A/N: I don't own Ashes to Ashes... sob...
Many, many apologies for my silence since March. Suffice it to say that I have been undergoing one of the worst years of my life. My personal situation is stabilising now but continues to be very time-consuming, which is severely limiting the resources I can devote to fanfic. I'm still writing as and when I can, and I have several chapters of "The Beginning of an Era" in hand but what I currently lack is time online to polish and post what I've written. I'll resume "The Beginning of an Era" as soon as I can, and in the meantime, here is the long overdue final chapter of my LAST Christmas Christmas story!
I should stress that I finished this chapter a year ago. I say that because I see that, quite coincidentally, at one point in "It'll Be Lonely This Christmas" GeneHuntress has posted wording very simliar to mine. Truly great minds think alike.
As it's so long since I posted the previous chapter, here's a brief recap:
Gene, Alex and the gang, assisted by waiter Emanuele, have been investigating the theft of a priceless Stradivarius violin from the Barbican Hall. Chapter 5 concluded with their identification of the thief and their recovery of the violin, much to the gratitude of Josiah Peal, the cop-show-mad 14-year-old prodigy from whom it was stolen. He and his guardian, Walter Mansfield, have invited Gene and Alex to a charity Christmas gala at the Barbican where Josiah will perform, and in return Gene has invited them to dine with CID at Luigi's...
Reviews would be balm to my wounded soul.
A happy, healthy, wealthy, Ashy New Year to all my readers.
As it turned out, they were to see Josiah again earlier than the following evening. The Chief Constable was so delighted with Gene's account of the rescue of the violin that his office informed the press first thing in the morning. To Gene's disgust and Alex's secret delight, by mid-morning the station was under siege from reporters. The Chief Constable preened for the cameras before insisting that Gene and Alex come out to face their public. He had phoned Mansfield, who, alive as ever to the possibilities of a photo opportunity, had brought a still sleepy Josiah and the precious violin with him, and the photographers had a field day snapping the boy wonder, the Stradivarius, and the intrepid detectives who had found it. Some time after the newshounds had dispersed, Chris went out for a lunchtime sandwich and returned brandishing an early edition of the Evening Standard with a front page photo of Josiah standing on the steps of the station, clutching the violin, flanked by a beaming Alex and a scowling Gene, with the heading "Met's Tasty Twosome In Tune".
"Looks like people will be wanting your autograph now, Guv," Alex observed.
"As Tyler would 'ave said, that was a spectacular waste of police time," Gene growled.
"It's great publicity for the work the station does," she said earnestly. "For the work you do."
"What, findin' a fiddle? What about solving murders an' muggings an' rapes an' blags?" Gene demanded wrathfully.
"Some crimes are more newsworthy than others," she admitted, "and some are more glamorous. Look at it this way - after all this publicity, the Chief Constable won't be able to complain about this station, or anyone in it, for a long time to come. And if he can't, nobody else in the Met hierarchy can, either."
"Hm. There is that. RAY! What the bloody 'ell fire d'you think you're doing?"
Ray smirked. "Pinning the Met's Tasty Twosome In Tune to the notice board, Guv. So that everyone can see."
"Not if you value the continued possession of your knackers."
Oh, dear, Alex thought. Does that mean that he's ashamed of me? Or is he just embarrassed?
There was one way to find out. She held out her hand. "May I have it, then, please, Ray? I'd like to keep it as a souvenir of the case."
Ray looked uncommonly knowing as he handed it over "Sure you can, Ma'am."
She stole a glance at Gene as she stowed the cutting in a folder and he returned to his office. She could have sworn that he was blushing, and he quickly looked away, almost as though he suddenly felt shy. Unaccountably - at least, she told herself that it was unaccountable - that warmed her heart.
After a routine afternoon routing the criminal population of London, the team decamped to Luigi's promptly at beer o'clock, to find Josiah and a decidedly apprehensive looking Mansfield already awaiting them at the long table.
"Your Signor Luigi said that you always sit here and that any friend of Signor Hunt's is a friend of his," Josiah explained, radiant.
"Good of 'im, given the size of my tab," Gene observed. "Come on, you lot, budge up! We've got guests."
