Cloche and Dagger Read online

  Of course, another problem for me was that there weren’t any MoonPies in the UK. Yes, they did have Jaffa Cakes, a sponge cake with a burst of orange in the center and coated in dark chocolate, and I planned to stock up on those. But I really would have enjoyed a marshmallowy, gooey bite of decadence right now, or you know, a whole box of them.

  I didn’t want to go upstairs to find the cupboards lacking, so I decided to go out and forage for my food elsewhere, and if someone else cooked it, all the better, as I am a chef of absolutely no skill. I can’t even boil water for tea. All right, I probably could, but I was resistant to learning.

  Somewhere in my formative years, I noted a serious imbalance of the domestic arts in my family. When I was little, my mother stayed home with me. She said it was to nurture and raise me right but mostly I remember jumps off the roof with bedsheet parachutes being thwarted, so I always look at it as more of a quelling of my personality rather than a shaping of my good sense.

  Anyway, with Mum home all day, it made sense that she cooked. My father worked as a chemist, so he came home from his laboratory every night to a home-cooked meal. When I got older and my mother started her career as a professor of literature at a nearby university, she worked a full day like Dad but then came home and still cooked.

  My father didn’t know how to cook and had no interest in learning. On nights when my mother didn’t cook and had to work late, Dad and I had cereal for dinner. I think it was then that I realized that the division of labor was less than equal in my house, and I determined that the best way not to get stuck carrying the load was to make sure I didn’t know how.

  My former boyfriend, the rat bastard, had found this to be a charming trait of mine. I’m sure it was because he never actually left his wife, like he said he did, and she probably did all of the cooking. Did I mention he’s a rat bastard?

  Viv kept an umbrella stand by the back door and one glance out the window told me that the overcast day was going to prove to be a soggy evening. As I shut off the lights in the shop on my way to retrieve an umbrella, I stopped by the wardrobe and peered up at my friend the raven.

  ‘Nice work today,’ I said. ‘I’m going to the Tesco, do you want anything?’

  He watched me but not even the tiniest caw passed his beak.

  ‘Fine then, but I don’t want to hear that you’re hungry when I come back with yummy food and you have nothing to eat.’

  Still, he maintained his wooden silence.

  ‘I’m talking to a carved bird,’ I said. ‘Viv, you’d better come back soon before I am full-on crackers.’

  There was no reply, which was not a big surprise, which I took to mean that I wasn’t completely around the bend just yet.

  I grabbed Viv’s umbrella. Naturally it was not a plain black affair, no, hers was orange with pink polka dots. I was going to feel like there was a strobe light on me as I made my way down Portobello Road. On the upside, it would be very difficult to misplace.

  I locked the shop door and headed out. It was only a light drizzle, so I didn’t pop open my carnival tent to cover my head, but instead lifted my face up to feel the dampness bathe my skin. I felt as if I was still washing off the five thousand miles of travel, the day spent in the shop and my worries about so many things I couldn’t control.

  As I walked down the familiar road, I noted the changes that had happened over the years. Mim’s Whims had been in the same spot for over forty years. Newly widowed, Mim had come to Notting Hill mostly because after the upheaval it had suffered during the riots of the late 1950s and the scandal of the early ’60’s, she found it cheap to buy in, but also she was charmed by the area, which seemed to have resisted all attempts at gentrification over the years. Mim was a rebel and the area definitely spoke to her wild side.

  Mim had scrapbooks stuffed with photos of the hats she’d made for various members of the royal family as well as those that were particular favorites of hers. I used to spend hours as a child poring over the old albums, asking her questions about the people and the events they attended. I found it fascinating.

  I paused beside an old shop. Its awning was tattered and it desperately needed some paint. It looked tired, like an aging beauty queen who refused to stop wearing her tiara and sash. I tried to remember what business had once been here, but I couldn’t pull it out of my memory banks.

  I saw a man inside the shop. He was moving around the empty space unpacking crates. Curiosity got the better of me and I pressed my face to the glass.

