(no subject)
Anne visits Turnbull at the IPD office/Canadian Consulate, eager to resume her duties alongside him. In the course of their conversation and lunch, they may have arranged a get-together that could possibly be construed by some as a date. Maybe. Though they would certainly not call it that.
Turnbull very rarely had time in his day to do something that wasn't paperwork of his own inventing. It was one of these very rare times that he was currently in the middle of. He had just finished his portrait of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, built a rather lovely frame for it (hand carved bamboo - not mahogany but it'll do), and was trying to figure out where in the Consulate she would like best to be hung. It was a truly daunting prospect if he said so himself. After all, a Queen is a picky creature and only deserves the best. The problem as he saw it was that there was hardly any wall space here really befitting of a Queen. He certainly couldn't hang her in the recroom especially not when people did lewd acts in there from time to time. So really what was his choice in the matter? He was so wrapped up in his decision that he completely didn't notice Anne's arrival.
Anne hesitated in the doorway, second guessing her choice of apparel as she always seemed to when she came to this particular door: should she have dug for something more modest, or perhaps something less modest? But there was nothing for it, what was chosen was chosen and it would be just plain silly to retreat now to find something else. She was here to work, not to look fashionable.
Turnbull would have probably been scandalized by something less modest, but would have enjoyed it really quite a lot so it was a good thing that Anne was wearing what she was. He smiled brightly and held the frame of Her Majesty's portrait a little firmer. "Ah, good afternoon Miss Shirley. I was just trying to decide where to hang Her Majesty. Do you think you could help me?"
"Oh, certainly!" said Anne, no longer hesitant to enter the room now that she'd been acknowledged. "I do have an eye for decoration, I've been told, so I'm certain I can be of some help. May I see the portrait now that it's finished, Constable? I have been so looking forward to it."
Well, now that the portrait was finished, Turnbull saw no problem at all in letting Anne see it. He might've preened just a little bit as he turned the canvas to face her. It was, by his very unbiased standards, probably the best charcoal likeness of Her Majesty he has ever seen. Oh, but what he wouldn't give for some oils or even some pastels. But! It was either charcoal or crayon and he didn't think She would appreciate being rendered in crayola. "Well?"
"Oh, it's lovely," said Anne, clasping her hands delightedly. "You truly have a talent for this, Constable, and I can't imagine that a portrait of this quality would not be a true likeness. It definitely cannot be hung just anywhere, though." She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room.
"Now see, that's exactly the problem I was having. The office itself feels too small, but I can't hang it in the rec room where who knows what happens. The Queen in the Kitchen? Doable, but not entirely appropriate. I was thinking in the clinic, but I'm not certain that She has a stomach for wounds." It really is quite the dilemma. He heaved a great sigh and appeared to be thinking Very Hard on this indeed.
"Oh, I definitely think it needs to be in this office," said Anne. "Where else would it be entirely appropriate? Or, oh! When we finally set up the island school, we ought to have a portrait in there, don't you think? But there certainly needs to be a majestic portrait of the queen in the Canadian Consulate."
Turnbull chewed on the inside of his lip and continued to look very serious. "Well, there most certainly ought to be a portrait in the school. Has it been decided if they are going to build a separate building for the school of if classes are to simply be held in the rec room?" He didn't think that was such a good idea, especially if the Jukebox was likely to burst into song at inappopriate moments. "If you'd be willing to help me figure out how to make some proper pastels here, I'd certainly set about doing one for the school as well."
"Well I'll certainly do my best," Anne promised him, though she wasn't sure how much help she would be at that particular task. "I haven't heard that they've made any decision about the school yet, but perhaps there'll be room in one of the new cellars they've discovered. I've heard all kinds of strange things about them, though I haven't yet seen them for myself."
"You should be able to see them all very shortly, my dear," he said without even thinkiing about it. "I believe they're just about done cleaning it and that soon there should be new bed assignments announced. It's really quite nice down there actually. I'll be glad to give you a tour once they open it up to the public." Eventough technically, Anne is Turnbull's assistant and therefore at least an honourary member of the IPD, Turnbull didn't want to risk giving anyone preferential treatment.
Anne positively beamed at him. "You've seen them, then?" she asked him. "Oh, of course you have, I'm sure it's a very important part of your duties with the island police to have examined them thoroughly. I would dearly like to take the tour with you as soon as we're able, Constable."
