Mary Pargeter was starting to feel her age. When did she first attend the annual Christmas tree lighting ceremony at Greenwood House? A quarter of a century, and she was retired even then. Had she loc

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D inah was not a Christmas cook. Her ...

HELLO, little one!” Penny Dauntless greeted a robin-redbreast, who cocked his head as she pushed along her trolley of post on the daily round. “How often is there such a perfect mid-December morning?”

Sarah looked down at her shopping list again, frowning. Why on earth had she been so pig-headed? Her parents had offered to do Christmas. So had John’s. But no. She’d insisted: since this was their fi

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