Persistence of Memory by Winona Kent

Author:Winona Kent
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626818859
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2015-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

“I’ll fetch it,” Sam said, parking her Civic in the driveway of her house overlooking the sea. “There’s only space for one person in the attic. You two can wait in the front room with Roger. He’s getting ready for a re-enactor event that’s been scheduled for next month, and he’s trying to summon up the courage to tell me about it. Since that weekend does, unfortunately, happen to coincide with our ninth wedding anniversary.”

Roger Palmer was polishing his replica Brown Bess musket, and looked up, startled, as Sam opened the door to the front room.

“Evening, Rog,” Nick said, with a wave. “Still got Napoleon on the run?”

“Evening, Nick.” Roger looked uncomfortable. “Char—Mrs. Collins. Sam.”

Nick noted that Roger had brought his entire 33rd Regiment of Foot re-enactor kit in from the garage, and had unpacked it, and spread it out over the sofa, the armchair, and most of the floor.

“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Roger said, to Sam. “Dear.”

“Nick wants to see that painting.”

“Which painting would that be?”

Sam was already halfway up the stairs. “The one in the attic!” she shouted, over her shoulder. “The one I told you about!”

“Mr. and Mrs. Louis Augustus Duran,” Nick provided, looking for somewhere to sit. Most of the places he would normally have chosen had been appropriated by the accoutrements of a 19th century soldier: red wool regimental coat, cartridge pouch, belts, scabbard, haversack, water bottle, knapsack, and assorted other necessaries including brushes, buffing sticks, mess tins, mugs and pewter spoons.

Mrs. Collins removed a dangerous-looking bayonet from one end of the sofa, and sat down with her sword.

“I think I should quite like to join you as you stage The Battle of Waterloo,” she decided. “My late husband shared many a tale with me of his skirmishes in Belgium.”

“Well,” Roger said. “I did enjoy our excellent dinner conversation this evening, Mrs. Collins. You are, surprisingly, quite an expert on the Cavalry. And its weapons.”

“And the First Duke of Wellington,” Mrs. Collins supplied. “Also known as Field Marshal Arthur Wellesley, whom I had the great honour of meeting some years ago. I do believe he will one day become Prime Minister of this country.”

Roger gave Nick another very uncomfortable look.

“I understand your Napoleonic weekend’s going to clash with your wedding anniversary,” Nick said, humorously, changing the subject.

“Sam tell you that? Bloody hell. I’ll be hoovering all of downstairs for the next two months to make up for that.”

“The family name was Wesley,” Mrs. Collins continued. “Irish. It was changed to Wellesley in 1798. I may also reveal that, based upon personal observation, he possesses an uncommonly large nose.”

“Found it!” Sam shouted, clattering down the stairs, rushing into the front room.

She propped the painting up on the sofa, and stood back.

“There. Happy now?”

The portrait, inside an ornate gold frame, was of middling size, about two feet long and one foot wide. It had been painted in oil, and had not been particularly well cared for, which was a shame, Nick thought, as the result was a webwork of tiny cracks that crinkled over its entire surface.

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