Turnbull echoed her grin and nodded. "Yes, I was taking inventory on the sort of supplies we discovered there." Sadly, more paper was not among them. However, Turnbull was getting quite skilled at making paper, and soon it would come as quickly as breathing. Well, not quite so quickly, but the general idea is there, of course. "They should be ready to visit on Friday some time. If you would like to meet here on Friday morning before it gets too over crowded with people, I'm certain I can get you in."
"Oh, I'll be sure to do that," said Anne. There was very little that could keep her away from an arranged meeting with Constable Turnbull, after all, particularly one that promised to be at least semi -- though certainly not inappropriately -- private. "And if you need any assistance with your inventory, I hope you know you can call on me. I am, after all, your assistant."
Turnbull straightened with pride. He always loved it when he got things right as he so often seemed to just barely miss doing. "I certainly do. And I will not hesitate to call on you should I need it." Nor would he hesitate to make up a reason for it even if it was awfully hard to think up one. "Now, about this portrait," he said, looking around the office.
"Yes, of course, the portrait," said Anne, putting on her 'officially on duty' face, which was not quite so solemn as the face she'd practiced with Ray during the party, but not quite so frivolous as the one she'd been wearing only moments before. "I think right there would be the perfect place," she said, pointing. "Where everyone who comes inside will be sure to see it. You wouldn't want anyone to miss it, after all."
Turnbull turned his attention to where Anne was pointing and nodded once, firmly. "Right there looks absolutely perfect, thank you, Miss Shirley," he said, and reached to grab the hammer and nail he had set aside for hanging it. "If it isn't any trouble, would you mind holding the chair steady?"
"Oh, certainly," said Anne, moving hastily to perform her duties. It turned out to be somewhat of a blessing to be wearing slightly shorter skirts these days, that she wasn't constantly tripping over ever time she was inclined to do something active. "Right here?"
"Yes, just there. Thank you," he said, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Hammering the nail in took some doing, but eventually, he got it in and was able to hang the portrait in full view of the door way to the Consulate. "There," he said when he was finished. "How does that look?"
Anne peered around him to see the now-hung portrait, and smiled broadly. "I think it's perfect," she told him, eyeing it carefully. "Perhaps tilt it just a fraction to the right, we wouldn't want it to be at all crooked, not the portrait of the queen."
Turnbull nodded once and adjusted it so it hung perfectly off of its new peg in the wall. "There," he said, not without a significant amount of pride in his voice. "Now it truly is the Canadian Consulate. Thank you very much for your help Miss Shirley."
"Oh, it's always my pleasure," she said with absolute sincerity. "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Constable? I haven't anywhere else to be, and I've finished my book, so I'd be happy to take care of anything that needs to be done, providing, of course, that I'm able to do it, but I'm sure I would be capable of doing anything you asked of me."
If Turnbull were indeed a dirty old man, he would've taken Anne's words an entirely different way. However, he was nothing if not Proper (most of the time) and so he thought aboslutely nothing untoward about that statement. "No, actually, I believe I have not much for even myself to do at the moment. But, if I find myself in need of your assistance, I'll send Diefenbaker to find you."
Anne felt a small lump of disappointment at that, for she'd looked forward to spending some time here at the office with Constable Turnbull, and had made sure she had time especially for it.
"Perhaps if I waited, something would come up?" she suggested. "Or perhaps you might like something to eat or drink; I'd be happy to go to the kitchen for you, and in fact I could use a bit of fruit or perhaps a sandwich for myself as well, so it wouldn't be any trouble."
Turnbull thought on it long and hard for a whole minute before he nodded. "Yes, I think some fruit would be nice. And if your offer of a poem still stands, I should very much like to hear you recite one." Blast. He hadn't given her proper time to prepare, had he? Oh dear. This might not end up as good as he hoped it would.
Anne certainly hadn't been anticipating the invitation, but she certainly wouldn't decline it. "I would be happy to!" she said brightly, and determined that she would think of something to recite while she was getting their food. She was certain that there had to be something in her head that would be appropriate.
