Page 95 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“I’m glad.” She couldn’t help but mirror his smile. “We have so many people of different faiths here, it makes my heart happy. If we get to keep our community space after the theater is sold, I would like to celebrate them all if we can; Eid, Diwali, we’ve got a couple of Pagans in the Relic Hunters…”
“Ooh, winter and summer solstices, I’ll be in charge of the wassail,” put in Josef. “I have a fabulous recipe from a good friend down in Rowan Thorp. And Eid will give me the chance to perfect my gulab jamun.”
Harriet laughed. “Sounds like a plan,” she said.
Josef left to find a street-facing windowsill for his menorah, and Harriet went to see Leo, who was nervously pacing the stage while Ken and his mighty maintenance crew affixed the first backcloth to the track system that would allow the backdrops to be raised and dropped during the show.
“Do you feel proud?” Harriet asked him. She was certainly proud. If anyone prodded her, she had the feeling that she’d burst like a glitter piñata.
“Kinda, I guess,” Leo replied shyly.
“Ready, Leo, my boy?” came Ken’s sonorous voice from behind the stage curtains. Really, with a voice that resounding, it was a waste that he hadn’t pursued a career on the stage.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and came to gather in the middle aisle, shuffling left and right along the stalls to get a good view. Billy and Ricco had sprinted out of the auditorium moments earlier to gather the rest of the maintenance team, who now trickled onto the balcony and into the royal boxes to watch.
“Ready!” Leo called back, his voice small in the suddenand unusual silence. Ricco scooted back and wriggled in beside him just in time.
The first backcloth dropped down at the back of the stage, and a gasp of appreciation rippled through the theater. It was Scrooge’s office, with two large leaded windows drawing the eye out onto the snowy street beyond. Images of ragged children, snowballs poised for flight in raised hands, and carol singers in bright bonnets were lit by gas lamps. Inside, the office wall was cracked and peeling, a shelf with one candle and one book hung between the windows, a mouse hole in the skirting board below. After a few moments of stunned silence as the audience took it all in, a round of appreciative applause went up.
Ken stomped along the stage and down the steps to join the crowd in the aisle.
“Aye, you’ve done a grand job, lad,” he said, rubbing at his eye with a meaty hand as the clapping died down. “Bloody hell, son, I think you’ve brought a tear to me eye.”
“You’re not the only one,” said Odette, sniffing.
In fact, there were multiple sniffles rising out of the auditorium. Harriet’s eyes were so clouded by tears that the backcloth had gone into soft focus. She felt James’s arm around her, and he pulled her close. She stiffened and then relaxed into his embrace. This was a public declaration to match the one they had made privately to each other. People would talk. The famous five would definitely talk.Let them, she thought. She sniffed and surreptitiously wiped her face on James’s jumper.
“Did you just wipe your nose on my sweater?” he whispered.
“Little bit,” she replied, laughing wetly into her sleeve.
“I’ll allow it,” he said, squeezing her closer.
“You have a rare talent, Leo,” James observed. It was a sentiment that was echoed about the space.
Leo shrugged and made a sort of grunting noise. “Thanks,” he said self-consciously. “But I had a lot of help.”
“Which you managed expertly,” Farahnoush said, smiling. “Take the compliment. You deserve it. I worked in design for twenty years before I arrived in Britain; I know an artist when I see one.”
“See!” said Ricco, who was squeezing Leo tightly around the waist. “I told you; you were brilliant.” He kissed his cheek, and Leo smiled bashfully.
“Right!” said Ken, making everyone jump. “Let’s get the next one rigged up. How many will there be altogether, Leo?”
“Fifteen. We’ve got four more to finish painting.”
“Bloody hell, lad, it’s like the Oscars of backcloths!”
Leo laughed, his blush visible even in the dark of the auditorium. Ken strode back behind the stage, shouting orders as he stomped.
“We need to take photographs of every backcloth in situ,” said Harriet, pulling out her phone and beginning to snap pictures. “I’ve managed to get quite a few of you while you’ve been working on them.”
“Why?” he asked.
“For your portfolio. This is amazing stuff, Leo. Imagine how impressive this will be if you want to apply for art colleges.”
“Which you definitely should,” added James.
James’s encouragement of her kids threw another log on her already smoldering feelings toward him. He was so far from the cold fish she had encountered that day in the police station.