  He bent over and used a crowbar to pry off the top of a flat wooden box. He moved the lid aside and removed a layer of packing material. Beneath it, I could make out a large, framed photograph. Was he opening a gallery?

  He glanced up just then and saw me. Not knowing what else to do, I waved. He waved back.

  Since I didn’t move away, and I’m not sure why I didn’t, he straightened up and crossed to the door. I heard the dead bolt click as he unlocked it. He pushed the door open and poked his head out.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not open for business yet,’ he said.

  The streetlamp on the corner shone on his face. He was black with close-cropped dark hair. He was of medium height but had a solid build. He wore all black except for the wink of diamond studs, large ones, in his earlobes.

  ‘No, I’m the one who is sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, but I was curious to see what sort of shop you’re opening.’

  ‘Well, if I ever get it going, it will be a photography studio,’ he said.

  ‘What a perfect location for it,’ I said. ‘My cousin and I own the hat shop up the street.’

  He looked me up and down as if considering me. I gave him my best wide-eyed ingénue expression.

  ‘I’m Andre Eisel,’ he said.

  ‘Scarlett Parker,’ I said.

  We shook hands and I noted that his was warm whereas mine had grown cold from the chilly evening air.

  ‘Would you like to see the inside?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ I said. I stepped forward before he could change his mind.

  There are no such things as coincidences. I firmly believe this, and the fact that he was opening a studio just when I needed a photographer, well, I was not going to let the opportunity go by. Even if he wasn’t interested in taking Lady Ellis’s photograph, surely he would know someone who was.

  The main room was stark with no furniture, just wooden flooring and white walls with large, framed photographs leaning up against the walls. They were mostly cityscapes from all around London. That was bad luck, but I was determined.

  As he led me around the small space, telling me about his plans to sell his original works, teach classes and take professional jobs, I thought all might not be lost. A stack of portraits was against the back wall and I asked if I could look at them.

  I don’t know a whole lot about photography, but the portraits had a quality to them, a certain angle or maybe it was the lighting that made me feel as if I was being let into the person’s innermost being.

  ‘Wow, these are really good, Andre,’ I said. ‘You have real talent.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘With some of them I was just mucking around, but a few are keepers.’

  ‘Are you looking for work in portraiture?’ I asked.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Not particularly, why?’

  ‘I’m in dire need of a photographer this Friday; would you consider it?’

  ‘What’s the job?’ he asked.

  ‘A portrait of Lady Ellis, wearing her new hat from my shop.’

  ‘Earl Ellis’s wife? Lady Victoria Ellis?’ he asked.

  ‘Do you know them?’ I asked.

  ‘Of them,’ he said.

  He put his hand on the back of his neck and tipped his head in that direction while crossing his other arm over his middle. I’m no expert on body language, but it looked to me as if he was torn. I was curious about why, but I was more desperate for him to agree to take the job, so I let it go.

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nbsp; A rapping on the glass door brought our attention around. While I’d been inside, the drizzle had surged into a downpour and only now I noticed the steady beat of the rain against the glass windows.

  Standing outside in a trench coat with his collar up stood a fair-haired man, holding a plastic bag full of takeout food.

  He looked soaked to the skin and suddenly I was grateful to have brought Viv’s hideous umbrella.

  ‘Oh, that’s my partner, Nick Carroll,’ Andre said, and he hurried forward to open the door.

  ‘Is he a photographer, too?’ I asked.

  ‘No, he’s a dentist,’ Andre said. ‘And my life partner.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What? Don’t I give off enough poof?’

  ‘Well, honestly, no, you don’t,’ I said.

  Andre grinned. ‘That’s all right. Nick more than makes up for it.’

  I had no idea what he was talking about until he opened the door and Nick came in.

  ‘It’s bucketing out there and me without my brolly,’ Nick said. He kissed Andre’s cheek. ‘Why did you let me go out without it, love? I’ll catch my death and then you’ll miss me.’

  Andre grinned. ‘I would at that.’

  ‘Who’s the ginger?’ Nick asked. He handed the food to Andre and put his hands on his hips as he looked me over.

