“Oh my god!” Star squealed. “What did he say?”
“He said any man would be proud to call Verity his daughter.”
“That was diplomatic,” said Simone.
“Oh my god, could he be any lovelier?” Star threw her arms in the air. “For heaven’s sake, Mags, stop being so bloody cautious.”
She had a point. Was her incessant caution protecting them? Or was it ruining all their futures?
“I know this sounds stupid, but it’s like, if I don’t make it too real, nothing can jinx it. While it’s casual, we’re safe.”
“What are you saying? You need to fly under the radar because fate is out to get you?” asked Simone.
“Something like that,” she admitted.
“Oh, Maggie!” Star took her hand. “You had some really shit luck, but that doesn’t mean you’re fated to always be disappointed. You need to have a little faith in the power of love.”
“She’s a goddamned hippie,” Simone said, nodding, “but she’s right.”
Maggie shook herself. “Okay. Enough of that. Back to business. You know what would be really nice?” she mused, spooning the froth off her cappuccino.
“A lie-in?” yawned Simone.
She ignored her. “If we open Dad’s garden for the duration of the winter solstice celebration.”
“What, like a public park?” Star asked.
“Kind of, yeah. I mean, it’s on the procession route anyway and we’ll be decorating the trees in the woods. It feels like a nice way to honor Dad’s memory. I thought we could leave the gate open and maybe put a sign outside so that people could just go in and have a wander around the woods when they fancy.”
Simone looked thoughtful. “I think Dad would like that. I’ve spent years carrying around this sort of low-level anger because I wanted more from him than he could give. I was so hooked up on his absenteeism that I’d blocked out all the wonderful things about him. Being back here—I don’t know, maybe it’s being with you two—it’s like I can suddenly remember them all.” She gave a small laugh. “And now I miss the old bugger more than ever.”
“I’ve felt closer to him in these last two weeks than I have for a long time.” Star picked at the skin on her fingers.
Maggie took her hand to still her nervous fingers. “I miss him too. He had his faults. He was terrible at keeping in touch.” Her sisters smiled knowingly. “But in his own way, he loved us fiercely. I believe that more now than I ever did before. He was fascinating and infuriating, and we are lucky that he was ours. It’s easy to feel like we were short-changed, but I truly believe we got more of his consideration than anyone else ever did.”
Simone raised her coffee.
“To Dad. You really were one in a million.”
Maggie and Star raised their own and clinked them with Simone’s.
“To Dad!” they said in unison.
Maggie added, “May you be loving your new adventure in your camper van in the sky.”
37
Duncan was already in the marquee. He was in charge of edible garlands. Bowls of all kinds of dried fruits sat beside a mountain of popcorn. He was studiously threading long lengths of garden twine through large bodkin needles and knotting the ends, ready for makers to push the treats onto them. There was something going on between Duncan and Star that Simone couldn’t quite put her finger on. They didn’t appear to have fallen out, but there was a caution between them that hadn’t been there before. It would be a shame if things didn’t work out for them; she had felt that their personalities complemented each other rather nicely.
Simone had set up a Winter Solstice WhatsApp group chat, with all the names of people who had signed up to help at the village meeting. It was extremely handy. A shoutout on the group chat yesterday afternoon had seen them inundated with cookie cutters by teatime—stars, hearts, gingerbread men, snowmen, Christmas trees, snowflakes, candy canes, menorahs, and dreidels aplenty. Beside these, trays lined with baking paper ran along the center of the tables for the suet shapes to be plopped onto them and left to set. It was going to be messy.
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.