Chapters 1 + 2 Excerpt:

Chapter 1

Clive Pippins stood at the window of his attic bedroom in Hartigan House, aware only of the ache in his knees, the pinch in his back, and the crick in his neck. An old man stared back at him from the reflection in the glass. Pippins blinked back. That poor fellow was as bald as a billiard ball, with droopy skin on his long face. Watery blue eyes squinted in the sunlight, nearly disappearing behind skin folds. Though tall and lean, the man's shoulders fell forward, creating a roundness in his upper spine. Pippins empathised with the bloke, feeling the pain in his own neck in much the same place.

Pippins became aware of the warmth in the room, and the green, leafy trees outside reminded him it was the middle of summer. One must open the windows and allow for a breeze in such instances. Of this, he was fairly certain. Unlatching the casement, he pushed the glass open like a small barn door, and peered out.

In the garden—and it was such a beautiful garden. Who was responsible for that?—Pippins saw the man trimming the bushes. Clarence? Was it? Or Clem? Clements, yes, that was his name.

A boy sat on a patio chair holding a little black-and-white dog. Scout and Boss. Pippins exhaled. Yes, he remembered.

A man joined the boy and gestured to the door. It was clear he wanted the lad and the dog to go inside. Pippins sensed that something important was happening that day. There were so many things to remember. He pinched his eyes together as he tried to draw it up. How could he remember the state of the butler's pantry, where every bottle and jar was placed, every piece of silver, but he couldn't remember yesterday?

His vision blurred when he reopened his eyes. Blinking back the dratted tears—why did his eyes water so much?—he stared at the people in the garden below. A red-headed little girl held a doll, her father crouching as he spoke to the child. Poor thing was in tears.

Now Pippins remembered. Mr. Hartigan was taking the little miss to America.

Pippins knew he'd better hurry and hobbled down that long set of narrow stairs in time to say goodbye. If only his blasted knees didn't hurt so much.

Chapter 2

Hartigan House was a three-storey limestone residence in London's prestigious South Kensington district. The place had a sense of stillness and quiet that its owner, Mrs. Ginger Reed, found unsettling. Her discomfort wasn't as intense now as when she'd arrived five years earlier to claim her inheritance. Oh mercy, how time has flown by!

The Mallowan Court house had sat empty for ten years. It had taken several weeks, even months, to freshen the old girl up with new paint, wallpaper, and décor fitting with the style moderne trends of the day.

Pippins had come with the house. Her beloved butler had been old then, already many years older than the average life expectancy, even in the new century. He was in his mid-seventies, and Ginger had finally convinced him to retire, though he insisted on keeping the attic bedroom. The climb up and down the staircase, he claimed, was responsible for his extended years.

The sitting room was Ginger's favourite. Not only did she love the warm-yellow, velvet settee and matching armchairs that sat next to the stone fireplace, the rich red Turkish carpet on the wooden floor, and the long window that let in the summer sunlight, she especially admired the Waterhouse painting of The Mermaid above the mantel. It was an exquisite piece of art and had enormous sentimental value. The painting had been a gift to her mother from her father, and Ginger had been told the red-headed siren had an uncanny resemblance to her mother, who had sadly passed away soon after Ginger herself was born.

Ginger had dressed in a simple cotton day frock, with a decorative band at the low waist, matching summer jacket, and plain white low-heeled pumps. Perfectly suitable for travelling. As she sat in one of the armchairs, Boss, her Boston terrier, jumped onto her lap and curled up, tucking himself against her abdomen. He, too, was getting on in years, having slowed down to where he no longer begged to come along for rides with her in the motorcar. It's a good thing this time, Ginger mused, as there was no way she could take him to where she, Basil, and their son, Scout, were about to go—Amsterdam and the Games of the IX Olympiad!

Ginger had had little exposure to the Dutch language, though she had mastered German and French through her studies at Boston University and her time spent in the war. When she'd expressed her concern about language difficulties, Basil surprised her by saying he could speak Dutch. "Enough to get by, love." Apparently, Amsterdam had been a favourite holiday destination for the Reed family.

The dowager Lady Ambrosia Gold sat on the settee opposite Ginger. After what she described as a frightful lapse in judgement, her grey hair had grown out of the shorter bob—which, according to Ginger, had ...