Page 28 of All I Want for Christmas

‘Hm, I’m not so sure. There’s been something quite soothing about having a rolling quiet conversation after the Erik and Max disasters. He may not be the most dynamic guy but he’s intelligent, thoughtful, sincere.’

‘He sounds like someone your grandmother would choose for you.’

Darcy chuckled. ‘I’ll take it. I don’t have the bandwidth for drama right now.’

The lights changed and they jogged across the road, turning into the wide residential streets and running just south of the King’s Garden. The wind gusted and Darcy felt a newfound appreciation for the feeling of it on her face, the sound of the traffic, bicycle bells pinging and people calling dogs and children in the parks. All the silence and dim light in the archives sometimes made her feel like a mole.

Up ahead, as the roads grew narrow and more winding, she saw the cafe where her reward beckoned. She wasn’t a natural runner, unlike her flatmate, and every weekend she had to be either cajoled, bribed or bullied into her running shoes. Her occasional stumble to the Academy couldn’t compare to this cross-city trek.

‘Oh, thank God,’ she panted as Freja steadily slowed to a walk, her hands on her hips and her face turned to the sky. It was the signal that Darcy had survived this weekend’s outing.

Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her jacket’s zipped pocket as Freja led the charge inside.

‘Oh! What a result!’ Darcy said, reading the message in disbelief as Freja placed their regular orders.

‘What is?’ Freja, leaning on the counter, looked over at her.

‘Viggo’s managed to get permission for me to bring some of the material home so I can work on it there.’

‘Why’s that such a big thing?’

‘Because normally, no one’s allowed to remove anything from the premises. Historic artefacts? Insurance?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Seeing as I can’t work late, Viggo said he’d look into it for me but he thought there’d be no chance. He’s been pleading special dispensation given the circumstances but he was pretty sure the insurers would baulk on the grounds that this research isn’t directly to the benefit of the Madsen Collection.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, the portrait, as it’s conjoined toHer Children, will belong to the nation and hang at the National Gallery – so why should Madsen incur any risk totheirassets?’

‘Oh, right.’

‘Yeah. It’s not an unreasonable position. They’re already doing me a favour by giving me unrestricted access to their archives. But this...’ She pressed a hand to her heart in a soothing gesture; it was still racing from their run. ‘Oh God, what a relief. This will make such a difference, being able to put a shift in this weekend. I’ve been so stressed about it. Otto wants an update on Monday; he’s got to report back to Margit Kinberg and as it stands, I have nothing to give him. Fingers crossed I find something – anything – to show him by then.’

She checked the time. Ten forty. Her eyes narrowed as she did some mental calculations. ‘Hm. If I head over there now, I could pretty much do a full day and still be able to meet you guys for dinner later.’

‘You’re going to go straight there? Right now?’ Freja cast a sceptical eye over her.

Darcy rolled her eyes. ‘I assure you Viggo doesn’t give two hoots if I’m a hot sweaty mess. And he says the boxes have just been delivered. I don’t want to keep him waiting in case he wants to go out.’

‘Where is he?’

Darcy checked the address. ‘He lives...Oh, he’s on the same street as the gallery.’ She looked back at Freja. ‘Nowthatexplains his unfeasibly early starts.’

‘I guess.’

Darcy glanced up at her tone, realizing she was torpedoing their day’s plans. ‘You don’t mind, do you? We could see the film tomorrow?’

‘It’s not the film I’m worried about. Work’s got to come first.’ Freja handed her the juice and chia pot as they stepped outside again. ‘But just be there for dinner, okay? No matter what? Tristan wants to meet you properly and it’s important to me that you two get on.’

‘I promise.’ Darcy kissed her on the cheek. ‘And we will.’

‘But change! Dress up! He’s taking us somewhere posh.’

‘Posh. Got it,’ she called over her shoulder, one hand in the air in a wave as she headed back up the street they’d just run down, crossing into King’s Garden again. She sipped her juice and ate the chia pot as she walked, dodging the tourists heading at a brisk clip for Rosenborg Castle and feeling more aligned with the locals idling on park benches, children climbing on the marble spheres dotted around. Groups of undergrads were emerging bleary-eyed from the university accommodation halls after their heavy Friday night.

She turned onto Stockholmsgade and walked in the direction of the gallery, checking the building numbers as she passed, stopping eventually outside a very handsome periodtownhouse: the red-brick walls were covered with magenta Virginia creeper, the large blocky windows painted a blackish green.

She pressed the buzzer and waited for Viggo’s familiar greeting. In the space of less than a week, in dim light and over strong coffee, they had become new friends, but standing here now, she realized he was still an enigma to her. A house like this, on one of the best roads in the city? She knew he was a widower but had his wife also been an heiress?

She looked back at the park on the other side of the road as she waited, trees denuded of their leaves, the lake twinkling darkly against a dull sky. Traffic had slowed for a troop of blue-jacketed soldiers marching in formation down the centre of the street and proceeding irrespective of the traffic light signals. Trucks, buses, taxis all stopped, waiting patiently, the packs of cyclists bunching up behind them. It was no different to the Royal Household Guards returning to the Hyde Park barracks, she supposed.

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