Free Second Time Around by Marcia Willett

the travelling to arrange and itineraries and so on. She asks me every year but I have never had the courage to go alone.’

    â€˜We’ll go together,’ announced Isobel, ‘that is … will she mind …?’ Her thoughts ranged anxiously over the cost of hotel rooms. ‘It’s just that … ’
    â€˜You will be her guest,’ said Mathilda firmly. ‘She has always suggested that I bring a companion. You will incur no costs and seats for the Christmas Eve service at the chapel in St John’s are part of the inducement.’
    â€˜It sounds like heaven,’ said Isobel. ‘But aren’t we a bit late? It’s only two weeks to go …’
    â€˜Shall we go upstairs and make some telephone calls?’ suggested Mathilda. ‘It’s certainly not too late, but now that we are agreed on it perhaps we should start the ball rolling?’
    Isobel followed Mathilda up the stairs, her heart full of gratitude. It would be such a relief to have something to plan, something to take her mind off her unhappiness and the thought of the empty frightening future. She was suddenly filled with determination that Mathilda should thoroughly enjoy her Christmas and, as she made up the fire in the study whilst Mathilda searched for her address book, she was already considering which route they should take and what presents should be bought. If this friend were anything like Mathilda it might be wise to do a big bake before they set out. She’d need to know all about her before she made any final decisions, of course …
    She piled more logs on to the flames, preparing for a busy evening, her mind turned resolutely away from pictures of Simon and Sally enjoying themselves in the northern hills. Love isn ’ t lovelier the second time around, she told herself fiercely, though it might be for Sally and Simon …
    â€˜I’ve got a strange tone.’ Mathilda’s voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘I must have misdialled. Could you … ?’
    Isobel jumped to her feet and hurried across to the desk. ‘Shall I dial for you?’
    Mathilda passed the receiver over meekly. She could read Delia’s number perfectly clearly but her ploy had proved a useful distraction.
She had not cared to see such an expression of despair on Isobel’s face. Mathilda looked about her study sadly. She would hate to leave it but some instinct warned her that the sacrifice was a necessary one—and it would be good to see Nigel’s sister again …
    â€˜I’ve got Delia Burrows on the line.’ Isobel’s hand was over the mouthpiece, her eyebrows raised hopefully. ‘Is she … ?’
    Mathilda nodded and took the receiver; the die was cast.

Seven
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    TESSA SPENT CHRISTMAS IN a rather ugly little bungalow on the edge of Dartmoor. Her client, Freddie Spenlow, had been introduced to her through Kate. He, too, liked to spend regular periods with a friend in London and was deeply relieved when Kate assured him that his large Newfoundland, Charlie Custard, would be quite safe with Tessa. Kate had warned Tessa, however, that she might find Freddie’s place rather basic.
    â€˜I’ve been over and sorted him out,’ she told Tessa on the telephone a few weeks before she left London for Devon. ‘If you have a problem we’re only fifteen minutes away. Give me a buzz when you’ve settled in.’
    Tessa approached the bungalow with a certain amount of trepidation. She parked the car in the track, noticing that the small garden had a gate leading into an adjoining paddock. At least there should be no problem in exercising this great dog. Kate’s description had prepared her for something between a bear and an elephant and her heart beat a little faster as she rang the doorbell. There was no answering bark but presently the door was opened by a broadly built man in his middle thirties whose smile was so eager and