Alex made a point of sitting next to Josiah, and with Mansfield on his other side, she reckoned that he would be shielded from the coarser elements. Gene sat at her other side, and between them they introduced Josiah to each member of the team, he shook hands with them all, and Alex handed him the menu and ordered him fizzy water, just in case anyone thought of giving him anything stronger.
To her great delight, Emanuele appeared to take their food order.
"Emanuele! So you're working here again?"
"Yes, Signora, thanks to Signor Hunt. He persuaded Luigi to take me back."
"Good for you, Guv," she murmured, too quietly for anyone else to hear amid the restaurant din. He coloured to the roots of his golden hair, obviously desperately embarrassed at having been caught out in a good deed.
"Signor Hunt told me how he helped you find the violin," Luigi announced as he placed Josiah's fizzy water in front of him. "A restaurant near a police station needs a crime solving waiter, no? But I have told him, no more decorations. I cannot risk another detective's life."
"Thank you, Luigi," Alex said gratefully. "Josiah, this is Emanuele. He was the one who tipped us off about the violin and helped us last night."
"Yes, I remember you! Thank you!" Josiah shook his hand enthusiastically.
"I am glad to see you again, Signor Peal. So, what would you like to eat?"
It was a pleasant if noisy meal. Nobody was drunk yet, and Gene had wisely elected not to put Van Hatten's wad behind the bar until after Josiah left. With the knowledge of free drinks galore to come, the team moderated their boozing until the founders of the feast departed, and Alex had already threatened anyone who misbehaved with a week in the Records Room going through old cases. Josiah, happily scoffing lasagne followed by Luigi's luscious Panforte di Siena, drank in the atmosphere and loved every moment, and even Mansfield relaxed a little.
When the dishes had been cleared away, Gene banged on the table for silence.
"Ladies an' gentlemen, let's 'ave a moment to say thank you to our guests."
Josiah stood. "I'm the one who should be saying thanks to all of you. You've found my violin and saved my career. I'll never be able to thank you enough."
"All part of the day's work, son," Gene said modestly.
"Well..." Josiah heaved a violin case from under his seat. "I didn't think you'd expect me to sing for my supper, but I thought I might play you something short before I leave, by way of a small thank-you. Would you like that?"
Ray didn't manage to stifle a groan. Gene could not make himself look enthusiastic, and most of CID wore politely glazed expressions. But Alex noticed that Chris looked eager and Shaz, positively delighted.
"We'd love it!" she declared. "But I hope that isn't the Stradivarius you've got there?"
"Good Heavens, no. She's in the safe at the hotel. This is my old practice violin. I call it my gypsy fiddle, you'll see why in a moment."
"Give 'im some space an' a bit of peace an' ba - er, peace an' quiet!" Gene commanded.
Josiah extracted himself from behind the table, Alex passed the violin and bow out to him, and a hush descended over the restaurant. He tucked the violin beneath his chin and raised his bow.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you - CSÁRDÁS!"
Monti's plaintive, eerie gypsy melody, measured yet wild, wailed and coiled itself around the arches and columns, hanging in the air. Its slowness dragged at the listeners while hinting of the turbulence to come. Even the unmusical members of CID listened in fascination. Suddenly the music exploded in burst after burst of unbelievable virtuosity as it quickened to a lively dance rhythm. Smiles broke out. Feet tapped under the tables. Chris pulled Shaz to her feet, and they spun and twirled around Josiah as he continued to fiddle like a boy possessed. Other couples joined them. Then, as the music slowed again to a high, soulful melody, Chris swung Shaz into a smoochy tango, only to be nearly pulled off his feet as the music quickened again to a ferocious speed and Josiah almost set the fiddle on fire with continual, tumultuous cascades of notes while the dancers whirled around him. He finished with one final flourish, raising the bow high above his head, and the restaurant erupted with applause. For a few minutes, he had lifted them all to another realm.
"Bravo, Josiah!" Alex cried, clapping, as he made his way back to the table.
"Yeah, not a bad 'and on the little ol' fiddle," Gene admitted.
"Joe, I'm sorry, but I really think we should go now," Mansfield said apologetically.
"Oh, do we have to?" he pleaded.
Alex saw the beginnings of teenage rebellion and quickly moved in to quash it. "I think you do. Mr Mansfield's told us that you have a rehearsal tomorrow morning, and I for one have no desire to get into any hot water with Mr Morton."
