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‘All set?’ Ciara shouted over her shoulder.
‘All set!’
Ciara clicked her tongue and the carriage moved with a jerk, throwing Jago and Honor back into the seat. Thankfully, it then settled into a rhythmic motion that was quietly soothing. As they climbed the steep high street, crowds of shoppers parted before them and people looked up, waved and smiled.
Honor waved back. ‘This is fun. I feel like royalty.’
‘You’ll always be a princess to me,’ Jago joked.
She groaned.
‘I’m not surprised the Queen always had a rug on her knees though,’ he continued. ‘Now I remember why I don’t drive a convertible in the winter.’ He pulled his beanie down further over his ears and pulled a face.
Honor kissed his cold cheek. ‘My prince!’ she exclaimed, teasing his soft city ways.
‘Now it was his turn to groan. Shall we stop with the corny jokes now?’
‘Yes please.’ Honor snuggled further under the rug and laid her head on his shoulder. With warmth stealing through her she felt happy and complete.
They continued up the high street, leaving the bustle and noise behind, and then turned left into the public gardens. It was sheltered here, where the wind off the sea couldn’t quite reach. White lights had been strung through the trees, which swayed gently, and the only sound which could be heard was hooves on the tarmac path and the tiny bells jingling on the carriage.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ Jago said. ‘It’s something I made a while ago, not long after I’d moved here, just after the advent service.’ He reached into his jacket inside pocket and gave her a tiny box. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, amused at her expression. ‘It’s not a ring.’
Honor blushed. She could hardly say that, despite them barely knowing one another, she wouldn’t have minded had it been a ring. In fact, she grasped the idea with a pang, she’d like it to be one. ‘Bit early for all that,’ she mumbled and realised she sounded ungracious. ‘Thank you.’
Jago handed over the box, their hands nudging into one another as the pony and trap bumped over the uneven path.
With difficulty, as her hands were shaking and the carriage ride was bumpy, Honor opened the box. Inside was something small wrapped in pale blue tissue paper. She unfolded it and drew out a blue and silver angel on a silver chain. Staring at it, she gasped. ‘Oh, Jago, it’s beautiful.’ It was. Made of glass in the same technique she’d seen his work done in at the Craft Fayre, this pendant was smaller and much more intricate and detailed.
‘The first time I saw you I thought you were an angel.’
‘I remember you saying. But I’m really not, you know.’
‘Angels come in all forms,’ he replied, his voice choked. ‘I went back and worked on it that night. I’ve made angels before, but this one is special.’
When she began to undo the clasp to put it on, her fingers were clumsy. ‘My hands are too cold,’ she lied but it was emotion that was making her tremble.
‘Let me.’
She held her hair out of the way while he fastened the pendant around her neck. The light touch of his fingers on her skin made her stomach flip. Putting it into position just above where her breasts met, he bent forward and kissed the sensitive spot on her neck, just under her ear. ‘Happy Christmas.’
She turned and met his mouth with her own. ‘Happy Christmas, Jago.’
Their lips sort of met but slid off as the carriage jolted again. He laughed quietly and rested his forehead against hers. ‘We might have to let the kissing wait until we’re safely on terra firma again.’ Pulling the rug back over them, he put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him.
Honor nestled into him, holding the angel pendant between her fingers. She didn’t think she had ever been happier. Pasco took them onto the main road down into the harbour and, to the sound of rhythmic clip-clopping, she laid her head back on Jago’s shoulder and enjoyed the view. Sea and sky spread out before them, the water inky black; a clear night and with a full moon. Its reflection carved a shimmering path along the sea. The prom, with its white lights, snaked along to their left. Even the harbour buildings were looped with twinkling Christmas lights. They’d come nearly full circle, almost back to the shelters on the prom.
Ciara dropped them near The Old Anchor pub. Jago got down first and held out his arms for Honor to jump into. Putting a hearty donation into the collection bucket, they waited as another couple clambered in. Hugging one another close against the cheek-numbing cold whipping off the sea, they waved them off as Pasco trotted along the promenade, his red taillight swinging. As they ran around the corner of the pub, a gust of wind carried them along, blowing them into a large red object tethered to the entrance porch.
‘Ooh hello, what’s this?’ Honor clutched her coat about her as the wind snatched at it and looked up into the face of a knitted Father Christmas, complete with sack of toys. ‘Looks like the Ninja Knitters have been at it again.’
Jago didn’t reply but, with difficulty, hauled open the pub door and they were carried in by the wind.
They stood for a second getting their breath back.
‘Gettin’ wild out there,’ Claude the landlord said. ‘They reckon a storm’s comin’ in.’ He was serenely polishing a glass behind the bar. The pub, with ‘When a Child is Born’ playing quietly in the background, was completely empty. Even the pool table lay abandoned.
‘Where is everyone?’ Jago asked.
