‘Yes, but she’s not looking at me.’
‘Hey boys, I see your girlfriend is back and it looks like she’s ditched the boyfriend.’
‘Shut up, Lord Percy.’ They both groaned in unison.
‘I will not. I’ve got as much right to be here as the rest of you, haven’t I, chaps? He said, tilting his head slightly towards the seven other gentlemen almost hidden in the back as they bent over their card game. ‘She must be desperate to come here every Friday; desperate or blind wanting to look at your ugly face,’ he said, flicking his lace-edged cuffs. ‘Although she could never be called a looker with that hair and as for her nose…’ he added, his eyes raking her from head to foot before pausing on her denim-clad bottom. ‘I do like this trend of women wearing breeches though. In the old days all we got was a flash of ankle...’
‘I told you to shut up, or I’ll shut your mouth for you,’ Lord William repeated. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with her nose, or her hair for that matter. She’s absolutely perfect.’ Or she would be if he could just skim his eyes in her direction. But he couldn’t, he never could as he allowed himself to sniff though the thick layer of varnish in order to smell the lingering scent of lilac that seemed to surround her like a cloud.
‘And what are you going to do about it?’ Lord Percy continued. ‘Challenge me to a duel? Give me a black eye? That would cause a fine rumpus don’t you think? They’d probably take us down to the basement for cleaning or some such rubbish and then what would you do? You wouldn’t be able to see your girlfriend,’ his hand curling where it rested on the side of the frame.
‘She’s not my girlfriend, alright. I just like her. She reminds me a little of my sister.’ he growled, lying through his teeth.
‘Yeah, right and she was no looker either. How did she end up again? Governess, wasn’t it?’ he added, chortling under his breath.
‘Mummy, mummy, I’m sure I saw that painting move,’ the little boy in the red jumper said, pulling at his mother’s hand.
‘Don’t be silly, Jack. It’s a painting. It can’t move,’ she said, throwing a quick glance at the only other person in the room before pulling her son to the side of the painting and the description pinned to the wall. ‘Look, it says Ten Lords a Leaping just like in that Christmas carol. It was painted way back in the Seventeenth Century by some Dutch painter but don’t ask me to try and pronounce his name with all them vowels.’
‘It did move. It did. That ugly one on the left with the funny squint and all them ruffles moved his lips. I’m sure he did.’
‘Shush, darling. You’ll only upset the other visitor,’ she whispered, throwing an apologetic smile at the woman standing beside them. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought him – he’s only five.’
‘He’s right you know.’
‘Excuse me?’ her smile turning into a frown.
Helen tilted her head towards the painting, her eyes still lingering on the arresting blue eyes of the man in the centre. ‘I said he’s right about the painting moving.’
‘He’s right about the paint…?’ Jack’s mum repeated, clutching a little more tightly on her son’s hand. ‘Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You wouldn’t like to sit down or anything? A glass of water perhaps, or I do have some wet wipes in my bag? You do know paintings don’t move, don’t you. That kind of thing only happens in the world of Harry Potter.’
‘It must be a trick of the light or something,’ Helen carried on as if she hadn’t heard. ‘Every time I visit, it looks slightly different,’ her hand stretched out towards the canvas. ‘The men at the back, playing cards; sometimes there’s three cards on the table but sometimes more. Even the man in the red jacket; last week I’m sure he winked at me.’ She rubbed her damp cheeks against the sleeve of her jacket before walking across to the painting on the other side of the room. ‘Now this Rembrandt, he never moves, not even a twitch. It’s only that one painting…’ her voice dissolving.
‘You must come here a lot?’
‘I used to but this is my last visit. I’m leaving… going back home so this is in way of a goodbye.’ She shook her head, trying to sniff back the tears before turning back to the woman. ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. I’m pretty normal usually, it’s just today isn’t a good day.’ She watched the woman offer her a hasty good-bye before throwing a fearful look at the painting and almost dragging her son out of the room.
