A Nightingale in Parkleigh Square

Chapter Eight

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W hen the chrome tree arrived from the artist, Nina and Molly assembled it in the studio for inspection first. It was complicated, with a series of circular rods coming together to make a spiral tree that required several tries and a lot of mistakes — only some of which were funny.

It was shiny and silver, inserting securely in a chrome stand. They surveyed it, hands on hips.

"It's modern chic," said Nina.

"I wouldn't have it in my living space, but it's fine for a London skyscraper," said Molly. "It's like a ladder got twisted around an ice cream cone."

"At least it lights up," said Nina, turning on the switch in its battery pack. Tiny white lights twinkled on.

"We'll think of what it needs by the time we're moving into the space," said Molly. "Speaking of which, the order is still delayed, so it must be stuck in the shipping depot. We need Val to tap into one of her sources and fix it."

"What's left?" Nina mused, checking their list of props. "Luggage, the animatronic Santa Claus —"

"Whose kit has been delivered, Bradley and I are picking it up tomorrow," said Molly. "Reminding me — I need to see if the supermarket has canned yams."

"Forget about canned veg, let's concentrate on mocking up an outfit for Santa that looks like something out of the Van Stewart winter catalog," said Nina.

"Relax, I'm on it. We're picking up some fabric tomorrow, too, and I'll stitch it together here while Bradley's working on assembling the art pieces." Molly was reading a digital cookbook as she curled up in the folding chair. "Did you know how many recipes there are for box stuffing?"

"No, because I've never stuffed anything except pillows," answered Nina. "Is this for our overseas Thanksgiving?"

"I'm giving thanks and giving back in one," said Molly, sweeping her hand. "Plus, maybe we'll meet some people, make some friends. Except for the girl on the bus and the guy in the cab, everybody so far has been from the Paris demi-monde, and they're not interested in making us into their next bffs. Plus, the bartender at the pub, whom I invited, but who draws a line between regulars and annoying tourists, clearly."

"I'm making a cranberry-stuffed brie wheel, that's all I'm saying," answered Nina.

The door opened and closed, admitting Bradley carrying a box. "Okay, so this is crazy, but bear with me, because I think it could be clever," he said. "What if we add these to the calendar scene?"

Inside the box were several 'shelf sitter' elves. "Are those from the bargain shop a couple of streets away?" asked Molly.

"I know they're cheap, but look how cute they are. We can fix them up — some fake beards from some fake fur, some cute little buttons sewn to the front, felt trim — but look how easy they are to pose. Possibilities, that's all I'm saying."

"I think it could work," said Nina, taking one out and flexing its little arm into a new pose. "They're perfect. Except for having the wrong price tag for an upscale boutique in the Billington building."

"Who's to know?" asked Bradley. "I'm not telling."

Molly made a face. "Who's going to find out except for Ms. Garbage du Paris and fire us?" she said, mimicking Bradley's question. "Look, you outvoted me. I'm just saying there's an elephant in the room with us."

"It's worth the risk," said Nina. It seemed unlikely the store's coordinator would make a fuss over the pre-unveiling window ornaments. "Run with it, Bradley," she said.

"Thank you." He pumped his fist. "I'll make you proud, I swear it."

"Enough with the drama," laughed Nina.

"Here, make a grocery list," said Molly, tossing him a writing pad. "Do you have to serve a vegetable at Thanksgiving dinner?"

Saturday, Nina woke early when the alarm on her phone trilled on the nightstand. Sleepily, she switched it off, her mind searching for today's schedule. Oh, wait. It's Saturday.

With a groan, Molly rolled over. "I have to go to the cash and carry," she mumbled. "Pull me up, Nina."

"Why me? I haven't had any coffee yet, either."

A plate of pull-apart sticky buns sat next to a 'Happy Thanksgiving' centerpiece on the table in their studio, which had been draped in a leaf-print plastic tablecloth. Mismatched chairs surrounded it, including one found by a trash bin and glued back together by Bradley, who was presently hooking up the countertop oven. Its instruction manual leaned against a toaster.

"Happy Friendsgiving," he said.

"Are we eating dessert early?" she asked, as she pulled off her coat and scarf.

"No, that's for breakfast," he assured her. "I got some frozen berry tarts and some kind of frozen shell that you can pour pumpkin pie filling into."

