Chapters 1 + 2 Excerpt: Chapter 1Clive Pippins stood at the window of his attic bedroom in Hartigan House, aware only of the ache in his knees, the pinch in his back, and the crick in his neck. An old man stared back at him from the reflection in the glass. Pippins blinked back. That poor fellow was as bald as a billiard ball, with droopy skin on his long face. Watery blue eyes squinted in the sunlight, nearly disappearing behind skin folds... moreChapters 1 + 2 Excerpt: Chapter 1Clive Pippins stood at the window of his attic bedroom in Hartigan House, aware only of the ache in his knees, the pinch in his back, and the crick in his neck. An old man stared back at him from the reflection in the glass. Pippins blinked back. That poor fellow was as bald as a billiard ball, with droopy skin on his long face. Watery blue eyes squinted in the sunlight, nearly disappearing behind skin folds. Though tall and lean, the man's shoulders fell forward, creating a roundness in his upper spine. Pippins empathised with the bloke, feeling the pain in his own neck in much the same place.Pippins became aware of the warmth in the room, and the green, leafy trees outside reminded him it was the middle of summer. One must open the windows and allow for a breeze in such instances. Of this, he was fairly certain. Unlatching the casement, he pushed the glass open like a small barn door, and peered out. In the garden—and it was such a beautiful garden. Who was responsible for that?—Pippins saw the man trimming the bushes. Clarence? Was it? Or Clem? Clements, yes, that was his name. A boy sat on a patio chair holding a little black-and-white dog. Scout and Boss. Pippins exhaled. Yes, he remembered. A man joined the boy and gestured to the door. It was clear he wanted the lad and the dog to go inside. Pippins sensed that something important was happening that day. There were so many things to remember. He pinched his eyes together as he tried to draw it up. How could he remember the state of the butler's pantry, where every bottle and jar was placed, every piece of silver, but he couldn't remember yesterday? His vision blurred when he reopened his eyes. Blinking back the dratted tears—why did his eyes water so much?—he stared at the people in the garden below. A red-headed little girl held a doll, her father crouching as he spoke to the child. Poor thing was in tears. Now Pippins remembered. Mr. Hartigan was taking the little miss to America. Pippins knew he'd better hurry and hobbled down that long set of narrow stairs in time to say goodbye. If only his blasted knees didn't hurt so much.Chapter 2 Hartigan House was a three-storey limestone residence in London's prestigious South Kensington district. The place had a sense of stillness and quiet that its owner, Mrs. Ginger Reed, found unsettling. Her discomfort wasn't as intense now as when she'd arrived five years earlier to claim her inheritance. Oh mercy, how time has flown by! The Mallowan Court house had sat empty for ten years. It had taken several weeks, even months, to freshen the old girl up with new paint, wallpaper, and décor fitting with the style moderne trends of the day.Pippins had come with the house. Her beloved butler had been old then, already many years older than the average life expectancy, even in the new century. He was in his mid-seventies, and Ginger had finally convinced him to retire, though he insisted on keeping the attic bedroom. The climb up and down the staircase, he claimed, was responsible for his extended years.The sitting room was Ginger's favourite. Not only did she love the warm-yellow, velvet settee and matching armchairs that sat next to the stone fireplace, the rich red Turkish carpet on the wooden floor, and the long window that let in the summer sunlight, she especially admired the Waterhouse painting of The Mermaid above the mantel. It was an exquisite piece of art and had enormous sentimental value. The painting had been a gift to her mother from her father, and Ginger had been told the red-headed siren had an uncanny resemblance to her mother, who had sadly passed away soon after Ginger herself was born.Ginger had dressed in a simple cotton day frock, with a decorative band at the low waist, matching summer jacket, and plain white low-heeled pumps. Perfectly suitable for travelling. As she sat in one of the armchairs, Boss, her Boston terrier, jumped onto her lap and curled up, tucking himself against her abdomen. He, too, was getting on in years, having slowed down to where he no longer begged to come along for rides with her in the motorcar. It's a good thing this time, Ginger mused, as there was no way she could take him to where she, Basil, and their son, Scout, were about to go—Amsterdam and the Games of the IX Olympiad!Ginger had had little exposure to the Dutch language, though she had mastered German and French through her studies at Boston University and her time spent in the war. When she'd expressed her concern about language difficulties, Basil surprised her by saying he could speak Dutch. "Enough to get by, love." Apparently, Amsterdam had been a favourite holiday destination for the Reed family. The dowager Lady Ambrosia Gold sat on the settee opposite Ginger. After what she described as a frightful lapse in judgement, her grey hair had grown out of the shorter bob—which, according to Ginger, had placed at least one of the dowager's feet into the twentieth century. It was now pinned in a small bun on the top of her head. She sat upright in the manner that would suggest a good corset, the lace collar of her starched blouse reaching the sagging jowls of her jawline.Ambrosia carried herself with the air of someone who understood privilege and her place in British peerage. She, like Boss, was advanced in years and could thank her social status and good genetics