She thinks I’m mad. She thinks I’m as mad as a hatter with more than two hats. And she’d be right, she murmured, walking towards the painting, her eyes crawling over the ten figures but only seeing one.
‘Sir William,’ her voice soft. ‘What is it about you?’ her gaze now on his face as he stared out at something in the middle distance. ‘It’s not that you’re good looking, although you are. But good looks come cheap. Ruben was good looking,’ a crack in her voice. ‘But he was also vain, opinionated and a prat. It’s your eyes,’ she continued. ‘Something about your eyes and the way they watch.’ She turned her head and looked across the room to where he was staring at a blank wall. ‘What are you looking at when you stare like that? What can you see that I can’t? If only I could find someone to look at me like that.’ as she lifted her hand out towards his face.
‘Now, now Miss, no touching the painting.’
‘I wasn’t going to…’
‘Weren’t you indeed?’ The short, heavy guard said, his voice laden with suspicion. ‘You really need to get a life or help or something; a pretty girl like you coming here week in, week out talking to the paintings,’ he muttered with a shake of his head. ‘I don’t want to see you here tomorrow.’
‘But I’m…’
‘We can’t be too careful. That painting is worth millions. I don’t think there’s any harm in you but they said that about the Rokeby Venus and look what happened to her?’ he said with a grimace. ‘They sacked the guards on duty and I have six mouths to feed at home. Now be away with you or I’ll call the police or should that be the funny farm?’
‘I’m going to kill him,’ Lord William said through gritted teeth.
‘You’ll have to get there first. Most of the paintings in this room want to kill him, even that basket of fruit over there.’
William threw caution to the wind and shifted his gaze, his eyes sweeping the empty gallery before making a move.
‘Quick, he’s in the other room. Help me, Cranny.’
‘Help you what?’ his eyes wide.
‘Help me climb down. I’m going after her.’
‘You can’t…’
‘Who says I can’t?’ He said, lifting his hand up to his neck and quickly untying his cravat before poking it in his pocket. ‘If you shift a little towards the right they’ll never notice I’m missing.’
‘What?’
‘Cranny, do listen, old man and be quick or I’m going to lose her,’ he said, hooking one leg out of the corner of the frame before leaping down onto the floor in front of them.
The magic was powerful indeed because now he was out of the picture; he miraculously stretched and filled out to the length of a fully grown man.
Swivelling in a wide arc, he lifted up his hands and laughed. ‘It’s bright, so bright and I’m free,’ he shouted before turning on his heel and tearing across the room, all his attention now on one goal – finding her. It would be ironic that, now he was free, he’d lose her forever. But no, there she was, just walking up ahead, her shoulders bent.
He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a large handkerchief, almost surprised to find it there.
‘Excuse me, miss. I believe you dropped this?’
She lifted her head and their eyes met for the very first time.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Your handkerchief.’
He watched her shake her head, her expression bemused. ‘It’s not mine. Do I know you? You look familiar.’
‘No, we haven’t been introduced but I have seen you around the gallery before,’ he bowed gracefully. ‘Will M
audon at your service. Would you like to go for some refreshment?’ he added, his hand curling around what he hoped where coins in a currency they’d still accept in 21st-century Amsterdam. If not, he could always sell off his fob watch, or his ruby ring…
Lord Cranbury tilted his head towards the eight lords left with a look of amusement. ‘Come on then, what’s keeping you? I don’t see how Lord William should have all the fun,’ he said on a laugh as he grabbed the side of the frame and leapt out of the picture and into the unknown.
The End
Author’s Note
Best-selling author, Jenny O'Brien, was born in Ireland and, after a brief sojourn in Wales, now resides in Guernsey.
She's an avid reader and book reviewer for NetGalley in addition to being a 2016 RoNA judge.
She writes for both children and adults with a new book coming out every six months or so. She's also an avid collector of cats, broken laptops, dust and happy endings - two of which you'll always find in her books.
In her spare time she can be found frowning at her wonky cakes and even wonkier breads. You'll be pleased to note she won't be entering Bake-Off.
