Page 115 of All I Want for Christmas

She stared back at him, seeing the vast expanse of space between them. He couldn’t get any further away from her without leaving the room. ‘...Defensive.’

‘How have I been defensive? I’ve given you unrestricted access to our archives. I’ve let you come up here.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m making youcoffee.’

She swallowed, knowing he was right – and yet, she wasn’t wrong either. He was frustrating to argue with. ‘I don’t know,’ she sighed, trying not to show her frustration. He could twist words. ‘I just feel like you’re always very...watchful. Like you’re watching me closely.’

‘Yes, I know what watchful means, thanks.’

She rolled her eyes, not quite sure how serious he was being. His humour erred on the extremely dry side.Brut.

‘Well, now that you’ve confirmed, once and for all, that the portrait is of my great-grandmother, I guess I’m going to be even more interested. Aggressive. Defensive. Watchful...Delete as appropriate.’

She looked down. Without Otto or Margit’s mitigating presence, she was no match for his careless sarcasm. An awkward silence grew between them.

He cleared his throat as if seeing her retreat. ‘...If I’m watchful of you, Darcy, it’s only because I think you’re beautiful,’ he said quietly. ‘Nothing more sinister than that.’

She looked up, taken aback by the unexpected compliment – his honesty could be disarming at times – but he had already turned away and was reaching for some cups.

Neither of them spoke again until the coffee was poured.

‘So what is it you want to see here?’ he asked, coming over and handing her a cup. Closing the gap.

‘I’m not entirely sure. I just had a feeling that I should see it.’

He looked sceptical again. ‘Is your work often directed by “feelings”?’

She ignored the sarcasm this time. ‘Not usually. But I have some questions my mind keeps snagging on. I thought it would help to come here.’ She had no intention of mentioning to him the various discrepancies she had noted.

He watched her, as if he could read her every thought. ‘Well, you’re welcome to look around, I guess.’

‘Thanks. Are there any photo albums here?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Only more recent ones. Nothing that concerns the Foundation’s work or needs to be in the public eye.’

She nodded, wondering if this defensiveness concerned his brother. ‘...Do you come up here often?’

‘Pretty often. I like it best at this time of year, when it’s quiet. The crowds get a bit much in the summer.’

‘Yes. I can imagine.’ She watched as he wandered over to the fridge and pulled out a stock pot. He couldn’t seem to stand still, or certainly he couldn’t stand near her. For the first time, she wondered if her presence here madehimnervous.

‘Soup. Which I didn’t make,’ he muttered, as if to deflect any intended compliments. He put it in the range, in the oven beside her. It was funny, somehow, seeing him with oven gloves on. Domestic Max.

‘Will you come up here over Christmas?’

‘Yes. I always do.’ He pulled off the gloves, tossing them casually onto the counter. ‘You? What are your plans?’

‘Working through.’

He frowned, seeming surprised. ‘You’re not going home?’

‘My sister’s travelling on her gap year, so my family are going to join her for ten days in Asia. I’d go, but I’m really behind on my thesis. I can’t afford to spend ten days on a beach.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Where’s home for you?’

‘Berkshire. Sort of west of London.’

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