Winter Wishes (28 page)

“It’s the Polwenna Bay Angel again,” Tess said to Jules as the two women strolled around the stalls. “It has to be. Who else would do something like that?”

“Somebody who doesn’t want any fuss?” Jules suggested.

“Which rules out the usual suspects like Cashley or the St Miltons.” Tess looked thoughtful. “I reckon it’s somebody who doesn’t want to be seen as generous. Somebody who likes to be miserable.”

“Hmm,” said Jules. “It’s one theory, I suppose.”

The Polwenna Bay Angel was fast becoming a village legend. Any anonymous donation was now considered to be the Angel’s doing, and speculation as to his or her identity was rife. Ashley Carstairs was a favourite, as was Summer Penhalligan. Both of them denied it though. Jules sighed. People denying things had become something of a theme around here, and she was tired of it. Denying her feelings for Danny was ripping her into pieces every day. It was getting harder, not easier. Would going away help? She could only hope so.

The night was dark and clear; stars twinkled above the crumpled rooftops and people’s breath clouded the air.
Stop the Cavalry
belted out from the PA speakers, the scent of roasting chestnuts drifted on the breeze, and steaming cups of mulled wine warmed chilled fingers. The children had performed their nativity play beautifully and even Bubbles the pony had behaved for once. Proud parents held mittened hands and beamed, each convinced that their child was the star of the show. The number of pictures they’d uploaded to Facebook this evening would probably be enough to crash the social media giant, Jules thought. Tess was so relieved the play was over that she’d already enjoyed several visits to the mulled-wine stall, and Jules was feeling a little sick from overindulging in the mince pies. All in all, it was exactly what a village Christmas should be.

Visitors were still pouring into Polwenna, fatly wrapped up in coats and scarves and hats. The streets hadn’t been this packed since August and the green was rapidly filling up. Radio Kernow had arrived to broadcast the carol singing and the photographer from the local paper was snapping away merrily. Leaving Tess at the mulled wine stand with Nick, Jules wandered through the stalls to buy raffle tickets and a scoop of fiendishly hot chestnuts.

“Get on, Vicar!” Big Rog called from the top of a ladder. He was fiddling with the star at the summit of the tree. “What do you think?”

“It’s a beauty,” Jules said warmly. “I can’t wait to see it lit up.”

“Hope it does light up,” muttered Little Rog, who was holding the ladder. “Not sure we should have bought these cheap lights from the market, Pa.”

“It’ll be fine, my boy,” said Big Rog, giving the star a final tweak. “Proper job! He’s ready!”

“Switch-on in five minutes!” Sheila barked at the Pollards. Clutching a clipboard to her bosom, she’d been issuing orders with military precision. “Vicar, we’ll need to say a prayer just beforehand. Are you ready?”

“Just about,” said Jules.

Sheila scribbled something onto her list.

“The mayor’s here for the switch-on and the Salvation Army are ready. Time to get going.”

Dutifully, Jules followed Sheila through the crowds and onto the small stage at the back of the green. In the flickering light of the stalls she made out the faces of her friends, rosy from the cold and smiling with the joy of the occasion. There was Silver Starr from the hippy shop, all decked out in a white fur outfit topped with glittery deely boppers, and by the tree were Ashley and Mo, wrapped in each other’s arms and oblivious to everything and everyone else. They were closer than words could describe, and the sight of them knotted something in Jules’s throat. Although she’d tried so hard not to, she couldn’t help scanning the throng for that one dear face she longed to see – but of Danny there was no sign. Morgan and Tara were by the tombola with Alice, so he couldn’t be far away. After all, Christmas was a time for families.

“You’re on!” Sheila gave Jules a little shove in the small of her back. “The local TV people are here too! Don’t let us down.”

“No pressure then,” Jules murmured to herself before taking a deep breath, stepping up to the microphone and welcoming everyone with an opening prayer. Several carols then followed, sung with enthusiasm if not very tunefully, before the mayor threw the switch. Jules held her breath, as did both Pollards, but she needn’t have worried. Although there was a bit of a crackle and a flicker and an alarmed look on Big Rog’s face, the village burst into light.

