eyes closed. In a moment he was snoring softly, which touched Verity’s heart; he evidently felt comfortable. His arms were stretched out, his hands open. She saw no tension in him.
Feeling shy but hungry, Verity covered him with a light blanket and went downstairs with the menu. She reminded herself that she had always been forthright and no-nonsense and nothing had changed. Still, she had to steel herself to approach the innkeeper and hand him the menu.
‘We would like these items,’ she said.
‘At six o’clock?’ he asked, smiling at her, which told her all she wanted to know about who had put the menu under the door and heard their laughter.
‘Yes, please,’ she replied, ready to be formal, but governed by an imp of her own. ‘You’re probably wondering what was so funny.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Everard,’ he told her and she saw something wistful in his eyes now. ‘War is war. Sometimes you need to laugh.’
His artless comment brought tears to her eyes, but they weren’t tears of sorrow, for a change. She felt a kinship she had not anticipated and good will, which reminded her forcefully of the season, which sorrow had dismissed as too much to manage this Christmas.
Happy Christmas to me, she thought, and Happy Christmas to Captain Everard.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
