A Perfect Devon Christmas: A heartwarming Christmas romance set in a charming seaside village (Brambleton Series) by Debbie Morrison

Author:Debbie Morrison [Morrison, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Prosperina Press
Published: 2025-10-07T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

By the time she unlatched the gate to her former home, Ivy was having second thoughts. Victor was a good man, but he wasn’t much of a match for the Taliban. A bit like trying to fly a paper kite in a storm. She turned on her heel and was crunching back across the gravel when she caught the soft snick of the door opening behind her. ‘Ivy, wait,’ Victor called out. ‘I’m sorry. The doorbell isn’t working, but I do try to keep an eye out for visitors.’

‘Have you checked the battery?’ she asked.

His face split into a grin, ‘Ah! Good idea.’ Bless him, she thought, he had all the practicality of a chocolate frying pan. He rumbled on, insisting his door was always open anyway, just knock. Everyone was welcome, any time. ‘Please come in,’ he said, his tone calm and inviting.

She retraced her steps. Each time her foot fell, she tried to imagine Omar making that journey over the mountains. There was no harm in consulting Victor. She had Omar’s permission to share the story of his journey, just not his role with the army, nor anything about his sister.

The vicar led the way to the small study, so familiar, yet so different. Stacks of worn books still lined the shelves, but the room smelled strongly of incense and a gentle murmur of conversation drifted from a radio playing softly in the background. Victor sat behind a desk so cluttered that Ivy itched to stack the papers into neat piles, as they had always been in her day. But before that she wanted to wipe it clean – she was certain a swipe of her finger across the leather top would come away thick with dust. To her, a tidy, clean desk signified an organized life. After five months around Victor, she should have expected this chaos.

‘How can I help?’ he said, offering a gentle smile and bright eyes after she rejected the suggestion of tea. She sensed the tightness in her chest ease and sank into a chair opposite him.

As she spoke, Victor loomed above her, watching with a focused stillness that made Ivy feel like an actor under a theatre spotlight. She noticed the way his long fingers were steepled beneath his chin, as if in prayer, while he listened to Omar’s story unfold. Though he was young, he carried an air of someone older, someone who had already seen more than most. Maybe it was the clerical collar. His voice held a hint of nostalgia as he remarked, ‘Remember, my last parish was inner-city Hull – quite a lot of refugees there. I’ve heard worse stories.’ The bluntness of his tone was both refreshing and oddly soothing, and she felt her frustrations thaw. She had done the right thing coming to see him.

‘The thing is,’ she said, her voice cracking, ‘he won’t do anything about it. He just withdraws.’

Victor’s eyes radiated genuine concern. ‘Sometimes we have to let people find their own way, even if it’s painful to watch.

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