Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply. Yes, another of my Christmas ideas that I had to commit to 'paper', even if a tad late.

Tommy spread the blanket on the hill above Nanrunnel Cove. "Here should be good. We will have a good view of the stage."

Barbara hit her upper arms with her hands then blew into her gloves. "Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

Tommy gave her his best smile. Not that Barbara would agree, but they had become virtually inseparable, and as far as he was concerned, they were courting. Quaintly. Without any declarations. Without any real physical contact. And most definitely without having kissed. He hoped that their ten day break at Howenstowe might change that. If he found the courage. That was not a given.

"Because I asked you."

"Right, that must be it. If you asked me to stick my head inside a furnace, I suppose you think I would do that too. Just for you."

"I would never ask that."

"I'd never do it."

"Good. I would be greatly concerned if you even considered it."

"Good. So would I."

"This is not a furnace, Barbara."

"I know, it's a bloody icebox!"

"Here sit down. I brought an extra blanket."

Barbara accepted the blanket and pulled it around her shoulders before sitting down. "How long?"

Tommy glanced at his watch. "About ten minutes."

"Does this happen every year?"

"Yes, but I don't always get the chance to come down, as you know."

"It's a cute idea holding carols the at the beach and not in the church."

"It's not my idea," Tommy said as he sat beside her. "Carols by Candlelight started in Australia in the late 1800s. There was a radio announcer in Melbourne who popularised it. In 1937, he was walking home and saw an old lady sitting in her window singing carols by the light of a candle. It made him wonder how many people were sitting at home alone at Christmas. So the next year he organised carols in a park. People were told to bring candles to see the song sheets. Over ten thousand turned up. Singles, couples and families brought candles in tin cups or fashioned candleholders from newspaper to stop the hot wax dripping on their hands. They've had them every year since, and the money raised goes to help blind people. The tradition spread to almost every Australian community, and then globally."

Barbara touched his arm. "That's actually very sweet. I know churches here hold carol services by candlelight, but sharing across the whole village, that's... lovely."

Tommy beamed at her. "Of course the Australians have an advantage, it's summer over there."

"Yeah, but it would be weird having Christmas in summer."

"It would."

Tommy folded several sheets of newspaper and poked a hole with his pocketknife. He forced a candle into the slot and then lit it. "Here you are."

"Ta."

In the flickering light, the auburn highlights in her hair shone like gold. The soft warm glow made her face look soft, and her lips redder. He wanted to kiss those lips. Maybe tonight.

The village choir and the remarkable son of the greengrocer, who Tommy financially supported to study as a boy soprano at Salisbury Cathedral School, led the carols. They started with children's favourites such as Jingle Bells, Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and Santa Claus is Coming to Town. Tommy watched as Barbara happily sang along, and encouraged him to join in too. All around them, families were singing out of tune and laughing and having a wonderful time.

Despite her protests, Barbara had been looking forward to the carols all day. She liked to sing, and Christmas was supposed to be a fun time. Being with Tommy felt almost as if she had a real family to enjoy it with. He grumbled about not being able to sing, but his baritone voice carried a tune surprisingly well.

Some of the families with young children drifted away at the interval. Tommy lit new candles for them and poured two steaming teas from his thermos. "This is wonderful fun."

"Yeah," she admitted, "thanks for asking me down."

"You're more than welcome. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

The second half was more serious with the more traditional, religious carols. Barbara surprised herself by being able to remember the lyrics, even the real words of to Hark the Herald Angels Sing, where she normally sang "epsom salts is just the thing" instead of the correct "Glory to the new-born King." Tommy frowned at her as she chuckled her way through it, but seemed to find it infectious and laughed with her, completely unaware of the joke.

The evening had been far more enjoyable than she could ever have imagined. She knew what the locals assumed about her sharing His Lordship's blanket, but she did not care. They could think what they liked. She knew she was not the latest in a line of unsuitable, long-legged women. Tommy actually seemed to have abandoned dating, arguing that spending money wining and dining women who bored him was not a good investment. Eating with her almost daily was obviously a cost-saving measure, but at least she knew he was not bored by her company.

Barbara felt content, almost happy, and then everything changed. The greengrocer, a charismatic tenor, began to sing a hauntingly beautiful version of Holy City. Although technically an Easter hymn, it was popular amongst carollers. Barbara sang along with the first verse, but when they reached "I heard the children singing," Barbara lost her voice. She sat staring at the small stage. She tried to hold back the tears welling in her eyes, but gravity overwhelmed her efforts. Soon a small river was flowing from her eyes.

Tommy must have noticed. He snuggled closer and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She did not object. The comfort was welcome and she leant against him and hid her face in the softness of his expensive cashmere overcoat. They sat in silence listening to the music. Barbara knew she would need to explain at some point, but she also knew he would not ask tonight. At least she prayed he would not ask. If he did, she would lose it completely.

The sudden tears alarmed him. Barbara had looked so happy as she had been singing, and it had lifted Tommy's spirits too. Something about that song upset her. He did not want to ask and risk embarrassing her, but he wanted to offer his support. It seemed natural to put his arm around her. He was bewildered when she turned her face into his armpit and continued to sob. He leant his head over so that it touched hers, and rubbed his hand up and down her arm as a gesture of understanding, even though he was at a total loss to explain her sudden mood shift. Barbara moved her candle towards him. It was quivering as her hand shook. He placed his hand over hers, letting the flame of his candle merge with hers and the wax melt together. Silently they stayed like this for the next ten minutes until the end of the carols.