"That's true, Joe," Mansfield added. "It'll be your first chance to play the Anderson Guarnerius. It's being delivered to Mr Morton at ten tomorrow, and your call is for ten-thirty."
Alex saw the desire for the instrument shine in the boy's eyes, warring with the longing to stay and party the night away, and saw the desire for the violin win out. As it'll have to do if he's serious about having a career as a top musician.
"Okay," he said reluctantly. "But I'll never forget tonight. Thank you so much for having me, everyone."
"Pleasure," Gene insisted. "An' thanks for the, er, concert."
"I nearly forgot." He turned to Mansfield, who took two envelopes from his breast pocket and gave it to Josiah, who pressed it into Alex's hand. "Your tickets for the gala on the twenty-second, and the other is for you to send to the two ladies who got Lavizio's autograph. Please be there!"
"Of course we will," she assured him heartily, although she could sense Gene wishing that Josiah had forgotten his offer. "We're looking forward to it. Thank you very much!"
"And please come backstage and see me afterwards."
"Is that wise?" Gene demanded. "Don't want us nicking your new fiddle."
"Don't worry about that. They have security guards on the doors now, and they only admit people on the guest list. I'll give them your names."
"Oh, er, ta."
Mansfield insistently shepherded the excited lad away, and he turned and waved at the top of the stairs, amid cheers and whistles from the assembled coppers, before disappearing from sight.
"Right!" Gene rose to his feet, strode over to the bar, and slapped Mansfield's notes down on the counter. "Put this behind the bar, Luigi. Serious 'eavy drinking starts now. Mine's a pint. What's everyone else 'aving?"
There was a huge cheer, and everyone else bellowed out their orders.
It was a torrid night. Ever afterwards, Alex dubbed it The Night Of The Great Hangover. She had no recollection of getting back to her flat, but when she awakened the following morning, lying on top of her duvet with her boots and jacket removed, cursing the rays of light penetrating the blinds, she was disturbed by the noise of a thunderous snore in the living room. Staggering out there in unspeakable agony, she found Gene slumbering on the sofa, so far gone that he had not even remembered to remove his coat or boots.
Good grief, her excruciated brain registered. He must have brought me up here and put me to bed, and he was even drunker than I was. Thank God he didn't try to drive the Quattro. He can't have been too drunk to know that. Not for the first time she was astonished, not only by the amount of drink he could put away, but how well he could handle it.
It gave her a certain sadistic pleasure to clash the kitchen implements together while assembling a restorative fryup, seeing him wince as the sounds penetrated his sleep, and then savouring his anguish when he opened his eyes. Not surprisingly, his temper was vile, and he said not a word to her, even when she plunked his fryup in front of him or when they crawled out to face the unforgiving day.
They reeled into the office to find the whole of CID in little better state than they were, with the weaker spirits sobbing at the sound of Shaz's typewriter, and Gene disappeared straight into his office in search of the hair of the dog. It was a long and painful day.
-oO0Oo-
Although Gene had shown uncommon generosity over inviting Josiah to join them at Luigi's, Alex knew that it would take far greater reserves of endurance on his part to sit through a classical concert without complaining. She half expected him to tell her to give Josiah his excuses, but on the evening of the twenty-second he curtly dismissed her half an hour early to change and turned up on her doorstep on the dot of six o'clock to collect her.
He was clearly disappointed that she had not chosen to wear something skimpy, but she nonetheless felt that he approved of her choice of outfit, a long dark green gown ornamented with black lace and softly shimmering green sequins.
"Bloody 'ell, Bols, you look like the Christmas tree."
"Glad you like it, Guv." She picked up her black velvet stole and clutch bag. "You don't look too bad either." He was wearing the same suit he had worn all day, but she noticed that he had shaved and brushed his hair, and that his crocodile boots looked preternaturally clean. "Shall we go?"
"The Quattro awaits, Lady Bols."
As he parked the Quattro, in the patrons' car park rather than the artists' car park he had used on the night of the robbery, a thought occurred to her.
"Guv, we never did find out whether the man a witness saw going through the Barbican Estate was Lavizio or not."
