Eyes Wide Open: The Blackstone Affair, Book 3

24 December 2011

London

The street was remarkably sparse considering it was Christmas Eve. Probably because it was so damn freezing cold outside people were smart enough to stay in. It was totally clichéd to be shopping for a gift at this late minute, but here I was pushing my way through the doors of Harrods in hopes of something really perfect for my aunt Marie. I knew I’d better get my ass in gear too, because I would be spending the day with her tomorrow and had nothing to show up with!

Marie was hard to buy for because she was so unique and unconventional; it was ridiculously difficult to top her lifestyle. She also had money enough to get anything she desired. She reminded me of Auntie Mame from the movie in a lot of ways. From the exotic travels to the rich dead husbands to the fantastic dresses in her wardrobe.

After three quarters of an hour I gave up and started to head outside, stopping for a mocha coffee in the food court first. I needed the caffeine and the warmth.

I strolled down the street and sipped as I looked into shop windows for anything of interest. The bite from the cold air was going to put some color in my cheeks for sure. At least I had hot coffee, and the Christmas carols piped out from somewhere sounded nice. Very Christmas Carol-ish. I’m sure Dickens would have loved to know that 168 years later, some of the same songs were still playing. I loved history, and it made me smile to think that some traditions had changed hardly at all in those long years. Change isn’t always a good thing. It takes a strong character to withstand the changes of time. I wish I could be strong like that.

Some days I wondered if I would last a long time. Despite my determination to be on my own in London, I missed my parents during the holidays. The decorating, and the baking, and the parties . . .

Well, maybe not the parties. Parties were not really my thing anymore. And I seriously wondered if I’d ever step foot in San Francisco again.

Move on—change of subject, please.

I came up to a shop window that looked intriguing. Like an antiques shop or secondhand store. The name on the door was etched in the glass: TUCKED AWAY. And it certainly was. There were tons of these small shops in London, and some of them were beautifully arranged. This was one of them. I stepped inside and heard a bell jingle at the top of the door.

“Happy Christmas,” a cheerful voice called out.

“Happy Christmas,” I returned to the smiling face of an older gentleman wearing the Brit uniform of sweater vest and tweed jacket.

The shop smelled good. Like cinnamon. I would bake at Aunt Marie’s tomorrow, and I looked forward to that. I loved to cook, but it lost something when there was nobody to cook for. I felt a sigh coming and suppressed it.

I gravitated toward a section of soft knits. These were obviously a consignment of some sort. Not antiques. Scarf-and-hat combos in so many colors. I pulled out a dark-purple set and fingered the scarf. It felt like cashmere, it was that soft. Probably lamb’s wool, though. I checked the price and raised a brow. But I wanted it. Hell, I needed it on a day like today. I looked at the price again and decided it was okay to splurge on myself. It was Christmas, after all.

Who in the hell are you kidding, foolish woman? You still have nothing for Marie.

I think I was starting to panic a bit. I sighed and kept looking.

I drifted around and found nothing and decided it was time to leave. I stepped up to the counter to pay for my hat and scarf and saw the display of costume jewelry under the glass. Now this caught my eye. It was very pretty stuff, for one thing—vintage bohemian fit Marie’s personality like a leather glove. Score!

One piece stood out clearly to me and it was perfect. A dove pin. Silver with seed pearls on the wing and tail, a black crystal eye and a tiny heart charm dangling from its beak with a blue crystal in the center. A dove symbolized peace, and God knows the world could certainly use some of that. The best part was that I could picture my aunt wearing this pin. I knew she’d love it.

I paid in a rush, almost giddy to have struck gold in my labors of gift-buying angst. Checking my watch, I knew I needed to get going and saw it was a bit of a walk to my Tube station.

It was cold.

Frickin’ frigid.

Cold enough that I pulled on the new hat and wrapped the scarf around my neck right then and there on the street. I checked my face quickly in the window of a parked car, just to make sure there wasn’t something stupid-looking in my appearance—not that I cared too much when it was so freezing.

I walked another couple of blocks until I couldn’t stand the cold another second, and pushed into the first place that had a door with a WE’RE OPEN sign. FOUNTAINE’S AQUARIUM. I was in a pet store. Or more correctly, a tropical fish shop. Worked for me. It was warm and quite dim inside, the humidity rising from the tanks making it a pleasant change from where I’d just been. I unwound my scarf and wandered around, stopping by each tank to observe and read the names of the fish.

The saltwater section reminded me of a trip I took to Maui when I was fourteen. I’d gotten to snorkel and see some of the same fish that were in these tanks. I didn’t know it at the time, but that vacation had been the last one I’d take with both of my parents. My mom and dad separated soon afterward, and there would never be another trip for all of us as a family unit. Sad. They had to fight to be civil to each other now. Well, isn’t that the perfect oxymoron . . . “fight to be civil.”

I stopped at one particularly interesting fellow. A lionfish. Lionfish are something else up close, with all their spiky colored fins making them look unreal. This guy seemed curious, and came right up to the glass and fluttered at me as if he wanted to have a conversation. He was cute. I knew they were poisonous to touch, but still captivating to watch. I imagined that a saltwater aquarium was a great deal of work to maintain.

“Hey, handsome,” I whispered to the fish.

“Can I help you with anything?” a young guy asked behind me.

“Just admiring. He’s really a beautiful fish,” I told the store clerk.

“Yeah, he’s been sold, actually. The owner is coming to pick him up today and take him home.”

“Ahhh, well, I hope you’re happy at your new home then, handsome.” I spoke to the fish again: “Hopefully it’s someone who’ll spoil you with treats.”

The clerk agreed with me and chuckled.

I turned away from the tank, deciding it was time to brave the outside cold yet again and head home to my flat. I still needed to wrap Marie’s gift, and I had plans to bake tonight—some sugar cookies that I would take over there tomorrow. It was a little tradition we’d started, and it was really fun piping on the frosting and adding sprinkles to decorate them. My favorites were the snowflake ones.

I headed for the door to leave, adjusting my hat and rewrapping my scarf around my neck and halfway up my face, when someone entered the shop. I stepped aside to let him pass and was impressed with what looked like a tall person and a nice coat, but I didn’t look up at him. My eyes were focused on what lay beyond the open door of the shop.

Snowflakes.

It was snowing on Christmas Eve in London!

“It’s snowing?” I muttered in amazement.

“Yeah . . . it is,” he said.

I stepped out into the white and caught the most appealing scent on him as we passed each other. Like some exotic spice mixed with an indulgent mix of soap and cologne. It was nice when a man smelled so good, I thought. Lucky girl, whoever was getting to smell that all the time.

I went up to the window of a black Range Rover HSE parked on the street and checked my hat in the window’s reflection as I’d done before when I’d started out. I didn’t want to look like a dork on my walk home.

The snow had started falling more heavily now, and I could see some flakes beginning to settle on my new purple hat, even just in the reflection in the Rover’s window. I smiled under my scarf as I turned to go.

I was cold on my walk home. Cold . . . but strangely content. Snow for Christmas, for a California girl, all on her own in London at the holidays. Totally unexpected. But I realized something on my way home. The small things in life are sometimes the most precious gifts we are given, and if you recognize them when they arrive, then you are truly blessed.