Free Aunt Dimity's Christmas by Nancy Atherton

was going and never mentioned his trips once he returned.”
    â€œIt must have driven you crazy,” I put in, wincing slightly at my choice of words.
    â€œIt piqued my curiosity,” Anne admitted. “So much so that one day, I stowed away in the back of the lorry.” Anne blushed and looked down at the floor, as though embarrassed by the memory of her actions.
    â€œWhere did he go?” Julian asked.
    Anne raised her eyes. “He drove to an abandoned bomber base, a remnant of the war. Cambridgeshire is littered with them, but until then I’d only seen them from a distance.” She ran her tongue over her lips, as though her mouth had suddenly gone dry. “I didn’t much like the one we went to.”
    I leaned toward her, fascinated. “What did Kit do when he got there?”
    Anne favored me with a level gaze. “He stood at one end of the runway. In the pouring rain. Without moving. For eight hours.”
    A chill touched my spine and I looked toward the fire, trying to envision the scene as Anne Somerville had described it. I could imagine Kit’s long-legged stride as he wound his way between clusters of crumbling bunkers and long-abandoned huts. If I closed my eyes I could see him standing on a cracked and weed-choked runway, his great-coat billowing in the cold wind, his long hair streaming with rain.
    â€œHe did the same thing the following week, and the week after that,” Anne went on, hammering her point home. “When I finally told him that I’d followed him, and asked what he was doing, do you know what he said?” Tears trembled like ice crystals on the tips of her lashes. “He said, ‘I’m keeping watch for the airmen.”’
    I looked past Anne Somerville, past the shining Christmas tree, to the farmyard beyond the mullioned windows. The dark clouds I’d seen on the horizon were moving over Blackthorne Farm, and the brilliant sunshine that had followed us all day was growing weaker. In a few more hours dusk would settle over the broad, flat fields, and perhaps another blizzard would close in, but I was no longer afraid for my own safety. I was too filled with fear for Kit.
    A tear spilled down Anne’s cheek. “Kit’s mad,” she said. “He’s obsessed with war or death or …” She paused. “It’s probably what drew him to me. He must have sensed that death and I had become old friends.”
    Julian crossed to Anne’s side. “Mrs. Somerville, if this istoo difficult for you, you needn’t go on. I think you’ve told us enough.”
    â€œLet her finish.” Charles stood in the doorway, gazing at his wife. “Tell them the rest, Anne.”
    Anne wiped her eyes and straightened her shoulders, seeming to draw strength from her husband’s presence. “When Kit told me about the airmen, I knew for certain that he was ill, but by then I didn’t care. I’d have done anything to protect him.”
    â€œBecause you were in love with him?” Julian said gently.
    â€œMe? In love with Kit?” Anne gave an astonished laugh. “I think not. It would’ve been like falling in love with a monk. Besides,” she added, gazing fondly at her husband, “I was too busy falling in love with the manager Kit had taken on.”
    Charles returned his wife’s fond gaze. “Anne thought her heart was dead and buried, but Kit brought it back to life. He made her care about someone other than herself, you see. By the time I showed up, she was ready to fall in love.”
    Anne’s smile dimmed. “Kit saved me as well as my farm. I’ve thought of him every day since he left. He’s a good, kind man, but he simply can’t be trusted to look after himself. He needs supervision.”
    â€œI agree,” said Julian. “That’s why Lori and I came to Blackthorne Farm. We were hoping …”
    I listened with a growing sense of