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Oh, but he was so lovely, so irresistible. Since Gino she’d been careful to keep her feelings in check with any new man she met. And she’d been right to. None of them had been worth her time. And now, she’d met Jago and everything was rushing at her. He was perfect in every way. Except one. She’d had the most wonderful, most romantic evening – but it had been with a married man.
CHAPTER18
‘THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS’ – TRAD.
Sunday 19th December
Jago fiddled with the display on the table in his corner of the Craft Fayre, tweaking and re-tweaking until it looked perfect. This was all new to him. Once he’d unpacked robins and stars and other seasonal stuff from his box of Christmas stock, he’d realised he might not have enough. He had tried hard to increase his stock in time for this event but hadn’t a clue whether he’d judged it right. He wanted to sell enough so he didn’t end up with an embarrassingly full table at the end of the day but also wanted a luxurious looking table that enticed customers over. Pricing had also been an issue. In London, where his large glass panels were sold, the gallery owners decided what to charge and he received a percentage. He had no idea what people would be willing to pay for a light catcher in a Christmas Fayre in a small Dorset town. Too much and they wouldn’t buy; too little and he’d be underselling – and undervaluing his hard work. And what hard work it had been! He’d been at his desk all the hours he could spare, pulling some all-nighters too. Ivy had lain by his side, sleeping and occasionally making funny, hiccoughing grumbling noises during her dreams.
Taking inspiration from his new surroundings, heaped up on his table were beach huts, seagulls and one or two specials – of foamy waves with a jaunty yacht incorporated. The wicker baskets to put them in had been Avril’s idea and he was grateful. It made his stock look far more organised. As a nod to the season, he’d spray painted a branch white, shoved it in a block of plaster of Paris and hung the Christmas trees, robins and stars from it. They glittered in the flashing lights he’d draped around his table. He’d also made a few dozen crescent moons with semi-precious stones dangling from them; an experiment which had worked out well. They were larger and made a bold statement swinging away. He was pleased how they caught the light. Most of these were the size of his palm and perfect stocking fillers – he hoped – made in his trademark stained-glass style of small pieces of coloured glass soldered together. Simplified shapes that hinted at what was pictured, but effective.
He sat back at last and observed his surroundings. Once again, the main studio of the Art School was being used. In an adjoining room the WI were serving up tea and mince pies and he could already hear the clatter of crockery and cheerful voices as they got ready.
‘Nice jumper, my friend,’ Dave the manager said.
Jago looked down at the reindeer emblazoned on his chest and grimaced. ‘Mum knitted it for me. She thought it might encourage the buyers.’ He tugged at an antler which Avril had stuffed with padding so they were 3-D.
Dave laughed. ‘Might do as well.’
‘It gets worse.’ Jago reached under Rudolph’s nose and switched it on. The red nose, knitted in red sparkly wool, immediately glowed even brighter.
Dave laughed even more. ‘I’m liking your mother’s humour. Here,’ he handed over a mug of coffee, and three mince pies wrapped in a holly-decorated serviette. ‘Grabbed you a few before the hordes descend and they sell out. Might be the only chance you get to eat today. Give one of us a shout if you need a break though. It can be intense once it gets going.’
Noddy Holder yelled from the sound system. ‘It’s Christmaaaaaaaaaaas!’
Dave winced. ‘Much as I love Slade, that’s the third time I’ve heard “Merry Xmas Everybody”. Must be nearly time for the off. Any questions? Got your float sorted? Card machine?’ As Jago nodded, he added, ‘Ace,’ and rushed to the next seller.
