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‘No, you may not.’ Mary put her hands on her hips. ‘My quilts are made with love, and that’s why they’ll keep you warm. They are not supposed to be hung on the wall.’
‘If I were to promise to keep it in my sitting room? Something to wrap Mette in on cold winter nights and remind us both of the warm welcome we’ve had here. The raw-edged one will stay on her bed.’ Aksel gave Mary an imploring look and she capitulated suddenly.
‘That would be quite fine. You’re sure you want both?’
Aksel nodded. If Mary could be an unstoppable force at times, she at least knew when she’d come into contact with an immovable object. Something had to give, and she did so cheerfully.
‘You’ll give this one to your daughter as a present?’ She started to fold the raw-edged quilt.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve got some pretty paper in the back that’ll do very nicely. I’ll just slip it into the bag and you can do the wrapping yourself.’ Mary bustled through a door behind the counter, leaving them alone.
‘You’re sure?’ Flora ran her hand over the quilts. They were both lovely, but this was a big expense, and she was feeling a little guilty for suggesting it.
‘I’m sure. I’ll have a whole house to furnish back in Norway, and these will help make it a home for Mette.’
‘You don’t have a place there already?’
‘I’ve never been in one place long enough to consider buying a house. Mette and I have been staying with Olaf and Agnetha—their house is familiar to her and they have more than enough room. I’ve bought a house close by so that we can visit often.’
Flora wanted to hug him. He’d been through a lot, and he was trying so hard to make a success of the new role he’d taken on in life. She watched as Mary reappeared, bearing a large carrier bag for Aksel and taking the card that he produced from his wallet.
They stepped outside into the pale sunshine and started to walk back towards Flora’s car.
‘I’ll give the quilt to Mette tomorrow when you’re at the clinic. Will you come and help me?’
‘No! It’s your present. Aren’t you going to see her this afternoon?’ Flora would have loved to see Mette’s face when she opened the quilt, but this was Aksel’s moment.
‘Yes. I just thought...’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe it would be more special to her if you were there.’
‘It’s your present. And you’re her father. She can show it to me when I come and visit.’ Flora frowned. ‘You really haven’t had that much time alone with her, have you?’
Aksel cleared his throat awkwardly. ‘Almost none. I relied a lot more heavily on Olaf and Agnetha to help me than I realised.’
‘And how is Mette ever going to feel safe and secure with you if you can’t even give her a present on your own? You’ve got to get over this feeling that you’re not enough for her, Aksel.’ Maybe that was a little too direct. But Aksel always seemed to appreciate her candour.
‘Point taken. In that case, I don’t suppose you have a roll of sticky tape you could lend me?’
‘Yes, I have several. You can never have too much sticky tape this close to Christmas.’
He chuckled quietly. ‘You’d be happy to celebrate Christmas once a month, wouldn’t you?’
Flora thought for a moment. The idea was tempting. ‘Christmas is special, and once a year is just fine. It gives me loads of time to look forward to it.’
‘There’s that. I’m looking forward to my first Christmas with Mette.’
‘You’re not panicking yet?’
‘I’m panicking. I just disguise it well.’
Flora grinned up at him. ‘It’ll be fine. Better than fine, it’ll be brilliant. Christmas at the castle is always lovely.’
‘Just your kind of place, then.’
Yes, it was. Cluchlochry was home, and her work at the clinic was stimulating and rewarding. Flora had almost managed to convince herself that she had everything that she wanted. Until Aksel had come along...
She felt in her pocket for her car keys, watching as Aksel stowed the quilts in the back seat with the rest of their shopping. She’d found peace here. An out-of-the-way shelter from the harsh truths of life, where she could ignore the fact that she sometimes felt she was only half living. And Aksel was threatening to destroy that peace and plunge her into a maelstrom of what-ifs and maybes. She wouldn’t let him.
