost. ‘You won’t miss me because I’m not going anywhere.’ He looked past her, out of the garden, towards the dark, secret moorlands. ‘I decided to stay. This place — here. It’s like being home. Do you know what I mean?’

‘You turned the job down?’ Part of her was shocked. She knew how much that opportunity had meant to him. But a greater part of her wanted to dance and cheer. He was staying! ‘But yes — I know exactl y what you mean. And for what it’s worth — I’m really pleased you’re staying. Honestly. I am.’

‘Yeah.’ He shrugged, trying, it seemed, to appear nonchalant, but there was a definite smile in his voice. ‘Me too, quite frankly. I — I hope I did the right thing. Too late now, I guess.’

‘It’s perfect.’ Her voice was almost a whisper, and she looked at him and got caught in his dark, promise-filled gaze. ‘It was a perfect thing to do. I mean it.’

Oh my .

Tegan looked down at the letter again and read it, mainly just to break the eye contact between them, because the eye contact was doing weird, fluttery things to her stomach. Pathetically, she tried to change the subject to move on to things that didn’t seem so charged and crackling between them. It was difficult. ‘So, this letter.’ She pretended to study it a little more. ‘I would have loved to have been in that garden — this garden, actually — that Christmas Eve. I wonder what happened? I wish I knew.’

Ryan laughed softly. ‘Remember where we are. Be careful what you wish for, because it is highly likely to happen. Christmas wishes and all that.’

‘I guess.’ She felt something damp on the back of her neck and reached a hand up. More cold, damp spots appeared on her bare hands and she looked up in surprise. ‘Snow! Was that forecast?’ White flakes were twirling and whirling silently throughout the garden, tumbling gently out of the sky, fluttering through the tree branches and sparkling against the fairy lights.

‘I — I don’t think so. God, I hope it doesn’t settle. I still have to drive home. Don’t fancy spending Christmas Eve stuck in my van in a layby.’

‘If it gets bad, you could always stay here?’ A part of her desperately hoped it would get bad and he did get stuck — so stuck that he couldn’t get the van out of the Pencradoc grounds and had to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at the very least , at Pencradoc.

‘What — sleep in the car park? I could do, I guess. Wouldn’t be the first time.’

‘No. But . . .’ She took a deep breath. ‘I said nothing about staying in the van, did I?’

‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘You didn’t.’

He looked down, then looked at her and reached a hand out. He took her hand in his and pulled her a couple of steps towards him. She moved willingly and he took a couple of steps towards her.

‘I could easily be persuaded to stay — like, not in the van — if the weather did turn,’ he said quietly.

‘That’s good to know.’

And then, somehow, they were leaning in to one another and their lips were almost touching and her heart was beating crazily . . .

And a horse whinnied, so loudly it made them both jump.

They sprang apart and both turned to face the gateway to the garden, which gave out onto a branch of the main driveway. There was that misty look about the gateway again, the same sort of mistiness that had swallowed them up in Russell Square. Beyond the gateway, Tegan saw a row of lamps lining the driveway, and, coming up it, the shadowy image of a horse and carriage through the heavily falling snow.

The carriage was decorated for Christmas, the horse trotting happily along, lifting its hooves high and, despite the fact that it should have been terrifying to witness, Tegan felt a smile twitch at the corner of her lips. ‘Can you see it, Ryan?’ she whispered, turning to him. ‘Do you see what I see?’

‘I suspect I do.’ His voice was filled with awe and his eyes followed the carriage as hers had done. She noticed he still held her hand and she squeezed his hand even tighter and moved a little closer to him.

The horse stopped and the driver dismounted. Discarding his coat and hat, tossing it to one side on a tree stump, tearing his scarf off and throwing it on top of them, a young man in a white shirt strode purposefully to the carriage door and flung it open.

Tegan watched as he reached out and bowed, holding his hand out and waiting for another hand to take it. A young woman, petite and dressed in an old-fashioned winter coat, sporting a warm-looking hat and a hand muff, took his hand and alighted from the carriage. There was a moment where she hesitated for a moment and looked up at him.

The couple walked towards Tegan and Ryan, completely oblivious to them, looking at one another, the snow blanketing the ground and falling steadily around them.