Turnbull waited paitiently for Anne to return from her food getting expedition. Well, patiently was relative, to be honest. Mostly, he spent time trying to make sure that his desk was neat and clean and organized enough to eat lunch off of. If it weren't for Anne in the first place, Turnbull would often forget to eat all together so he was really quite glad to have her around. In fact...he was more than a little glad for it, even if it did make him feel a little weird to think on it. He tried really qutie hard not to think on it.
"I didn't know what you wanted, exactly," said Anne, a bit breathlessly, sweeping back into the office, "so I brought a basketful. But if you tell me which fruits you like best I shall be sure to only bring those ones the next time."
Turnbull's brows rose at the basketful of fruit. "Really, I like all fruits provided that they aren't cherries," he said actually qutie surprised with her industry with the fruit. "Thank you, very much Miss Shirley." He smiled at her and took out an orange. "You have never failed to make me proud of you." That sounded rather corny then, didn't it?
Anne just beamed again, placing the basket on the desk and helping herself to a mango. She hadn't quite gotten the hang of how to eat them yet, but she'd at least learned how not to make a terrible mess. A little mess, though, that was inevitable, and she found herself sucking the sticky juice off her fingers often.
A little mess never truly bothered Turnbull, and Anne was so proper all the rest of the time anyway that he saw no reason at all to hold it against her. Somewhere in the Very Deep and Dark Recesses of his Mind there was a dirty old man laughing at the way she chose to clean herself though. He smiled and peeled apart his own fruit and tried Very Hard to ignore the Skeezy Old Man that lived there. "Did Detective Vecchio ever help you finish your wikiup?"
"Oh, yes!" said Anne, wide-eyed and excited. "Both Rays and Constable Fraser built it for me, and it's wonderful. I already have curtains and flowers and a little log outside to sit and read. Oh, you must come see it, Constable! I could not have asked for a better home here on the island."
Turnbull looked a little forlorn for several moments. "Oh, I would very much like to come see your home, but..." But what?. "Well there must always be someone on duty in here and so often lately the other officers are busy with ensuring that the new levels are safe. Perhaps I can ask one of the Detectives or even Constable Fraser to sit here for an hour or so, so that I might see it?"
"Oh, there are so many people working with the IPD now," Anne encouraged him. "I've seen all the paperwork, so I know how many there are. I would imagine you would have no trouble finding someone to mind the office while we had a visit and... and perhaps a walk, one day."
He smiled and nodded sagely. "It's settled then. I'll see if I can't find someone else to mind the office for awhile." It's not like there was truly much to do. Often, Turnbull found himself just making things up so as to keep himself busy and from...well...letting his ears leak out of his brain. Wait...no, that was backwards. Blast. "I do still owe you a dinner. Perhaps we can make it a picnic in the hamlet then. How does that sound?" Good Lord, did he just ask a sixteen year old on a date?
Said sixteen-year-old woman couldn't have looked happier about it. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea," she said. "I can show you my new hut and, oh! Have you seen the little waterfall? It's right nearby."
Turnbull flushed in embarassment. "To be honest, aside from the occasions in which I visited you at your garden and the other that Mr. Tallent convinced me to accompany him on the trampoline." An experience Turnbull did not ever care to repeat thank you very much. "So, sadly I have not seen the little waterfall, but I should very much like it if you would show it to me."
"Oh, I would very much like to show it to you," said Anne. "We can make an afternoon of it, and I can show you all of my very favourite places. Well, you've already seen the garden, of course, but the others, the Hidden Hamlet and the little waterfall and this lovely stretch of beach that I often slept near before I had a home of my own."
Turnbull didn't approve at all of Anne sleeping on the beach, so he was very Very glad when he got wind of his co-workers taking it upon themselves to build her a hut of her own. He smiled broadly and finished his orange. "That sounds like a lovely idea. I look forward to it."
Turnbull very rarely had time in his day to do something that wasn't paperwork of his own inventing. It was one of these very rare times that he was currently in the middle of. He had just finished his portrait of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II, built a rather lovely frame for it (hand carved bamboo - not mahogany but it'll do), and was trying to figure out where in the Consulate she would like best to be hung. It was a truly daunting prospect if he said so himself. After all, a Queen is a picky creature and only deserves the best. The problem as he saw it was that there was hardly any wall space here really befitting of a Queen. He certainly couldn't hang her in the recroom especially not when people did lewd acts in there from time to time. So really what was his choice in the matter? He was so wrapped up in his decision that he completely didn't notice Anne's arrival.