"Do we have pumpkin pie filling?" She looked at the row of tinned food on the counter. French beans, peas.

"There." He pressed a button, and the oven's front panel stopped flashing lights. "Now we can heat the turkey loaves."

"Mmm, sounds yummy," said Nina, lifting one eyebrow skeptically. She opened her tote and lifted out the chilled brie wheel. "I think this is supposed to cook cold," she said. "Is there a button on there for French filled pastry?"

"Let me check. Um, well, no," he said. "Doesn't pastry cook on high heat?"

"It does have to crisp," she admitted.

She was pressing buttons, trying to program it, when Molly returned, slapping her shopping tote onto the table. "No box stuffing anywhere," she said. "Has no one heard of Stove Top here? Everyone looked clueless when I asked some people in service vests, they just told me to buy some pre-bagged breadcrumbs and seasoning."

"You mean — from scratch?" said Bradley, jaw dropping.

"Relax, I didn't," said Molly. "So happy Thanksgiving, we're having instant potatoes with garlic and panko on top instead." She emptied her bag, various packages and packets spilling out. "Oh, here's a gravy packet, I did find one of those," she said.

"Turkey, potatoes, gravy, peas — that's one of the old TV Dinners, isn't it?" said Bradley.

"Rosemary butter rolls count as a bread side," pointed out Nina, as she pushed a button, and the oven made beeping noises. "Okay." She exhaled. "Appetizer is on its way."

"Did you get the pumpkin pie filling?" Bradley asked Molly. She gave him an angry look.

The first knock on the door brought the family from the apartment across — a man, a woman, and three kids, the woman and girls in knit tights and wool skirts with their pullovers, and the man in jeans with a button-down. "Hi," said the woman, shyly to Nina.

"Hi, come on in," said Nina. "I'm Nina, this is Molly and Bradley, we're working in the city until Christmas, so this is our studio."

"Anika," said the woman. "My husband — Victor. Our daughters, Lisl, Ana, and our son, Georg." Her accent was thick and soft, and sounded Eastern European to Nina.

"Your bread was amazing," said Molly. "Seriously. I ate the whole loaf myself, these guys only got the crumbs."

This brought a little laughter, the nervous kind between strangers who aren't quite sure of the situation yet. "We brought a vegetable. Is that okay?" She held a covered dish.

"Yes, anybody who cooks something is a friend in our book," said Molly.

Nina closed the door. "It smells great," she said.

"Thank you," said Anika. "It smells very nice in here also."

The brie wheel was still in the oven. "I should check on that," said Nina, who thought maybe it smelled a little burnt suddenly.

Despite some black spots on the pastry shell, the wheel seemed okay. They sliced it open on a plate, letting the cheese and cranberry filling ooze out next to some crackers.

Another knock at the door. "'allo, 'allo?" a voice called, doing a cheesy British accent. It was a couple of 'regulars', whom Molly had met in the pub, two guys and a woman who had brought a bottle of wine and a wax-wrapped cheese.

"Are you some kind of artists?" asked the girl, looking at the sketches Bradley had pinned to a corkboard — one also salvaged from beside a rubbish bin, missing part of its wood trim.

"We stage spaces — dress windows — you know, the people who make places look cool where nobody actually lives," said Molly.

"Cool," said the girl.

The three kids were watching Bradley with fascination as he tried to spread the turkey rolls with the contents of a seasoning packet which had come with them. Most of it kept falling off, until Nina helped rescue him with some butter to make it stick.

Another knock at the door. Nina wiped her hands on a towel, because Molly was busy showing the pub's newcomers some pictures of their former projects. "Coming," she called.

Ki was waiting on the threshold, with a slender brown woman in jeans and a Manchester United t-shirt who had brought a bread loaf on a wrapped platter. An elderly woman in a colorful cotton-wrap skirt and blouse stood next to them.

"Ki, you came," said Nina. "And this must be your family."

"Yeah," he said. "My grandmum doesn't speak English, and my mum's isn't so good."

"Nice to meet you," said his mother, smiling. "Lita." She pointed to herself. "Mala." She pointed to her mother. Nina smiled and held out her hand, but Mala didn't shake it.

