Everything Charles thought he was standing on, the whole edifice of the truth, could crumble under the slightest test of proof.

  “Charles!” Candace’s voice, pitched with fear, cut across his thoughts.

  He clasped hold of her and pulled her closer to him as the ground beneath seemed to turn into liquid and suddenly he was holding her upright. He staggered backward, still clinging on to her. He slipped and fell hard on his back, she on top of him.

  The edge of the path where they had stood had disappeared. More ground was folding in on itself, faster than he could have run.

  The sky lit up with gouts of flame and for long, breathless seconds the horizon was red. Then, just as suddenly, it darkened again and the mountain no longer roared.

  “Bretherton!” Charles climbed slowly to his feet, half lifting Candace as he did so. “Bretherton!”

  “Here!” Bretherton called back a little shakily. “Isla’s here. Quinn! Quinn! Are you all right?”

  There was no answer.

  Then the blow landed out of nowhere. It was so hard Charles dropped to his knees. Without the glare in the sky he had no idea what had hit him. Pain shot through his shoulder and his left arm felt paralyzed, but it did not burn.

  Then it was on top of him, drawing him forward.

  Quinn. He had waited for the moment when the quake had taken everyone’s attention and neither Charles nor Bretherton was on guard. He was powerful, fighting for his life. There must be proof after all. Now Charles was going to die, another victim of the volcano, and there would be no one to look after Candace.

  He must survive!

  With an intense effort, pain almost making him sick, he got to his knees and then fell forward again as Quinn lunged at him. Where the hell was Bretherton?

  He got one blow back, but it seemed to have no effect. Quinn was bending over him, breathing heavily.

  Charles aimed a kick, but it landed harmlessly.

  Quinn put out both his hands, reaching for Charles’s throat.

  Then Charles was suffocated by a large soft weight landing on him with great force. He had not cried out. Probably Bretherton would not even know!

  Then the weight eased and rolled off him. He tried to get up, but his chest ached and he couldn’t breathe. He rolled over onto his side and saw Quinn a few yards away. His head was streaming blood but he was getting to his feet again, lurching to gain his balance. He was coming back, fists clenched.

  He staggered as the ground under him slipped away, turning into soft, shivering rubble.

  Charles watched in horror as Quinn lost his balance and stepped backward. The whole earth seemed to be giving way, twisting and smoking. Quinn was up to his knees in it. Now he was screaming, flailing his arms, going backward.

  The crater was belching fire again as the ground caved in and took Quinn with it, burying him in its fall.

  Charles still could not draw his breath. Bretherton was beside him, a hand on his arm, gently.

  “Latterly! Latterly, are you all right? Breathe, man!” Without waiting he hauled Charles up and onto his feet, swaying uncertainly.

  Charles took a shuddering breath. He tried to speak, but no words would come. He could hardly fill his lungs. Bretherton had found him after all.

  Then Candace was there, tears running down the ash on her face. “Charles! You’ve got to breathe. You’ve got to be all right! Please…” She was close beside him, his empty water bottle in her hand. She was holding it by the neck like a cricket bat.

  He started to laugh, jerkily, a silly gurgling sort of sound, but one of pure joy. He drew in a great breath at last.

  “We’ve got to keep going,” Bretherton warned him. “The lava’s still moving. We’re on a sort of cart track and I think it’s coming this way. We’ve no time to waste.”

  As if to confirm what he had said, the ground shook again and they were aware of the roar of fire higher up, and the wind carried a wall of heat.

  “We’d better go as quickly as we can.” Bretherton waved. “Do you need a hand?”

  “No,” Charles said quickly. “Nothing’s broken. I’ll be fine.” He moved his weight gingerly. His body ached, but it was only pain, not damage. “Come on! We should go that way.” He pointed with his right arm. “Climb up a bit, out of the channel the lava will take.”

  No one mentioned that the lava would bury Quinn, if it came that way. Charles hesitated once, wondering if they should try to move him.

  “No!” Bretherton told him decisively. “It would take ten minutes to get him up that slope, if we could. And I don’t think we have ten minutes to get out of the way ourselves.”

  As if to validate his words, the mountain hurled more fire into the air, and more thick streams of lava boiled up out of a new vent, closer to them.

  They moved quickly, all four together, Bretherton helping Isla, Charles and Candace helping each other.

  They moved in near silence.

  Charles thought about Quinn. Had the proof of his plagiarism been with Bailey? Could he have gotten the diary somehow? It was of far more use to him to keep it and blackmail Quinn than it would be to hand it over to anyone.

  But Quinn could not pay out forever. With Bailey dead, Quinn might have been able to retrieve it, or at least see that it was destroyed. Perhaps Isla would have been next? That was a sickening thought.

  But he did not need to fear it. It would not happen.

  And Candace could grow up one day and be like her grandmother, passionately alive.

  It was another two full hours before at last they staggered into one of the little fishing villages right near the water’s edge. The mountain was a beacon in the distance, still sending scarlet and orange and gold fire up into the night.

  Strangers came up to them and asked them, in Italian, if they were all right. They were offered cakes and wine. Perhaps in the light of hundreds of candles they looked a lot better than they would by day.

  Then bells started to ring, and like a shaft of light out of darkness, Charles knew what day it was. This was Christmas, the stroke of midnight, the beginning of a million new, wonderful possibilities. He remembered Stefano’s words: “Time of hope, for everyone.”

  He looked at Candace and she smiled at him, calm and beautiful and full of courage.

  “Happy Christmas, Charles,” she said.

  To those who believe in starting again

  THE CHRISTMAS NOVELS OF ANNE PERRY

  A Christmas Journey

  A Christmas Visitor

  A Christmas Guest

  A Christmas Secret

  A Christmas Beginning

  A Christmas Grace

  A Christmas Promise

  A Christmas Odyssey

  A Christmas Homecoming

  A Christmas Garland

  A Christmas Hope

  A New York Christmas

  A Christmas Escape

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ANNE PERRY is the bestselling author of twelve earlier holiday novels, as well as the bestselling William Monk series, the bestselling Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series, five World War I novels, and a work of historical fiction, The Sheen on the Silk. Anne Perry lives in Scotland and Los Angeles.

  anneperry.co.uk

  @AnnePerryWriter

  Anne Perry is available for select readings and lectures. To inquire about a possible appearance, please contact the Penguin Random House Speakers Bureau at 212-572-2013 or speakers@penguinrandomhouse.com.

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  Anne Perry, A Christmas Escape

 

 

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