Readers can find out more about Jenny and her books from her website
http://jennyo.bravesites.com/
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Liz Hedgecock
Day Eleven
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me…
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Liz Hedgecock
Cozy Mystery
When amateur sleuth Pippa Parker takes her family to London for a pre-Christmas trip, little does she know that the world’s most expensive (and hideous) watch is about to disappear from a top department store. With kids in tow and shopping to do, can Pippa find the Santa Special Festive Forever Timepiece before time runs out?
The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year
‘You do realise the place will be heaving,’ said Simon, throwing a pair of rolled-up socks into the suitcase.
‘That’s all part of the atmosphere,’ said Pippa. ‘London at Christmas! The lights and the shops —’
‘Ah yes, the shops.’ Simon sat on the bed. ‘Can we try not to max out the credit cards?’
‘There’ll be pre-Christmas bargains —’
‘Which you’ll hide in the wardrobe and forget about, Pippa Parker, and then end up re-panic-buying at the last minute.’
‘Freddie will love it.’ Pippa placed her jeans in the case with an air of finality.
‘Mmm.’ Simon looked around the clothes-strewn room. ‘I just wish we didn’t have to bring the kitchen sink.’
‘Well, that’s babies for you.’ Pippa ran through her mental checklist. Ruby’s Moses basket, changing mat, pushchair, sling, nappies, wipes, three times as many clothes as she ought to need… She still wasn’t sure quite how they would carry everything onto the train. How did they manage when they lived in London? Pippa had a sudden vision of the doors closing, shutting them and their equipment inside while Ruby wailed on the platform. She shook her head to dissolve it. ‘It’ll be fun!’
‘I feel sick, Mummy,’ said Freddie, as the train rocked through the Home Counties. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’
Pippa brushed Freddie’s hair out of his eyes. His forehead was warm. ‘Maybe in half an hour.’
‘Can I have sweets?’
‘Not if you’re feeling sick.’
Freddie’s mouth turned down even further, and he wrapped his arms round his tummy. Pippa sighed, and settled in her seat. Her left arm ached from supporting Ruby, who sprawled across her like a little starfish, fast asleep and breathing heavily. ‘You’ll be fine once you’re off the train.’
‘I won’t.’ His gaze wandered across the table to Pippa’s phone. ‘Can I play a game?’
‘Who knew phones cured travel sickness,’ Simon remarked softly, as they watched Freddie zap aliens with his thumbs.
‘Amazing.’ Pippa looked at Ruby. ‘She’s being so good.’
Ruby smiled in her sleep. Seconds later Pippa retched as the smell assaulted her nostrils. ‘Urrh! How can she do that and stay asleep?’
‘The smiling assassin.’ Simon shifted as far away as he could. ‘I wish she wouldn’t look so pleased with herself.’
‘She won’t when I change her nappy.’ Pippa gazed out of the window at the fields speeding by, and consoled herself with thoughts of Christmas shopping.
‘Let’s go and enjoy London!’ Pippa’s enthusiasm was as brittle as a glass bauble. Between getting everyone and everything off the train, finding the right Tube line, and listening to Freddie moan while she and Simon managed the luggage and Ruby between them, she wondered if a Christmas shopping trip with the children might be her worst idea ever.
The chilly winter air was a smack in the face after the tropical hotel foyer. ‘Is there food in London?’ Freddie quavered.
‘Freddie.’ Pippa manoeuvred Ruby’s pushchair round a gaggle of students carrying backpacks. ‘We lived in London until we moved to Much Gadding. Did you starve?’
Freddie shook his head miserably. ‘That was different.’
‘The Christmas lights are on!’ Pippa exclaimed. High above the street, an army of Santas delivered presents from their sleighs, making a brave show in the grey sky.
‘Is that it?’ whined Freddie.
‘It’ll be better when it gets dark,’ Pippa assured him.
‘What about lunch?’
‘We’ll find lunch,’ soothed Simon. ‘Good idea, Fred-Fred. I know somewhere nearby.’
