A December to Remember (75)
Duncan glanced up and smiled as the sisters approached.
“I wonder what Sotheby’s would say if they knew we’d dragged you into our pagan festivities?” Simone quipped.
“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he replied. “Speaking of Sotheby’s, remember that little wooden box of ‘tat’ I was going through? The one you found in the cupboard under the eaves?”
Simone nodded.
“Was that the one with the half-eaten packet of Parma Violets in it?” Star asked, pulling a face.
“Yes. Your father had a peculiar regard for antiques; on the one hand he had a truly excellent eye for collecting them, and on the other, he treated them like bric-a-brac.”
“He had a similar stance when it came to women,” said Maggie.
Duncan adjusted his glasses, which meant he was feeling mildly embarrassed. “Anyway, in among the jumble I found a miniature portrait of what I think might be a courtier, which I am almost sure is an early Hilliard.”
Simone sucked in a gulp of air.
“Is that good?” asked Maggie.
“If it’s a Hilliard, ‘good’ would be an understatement,” she replied a little breathlessly.
“Who’s Hilliard?” Star asked.
“Nicholas Hilliard was most famous for painting miniatures of Elizabeth the First and her court,” Duncan explained. “With your permission, I’d like to have the painting couriered up to Sotheby’s for further analysis. If it is indeed a Hilliard, then there will likely be a lot of collector interest.”
“That sounds promising. What are we talking here, a couple of thousand?” asked Maggie. “That would split nicely three ways.”
Duncan smiled broadly; he was enjoying himself. This was the closest anyone had seen him come to crowing.
“Try a couple of hundred thousand,” Duncan said. “At least.”
Maggie flopped down on a chair. Star barked a loud “HA!”
“How sure are you that it’s a Hilliard?” asked Simone. A part of her wanted to rush off to call her mum; Rene would get a kick out of this.
“I’d hate to mislead you, but I’m ninety-five percent sure.”
“He kept a two-hundred-grand piece of art in a broken box with some old sweets?” Maggie was stunned; this was a new level of insouciance, even for Augustus.
“Not just sweets,” said Duncan. “There were also a couple of Matchbox cars, some shillings, a pack of nude lady playing cards—with the queen of hearts missing—and a plastic spider. It was wrapped in an old handkerchief,” he added.
“Well, all right, then. For a moment there, I was concerned our father had behaved irresponsibly with a piece of fine art history,” Maggie replied sardonically.
“When will you know if it’s a genuine Hilliard?” asked Simone.
“I can get it couriered up to Sotheby’s today. They’ll have their expert look it over, and we can take it from there. A week, tops.”
“You’re an expert,” said Star.
Duncan looked bashful. “I’m more of a general practitioner of antiques. I’m not an art specialist. But I would be very surprised if it wasn’t a Hilliard.”
“Is it too early for wine?” asked Simone. “I feel like I need a drink after that revelation.”
“Me too,” Maggie agreed.
“It’s half past ten,” Star replied.
“Yeah, but it’s nearly Christmas,” Maggie countered.
“Patrick says wine makes you stupid, Mama,” said Verity, having finished her inspection of all the crafts on offer.
“Patrick needs a smacked bottom,” Simone replied dryly.
“What did I do?” Patrick stepped in through the canvas door, grinning.
“You’re supposed to be helping Joe out over at the shop—what am I paying you for?” asked Maggie.
“Technically I’m out on a delivery,” he answered, holding aloft the bag he’d been swinging at his side. “Kat’s making nut roasts, and she’s run out of mushrooms.”
“Ooh, we should definitely do nut roasts for the banquet,” said Star. “That’s very in keeping with the wholesome vibe.”
“Agreed,” said Maggie. “Can you ask Kat how far in advance we can make nut roasts, please, darling, and also if she’ll help us make them?”
“You see, this is what you’re paying me for,” said Patrick. “I’m your nut roast dealer.”
“I know how to make nut roasts,” piped up Star. “I used to help in the kitchen tent when Mum took me to live in that commune in Dorset.”
“I’m not sure we’ll find a recipe more authentic than one from a genuine commune,” said Maggie. “You are now our official nut roast guru, Star.”
Star beamed.
Patrick grabbed a handful of popcorn and stuffed half of it in his mouth before screwing his face up in disgust. “Plain?” he complained.
“Birds and squirrels aren’t as keen on sweet and salty popcorn as you are,” said Star.
“Have you asked them?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied without a hint of sarcasm.
“Oh, I also brought you this.” He pulled a small Bluetooth speaker out of the mushroom bag. “Thought you might like some festive music while you work.”