The next morning was a busy one. Being Christmas Eve, Tommy had to visit his main tenant farmers and gift them the traditional bottle of Irish whiskey. "My grandfather started it," he explained to Barbara. "Many of the farmers are the grandsons of the first recipients."

Barbara smiled. "That's a nice tradition."

"Come with me."

She shook her head. "I'd be in the way."

"Nonsense. I insist."

She shrugged. "Okay, but if they start telling me about horses or wheat or something, Promise you'll rescue me."

He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her head a quick kiss. "I promise."

They arrived back mid-afternoon. Tommy was rather proud of his sergeant. Her objections had been in vain. The farmers and their wives had plied them with tea and cake and Barbara had been engaging and even humorous.

"Thank you," he said as they raced across the gravel ahead of the rain which began to fall in big drops as they pulled into Howenstowe's drive.

"For what?" she asked as they shook the water off their coats before entering the house.

"Coming with me. Being so natural with my tenants. They liked you."

"They're nice simple people. I can relate to them more easily..." There was an edge to her voice.

He sighed heavily. "Meaning you can't relate to 'my lot'?"

"Your mother and Peter tolerate me. Judith thinks I'm quaint and you... have to put up with me."

"No, I choose to put up with you. Nothing in my job description says I have to invite you for Christmas."

"Why did you?"

Tommy expected to see defiance in her eyes. Instead, there was fear. "Because I wanted to spend the holidays with you." Her eyes softened. He stepped closer and pulled her into his arms. Her head fell against his chest and her arms circled his waist. If he was not so worried, her reaction would have been glorious.

Christmas morning started early for Barbara, not by choice but because of her nightmares. "Ugh!"

It was only three o'clock but she could not face going back to sleep. She dressed into her jeans and warm puffer jacket and snuck past Tommy's room and down the stairs. The back door creaked as she opened it, but she did not think it was loud enough to wake anyone. Behind the house, there was a paved area and beyond that a path that led to a small ivy-covered pergola looking out over the sea. The moon was near full and the clouds sparse. She sat and watched the silver catch the tops of the waves in Nanrunnel Bay.

The tune seemed to call to her from the darkness. As tears rolled down her face Barbara began to sing.

Last night I lay asleeping,
There came a dream so fair,
I stood in old Jerusalem
Beside the temple there
I heard the children singing
And ever as they sang,
Methought the voice of Angels
From Heaven in answer rang
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem!
Lift up your gates and sing,
Hosanna in the highest.
Hosanna to your King!"*

Tommy woke when he heard Barbara calling out in her sleep. In adjacent rooms, he doubted that she knew that their beds backed onto the shared wall. The proximity gave him comfort but he had sensed her distress. He had been dressing to go into her when he had heard her door open and footsteps padding down the hallway. When she did not return in a few minutes, he went looking for her.

"Why are you out here, alone?"

Barbara stopped singing. "Sorry, did my singing wake you?"

"No." He sat down beside her.

"I..."

"You're crying again."

She sniffed. "It's nothing. Just me being silly."

"Tell me. Whatever it is, I can help."

She shook her head. "No. It's not a problem to be solved. It's just... memories."

He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her gently against him. "Sometimes they hurt more than anything else."

"Yeah."

"So?'

Barbara sighed. "This hymn, it was my father's favourite. The other night when I heard it, I thought about when we had all been happy. When Terry and I had been singing... As a child, it wasn't all bad, but after he died... and then with Mum losing her memory... it all just overwhelmed me."

"Oh, Barbara, why didn't you say?" Tommy pulled her into a hug.

She cuddled against his chest. "It was years ago. I should be over it." She sat up and wiped her cheeks. "And I'm not a teary person."

"Maybe you're mourning the past because you have a new beginning?"

"Huh?"

"With me."

She frowned at him. In the moonlight, her face reflected the silvery moonlight making her look like a goddess. "I don't understand."

"I love you."

"Nah... what? No, you can't." She struggled to break free.

"Why not?"

"It's not right. I'm... a tenant farmer type, not to the manor born."

"I hate that phrase, but I would live in an igloo in the middle of Lappland if that meant I was with you."

"But... all these months... you didn't say anything. Never once..."

"Because I'm a coward. I didn't know how."

"Uh?! It's easy. You look someone in the face and say, I love you, Tommy."

He grinned at her. "Do you?"

"What?"

"Love me?"

"You need to ask?"

"Would it be inappropriate if I sang Beethoven instead?"

"Probably..."

"Pity. Merry Christmas, my love." Tommy bent down and gently pressed his lips to hers. Even if he was forbidden from singing it, the Ode to Joy rang in his head as she returned his kiss... with interest.

"Merry Christmas, Tommy." She stood and offered him her hand. "If it's a new beginning, perhaps we should start it by waking up together?"

He smiled as he stood and took her hand. "Do you really think we will sleep?"

*Holy City, Music by Stephen Adams; words by Frederick E. Weatherly