Christmas at the Dancing Duck

by Daisy James

  ‘I know …’

  ‘But you know what the worst thing is? That when the place is sold, we probably won’t see each other again. So, before that happens, I want to make sure that I’ve told you how I feel. I love you, Kirstie. I love you with every fibre of my heart and soul. The last eighteen months without you have been the most painful of my entire life. I thought I would get over you when I went travelling, but I didn’t.

  ‘I can’t remember a time when you weren’t the first person I thought of when I woke up in the morning and the last person I thought of before I went to sleep at night. No matter where I was in the world, my thoughts would fly back to you, to wonder what you were doing at that precise moment, to hope that you were happy and had found peace. Have you found peace, Kirstie?’

  If Kirstie had in any way doubted the veracity of Josh’s words, when she looked into his eyes, she knew for certain he was telling her nothing but the truth. He had bared his soul to her and now it was her turn to reciprocate.

  ‘I think I’ve travelled further down the road to that destination in these last three weeks than I have for two years. And I have you to thank for that. You always bring out the best in me, Josh. You help me glimpse the possibilities that are there for the taking if I just push a little harder. What I hadn’t realized until just now is that I love you too. I’ve always loved you, even when I didn’t act as though I did. You are my other half, my soulmate, but can you forgive me for the way I’ve treated you?’

  Josh shook his head and for a moment Kirstie thought she had lost him. But then she saw the familiar roll of his eyes she loved so much and she was in his arms, kissing him as though she never had to stop. Every pore in her body zinged with happiness, and when she eventually broke their connection to catch her breath, a blanket of joy spread over her every contour. A shiver of desire rippled through her sending goosepimples down her arms.

  ‘You’re cold. Come on. Let’s celebrate spending the rest of our lives together with our friends and the bottle of Laurent Perrier I’ve stashed in the Spider.’

  Kirstie slid her hand into Josh’s and took her place at his side, the place where she was meant to be, where she knew she would be until they drew their last breath. No matter what happened, whether she still had a job or not, she knew with absolute certainty that Josh would be with her. As he slammed the door of his car shut and tucked the bottle of champagne under his arm, the first flakes of snow began to fall.

  She tipped her head back and sent up a prayer of thanks to her parents whom she knew were watching their reconciliation and had sent down the flurry of frozen confetti to signal their approval.

  Chapter 31

  She explored her senses. Not only had her tongue expanded in size, it was also stuck to the roof of her mouth. Ergh! A low buzzing sound invaded her ears, and when at last she mustered the strength to peel open her eyes, she immediately closed them again as a slice of pain shot through her delicate brain. The delicious aroma of warm bacon sandwiches drifted in the air and gave her the energy to eventually push herself up from her pillow and take a look around.

  But it wasn’t a pillow she had been slumbering on.

  She turned her chin to the left and what she saw caused her heart to soar. There was Josh, his features so handsome and innocent in repose. She smiled, happiness flooding her veins as she recalled the events of the previous night and their kiss in the summerhouse. As she studied his face she realized that he hadn’t changed at all since they were teenagers. His proximity still set her emotions in a spin and her spirits flying. She couldn’t believe her good fortune at being given a second chance at happiness. She made a pact with herself never to let Josh go again.

  Kirstie got up slowly from the velvet banquette she must have spent the night on, along with several others who had passed out after the overindulgence of free booze. She checked her watch – eight a.m.

  It was New Year’s Eve. She resolved to fill the next year surrounded by good friends no matter what the gods of chaos and disruption had planned for her. Okay, she was about to lose her childhood home, and it hurt, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Life was about the people in it not the belongings you amassed as the years went by.

  She couldn’t believe she had come to that conclusion when her parents had spent their lives collecting a whole host of bric-a-brac to accompany them along their path – yet if that was what made them truly happy then why not? Their marriage had lasted over thirty years and they had lived in the same home for all that time, raising two daughters and a succession of springer spaniels. That counted as a happy, fulfilled life in Kirstie’s book.

  ‘Hi, Kirstie. How’s the head this morning?’ asked Olivia.