‘It’s them,’ whispered Tegan. ‘Laurie and Viola!’

‘Definitely.’ Ryan was staring at them, wide-eyed. ‘Is it them, though, or one of those ghostly memory things, where something happened that left its imprint on the area?’

‘You’ve been doing your research. But yes, I’ve heard of those too . . .’

The couple came closer and stopped. Then they turned to one other . . .

But whatever happened after that was lost to the mysteries of time and the magic of Pencradoc as the figures faded and became as unsubstantial as the mist and the snowflakes that, even now, were slowing down and melting on the ground around them.

Tegan blinked and the scene settled into her own familiar time and place. The horse and carriage had gone, the paths were only lit by the cheerful jam jars and the ground was just simply wet.

She turned to Ryan and there were still the ghosts of snowflakes glistening in his hair and on his shoulders, but, even as she watched, they melted and disappeared. No snow was evident beyond that, anywhere at all.

‘Snow’s stopped,’ she said.

‘That’s actually a bit of a shame,’ he replied. Then he shrugged. ‘Mum and Dad will be happy at least.’

Tegan hid a smile and was just about to make a flippant response when the church bells started chiming, and continued chiming until they had rung twelve times.

‘Midnight?’ she asked, confused. ‘But . . .’ She checked her watch. It was barely five o’clock in the evening. ‘It can’t be.’

Ryan shook his head and when he spoke, his voice was low. ‘It’s not midnight here . I think it’s midnight on Christmas Eve somewhere . Sometime. Like, oh, I don’t know, in 1911?’

A chill ran up Tegan’s spine. He was right. Midnight on Christmas Eve was the time when Miss Viola Arthur had been requested to visit Rose’s garden.

‘I’d say it was the witching hour,’ she said. ‘But it’s not.’

‘Not at all.’

‘It’s the magical hour. And I think we just witnessed their magic. Laurie’s and Viola’s.’ She held up the letter. ‘I think I can guess the rest and why they kept this. It was special to them. Incredibly special, I’d say.’

‘I’d agree.’ Ryan nodded. Then he pulled her gently towards him again so they were facing one another. Gosh, he was tall !

Or was she just short?

Oh, it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that they were there, together, on Christmas Eve — the most magical day of the year.

‘Do you think we could go so far as to say it’s incredibly special for us as well?’ asked Ryan. For the first time, he sounded unsure. He looked, in that enchanted garden, as young and unsure as he had done the first time he’d walked into that gallery in Glasgow.

What had she thought of him then?

If she was honest, and examined her feelings, she hadn’t hated him at all, not really. She’d actually felt a little annoyed that yet another man was working in that place and not only that, but a big, tall man with piercings and dark hair and a scowl that could make you scowl back.

But he’d actually tried to look after her and keep her safe. That night in the bar with the drunk who wouldn’t give up had scared her, and he’d been willing to wade in and rescue her, even though they’d spent the day arguing over a petty, silly incident.

Things could have been so different if they’d taken the time to get to know each other properly in Glasgow. So very different and so very — nice

What a mess.

And what an utter, utter waste of time.

Because she now had a moment of complete clarity and this man was someone she wanted in her life desperately. Had done for a long, long time — but was afraid to admit it to herself or, God forbid, to him.

She would be completely stupid to waste another moment.

‘Incredibly special?’ she said now. Then she placed her palm on his chest. ‘I just wish I’d got to know you properly earlier, so I could have — loved you — longer, and that just about sums it up.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘I do actually mean that as well.’

‘Really?’ His mouth quirked in a smile. ‘Even if I have rubbish taste in music?’

‘We can work on that,’ she said.

Ryan laughed and leaned in towards her again. ‘I echo your sentiments,’ he said. ‘Although I think I have loved you longer than I realised. Longer than we both realised, perhaps. Merry Christmas, Tegan Burton.’

‘Merry Christmas, Ryan Jackson.’

And then, finally, they kissed.

And perhaps Ryan wouldn’t be spending that particular Christmas Eve at Pencradoc, but Tegan knew without a shadow of a doubt that they would spend Christmas together next year. And the year after that. And the year after that . . .

And that was the most magical feeling of all.

THE END