"You live here?" said Ki's mother.

"For a few more weeks," said Nina. "We met your son a few times, and we thought it would be nice to meet his family, because he talked about you both."

Ki said something to both women in another language, with a clipped, island accent. His mother spoke softly, then turned to Nina, smiling and nodding. "Here," she said, handing Nina the plate. The bread was dark and rich-looking, and Nina smelled fruit and spices.

"Mango and papaya," said Ki's mom, pronouncing them carefully. "Ki's favorite."

"It looks delicious." Nina carried it in. "Come on and join the party," she said. The grandmother hadn't smiled yet, but Nina thought that being in a roomful of people who didn't speak your language wouldn't be all that much fun.

"Ki's family is here," she said to Molly, who was scraping a can of yams into a plastic mixing bowl, next to bottles of cinnamon and nutmeg.

"Oh, cool." Molly looked up. "I have to finish mixing this stuff. I couldn't find pumpkin filling, so I'm using some yams from the specialty section. Add sugar and spice and it's practically the same thing, right?"

"Probably," said Nina, who had no idea.

The next knock belonged to the pub's bartender. Nina felt a little shock, since he had never been enthralled by their presence in his establishment.

"Hi," she said. "Come on in. Nina — that's me." She shook his hand.

"Ted," he said. "I didn't bring a dish, I brought a bottle. Will that do, or should I pop 'round to the corner and get a cheese log or something?"

"No, wine's fine," said Nina. "Meet the rest of the party, you know a couple of the pub's customers." She closed the door, after peering out to make certain no other neighbors were coming behind him.

Molly looked up, and did a double take in disbelief. Ted saw her and flashed a grin as he set the bottle beside the other offerings.

Despite being hodgepodge, none of the food tasted bad — the turkey roll was moist thanks to the butter, and even the instant potatoes were good for dried packet food. The desserts received a helping hand from the loaf of sweet fruit bread — a good thing, since the faux pumpkin pie turned out to be runny and slightly sour.

"I know the building where you're working — the last one standing in the land or something after the war, isn't it?" one of the pub regulars said, the girl, whose name was Tandy. "It's, like, really old. Everything else down there is more modern, but it's all posh shops. I can't buy the sorts of things in those windows, but I like to look."

"It's a form of entertainment during the season, to walk around and look at all the window displays," said one of her friends, pouring another glass of wine. "Better than telly some nights."

Chuckles at the table. "In the States, they do paid tours of the lights in some cities," said Ted. "Buses and walking tours. Some bloke shows you to all the best houses and gardens done for the season, apparently."

"You know we do that in Manhattan," said Molly. "We're the kings of tasteful and outrageous small space holiday lighting. I mean, Texas may have the space, but not the panache."

"We're the Cyrano of holiday lights," quipped Bradley.

More laughter. "I like having a stroll 'round to see what people put up for the season," remarked the girl. "I'll have to come and see yours when it's done."

"I work at Liberty during its busiest months, and the place was abuzz with talk about Van Stewart's opening a branch here," said the other pub regular. "She's a legend, the designer. Everyone thinks she's launching an exclusive British line here, and it's in the works presently."

"Is that true?" Tandy asked.

"I can't confirm or deny," said Nina.

"No, seriously," said Molly. "They don't tell us that, they just tell us what they want to see in their windows."

"Brains and a decent cook both," said the guy from Liberty. "If I didn't have a partner, I'd ask you out for fish and chips."

"I'm more of a lobster thermidor girl," joked Molly.

"I don't see that," remarked the publican. Molly rolled her eyes.

"You were very kind to our meal, by the way, which was definitely not like Thanksgiving back home," she said, her fork poking the last bite of pie on her plate.

"What is different?" asked Lita.

"An absence of a roasted stuffed turkey — no real pumpkin pie — candied yams off the table — that's just for starters," said Molly.

"No Stove Top stuffing?" said Ted. Molly raised her eyebrows. "I watch a lot of telly," he said.

Ki was looking at the chrome Christmas tree. "This is really cool," he said to Bradley. He found its switch and turned on the lights.

"Thanks," said Bradley. "It's for the windows at the new shop."

"It could be better," said Ki. "But it's pretty good."