  ‘A little sore, if I’m honest.’

  She followed Olivia’s eyes to the sleeping Josh. A smile spread across her face, along with a warm feeling in her chest and a spurt of optimism that now she and Josh were back together she could do absolutely anything. And first, that was to grab one of those bacon sandwiches and the strongest black coffee she could find. Second was to take a shower and prepare herself for the day ahead when the last of her parents’ belongings would be removed from the walls and shelves in the bar and taken up to Angus’s showroom ready for the auction.

  ‘Argh, what’s all the noise for?’ groaned Josh, sitting up straight and rubbing his palm over his face before scratching at his hair causing it to stand on end. To Kirstie, he had never looked cuter.

  ‘Want a coffee and a bacon sandwich?’

  ‘Ah, the perfect way to start the day! Yes, please!’

  He jumped up from the makeshift bed and followed Kirstie up the stairs to the flat. She poured him a coffee from the pot and he gulped it down as though he’d been stranded in the desert for a week. Then he placed his hands around her waist and pulled her into his arms, smiling as he leaned forward to kiss her.

  ‘I love you, Kirstie Harrison.’

  ‘I love you too, Joshua Turner.’

  ‘Why don’t we sneak into the …’

  ‘Kirstie, Josh?’ came a call from down the stairs. ‘Angus and Alistair have arrived.’

  Josh rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll just hop in the shower and be down in a couple of minutes, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Kirstie couldn’t keep the smile from her face as she trotted back down the stairs to meet Angus. This had been a day she had been dreading, seeing the familiar bar stripped bare of everything that reminded her of her childhood, yet she knew she would get through it and come out the other side. Hadn’t she had to cope with worse days?

  ‘Hi, Angus. Thanks for coming.’

  Kirstie deposited a kiss on his bristly cheek before moving over to where Alistair was squinting at a painting next to the front door of a black-and-white cocker spaniel that her father had hated, but her mother had insisted on keeping because it reminded her of their first family pet, Bruno.

  ‘Hello, Alistair.’

  ‘Hello, my dear,’ Alistair boomed, replacing his spectacles on his nose as he turned away from the picture to offer her his palm. ‘Tell me, are you planning on sending every painting in the bar to auction?’

  ‘Yes. I can’t see either me or Olivia displaying any of them on our walls. They’re either too big or their subject matter is just too, well, old-fashioned and drab. It’s hardly uplifting contemporary art, is it?’

  ‘Would you allow me to make you an offer for a couple of them? It’ll save you the extortionate auctioneer’s fees?’ He smirked. ‘I’ll have them professionally valued, of course.’

  ‘Not at all. Which paintings are you interested in?’

  Olivia rolled her eyes and left them to it. She disappeared behind the bar to fetch a stack of old newspapers she had brought down from the flat and started to wrap the extensive Toby jug collection. Even after she had finished just one shelf of the dual-purpose figurines, the bar took on an empty, unfamiliar feel.

  ‘Well, there are two, possibly three, that I’m interested in. This
portrait of a cocker spaniel is exquisite, but I particularly like the watercolour on the back wall, and the oil next to the fireplace. That picture keeps pulling me back to it for some reason. I think I’ve seen it before somewhere.’

  ‘Ah.’ Kirstie smiled as Josh appeared in the bar and shook hands with Angus, then Alistair. ‘Yes, perhaps you have. This painting was my mother’s favourite. I think it probably reminds you of one of those old Christmas cards your gran used to send. You’re not the only one to have noticed the similarity.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, but there’s something else. I know the artist – Joseph L. Farmer.’

  ‘Is he still alive?’

  ‘Yes.’ Alistair laughed at Kirstie’s astonishment. ‘He’s a well-respected Yorkshire artist renowned for his snow-covered scenes. But before I say anything else, I need to do a little research and make a couple of calls.’ Alistair produced his phone and rushed off to his Range Rover, his face alight with excitement.

