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“George, what is this mess?!” I asked, clearing a space for my breakfast bowl somewhat forcefully, sending small screws and plastic pieces skittering across the thinking cloth.
“Morning, Luce.” George continued his fussing, making no move to clear a space for me or anyone else who might get the notion to eat their breakfast at the table. “As
it happens, I’m retrofitting a camera with Orpheus lenses.”
I crunched my cereal.
“What for? And where’d we get another set of Orpheus goggles?”
George looked at me as if he couldn’t believe I even had to ask.
“To photograph Visitors, of course. Just think of the training and documentation purposes! The efficiency for research! Think you’ve got a wraith in your washroom? Snap a picture and get it to an agency so they know what they’re dealing with. And if you happen to recognize your great Aunt Tilly in the picture, and you also happen to have come into possession of a few treasured items of hers recently, why then, even a Bunchurch agent could sew that case up in no time flat! As for the goggles, a few items from Fittes house might have gotten caught up under my spirit cape. Can’t say for certain.”
I had to admit, it did sound like a great idea, if a little far fetched. Kipps walked into the kitchen then, shoving a spot clear for his own breakfast of sweet rolls. His eyes narrowed.
“Isn’t that my Polaroid?”
George pushed his glasses up his nose.
“Is it? Well, you can have it back. I’m afraid it didn’t work.” He shoved the pile of camera pieces toward Kipps. “Oh, I think one of the original lenses cracked when I popped it out, hopefully it wasn’t important. I’m going to have to try again with film I can develop myself - got to expose properly for ghosts, you know.”
Kipps almost choked on his coffee. I took my cue to get up from the table, depositing my bowl in the sink and ducking out into the garden to water.
True to my resolution, I had made more of an effort this year to tend to the garden. In fact, it had become a special project of Holly’s and mine. All I’d really planned to do was maintain the grass at a slightly less-than-jungle level and maybe plant some flowering bulbs as I’d done in the front of the house, but after casually mentioning it to Holly, the project took on a life of its own. Next thing I knew, she was snipping pictures from gardening magazines and pairing flowers with the same attention she surely devoted to picking out her perfectly coordinated outfits. Admittedly, I’d enjoyed seeing her looking less than perfect as we went to work that spring bringing our garden plans to life, though she somehow never seemed to get quite as dirty or as sweaty as I did. Surprising to no one, Holly had quite a green thumb, and now, in mid summer, we were enjoying the fruits of our labor. The cool, sweet smelling garden was a welcome spot of sunshine in our dark profession. I liked to come out in the morning to water, breathing in the scent of the climbing roses we’d planted near the door mixing with the lavender I’d insisted on - In Jessica’s memory, though I didn’t mention that to Holly.
I heard the door open and shut behind me, and glanced back to see Lockwood stepping into the garden.
“Morning, Luce, come out for some peace and quiet? George and Kipps are going at it in there. Mind if I join you?”
I smiled.
“Of course not.”
He came to stand by my side in pleasant silence as I poured out my watering can. I was reminded of another day we were side by side in this garden, waiting for Winkman’s men. That was the day he’d first shown me the necklace that now hung at my throat. My free hand came up to brush the sapphire pendant. A symbol of undying devotion, he’d called it.
“You and Hol have done wonders with the garden.” He observed as I finished watering and set the can aside.
“Holly says it’ll take a few years for everything to really fill in.” I turned back to look out across the small garden with him.
“Well, we’re not going anywhere, are we?” His fingers twined into mine.
“Nope.” I tilted my head against his shoulder in the early morning cool. The garden wasn’t the only thing that’d been growing nicely since the fall of Fittes.
“We don’t have any cases scheduled for tonight, what do you say we make an evening of it?” He asked suddenly. “Cook some good food and enjoy it out here in the garden.”
The best thing about Summer was that our caseload dropped dramatically as visitors were weakened by the short nights. A relaxed evening meal outdoors with Lockwood and our friends in a lovely garden? Well, I think that came pretty close.
“Sounds splendid to me,” I agreed.
Lockwood looked down with the soft smile reserved especially for me. Dropping my hand, his arm snaked around my waist to pull me close for a kiss.
“Let’s go inside and tell the others.”
*****
We reconvened later in the afternoon. Lockwood cooked up some bacon. Holly appeared in a perfectly frilly yet casual white sundress that I wouldn’t be able to keep clean for a minute. George, who had been out for most of the afternoon, returned in time to cook up some delicious smelling Cornish Pastry, and Kipps volunteered to run to Arif’s for crisps. I helped by dragging an assortment of chairs out to the garden. Flo showed up at some point, no doubt invited by George.
A festive atmosphere prevailed as we all settled in a loose circle in the late afternoon glow of the garden.
“Mmph!” George mumbled around a mouthful. “Flo and I got hold of a film camera today.”
“Where from?” I asked.
“Probably best not to ask Mr and Ms Stickyfingers.” Kipps said, gesturing at George and Flo with his fork. He was still sore about his Polaroid, though I honestly hadn’t seen him use it since spying on the Orpheus Society. To his point, the two blonds always looked like they were up to something secret and quite possibly illegal whenever I saw them together - which, judging by the chart of high and low tides George kept scribbled by his spot on the thinking cloth, was nowhere near as often as they saw each other.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Flo said around a mouthful of crisps that she had blatantly stolen off George’s plate a moment before.
“Anyway,” George said, “I’ll need to take some pictures as a control, and to practice developing the film, so don’t be surprised if you see me snapping a few photos tonight.”