  ‘Manners, please,’ Andre said. ‘This is Scarlett Parker, a neighbor from down the street.’

  ‘Scarlett?’ Nick asked. ‘I like that.’ He gave a little growl out of the corner out of his mouth. ‘It suits you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. I couldn’t help smiling.

  Nick shrugged off his coat and hung it on a rack by the door. He looked to be a bit older than Andre, with thinning blond hair and a pleasantly plump shape.

  ‘Of course, you’ll join us for dinner,’ Andre said.

  ‘Oh, no, I don’t want to intrude,’ I said. ‘I’ve taken so much of your time as it is. If you’ll just think about the job, I can pop back tomorrow to discuss it further if you’d like.’

  ‘What a lot of tosh,’ Nick interrupted me. ‘You can’t go out in that. You’ll drown before you get to the corner. Besides, I can never make up my mind when I order Thai food so I order too much and there is plenty. I hope you like it spicy.’

  Then he winked at me and disappeared into the back room.

  ‘See?’ Andre asked. ‘He more than makes up for me.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s no trouble?’ I asked.

  ‘Positive,’ he said.

  ‘All right then,’ I said.

  I hung my coat on the rack by the door and put my umbrella beside it. Then I helped Andre clear off the lone table in the back of the room, while Nick brought plates and flatware and, bless him, a bottle of wine and three glasses.

  It was one of the best meals I’d had in a long time. Andre and Nick were both delightful storytellers and they shared with me how they’d met—the traditional way, drunk in a pub. They’d been together for five years and seemed to be looking forward to a long and happy life together.

  It wasn’t until we’d cracked the third bottle of wine that Nick made the connection I’d been dreading.

  ‘So, Scarlett, I know this sounds crazy, but I’m sure I’ve seen you before.’

  ‘It’s not crazy,’ I said.

  ‘But you just arrived yesterday,’ Andre said. ‘And you’re from the States. How could Nick have seen you before? Are you an actress?’

  ‘Not in the traditional sense,’ I said.

  They exchanged a confused look.

  ‘Do you really want to hear my tale of woe?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes!’ they said together.

  Chapter 11

  ‘I’m an Internet star,’ I said with a hair toss.

  Andre looked confused. Nick frowned.

  Obviously, that wasn’t enough of a clue. I was going to have to tell them the whole sordid story. It was just as well. They would put it together eventually, just like the girl in the pub yesterday, and at this point in our friendship, I’d rather they heard it from me.

  ‘Do you have your Internet hooked up?’ I asked.

  Nick leaned over the table to reach into his briefcase, and he pulled out a tablet computer. He fired it up and handed it to me.

  ‘Is this adult viewing only?’ he asked.

  ‘No!’ I protested. ‘Sheesh, I’m not a porn star.’

  ‘Pity,’ Nick said with a grin.

  Not surprisingly, I was able to type ‘party crasher’ as I’d been nicknamed by the press into Google and the video gone viral came right up. I turned the tablet toward them and they leaned over it while I drained my glass and lifted the bottle of wine to fill it again. After a few seconds, Nick stared up at me with wide eyes.

  ‘I’ve seen this before. That’s how I know you. It’s you, oh my god, it is you!’

  ‘Shh!’ Andre hushed him. ‘Oh! You got him right in the face!’

  ‘Wow, that was no little cupcake tower you decimated,’ Nick said. ‘Wait! Is that the wife?’

  ‘Yeah, apparently, there was a twenty-five-thousand-dollar diamond necklace decorating the top of the cake,’ I said.

  ‘But you just hefted off the top tier and chucked it at him!’ Andre’s eyes were huge.

  ‘Yeah, I was pretty lucky I didn’t take out one of his eyes with that necklace.’

  Andre looked at me, and I could see he was pressing his lips together in an effort not to bust up. Nick had his head down and his shoulders were shaking as he did his best to squash his own laughter.

  ‘Go ahead,’ I said. ‘Yuk it up before you hurt yourselves.’

  The dam broke. They basically had fits while I sipped my wine and waited.