  Kirstie wandered over to Olivia, who had been joined by Emma, to help with the wrapping and packing. As she carefully covered a Chinese-inspired vase in tissue paper, she wondered who the next owner of the trinket would be and a spurt of loss entered her chest. But she pushed it away. These were simply souvenirs of a life well lived before being cut short too soon. She didn’t need to hang on to them to remember her parents. She had made her peace with recycling their possessions, pleased in a way that someone else could now appreciate the things her parents had loved.

  Josh snaked his arm around her waist and whispered in her ear. ‘Your phone’s ringing!’

  ‘Thanks.’ Kirstie kissed him on the cheek causing a ripple of desire to shoot through her veins and sparkle out to her fingertips. She checked the screen.

  Brad.

  Her heart performed a backflip worthy of the world gymnastics championships. Her throat, still hoarse from the previous night’s excesses, contracted painfully. She couldn’t face talking to him. Cowardly, she knew, but whilst she was coping with the packing she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to add an extra layer of pressure to the load. She declined the call and returned the phone to her pocket just as the back door swung open and Alistair bounced in, almost skipping with excitement, no mean feat for a man of his bulk.

  Kirstie’s phone began to buzz again, but she ignored it.

  ‘Alistair?’

  ‘Where’s Angus?’ he asked, agitated, his eyes searching the room for his brother.

  ‘He must have gone upstairs to talk to Harry. Why?’

  Alistair almost jogged to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Angus, get down here!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Olivia, pausing in the process of stretching bubble wrap around a ceramic statue of a seated leopard proudly wearing a collar her mother had crocheted from a length of scarlet wool.

  Alistair strode over to the fireplace and with an inordinate amount of care, removed the Christmas card picture from the wall and propped it up on a bar stool, taking a step backwards to snap a photograph with his phone and compose an email.

  ‘Alistair?’

  ‘Angus! I’ve just had a very interesting conversation with to Toby Lynton-Smythe.’

  ‘Toby Lynton-Smythe from Christie’s? What for?’

  ‘He wants to see the original before he’ll confirm anything, of course, but I’ve just emailed him a couple of photographs. Oh, hang on, that’s him now. Hello, Toby. Yes. Yes. It is. I know. Okay, I understand. But what’s your initial estimate? Really? Are you sure? Yes. Yes, of course I will. Thank you.’

  ‘Erm, what’s going on?’ asked Olivia, her voice quivering.

  Harry, who had followed Angus down the stairs with Ethan in his arms, hooked his arm around his wife’s shoulders, his eyes as wide with enquiry as hers. Alistair shot behind the bar and helped himself to a glass of water. Everyone stopped their packing to watch him. He wiped the dribble from his lips and inhaled a deep breath.

  ‘This –’ Alistair indicated the painting with an expressive sweep of his palm ‘– is a genuine Joseph L. Farmer.’

  ‘Yes. We know that,’ said Kirstie slowly, glancing across to Angus then back at Alistair as though he had lost the plot. ‘I told you, it was one of Mum’s favourite paintings.’

  ‘She had a good eye, your mother. This particular painting was originally used for the iconic 1960s Christmas card.’

  ‘Well, yes, we thought that too … So?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m making myself terribly clear.’ Alistair reached into his pocket and fished out a huge white handkerchief to wipe the perspiration from his brow. ‘A similar painting by Joseph L. Farmer was also used for a Christmas card and recently sold at auction for over two hundred thousand pounds. Toby has just told me that if this turns out to be genuine – and I have no reason to think it won’t be – his valuation is a conservative two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, probably more.’

  Silence burgeoned around the room. Jaws gaped and eyes widened in unison as Alistair’s audience took in what he had just said.

  ‘Erm, sorry, Alistair, did you just say two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?’ Harry stuttered, handing Ethan to Olivia and moving forward to stare at the painting. ‘You mean to tell us that this painting, which has hung on these walls for the last twenty years is worth … worth two hundred and fifty thousand pounds?’

  ‘Yes, but in the right sale it could fetch more.’

  Olivia deposited Ethan on the red velvet banquette and dropped down next to him. She massaged her temples as she tried to assimilate what Alistair was saying. Kirstie slid off her bar stool and went to sit next to her sister, ignoring the constant buzzing from her pocket. She couldn’t contemplate taking Brad’s call at that precise moment.

