Page 82 of A December to Remember
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 alreadyin 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 ofhundredthousand,” 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.”