  ‘Better now?’ I asked when they began to wind down. This, of course, set them off to laughing again.

  When Nick began to wipe his eyes, I thought we might be in the clear.

  ‘Well, you really frosted him, didn’t you?’ Andre asked.

  And they were off again.

  ‘She could have gotten an ASBO for cake and battery.’ Nick chortled.

  I sighed. Luckily, I’d spent enough time in the UK to know that an ASBO is an anti-social behavior order, a fairly common citation, otherwise I might have been offended.

  ‘That would have been the icing on top,’ I quipped. They both stopped laughing. ‘What? That was good. “Icing,” “top,” oh, come on.’

  ‘Oh, love,’ Nick said with a sad shake of his head.

  ‘I should have gone with “cherry on top.”’

  ‘No, that’s ice cream,’ Andre said.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Nick said. He reached across the table and patted my hand with his. ‘We like you anyway.’

  ‘I still think “icing” was clever,’ I said.

  ‘Let it go now,’ Andre said. ‘So, tell us how you found yourself in such a layered situation.’

  Nick spewed his sip of wine across the table and they were doubled up with laughter again.

  ‘Really?’ I asked. ‘“Layered” trumps “icing”? Ugh, no fair!’

  I huffed, but it was impossible to stay mad at them. When they’d recovered themselves, I gave them the entire story from how I’d met the rat bastard and dated him for two years, thinking he was separated, to how I walked in on the anniversary party he was hosting for his wife.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ Andre said.

  Nick nodded, looking too choked up to speak. All mirth was wiped from their faces and they looked at me with pity. I think I preferred the laughter.

  ‘Don’t feel bad for me,’ I said. ‘Feel bad for his wife. It turns out he had a few more girls on the side. I can’t imagine how she’ll ever forgive him.’

  ‘If he’s throwing twenty-five-thousand-dollar necklaces at her, I imagine she’ll dig deep enough to find forgiveness in her heart,’ Andre said.

  ‘Or her wallet,’ I said.

  ‘And now you’re here with us,’ Nick said. He lifted his wineglass and toasted me. ‘To Scarl
ett and her new beginning.’

  ‘To Scarlett,’ Andre said.

  ‘To me,’ I said.

  We touched our glasses together and for the first time since I’d arrived I felt as if I was coming home.

  ‘So, Andre, what do you think about taking Lady Ellis’s portrait?’ I asked. ‘I’ll pay you and I’ll make sure she understands that we both get to use the photograph for our businesses.’

  ‘Lady Ellis?’ Nick asked.’ You mean the Countess of Waltham married to Earl Ellis of Waltham?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Who do you think gave her that gorgeous smile?’ Nick asked. ‘She’s a very powerful lady.’

  ‘So it would be good for the business to take her portrait?’ Andre asked.

  ‘It would be excellent,’ Nick said.

  ‘So, Friday morning, Andre, are you willing?’ I asked.

  ‘And able,’ he said.

  ‘To new business opportunities,’ I said and raised my glass.

  ‘And to new friends,’ Nick said.

  We killed off the third bottle and the two of them insisted upon walking me home. They lived above Andre’s studio just like I lived above the shop. It made me feel more secure to have friends right down the street.

  Oh, I knew some of the shop owners from spending my vacations here, but I imagined they remembered me as the very loud child I once was, not as the grown-up I’d become. And if they saw the video of me that had apparently circled the globe, well, then there was no chance of proving my maturity whatsoever.

  It was probably the wine, but I found, as I hooked my arms through Andre’s and Nick’s and the three of us sang a horrid rendition of Katy Perry’s song ‘Peacock’ as we skipped down the street, well, I really didn’t care what anyone thought of me at the moment.

  Mim’s Whims came into view just as I busted out into a knee-raising, arm-flapping part of the song. It took me a moment to realize that Andre, who really couldn’t dance, and Nick, who was surprisingly good, had stopped moving.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ I said and continued to sing, ‘“I want to see your—”’

  Nick was shaking his head back and forth and his eyes were huge. Andre pointed to something behind me.