  ‘Here, look! Toby has just emailed me a newspaper article about the previous sale.’ Alistair handed his phone to Kirstie and Olivia. Harry, Josh, and Emma leaned over their shoulders to read the article.

  ‘Oh. My. God!’ pronounced Emma, her earrings flying across her cheeks as she whipped her head round to face Alistair. ‘Kirstie, it’s true! And to think we laughed at it!’

  ‘Could I just confirm that you are still interested in selling the painting?’ asked Alistair, his voice strained, unable to drag his eyes away from the star of the show that was still propped up on the bar stool like a child’s finger painting. He smiled nervously when Kirstie handed him back his phone.

  ‘I don’t know about Kirstie, but I am!’ said Olivia.

  ‘God, me too. I never liked it. It would be ridiculous to change my mind now simply because I know what it’s worth, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Then would you excuse me whilst I make some more calls.’ Alistair sprinted out of the room with Angus in his wake.

  ‘Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,’ whispered Harry. The colour had drained from his freckled cheeks and he fiddled nervously with a beer mat.

  ‘Is that enough to pay off what we owe to the bank?’ Kirstie asked tentatively as she had only one thought in her mind.

  ‘More than enough, with a sizeable lump sum left to keep us ticking over for a least two years.’

  A tickle of excitement entered Kirstie’s chest.

  ‘Josh, grab a bottle of champagne. We need to celebrate!’

  ‘None left after last night. How about a glass of Cointreau?’ The group laughed as they accepted shot glasses of the orange-flavoured liqueur.

  ‘I think we should put this to a vote,’ announced Kirstie. ‘All those in favour of keeping The Dancing Duck open?’

  Every hand shot up. There were celebratory hugs all round, as tears streamed down Olivia and Emma’s faces. Josh fist-bumped Harry. Emma rushed off to call Leon and Marcel to tell them the good news.

  ‘You sure you still want to manage the bar?’ Kirstie whispered to Josh.

  ‘Never had a better offer, especially if it means I can spend every day knowing you are upstairs whenever I get a break.’

  Kirstie smiled and sunk into his arms until
the sound of her ringing phone broke the spell.

  ‘You have to answer it sometime,’ Josh advised.

  Kirstie had no qualms about taking Brad’s call this time. Now that the future of the Dancing Duck was secured, she intended to make absolutely certain that she spent every spare moment making it a success. And the best bit was that Josh would be by her side. She would miss her career in London, but not the lonely life she had been forced to lead because of living there.

  ‘Hello, Brad.’

  She sent a smile to Josh and he nodded at her.

  ‘Kirstie! At last! I’ve been ringing you for the last hour!’

  ‘Sorry, Brad. Things have been a little bit crazy here.’

  ‘Here too. I have some amazing news.’

  ‘I know … I’m sorry … Erm, hang on, did you say amazing news?’

  ‘Yes. Look, sorry I couldn’t speak properly to you on Christmas Eve and I’m sure you thought I was avoiding you this last week but I needed to finalize the deal before I said anything. But it’s now in the bag. Kirstie, I want you to present a brand-new cookery programme – on prime time! It’ll be your own show, not just a segment in the morning show. It’s going to be amazing! I’ll discuss the format with you later and I’m sure you’ll have lots of ideas yourself, but one of the things I’m thinking about is having the show come directly from your own kitchen. A Kirstie’s Cooking from Home show?’

  A feeling of light-headedness washed over Kirstie and she realized she had been holding her breath. She gasped in a lungful of air and saw that the whole group had paused in their celebrations and were watching her; even Alistair had paused in the middle of his phone call.

  ‘Well, what do you say?’

  ‘You want the show to be filmed in my kitchen?’

  ‘Yes, I think that will be a much more intimate, friendly way to present the recipes.’

  ‘What about a kitchen in a summerhouse?’

  ‘Sounds perfect – why? Do you have a summerhouse in Hammersmith?’ Brad laughed.

  ‘No, but I have one in Cranbury.’