As Jago ate, he observed those around him. There was a good selection of produce on offer. Large painted seascapes, a table selling hand-embellished maps of the area in driftwood frames, knitted hats, gloves and scarves all trimmed with fake fur, handmade soap (he promised he’d buy some for Avril), a stall selling pottery with chunky mugs, beautifully carved walking sticks with bone heads, and dog-shaped tree decorations made out of felt. He’d spotted a black-and-white one which bore an uncanny resemblance to Ivy and had asked the seller to put it to one side. Merryn would adore it. There was also Daisy Wiscombe from the florist’s selling Christmas greenery out of huge wicker baskets. Holly, ivy and mistletoe frothed out, the berries a lustrous red and white. His mind drifted to when he’d kissed Honor at the German Market the night before. He cursed. He had no idea what he’d done but regretted it bitterly. He’d misread the signals. There hadn’t even been any mistletoe around to excuse him. But really, there was no excuse to kiss a woman when she clearly didn’t want to be kissed. Frowning, he pictured the scene in his head. But had he misread Honor? They seemed to be getting on increasingly well, getting close even. Certainly close enough for her to confide in him about her ex. And it was hardly a kiss at all, he’d only brushed her lips with his before she’d backed off and fled into the night. He sighed. He knew well enough even a slight kiss wasn’t acceptable if the woman didn’t want it. And Honor had clearly not wanted it. The trouble was he kept finding himself wantinghervery much. Very much indeed. Another reason he’d thrown himself into his work; he’d spent the last ten hours working solidly through the night. Trying to blot out the feel of her soft lips and the scent of her drifting up as he’d bent down, he shoved the last half of mince pie in his mouth and slapped his hands together to brush the crumbs off. Remembering his mother always told him the tradition was to wish on the first mince pie of the season, he closed his eyes and, feeling faintly ridiculous, made a wish. Opening them, he was startled to find his first customer was standing in front of his table, looking expectant.
‘I’m so sorry. What can I help you with?’ he smiled.
Dave had been right. Once the Fayre opened, it was relentless. The room soon filled up. There was a happy buzz of shoppers and Jago’s stained glass was selling well. The morning flew by.
‘Lots of positive comments coming my way about your stuff, Jago, mate,’ Dave said, as he passed by with another mug of coffee. ‘One or two mentioned they’d talked to you about larger commissions. You make sure you come and see me in the new year about that space you want.’ The sound system died. Dave looked up in relief. ‘Thank the ruddy Nora for that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, as I said, I love a bit of Slade but even I tire of the same tune after the fourteenth time. Must be time for the girls to sing.’ He turned to Jago. ‘It’s a few from the local community choir. Have you heard them?’
Jago shook his head.
‘Then you’re in for a treat. Ah, here they come.’
It was Tamara and four other women. All were dressed in figure-hugging red dresses, with snowy white faux-fur edging the sleeves and hem. They took their positions in the middle of the room, standing in formation with their backs to one another.
Tamara held up her hand and a few in the crowd nudged one another, hushed and turned to listen. ‘Welcome Lullbury Bay Christmas Craft Fayre, it’s so good to see so many of you are here supporting it. We haven’t sung in the town for a while so we’re thrilled to be here. We’ll kick off with “Santa Baby”.’
Jago could see how well Tamara would go down on the cruise circuit; she was the consummate professional and confidence personified.
They sang a cappella and swayed in unison in a series of sexy dance moves. ‘Santa Baby’ was followed with ‘Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree’ and ‘I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus’, finishing with ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’ to resounding cheers.
‘They’re good, aren’t they?’ a dark-haired woman with a little boy in tow said. ‘Hi,’ she added brightly. ‘I’m Maisie. I own the café on the front.’ She reached over a hand, and they shook.
‘Jago Pengethley.’
‘What a fabulous name! I was an Onions before I married. Can’t say I miss it. Although maybe it was a good name for a café owner!’
‘Did you think about keeping it?’ Jago smiled at her.
She pulled a face. ‘Onions are best kept for casseroles. Besides, my husband was already double-barrelled.’ Laughing, she added, ‘You can only have so much of a good thing.’ Her little boy tugged on her hand. ‘Oh yes, we’d like to buy two of your robins please.’ She picked the child up and rested him on a hip. ‘Would you like to hand Jago the money, Joshie?’
Jago took it and gave the little boy a warm smile at which he turned and buried his head in Maisie’s shoulder.