The magic of Christmas never faded no matter how old you were, Jules thought as she looked at all the delighted faces gazing up at the tree. The lights trembled and danced in the harbour too, filling the water with a galaxy of colourful stars. Her chest tightened. She was going to miss this place so much.

“Waste of electric if you ask me,” muttered Ivy Lawrence, who was standing at the side of the stage, arms folded across her bony chest and a scowl stitched on her face. “And if those lights shine into my bedroom and keep me awake I’ll be having words with you, Mr Pollard.”

“Bah humbug,” said Little Rog, winking at Jules.

“You can mock, young man, but I mean it,” Ivy told him, wagging a finger at the tree. “That’s a fire hazard too and a waste of good money.”

It must be hard work being that miserable
, thought Jules, watching the old woman elbow her way through the crowd and back to her lonely cottage. Everyone else seemed to be having a lovely time. What on earth had happened in Ivy’s life to make her so relentlessly bitter?

“You look deep in thought,” said Danny.

Jules jumped.

“I’m not that scary am I?” he asked. “I know I’m a dead ringer for the Phantom of the Opera these days, but after you’ve had a few mulled wines I’m sure I can’t look too bad.”

Dressed in a dark coat and hat, with his golden hair just visible and his gaze seeming an even more intense blue than ever, Danny looked wonderful to Jules. He held out his hand.

“We need to talk.”

The fizz of energy that shot through Jules when his fingers closed around hers could have lit the village. Almost as though in a dream, she stepped down from the stage and allowed him to lead her through the streets and down to the harbour. All her resolutions about staying away from him had dissipated like smoke from the chimney pots into the darkness. They walked to the furthest edge of the quay and looked back towards the village, where lights flickered and swayed and music drifted on the night air.

“What do you want to talk about?” Jules asked.

He gave her a small smile. “The weather? Politics? Come on, Jules. You know. I want to talk about what’s been happening between you and me.”

Panic rose up inside her. She licked her lips nervously.

“Dan, you know where I stand on that. We’ve discussed it a thousand times and—”

He cut her off before she could finish her sentence. “Jules, I know what you’re going to say about marriage and, believe me, I do agree with you. Marriage should be for life. But sometimes things happen that are so huge, you know that no matter how much you might wish it was different you can never go back. That’s how it is for me and Tara. I’ve filed for divorce, Jules, and nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“But Danny, why? What happened?”

“Just trust me,” he said, softly but with such urgency that it gave her goosebumps. “I can’t tell you why, but take my word that the reason is sound. I don’t take love lightly, Jules. I never have and I never will. Just trust me when I say that there’s nothing that can change the way I feel about her. Or,” he stepped forwards until they were just a breath apart, “you.”

Here was a love that Jules knew she could lose herself in forever. But at what cost?

She shook her head. “Danny, I can’t.”

“Please, Jules.” His voice was an entreaty, pulling her closer, impossible to resist. “Don’t overthink it or overcomplicate it. Just listen to your heart.”

If she did that she really would be lost.

His gaze continued to hold hers. “I’m not a saint, Jules, and I’ve made mistakes, lots of mistakes, but I have learned from them. I know what’s important and I promise that if there was any way back then I would take it. All I ask is that you trust me.”

“And all I ask is that you trust me enough to tell me the truth.” Jules wasn’t prepared to go down this road again. “Like you said before, trust is a two-way street.”

Danny looked away, staring out into the emptiness that was the sea. The blackness was only chased away now and then by the warm sweep of the Eddystone light.

“It’s not my secret to tell,” he said finally. “I made a promise that I would never speak about it and I can’t break that promise, not even for you.”

“Not even if I tell you that everything I hold dear, my faith, my life here, my future, depend on knowing that truth?”

He dragged his gaze back to her and Jules knew in a heartbeat what the answer was. He was silent for a long time and the unsaid words hung heavy in the air.

“It’s all right, Danny. You’ve already answered my question.”

On tiptoes, she brushed his rough cheek with her lips. It was as cold as the moonlight and she had the feeling that with each passing second he was growing more distant. Her breath caught in her throat, because at that moment she knew that if she stayed for a second longer it would be impossible to walk away. She loved him too much. All she wanted to do was step forwards and kiss him, but that would lead her down a road she knew she couldn’t travel. Not if she wanted to remain true to everything she believed in.