"No, an' now we probably never will, as the dabs 'ave proved 'e was the thief, an' 'e's confessed an' won't go to trial. Even if it wasn't 'im, though, it was a good job the witness called us. It alerted us to the possibility that the thief 'ad 'eaded towards Moorgate, an' the Cassa Dorro's in that neck of the woods."
"Too true, Guv."
As they were about to enter the stalls, Alex noticed that the door to the backstage area was firmly closed and that a security man stood on guard. At least the robbery has made the Barbican Centre tighten up its security. They're very lucky. If the violin hadn't been found so quickly, Van Hatten might have sued them.
They had magnificent seats in the centre stalls. Looking to the right-hand block, Alex spotted the Barnetts and waved to them, just as Emanuele, in a very smart suit, hurried up to them.
"Buona sera, mio Signore!"
"An' a good evening to you," Gene grunted. "Why aren't you poisoning CID with Luigi's 'ome cooking tonight?"
"Signor Peal sent a ticket to the restaurant, with a note inviting me to come." The young man's face was flushed with pleasure. "I am so glad to be here. It is a wonderful programme."
"As you're a music student, you'll get more out of it than a lot of us," Alex said gaily. "Enjoy yourself!"
It was a glittering gala in aid of charities for London's homeless. Most of the city's major arts organisations had sent representatives, all of whom were donating their services. The orchestra launched the proceedings with a joyous account of the final movement of Bizet's Symphony in C. Alex was particularly delighted to hear Thomas Allen and the Royal Opera House chorus in a selection of Christmas carols. She had fond memories from her childhood of Eva Evdokimova and Peter Schaufuss from London Festival Ballet, who performed the Grand pas de deux from The Nutcracker - very well too, she thought, given the limited amount of dancing space. Eilene Hannan and Adrian Martin of English National Opera sang quite the most moving duet from Puccini's La Bohème that she had ever heard. A very appropriate choice, she felt, given that the opera takes place on Christmas Eve. Roger Allam dashed across from that evening's performance in the Barbican Theatre to represent the Royal Shakespeare Company with a reading of The Night Before Christmas, and the London Symphony Chorus, with the great soprano Valerie Masterson, performed the Christmas sequence from Handel's Messiah.
Gene, of course, sat through this musical feast slumped in his seat with his face registering expressions ranging from boredom to something akin to agony. But when Josiah came onto the platform, violin and bow in hand, he sat up and made an earnest effort to look interested.
Josiah performed the final movement of Beethoven's Violin Concerto with the orchestra, followed by a delightful selection of short pieces by Fritz Kreisler, accompanied by the great pianist Andras Schiff. His playing was exquisite, and although his instrument was new to him, he played it with the utmost assurance. Alex drank in the glorious sounds, knowing how much greater his artistry would grow in the years to come.
The audience, who of course all knew the story of the stolen Stradivarius, applauded rapturously. He bowed several times, and then stepped forward and held up his hands for silence.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much. I'm very glad to be here tonight. As some of you may know, I came very close to being without a violin at all." Laughter. "That's why I'd like to dedicate this encore to my good friends in the Metropolitan Police, to whom I owe more than I can say."
He waved to Gene and Alex, and she waved back, leaving Gene overcome with embarrassment. The audience applauded wildly, and she dreaded that they would have to rise to their feet and take a bow - Gene would hate that - but Josiah raised his bow authoritatively and gradually the applause subsided.
"This is my arrangement of an old song. I hope you'll think it appropriate."
The bow touched the strings lightly, and Alex smiled as she recognised the melody. Very softly, the combined choruses, who had assembled at the rear of the platform during the applause, began to sing.
"My fiddle is my sweetheart, and I'm her faithful beau
I take her to my bosom, because I love her so
I clasp her gently round the neck, her vocal chords I press
I ask her if she loves me, and she answers "Yes, yes, yes"
She''ll sing at every season, December or in June
But must have rosin reason, or will not sing in tune
It's not until I coax her well that she'll reveal her charms
But she will sing her sweetest song when once she's in my arms
My fiddle is my sweetheart, and I'm her faithful beau
I take her to my bosom, because I love her so
She always is harmonic, she never flirts or winks
And though she takes a tonic she never eats or drinks
Her stom-jack's always empty but she never seems to care
While she can get some scrapings she will live upon the air
She'll answer every question, she'll instantly reply
And at the least suggestion, she'll laugh or she will cry
She'll grunt or groan, and sigh or moan, as I wish her to do
And, best of all, won't speak at all, until she's spoken to
So ladies, there's a wonder, wonderful but true
A damsel who won't speak at all, unless she's spoken to.
