(12/20) No Holly for Miss Quinn (14 page)

There was plenty of time now for uninterrupted thought. A lot of good had come from this week's visit. She had learned to know Eileen better, and to appreciate the strength of character that lay behind the babyish good looks. She remembered her gaiety and courage in the face of death at the hospital, her honest gratitude for help given. Now she began to see why Lovell loved her so much. It made her own feelings towards her brother much more comfortable. If Lovell were happy, then she too was happy. It was as simple as that.

And how much greater now was her bond with the children! They were all of them—Lovell, Eileen, and she herself—much closer because of this adversity. She felt better for having gone. It had jolted her out of her own selfish rut, and a good thing too, she told herself.

"'Cast your bread upon the waters!'" she remembered. Well, she had certainly received a bountiful return.

***

It was dark when she arrived at Holly Lodge, and Joan was out. Probably having a New Year's Eve drink with friends in Fairacre, thought Miriam, suddenly remembering the date.

She put away the car, and carried her things indoors. The pleasant smell of new paint greeted her. She breathed it in with rapture.

Here she was at last! At home, and alone, ready for all that plight befall in the New Year.

What would it hold for her? She remembered Martin, and was warmed by the thought of his friendship which might grow—who knew?—into something dearer.

Well, it was nice to be wanted, Lovell and his family had proved that. But not for always, thought Miriam, looking for a vase for her Norfolk nosegay. She was glad to have met Martin again, glad to know she would see him soon, and glad to know that the bond with her family was more closely knit.

But this was where she was happiest. For her, spinsterhood was truly blessed. She walked into her empty sitting room and closed the door behind her, the better to relish that sweet solitude which to her was the breath of life.

A vision of the vicarage rose before her—the paper chains, the expanding fans and bells, the tinsel, the mistletoe, the holly.

Here there was no holly for Miss Quinn, but she felt a glow as warm as its red berries at the joy of being home, a joy which, she knew, would remain ever green in the years which lay ahead.