Having duly warned us, George brought out the camera once we were done eating, and began to mess with it, managing to “accidentally” set the flash bulb off in Kipps’ face when he tried to help.
The evening passed pleasantly as the sun dipped lower in the sky.
“Golden hour,” George informed us, having somehow become a photography expert in the space of an afternoon.
“This was a first rate idea,” I told Lockwood. We’d moved to a blanket tucked near the mess of lavender I’d planted myself. I pinched one of the fronds to release the sweet scent.
“Yes, one of my better ones if I do say so myself.”
He also reached out to brush a hand through the lavender, I wondered if he was remembering his sister.
“You know,” I started, touching my necklace - a habit I’d developed since he’d given it to me. “when I bought these plants from the nursery, the tag said that lavender is also a symbol of devotion.”
He turned back to me with a soft smile.
“Is that a fact?” His voice was as soft as his expression.
I nodded.
“That, and keeps ghosts at bay, yeah.”
He pinched of a stem of lavender, his brow wrinkling as he turned it in his hand before pinching off a few more.
“Let’s see if I remember how to do this,” he said, more to himself than to me. I watched, puzzled, as he began twisting and tucking the stems together. I suddenly remembered him mentioning his sister making flower crowns for them out of lavender. I let my fingers brush across his sleeve. I never felt closer to him than when he shared some tender moment of his past with me.
“Not so bad,” he said, working the beginning and the end of his flower chain together. He leaned close, bringing the crown to rest on my hair almost reverently before letting his fingers trail down to tuck a few loose strands behind my ears and angling my face toward his. My eyes drifted closed in anticipation of his lips on mine.
That was when I heard the shutter of George’s camera.
“Don’t mind me!” He said, flapping a hand at us. “Great lighting here.”
He shuffled off amiably to find his next victim, and Lockwood turned back to pick up where we’d left off.
After a little more alone time, we rejoined the others. Lockwood called for George to take a group shot, the logistics of which became the topic of debate. A few tries at the timed shutter release with varying degrees of success later, we agreed that it was time to head inside. Fireflies winked in the lavender, like drifting embers from a magnesium flare explosion as we picked up.
***
I had to admit - if this whole agent/researcher thing didn’t work out for George, he had a promising future as a photographer. After going out early for developing chemicals which he was “pretty sure” couldn’t explode, he spent the morning converting the storeroom to a darkroom to develop the film. Around lunch, he was ready to show the results - a whole roll of film’s worth.
“Here we are, let’s all have a look-see.” George bustled in self importantly with his stack of prints. “I haven’t even seen these myself, pretty dark in the darkroom you know. Oh, drat, this one’s overexposed - never mind, that’s just you, Kipps.”
We all laughed at the first picture George had taken, Kipps’ already pale complexion completely washed out by the flash bulb, and a comical, stunned expression frozen on his face.
“I think we ought to frame that one,” I joked.
“Trust Cubbins to get me on my bad side.” Kipps grumbled.
A bunch of candid shots followed, shots I hadn’t even noticed him taking - tiny moments of laughter and friendship captured in that rosy golden hour hue.
I blushed when he flipped to the one of me and Lockwood and the lavender crown. Holly and Lockwood looked like models in every snapshot they’d appeared in, whereas Kipps and I were running about fifty fifty for unflattering angles. This was not one of those. The golden light did wonders for my complexion and my usually lackluster hair. Lockwood was absolutely radiant. The setting sun seemed to set the sapphire in my necklace alight with a cool fire. I wished I could keep time forever frozen in that moment.
“Luce? I said, you can keep that one if you like,” George said pointedly, and I realized I’d spaced out for a second. “Actually, you can all take what you like. This was a more of an exercise of principle. I’ll just keep a few as my control group.”
He thumbed through the remaining stack, pulling the prints he wanted to save for his control. And if they were all shots of Flo, none of us mentioned it, though Kipps did give a rather eloquent snort.
The last few shots documented our valiant attempt at a group photo, my particular favorite being the one where George tripped on his untied shoe lace in his mad dash to get back in the shot, resulting in a lovely portrait of George tumbling face first in the foreground with our reactions ranging the full spectrum from amusement to alarm filling the background. It kind of looked like a Renaissance painting.
“Well, this one’s a keeper,” Lockwood said, plucking up the last group photo. I rather liked it myself. There was an easy comfort on everyone’s faces that, well - you just didn’t see a group of agents looking that carefree at any given time. I’ll admit, I did have kind of a goofy smile on my face, as Lockwood had dashed to my side after hitting the shutter - he never looked better than when he was in action. Kipps might have been caught mid good natured eye roll and Holly was looking straight at the camera, smiling prettily and looking like the only one in the group who had it together, which was pretty accurate in most circumstances. George was distracted by Flo, who was plucking pieces of grass out of his hair from his fall in the previous picture. Sure, all the pictures captured our likeness, but this one seemed to capture the humanity of the moment.
I’d had my picture taken loads of time - usually after a particularly trying case, and usually printed in the paper with no regard for my vanity. I could normally take comfort that no one was looking at my disheveled appearance beside Lockwood’s larger than life smile. But these pictures were different. These pictures I was proud to be seen in - even the unflattering ones. These were pictures of something that were far more important to me than a case gone well, something that would last long after the Problem was gone and agencies were an unpleasant memory. As agents, we’d all experienced uncountable events we’d rather forget. I took George up on his offer and chose a few prints from the stack. I was glad to have plenty of moments worth remembering, too.