After the concert, having collected their coats from a smiling Emma, Alex and Gene headed for the artists' entrance and found Emanuele and the Barnetts already there, watched over by a very suspicious security man. That's an improvement on not having the door watched at all, Alex thought.
"Hello!" Mrs Barnett said excitedly. "Wasn't that wonderful? Thank you so much for sending us the tickets!"
"You'll have to thank Mr Peal," Alex said with a laugh. "He gave them to us to pass on to you. I take it he wants to see you, too?"
"Yes, there was a note in with the tickets. He said to give our names at the door, and Mr Mansfield will come for us."
"There was one in mine, too," Emanuele added.
The door opened and Mansfield emerged. "Here you all are. It's all right," he added to the security man, "they're all our guests. Come on in, Joe's expecting you."
With a full orchestra, two choruses and an array of principals, not to mention all the technical staff, the backstage area was organised chaos. Mansfield expertly threaded his way through the throng, his guests following close behind, until they reached the same dressing room that Josiah had occupied on the night of the robbery. Once again, his name was on the door.
"Joe! They're here!"
"Come in!" a joyous voice called from within. Mansfield opened the door and ushered them all inside.
Flushed with success, supremely happy, Josiah radiated an air of maturity and mastery. The dressing room was his natural habitat, his personal palace.
"Come in! It's so good to see all of you. Thanks for coming!"
"Thank you for inviting us, and thank you for playing so wonderfully," Alex replied.
"Yes. Liked the song," Gene added.
"You gave me the idea for that, Mr Hunt. You called the Stradivarius my sweetheart."
"Yeah, a girlfriend who doesn't answer back. Think I could get used to that."
Alex knew that he was trying to catch her eye, and was determined not to let him.
"Anyway," Josiah continued, "I wanted to say a final thank you and goodbye to all of you before we leave tomorrow. And to wish you all a merry Christmas."
"And the same to you," they all chorussed.
"It'll be the merrier for me because of all your help," he said earnestly. "It's thanks to all of you that the violin was saved."
"It's what we call team work in the Met," Gene said proudly.
"I hope you and the orchestra haven't suffered any bad publicity because of the robbery?" Alex inquired.
"No, quite the reverse," Mansfield said happily. "You know what they say, there is no such thing as bad publicity, and it's proved true in this case. The press exposure, not to mention your television appearance, has done wonders for Joe and for the orchestra. There could be a recording contract in it for him. The Barbican Centre came in for some stick because of their bad security, but as you've just seen, they've already taken steps to improve it. Which reminds me, is there any news of what will happen to Lavizio?"
"Yes, 'e's made a full confession so there's unlikely to be a trial," Gene explained. "But 'e'll be going down for a spell. 'E can fiddle in jail for a few years. Not that there's much demand in the Scrubs for 'is line of business."
"Unless he starts up a prison orchestra," Alex added. "There are all sorts of initiatives for rehabilitation these days."
Josiah sighed. "Part of me hates him for giving me the worst three days of my life. Goodness knows what would have happened if you hadn't found the Stradivarius for me. But part of me feels sorry for him. I know what it's like, to want so desperately to play an instrument that's out of my reach."
"Except that, as my esteemed lady colleague 'as pointed out, you stuck to the right side of the law," Gene said firmly.
"And Lavizio was prepared to let you suffer the consequences," Alex added.
"I know." There was silence for a moment, then Josiah's face cleared. "Anyway, I've something here for all of you." He turned to a pile of presents on his dressing table. "This is for you, Mrs and Miss Barnett." He carefully placed a parcel in Kelly's arms. "I hope you'll open it now."
"Thank you!" Beatrice seemed quite overcome.
Kelly ripped the paper open. "Look, Mum! It's our book!"
