A Christmas Hope (18 page)

He stopped in front of her, blinking as if he had only just seen the sunlight.

“Thank you,” he said simply. “You believed in me more than I believed in you. It’s a long time since anything like that happened.”

It occurred to her to say something a little humbling, in case he imagined his charm had inspired her to do it. Then she saw the pain in his eyes, the self-criticism, and changed her mind. He did not need that kind of cautioning. He was already more than sufficiently aware of his own weaknesses.

“Don’t do it again,” she said gently. “I think we had a good deal of luck this time.”

“I’ll send you white flowers, Olwen,” he said quietly. Then with a nod of his head, he turned and walked out into the street.

She would tell Wallace in time, but first she would go to the clinic in Portpool Lane and tell Squeaky Robinson. He deserved that, and quite apart from his deserving it, she simply wanted to share the moment with him.

She walked into his office and found him sitting at his desk, sheets of paper with figures spread in front of him, his fingers stained with ink.

“Well, what now?” he asked as she closed the door behind her.

“I just thought I’d let you know,” she replied. “We did
it. They withdrew the charges against Mr. Tregarron, and he is free.”

Squeaky tried to keep a straight face, and failed. He could not keep the grin from spreading wide. He stood up and fetched a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard near the fireplace, and two mismatched glasses. He poured a good measure into each and passed one to her.

She did not even like whiskey, but she took it anyway.

“Here’s to you,” he said with a deep sigh. “You got no sense at all, but all the courage in the world. Saved a man’s life, you did, and gave him the chance to save his soul. Let’s hope he takes it.”

“Nonsense,” she said briskly, but she knew her face was coloring with pleasure. “But I have learned something good about myself. I can stand up to people who have more power than I do, and fight for what I believe in.” She took a large mouthful of whiskey and winced as the fire of it slid down her throat. The taste was indeed unpleasant. “Here’s to Christmas,” she said a little hoarsely. “And to the rebirth of dreams.”

Squeaky shook his head in amazement. “Here’s to you, Mrs. B.” He emptied the glass in one gulp, and it slid down his throat like silk.

A
NNE
P
ERRY
is the bestselling author of ten earlier holiday novels—
A Christmas Journey
,
A Christmas Visitor
,
A Christmas Guest
,
A Christmas Secret
,
A Christmas Beginning
,
A Christmas Grace
,
A Christmas Promise
,
A Christmas Odyssey
,
A Christmas Homecoming
, and
A Christmas Garland
—as well as the William Monk series and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series set in Victorian England and five World War I novels. She lives in Scotland.

www.anneperry.co.uk