‘Of course you can’t. He’ll feed you to a troll.’ He kissed her again. ‘I’ll see you later.’ And this time he did make it to the door, where he paused to look back at her. ‘Don’t do anything rash, will you?’
‘The rashest thing I’m going to do this morning is put maple syrup on my porridge,’ she promised.
Maybe.
Diary entry:
The meeting began just after eight.
Nathaniel began by offering his father, his uncles, what they wanted. A Hart fully committed to the company.
Only two men in the room did not leap to accept the gesture with gratitude, relief.
Christopher’s father. And his own.
He wasn’t surprised.
His uncle clung vainly to the hope that one day his own son would be able to resume his place.
His father had been hurt beyond measure that he hadn’t wanted to follow in his footsteps and was sure there would be a proviso.
‘What do you want in return, Nathaniel?’ his father asked.
‘Your agreement to a proposal.’ He passed around a folder as he began to talk.
Lucy retrieved her costume from the upstairs bedroom. It seemed less daunting in the daylight, with clothes heaped untidily on the bed.
She left them where they were, but picked up the rose and took it downstairs, where she tossed it, bud vase and all, into the rubbish bin tucked beneath the sink.
Start the day with a positive action. And a proper breakfast.
She sat on a stool, spooning porridge sweetened with maple syrup into her mouth, sipping her orange juice. Flipping through her messages, reading tweets, messages on Facebook. Catching up.
There was nothing more from Rupert. Not a man to waste words on a lost cause.
There were a dozen or more from the woman who claimed to be her mother. She ignored them, instead flicking through the photographs stored on her camera. The informal snaps taken when she was off guard. Zoomed in on the eyes. Compared them.
Could Nathaniel be right?
She flicked back to her messages.
Did she? She thumbed in a text:
Her thumb hovered over ‘send’.
Two hours later, only Nat and his father were left in the room.
‘You’re in love with this girl?’ His father had listened to his plan, added his opinion but, now they were alone, he’d gone right to the heart of the matter.
‘I only met her yesterday.’
‘You’re in love with her?’
‘It’s a good plan.’
‘Can I meet her?’
‘Of course. She’s down in the grotto, working as an elf.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got all day.’
Lucy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a semi-circle of children sitting around her, totally absorbed, as she sang them a song. They joined in the actions, roared with the lion, hooted with the owl, quacked with the duck.
Frank, watching with a smile stretching his face, turned as Nat joined him at the window. ‘Will you just look at that?’ he said.
He needed no encouragement. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Santa’s come down with the bug and I had to send him home. The replacement is suiting up, but there’s a bit of a backlog. Lou sent some of the elves to organise coffee for the mothers and then rounded up the kids. I don’t know where Pam found her but I’d like half a dozen more.’
‘Sorry, Frank,’ Nat said. ‘She’s a one-off and she’s mine.’ He turned to his father. ‘And the answer to your question is yes.’ Love at first sight was a concept he would have denied with his last breath. Until it happened. ‘I know you’ll think I’m a fool, that it’s crazy, but I’m in love with her.’
‘No. I don’t think you’re a fool. It happens like that sometimes. Magic happens. It was like that with your mother and me. Just one look was all it took.’
Yes.
‘Any chance of you bringing her home for Christmas?’
Before Nat could answer, there was a movement from the inner sanctum and the children, almost reluctantly, began to trickle away.
‘Can we borrow your office, Frank? We need to talk to her.’
‘You’re not going to take her away?’
‘It’s not up to me what she does; she’s her own woman.’ A romantic maybe, but strong, too. A woman who knew what she wanted, who never allowed anyone to control her, use her.
‘Damn women’s lib,’ Frank muttered, stomping off to send her in.
‘Nathaniel?’ Lucy appeared in the doorway, hat slightly askew, curls wild, tunic rucked up behind. She tugged on it. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Nothing. My father wanted to meet you.’
‘Oh.’ She extended her hand. ‘Hello, Mr Hart.’
‘Hello, Lucy. I’m delighted to meet you. I’ll leave Nathaniel to explain the situation.’ He put his hand on his son’s arm. ‘Whatever you decide about the holiday. Your decision.’
‘The holiday?’ she asked when the older Hart had gone.
‘We’ve been invited for Christmas.’
‘We?’
‘Us,’ he said. ‘It’s okay. They ask me every year. They don’t expect me to go.’
‘Oh.’
‘You sound disappointed. Sorry, but there’s no way you’re getting out of cooking Christmas dinner.’
‘Shouldn’t you check that I can cook before you commit yourself?’
‘I don’t actually care,’ he said. Then told her about Option Five.
City Diary, London Evening Post
Lucy flicked through her followers, picking out the ones that were missing. Jenpb was gone. A couple of others. But
