A Cornish Christmas by Lily Graham

don’t know how she knew, mostly she guessed... She was not a genius for nothing, and years of studying people had made her something of an expert, I suppose. Though she did say that the irony was that she was oftentimes blinded by her own husband Mark, who was also a well-known biographer. She, like Catherine, were the two people in this world that Stuart and I both felt like we could tell about the baby, either way. As much as I wanted – and needed – to tell Dad, having him look as helpless as he did the last time meant that I just couldn’t face that yet.
    â€˜So we’ll be seeing more of you?’ I said hopefully.
    â€˜Oh yes,’ she said, giving me a big hug.
    â€˜How long are you in town?’ I asked.
    â€˜Just a flash visit right now, I’m afraid. I have some transcription work to do around the corner... I’m not allowed to remove the letters from the home, so I thought I’d stop by here for a coffee if that’s all right? Took a chance that you’d be home as I pass this way – only realised while I was driving, else I would have called, but I’ll come this way again in a week, if that’s good for you, spend a night or two?’
    â€˜That’s perfect!’ I said, delighted at the surprise, making a mental note to get some new things for the spare room, something Christmassy definitely... would be good to put it in use for the first time.
    â€˜How’s Mark?’ I asked.
    A cloud seemed to settle over her face for a second, but passed just as quickly. ‘Oh, great, great, working on a biography of Marcus Aurelius. He’s in Rome till the end of the month,’ she said with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I didn’t push it, though it did make me worry. Victoria and her husband Mark hadn’t had the easiest of relationships – they both had careers that took them to opposite ends of the earth, but somehow they’d made it work. Everyone has their ups and downs. They didn’t want children just yet as it wouldn’t quite fit with their careers, though of course, Genevieve persisted in trying to persuade them anyway. At least Stuart’s mother shared ‘the love’.
    â€˜How’s the great jam experiment coming along?’ she asked, changing the subject.
    I snorted. ‘Splendidly. You very narrowly missed out on turnips...’ I said with a chuckle.
    We heard footsteps approach, then, ‘Ah, I thought I heard your dulcet tones! Hullo Smudge,’ came Stuart’s voice from behind.
    She rolled her eyes. Smudge’s voice was a bit high-pitched, not overly so, but it could get extremely high-pitched when we had had a few glasses, which was when Stuart said she was able to break the sound barrier with her giggles. Sibling love...
    She quirked her brows. ‘Turnip jam?’
    His shoulders started to shake in laughter. ‘Touché! It seemed like a good idea at the time, a bit like you, Smudge,’ he said, face deadpan.
    She glared at him, and elbowed him in the ribs. Then they linked arms and he took her on a tour of the polytunnel, while I brewed us a pot of tea, glad that Victoria was here. I knew that Genevieve’s latest call had been weighing on Stuart’s mind, and Victoria was one of the few people who would be able to ease his worries. It was hard for him not to tell his mother about the baby, and I knew that he felt bad about our decision to keep it to ourselves, even if it was for a good reason.
    Victoria had about an hour before she had to get to her appointment, so I made us a quick lunch – simple cheese sandwiches with Stuart’s homemade bread. (Stuart made her try each and every one of his condiments, while I rolled my eyes, especially when she said that the pak choi was her favourite, then laughed like a lunatic at my expression.)
    Victoria entertained us all by telling us what she had so far learned about Daphne du Maurier, and