"Not the same one," Mansfield explained. "The police told us that it would be needed as evidence. This one's been signed for you by every member of the orchestra and Mr Morton. There's a copy of the orchestra's latest LP, too, Beethoven's third and fifth symphonies."
"And a copy of tonight's programme signed by everyone who took part," Josiah added. "I handed it round at the rehearsal. And I've signed a photo for you, and if I ever cut an LP, I'll send you a copy."
"Thank you so much!" Kelly gasped. Beatrice seemed beyond speech.
"No, thank you. Mr Emanuele - I'm sorry, I don't know your other name - "
"Angelino."
"Mr Angelino, I'm told you're a music student."
"Si, Signore. As Verdi's Duke of Mantua has it, Studente sono, e povero."
"I know what it's like to have trouble affording the music you need for your studies. I had a big problem with that until I got the Van Hatten Scholarship. That's why I got you this." He handed Emanuele a gift-wrapped envelope. "It's a Chappells' voucher for a hundred pounds. They sell all the sheet music you could ever want."
"Grazie, Signore." Emanuele bowed very low. "With all that music, I will be able to sing like a member of the heavenly choir."
"I surely hope so. This is for you, Miss Holly." He handed Alex a small, giftwrapped box.
"Oh, thank you, Josiah! But my name isn't Holly."
"Isn't it? I thought that was what I heard Mr Hunt call you, and I thought, how appropriate for the season."
"No, my real name's Alex, but he calls me Bolly. After Bollinger champagne." And if Gene mentions knickers now, he won't live to see Christmas Day.
"Oh, I see. Well, I hope you like this."
Alex carefully removed the paper to reveal a jeweller's box. Inside there nestled a silver brooch in a squiggly shape which could have been a stroke of lightening. Or even, she realised with astonishment, a letter G. I wonder if Josiah realised that when he bought it for me?
"Is it all right?" Josiah asked hopefully. "I'd wanted to get you one shaped like a violin, but they didn't have anything like that. This was the nicest in the shop."
"It's lovely! Thank you so much, I'll always treasure it." What a shame I can't pin it to my leather jacket. "But, Josiah, have you been squandering your fee for the last concert to get us all this?" she added with mock severity. Once a mother, always a mother.
"Rather a lot of it," he admitted sheepishly. "But I spoke to Mom and told her what I planned to do, and she agreed with me that I should use some of it to get really nice presents for the people who helped me. And Mr Hunt, this is for you." He handed Gene an enormous parcel, about three feet by two and about six inches thick. Gene ripped the paper away to reveal a massive, deluxe Hornby train set, complete with magnificent engine, carriages, tracks, station, signal boxes, tunnels and trees.
"I hope you haven't got it already?" Josiah said anxiously. "I heard Miss Holly - sorry, Bolly - saying about you wanting a train set. The shop people said that this is the best there is."
Gene's face was a study, and Alex didn't know where to look. "Er, no, er, this is all new to me," he managed to croak. "It's, er, it's great. Thanks very much."
"Oh, I'm so glad. My Pop loves model engines, so I know what it's like."
"How is he now?" Alex asked.
"Much better, thank you. Mom was even able to tell him about the violin being stolen, once you'd found it."
"Oh, I'm glad. So you'll have a happy homecoming for Christmas."
"Yes, thanks to all of you. So now my only remaining duty is to invite you all for a drink at the bar. I'm not allowed to have any alcohol in the dressing room because I'm under age."
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Gene hefted the train set under his arm and nodded to the Anderson Guarnerius, which nestled in its velvet-lined case on Josiah's dressing table.
"No." Josiah produced the dressing room keys from his pocket and jingled them. "That's one lesson I've learned from all this. Always lock the dressing room if I'm leaving the violin in it. Mr Anderson's secretary will be coming along shortly to collect it," he added wistfully, "so after this it's back to my old fiddle." He grinned at Alex. "Until I get that Stradivarius of my very own. I'll get it, even if I have to busk on the Subway to get the cash."
She chuckled. "Maybe you will. Use the experience to demonstrate the power of context to create perceptions of artistic quality."
Josiah's eyes widened. "Well - whatever."
Gene felt a burst of fellow feeling. He's hearing the fruitcake part of her brain talking. This is what I get every day.