"My feelings, yes," said Molly. "Maybe it comes together when the ornaments are on it, who knows?" She popped some crumbs from Lita's bread in her mouth.

Nina cleared away the disposable dishes, and tried scraping the last of the green bean casserole into a plastic bowl for storage, even though it hadn't tasted right without the real cream of soup dressing, just some packet white sauce. Anika came to help, putting the lid on her vegetable gratin.

"That was really delicious," said Nina. "It was pretty obvious that you know how to cook, unlike the rest of us."

"I like cooking," said Anika. "It's what I'm used to. Before we came here, I had an oven built of old stone, the kind with a wood fire to heat it. I used to bake bread above the coals. It was so good."

"Where are you from?" Nina scraped together the last serving of potatoes from the bigger bowl.

"From Romania. We moved there. We lived in a town in Russia before. It was near the border. There was a ... a skirmish. We lost our house to the bombs."

"I'm sorry." Nina paused. "I didn't mean to talk about something sensitive."

"It's okay," said Anika. "We survived, that was the important part. But we had to leave. Eventually, we came here. Viktor has a work visa, he is a welder."

"It must seem pretty different," said Nina.

Anika shrugged. "We grow used to it," she said. "We are a family, and we are together. We can still enjoy things we loved before, and enjoy things we didn't know of until we came here. Everyone grows to live with changes. You will as you are here."

"We're not here for long," said Nina. "We'll be back in the U.S. by Christmastime, because our job will be finished then."

"I hope that you will feel at home until then," said Anika, with a smile. "You seem very kind."

Nina was embarrassed. "We're just trying to survive," she said. "It is lonely in a new place, even if you're only here for a short time. You're hungry for somebody to be more than an acquaintance."

"Then we must return the favor and have you to our flat for dinner or tea," said Anika. "If the kids will not be too crazy for you?"

"Don't worry, we like kids, it's fine," said Nina, reassuringly. Right now, Molly was teaching Ki and Anika's three to play a travel game of Jenga she had brought with her. The pub regulars were spectators, coaching them on what moves to make.

With one more glass of wine cradled between her hands, Nina leaned in the window's frame, watching the candle lights twinkle behind the panes of Anika and Victor's apartment. Friendsgiving among strangers seemed so ironic, now that she thought about it. How did it seem like an island they needed for shelter, unlike the real holiday, which had always been her parents cooking, Macy's televised parade, and World Cup in review television special?

"You look lost in thought, otherwise I'd ask if you want to be my partner for the next Jenga round," said Molly, joining her.

"The kids are totally going to beat you," smiled Nina.

"But I go down with a fight — you know my style," said Molly. She sat on the window's frame. "So what are you thinking about?"

"Just ... the usual things." Nina gazed outside. "How much is on our plate in the coming weeks, and whether Natalia is going to be happy. Why the ornaments for the tree still aren't here."

"That delay status is going to change on Monday, or I'm going to the depot myself," said Molly, warningly.

"You would," said Nina. "Another couple of days, me, too." She sipped her wine. "And ... well ... whether this experience is going to seem worth it to us when it's over? Or just a waste of time that we could have spent with the clients who already trust us?"

"What? We're in London, decorating a world-class designer's boutique," said Molly. "What's not to love? Plus, I got three compliments on my cooking from total strangers who do not want to borrow money. That's worth the plane ticket alone."

She took the wine glass from Nina's hands and sipped it. "Maybe you should be worried about whether that hot designer has a girlfriend or is making small talk for other reasons."

"Please. He's not interested, he's just nice," said Nina. "Anyway, when I'm there, all I'm doing is thinking about that vast space where we're putting a Christmas tree, and desperately praying that it looks as amazing as we've pictured."

"It's a London homage. How can it fail?" Molly handed her the glass. "We don't have to worry, we've got this."

"You're right, I'm just having my usual last-minute quiet panic," said Nina. "This is big. It's so much bigger than anything before. I'm almost scared of what it could mean."

It could change the future, possibly. What if it was successful, and they were in demand? They might really stage holidays and window decor in Manhattan part time, or near one of the Long Island resorts. Maybe even one in the Hamptons.

The idea was a lot to imagine. Change could be good or bad — she couldn't decide which, but that was the fear of the unknown. It wouldn't stop her from taking the next step.