Page 93 of Mirrors of the Past

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 exactly 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 . . .