‘Yeah!’ Freddie grabbed his hand and swung it, grinning, and Pippa reflected on the time she had spent planning the trip. Oh well. She frowned at a strange sound drifting down the street.
‘Is someone torturing a duck?’ laughed Simon. Freddie looked up at him with big, worried eyes.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Pippa, firmly. ‘Let’s go and find out.’
The source of the noise became apparent a few steps further. A small crowd made it invisible, but the cause was obvious. ‘Bagpipes!’ cried Pippa. She wheeled Ruby towards the crowd. ‘Come on, Simon. I don’t think Freddie’s seen a bagpiper before.’
‘I doubt he’ll see one now,’ said Simon, peering at the crowd.
As luck would have it, a couple of people peeled away as they approached. The piper was in full rig; kilt, sporran, jacket and Balmoral cap.
Simon nudged Pippa. ‘Bet he’s a bit chilly,’ he said, nodding at the piper’s kilt.
‘Oh, honestly,’ said Pippa. She studied the piper as he puffed, his face impassive under his hat. He was young, and from what she could see, rather attractive. Surely there were easier ways to make a living? Then she noted the instrument case in front of him, lined with notes and coins. Fair enough. She glanced back at the piper, and he was looking right at her. Was that the ghost of a smile? She studied the window of the department store. ‘Oh! I wanted to come here!’
‘Such a coincidence,’ remarked Simon. ‘What’s the draw?’
‘The most expensive watch in the world,’ said Pippa. ‘It’s on display here. I read it on the web.’
‘What’s so special about it?’
‘Well,’ said Pippa. ‘It has a false front completely encrusted in diamonds and rubies, to look like a Christmas present. And when you lift the cover, the watch plays a Christmas carol. It has a memory of twenty-five songs, so you never know which it will be. And it’s accurate to a fraction of a second every thousand years. You can’t even buy it yet, and they’re only making ten of them.’
‘Wow,’ said Simon. ‘It sounds horrible.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ said Pippa. ‘I can’t wait to see it.’
Simon laughed. ‘All right. We’ll go and see the watch, then lunch. Deal?’
Pippa beamed. ‘Deal.’
‘Why don’t you just ask?’ Simon indicated a shop assistant hovering on an invisible line and clearly itching to come over.
Pippa wriggled. ‘I can’
t remember what it’s called. I can’t exactly ask where they keep the horrible watch, can I?’
Simon smirked. ‘I bet people do. Excuse me!’ he called. ‘Where would we find the, um, Christmas watch?’
The assistant beamed from ear to ear. ‘The Santa Special Festive Forever Timepiece?’
‘That sounds about right.’
‘It’s on the third floor, in Accessories, Jewellery and Watches, Statement Watches, Seasonal, Limited Edition.’ Her smile was well-practised, and slightly strained. ‘Just get the lift to the third floor, then follow everyone else.’
‘There you go,’ said Simon. ‘Let’s get this over with. I kind of want to see it myself now.’
Ping! Third floor, for accessories, jewellery and haberdashery!
But as the lift doors opened, and they unpacked themselves, the store tannoy crackled into life:
‘This is a special announcement for all shoppers. Due to an incident, we have had to close the doors of this store. Please do not be alarmed. This is a safety precaution and anyone wishing to leave the store may do so at the main entrance, after a bag and body search. We hope things will return to normal shortly and will keep you updated. Please continue to browse, and to shop. Thank you.’ The woman making the announcement sounded incredibly embarrassed.
‘Someone’s stolen something!’ Pippa muttered, under her breath.
‘What did the funny lady say?’ asked Freddie.
‘Don’t worry, Freddie, it’s nothing. We’re, um, just going down here.’ Pippa steered the pushchair right, which seemed to be the direction most people were heading in.
The saleswoman had been correct. As they walked along the Parkers joined more and more people converging on Accessories, Jewellery and Watches, Statement Watches, Seasonal, Limited Edition, until a large crowd stood round a glass case, ducking, diving and standing on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the white plinth, and the empty space on top.
12 Days of Christmas: A Christmas Collection Page 26