Josiah ushered them out to the bar, already crowded with performers and guests, and very ostentatiously turned the key in his dressing room door while Mansfield ordered from the barman. Seeing Gene sink a pint, Alex realised that this must be the first part of the evening that he had actually enjoyed. Josiah, in his element, proudly introduced Gene and Alex to the other performers ("You never know, I may play a copper one day," Allam murmured as he shook their hands), and to a number of visiting celebrities, as the detectives who had saved the Stradivarius. The Met's Tasty Twosome had their hands shaken so often, and were so fulsomely congratulated, that their heads spun.
The party could not last long because Josiah and the orchestra had an early flight back home the next day. When it became clear that the event was tailing off and the guests were drifting away, Alex and Gene sought out Josiah to say their goodbyes. She thought that Gene would quietly "forget" his train set, which he had left propped up against a pillar while at the bar, but to her surprise he made a point of retrieving it and tucking it under his arm before they approached Josiah for the last time.
He grasped their hands. "Goodbye, and thanks again for everything. I owe you so much and I'll never forget you. Be sure that if I ever play in London again, I'll send tickets along to the station."
"We'll look forward to it," Alex said sincerely. Gene tried to look enthusiastic.
She expected that as soon as they were out of earshot, Gene would blow her head off for embarrassing him, but he was silent as he led the way down to the car park and unlocked the Quattro. Even when they had got into the car, he did not start fire it up, but put the bulky box on his lap and sat looking at it.
"I'm so sorry, Gene," she said quietly. "I never thought Josiah would hear what I said about the train set. He wasn't to know that I was only drawing an analogy with Lavizio wanting the violin..." But something in Gene's set, sad face made her fall silent.
"Stu would 'ave given 'is eye teeth for this," he said, very low. "The Christmas 'e was nine, the toy shop 'ad a huge train display in the window. Train goin' round an' round the track, hills a' dales, trees, tunnels, a station, signal box, you name it, it was all there. He used to spend hours with 'is face pressed to the window. I joked that the shop'd charge 'im for a new pane of glass because 'is nose 'ad worn an 'ole in it. Used to get beltings from Dad for coming in late because 'e'd stopped on the way 'ome from school to watch the train.
"Couldn't see the point of it, myself. Used to drive me mad, seeing it goin' round an' round an' round. I wanted something that went in a straight line. That would go somewhere."
"A car," Alex said softly. "You always knew what you wanted. And you got it." And it took him in a straight line, out of the hell of his home. But Stu never could escape. He died trapped in a vicious circle, just like the toy train he'd wanted.
"Yeah, well..." Gene straightened up, tried to push the box into the footwell, found that it was too big, and chucked it over his shoulder into the back seat. "Tomorrow I'll take it to the Fenchurch Childrens' 'Ome. Should keep the kids 'appy for Christmas."
"A very kind thought," Alex said approvingly. "And I think it was very good of you not to let on to Josiah that he'd got you the wrong thing."
"Couldn't disappoint the kid," Gene mumbled, now mortally embarrassed.
She smiled. "You claim not to like Christmas, but you're just a big old reformed Scrooge in disguise. You've shown more of the Christmas spirit in the handling of this case than a lot of people do in years."
His eyes became flinty. "Don't push your luck, sweet'eart."
She sighed theatrically. "That's a pity. I was about to put a proposition to you."
She could have sworn that he did a double take. "A WHAT?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Hunt, it's nothing indecent." She saw his shoulders sag with disappointment. "A gastronomic proposition."
He turned in the seat to look at her. "Expound."
"Well, I told my butcher that I only wanted a very small turkey crown, but the one he's got for me is absolutely enormous. So I wondered if you might want to help me eat it up. I know you're on duty on Christmas Day, so if you'd like to drop by my flat at beer o'clock we could eat it together."
"In other words, you're inviting me to Christmas dinner."
"I knew I wouldn't get that one past you without your noticing, Guv."
"I didn't make DCI without spotting weaselly words, Bolly Kecks." A short silence. "So. What's the menu? Starters?"
"A spot of smoked salmon."
"Mains?"
"Lashings of roast turkey. Stuffing - my own recipe, sausage meat, apricots, mushrooms, chestnuts and breadcrumbs. Tiny sausages and bacon curls."
"Spuds?"