for her extended time on earth, as well as her natural obstinance to refuse to let go of this life."I imagine you'll see Felicia," she said with a sniff. Felicia Gold, now Lady Davenport-Witt, the granddaughter and only living blood relative of the dowager, had moved with her husband to Amsterdam a month earlier, claiming that a home on the Continent was more convenient for travel, which she and her husband Charles had decided, rather suddenly, to do. Ginger wondered if this was their answer to easing a troubled marriage, and if so, she hoped it was working. Ambrosia wasn't that forgiving. She'd ranted for days after Felicia and Charles left, saying that Felicia had always been a difficult and selfish child. "I'm far too easy on my grandchild," the dowager was known to say. But how could Ambrosia be to blame for her grievances? If her son and daughter-in-law hadn't died in that carriage crash, Ambrosia would never have had to bring up two more children. One child, she'd proclaimed about her son Robert, was enough. And, one mustn't forget, Ambrosia had been on her own, a widow herself already."Yes," Ginger said, answering the dowager. "From what I can tell from her letters, she's very excited about witnessing the Games. Surely, she has written to you?"Ambrosia's gaze moved to the window and a view of Mallowan Court and Felicia's empty house across the way. "My eyesight isn't what it used to be," Ambrosia said with a flick of her veiny hands, her bony fingers adorned with rings with large baubles. "Langley reads them to me, but perhaps I dozed off at that part."Ginger doubted that. If anything, Ambrosia would be extra attentive to any news that came from her granddaughter. The dowager could express no pleasure in Felicia's life choices, even if they brought Felicia happiness . . . if such choices took Felicia from London.The door to the sitting room pushed open, and Scout stepped in. "Oh, there you are. Dad says the taxicab will be here in ten minutes."Ginger smiled at her adopted son. Once a street orphan, Scout was quickly turning into a handsome young man. His blond hair had darkened and, with the help of hair oil, no longer stood up, untamed in every direction. He'd always been small for his age, and though this would be a bothersome feature for other fourteen-year-old boys, Scout embraced his size, a positive attribute for the jockey he was determined to become. He was home from his special equestrian-focused boarding school for the summer. He was thrilled to attend the Olympics, especially since Ginger had pulled strings and got him a position in the stables at the Olympic grounds, grooming the horses.Seeing Scout, Boss jumped off Ginger's lap and went to the lad. Scout, seated in an armchair, reached his hand out to the dog. Boss licked Scout's hand but didn't move to climb into his arms. Scout picked him up instead. Ginger's heart warmed, her mind going back to when she and Boss first met Scout. He had still been missing a front tooth and dropped his Hs in a pure cockney fashion. Scout had cared for Boss in the third-class deck of the SS Rosa, where the animals were kept, and had become fast friends with the dog."Are we ready?" Basil, Ginger's husband and a chief inspector at Scotland Yard, joined them in the sitting room. Ginger smiled inwardly as she stared up at him, always in admiration, not only of his stalwart character but his hazel eyes, which became more handsome, it seemed, by the advancing crow's feet and the greying of his temples."The taxicab is here," he announced.Ginger rubbed Boss' ears, saying goodbye before Scout set him on the floor. She went to Ambrosia. "Don't get up, Grandmama." She kissed the family matron on a soft crêpe-like cheek. "We'll be back in less than two weeks."Ambrosia didn't smile. Not long ago, she would've insisted on joining in the fun, but these days, she didn't want to be away from her own comforts. "I'll bring you back a souvenir," Ginger said."Unless that souvenir is Felicia," Ambrosia grumbled, "I don't want it."Oh, poor thing! Ginger thought. I really must convince Felicia to come back to London for a visit soon. Pippins and Nanny Green waited at the front door, Pips holding Ginger's gloves and Nanny Green holding Ginger's wriggling year-and-a-half-old daughter Rosa. Ginger swooped Rosa into her arms and kissed her on the head. "I'll miss you, little one! Be good for Nanny." Ginger handed Rosa to Basil, who swung his little daughter in the air, much to the child's delight, producing a round of delightful giggling. Basil handed Rosa to the nanny, and Ginger watched dolefully as the two of them made their way up the curving staircase. High above their heads hung an enormous electric chandelier, which, when turned on, lit the black and white tiles of the entranceway with its sparkling reflection."Where's Digby?" Ginger asked, turning her attention to Pippins. Digby was the younger replacement butler."It's his day off, madam," Pippins said. Ginger's beloved retired butler considered her with his deep cornflower-blue eyes. Another ageing resident of Hartigan House, he'd long ago lost his hair, but Ginger noted he was also losing his height, his shoulders and neck moving incrementally forward. "It's my pleasure to see you on your way."Ginger wanted to escort the man to a chair and insist he rest. "Thank you, Pips," Ginger said as she accepted her gloves and put them on. "I trust you to ensure everything runs smoothly while we're gone. Should something of concern arise, I've left our hotel's address and telephone number on the desk in my study.""Of course, madam. You and Lord Gold have a lovely time away."Ginger shot Basil a look of alarm. Daniel, Lord Gold, had been her first husband, now dead for almost ten years. PRE-ORDER ON AMAZON less
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