“I love you, Jules,” Danny said brokenly. “Isn’t that enough?”

Certain that he could hear the hammering of her heart and feel the same clawing grief, Jules could only shake her head and whisper, “And I love you Danny, but without total trust how can that ever be enough?”

Then she turned and walked away, leaving him alone on the quay. No matter how much it hurt, she knew what she had to do now.

She would call the bishop first thing in the morning. It was time Jules Mathieson left Polwenna Bay.

Chapter 20

In Tara’s experience shopping was usually a great antidote to feeling fed up, especially on a frosty Saturday in the run-up to Christmas. The train ride to Truro had taken her through some of the prettiest countryside imaginable, and although it was a familiar journey she was struck by the beauty of the glittering pastures fleeting past the window. Now and then she caught a glimpse of the sea on the horizon before the tracks turned inland to head through moorland dotted with grazing ponies and the slumbering engine houses of long-quiet mines. Cornwall in December had a chilly beauty all of its own and it was hard to be miserable when the sky was denim blue, spiders’ webs laced the hedgerows and the air was so sharp it made your nose tingle.

Hard to be miserable, yes, but as she was fast discovering, far from impossible. Pretty landscapes, wintry sunshine and shops crammed with velvets, sparkles and ribbons were wonderful, but not even these things were enough to ease the aching misery of waking up to find that your divorce papers had landed on the doormat. She’d been half expecting the Christmas cards and the junk mail, but not the legal documents served by her husband citing unreasonable behaviour. As much as she’d come to accept that her marriage was over, it had still been a dreadful shock to have the hard evidence in front of her. Tara had sat at the kitchen table staring at the papers, her mouth dry and with the room spinning around her. Then, as the reality of it had sunk in, Tara had wept for everything she’d lost.

Thank goodness Morgan was staying at Seaspray for the weekend and hadn’t witnessed her meltdown, Tara reflected. Danny must have planned it that way; she knew he’d never want to do anything to upset his son. And Morgan
was
his son in every way that mattered. Morgan’s natural father had been long off the scene by the time Tara had realised she might be pregnant with his child, and although she’d tried to trace him she’d had little success so far. She supposed she was storing up problems for the future, but surely as long as Morgan knew he was loved by her and Danny he’d be secure enough when the time came to handle the truth?

She hoped so with all her heart.

Did she wish she could turn the clock back? That was a hard question to answer. Morgan wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t cheated on Danny. Tara couldn’t imagine, didn’t want to imagine, a world without her wonderful son. But did she wish that Morgan was Danny’s biological son?

Yes. There was nothing she wished more.

Tara knew that there would come a day when she would have to explain a great deal. That was only right. It was her responsibility and Morgan had to hear it from her. Danny would never breathe a word, and for that she would always be grateful. He had the power to blow her world apart if he chose but, being an honourable man and a person of huge integrity, he would never put his grievances with her above Morgan’s well-being – even if the cost of this was his own happiness.

Tara was no fool. She could see how Danny felt about Jules. He lit up like Polwenna’s Christmas lights whenever the vicar was around; his laughter was easy and he looked young again as he bantered with her. Maybe it was because Jules had never known him as he’d once been. Before the accident he’d had those golden Tremaine good looks that had stopped people in their tracks. Broad-shouldered, muscular and with a smile that had melted hearts, he’d been the most handsome of all the boys – and when he’d been in his uniform jaws had literally dropped. Now people stared at Danny for all the wrong reasons. Perhaps only Jules really saw him.

At first Tara hadn’t taken any of this seriously. Tara was used to being admired for her looks and attracting men as easily as candles drew moths, so she’d not been in the least bit worried about the plump vicar with the unmade-up face and home-dyed hair. When she’d visited Jules back in the summer it had been an exercise in weighing up any potential opposition. But maybe she’d been too quick to dismiss Jules. Or perhaps, Tara reflected now as she strolled from the station down into the city, she’d been too shallow to see what it was that Jules had to offer. Her integrity and honest friendship were oxygen to Danny. Like Jules, he was beyond judging people by surface appearances, and Tara could only conclude that he was genuinely in love with the vicar.