"Of course. Hasselback potatoes. The only way to have them at Christmas. Peel them, parboil them, cut them almost through in thin slices until they look like a toast rack, then put a bit of butter on top of each one and shove them in with the turkey until they're crispy. Divine."
"Anything else?"
"Brussels sprouts and parsnips."
"Oh."
"Not very many, as I know you're not a fan of vegetables. And I thought, a choice of cranberry sauce, bread sauce or gravy."
"Gravy, eh?"
"As rich and thick as you like."
"Pudding?"
"Of course. And mince pies. Cheese if you want it, but I think we might be stuffed by that time."
"Booze?"
"Bollinger, of course. What else? And I'm sure there will be single malt and a beer or two in the fridge if you want it."
"Hm. I think I'll 'ave to drop by on the twenty-fifth an' nick you for tempting a police officer." He inserted the key in the ignition, and the Quattro roared into life.
"I look forward to it, Guv."
Well, she thought as the Quattro emerged from the car park into Beech Street and headed towards Aldersgate. I thought I was going to spend Christmas Day on my own, probably getting drunk. If I hadn't invited Gene to dinner, probably he would be, too. Two lonely people. But together, maybe we can make something of the day.
I hadn't bought any special food because I thought I'd be spending the day alone, so I hope it isn't too late to order that turkey. I'll have to make a shopping list when I get home, to make sure I don't forget to buy any of the things I've just promised him.
As he's coming, I'll have to make the flat look nice. Maybe a small Christmas tree and a crib. Holly in a vase. Fairy lights.
And I'll have to think of a really nice present for him. What about that brass lion door knocker I saw in Camden Passage last week?
It looks as though it has the potential to be quite a Christmas for both of us, after all. And all because of a stolen violin.
If music be the food of love, play on...
THE END
A/N: This fic was inspired by the real life story of the Huberman Stradivarius, which was twice stolen from the violinist Bronislaw Huberman. The first time, in 1916, it was taken from his hotel room and was quickly recovered when the thief tried to sell it. The second time, in 1936, it was stolen from his unlocked dressing room at the Carnegie Hall, New York, while he was onstage performing on his other violin. Without the Fenchurch gang and sufficient honest witnesses on the case, the crime was not solved until 1985 when jobbing violinist Julian Altman made a deathbed confession to his wife that the scruffy fiddle which he had played in bars, clubs and as a freelance orchestra player for half a century was the lost Stradivarius, which he had disguised with black shoe polish. After his death, his widow surrendered the violin to Lloyds of London, who owned it because they had paid out Huberman's insurance claim (he had died in 1947). After loving restoration, it was sold to the English violinist Norbert Brainin, who subsequently sold it to its current owner, the great American virtuoso Joshua Bell.
The piece Josiah plays at Luigi's is "Csárdás" by Vittorio Monti. There are a number of good renditions on YouTube (dig the one played by Vasko Vasiliev and danced by the amazing Steven McRae!). "My Fiddle is My Sweetheart" was written and composed by Harry Hunter and the legendary Edwardian music hall artist G. H. Chirgwin.
The performers at the concert are all genuine performing artists of the early 1980s, one of whom is of course known to all Ashes lovers (Roger Allam was a member of the Royal Shakespeare Company during their first season at the Barbican: one of the shows in which he appeared was "Poppy", mentioned by Chris in Chapter 2). I hope those who are still with us will not object to their names being used for this story.
Did anyone recognise any or all of the songs in the chapter headings? Chapters 1 and 3 come from "The Lost Chord" by Sir Arthur Sullivan (of Gilbert and Sullivan fame) - once a hugely popular song, but now little known except by enthusiasts. Chapter 2 comes from the carol "Masters in This Hall", written by William Morris to an old French dance tune (it's quoted by Katie Duggan's Niece in her wonderful fic "Since It Fell Unto My Lot"). Chapter 4 comes from a little known Gilbert and Sullivan opera, "Utopia Limited". Chapter 5 comes from "King's Rhapsody", a lovely musical by the unjustly neglected Welsh composer, Ivor Novello (after whom the awards and the West End theatre are named). I think the final chapter heading speaks for itself.
And at the very end of this chapter, Alex mentally quotes the opening line from Shakespeare's "Twelfth Night".