Anne hesitated in the doorway, second guessing her choice of apparel as she always seemed to when she came to this particular door: should she have dug for something more modest, or perhaps something less modest? But there was nothing for it, what was chosen was chosen and it would be just plain silly to retreat now to find something else. She was here to work, not to look fashionable.
Turnbull would have probably been scandalized by something less modest, but would have enjoyed it really quite a lot so it was a good thing that Anne was wearing what she was. He smiled brightly and held the frame of Her Majesty's portrait a little firmer. "Ah, good afternoon Miss Shirley. I was just trying to decide where to hang Her Majesty. Do you think you could help me?"
"Oh, certainly!" said Anne, no longer hesitant to enter the room now that she'd been acknowledged. "I do have an eye for decoration, I've been told, so I'm certain I can be of some help. May I see the portrait now that it's finished, Constable? I have been so looking forward to it."
Well, now that the portrait was finished, Turnbull saw no problem at all in letting Anne see it. He might've preened just a little bit as he turned the canvas to face her. It was, by his very unbiased standards, probably the best charcoal likeness of Her Majesty he has ever seen. Oh, but what he wouldn't give for some oils or even some pastels. But! It was either charcoal or crayon and he didn't think She would appreciate being rendered in crayola. "Well?"
"Oh, it's lovely," said Anne, clasping her hands delightedly. "You truly have a talent for this, Constable, and I can't imagine that a portrait of this quality would not be a true likeness. It definitely cannot be hung just anywhere, though." She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the room.
"Now see, that's exactly the problem I was having. The office itself feels too small, but I can't hang it in the rec room where who knows what happens. The Queen in the Kitchen? Doable, but not entirely appropriate. I was thinking in the clinic, but I'm not certain that She has a stomach for wounds." It really is quite the dilemma. He heaved a great sigh and appeared to be thinking Very Hard on this indeed.
"Oh, I definitely think it needs to be in this office," said Anne. "Where else would it be entirely appropriate? Or, oh! When we finally set up the island school, we ought to have a portrait in there, don't you think? But there certainly needs to be a majestic portrait of the queen in the Canadian Consulate."
Turnbull chewed on the inside of his lip and continued to look very serious. "Well, there most certainly ought to be a portrait in the school. Has it been decided if they are going to build a separate building for the school of if classes are to simply be held in the rec room?" He didn't think that was such a good idea, especially if the Jukebox was likely to burst into song at inappopriate moments. "If you'd be willing to help me figure out how to make some proper pastels here, I'd certainly set about doing one for the school as well."
"Well I'll certainly do my best," Anne promised him, though she wasn't sure how much help she would be at that particular task. "I haven't heard that they've made any decision about the school yet, but perhaps there'll be room in one of the new cellars they've discovered. I've heard all kinds of strange things about them, though I haven't yet seen them for myself."
"You should be able to see them all very shortly, my dear," he said without even thinkiing about it. "I believe they're just about done cleaning it and that soon there should be new bed assignments announced. It's really quite nice down there actually. I'll be glad to give you a tour once they open it up to the public." Eventough technically, Anne is Turnbull's assistant and therefore at least an honourary member of the IPD, Turnbull didn't want to risk giving anyone preferential treatment.
Anne positively beamed at him. "You've seen them, then?" she asked him. "Oh, of course you have, I'm sure it's a very important part of your duties with the island police to have examined them thoroughly. I would dearly like to take the tour with you as soon as we're able, Constable."
Turnbull echoed her grin and nodded. "Yes, I was taking inventory on the sort of supplies we discovered there." Sadly, more paper was not among them. However, Turnbull was getting quite skilled at making paper, and soon it would come as quickly as breathing. Well, not quite so quickly, but the general idea is there, of course. "They should be ready to visit on Friday some time. If you would like to meet here on Friday morning before it gets too over crowded with people, I'm certain I can get you in."
"Oh, I'll be sure to do that," said Anne. There was very little that could keep her away from an arranged meeting with Constable Turnbull, after all, particularly one that promised to be at least semi -- though certainly not inappropriately -- private. "And if you need any assistance with your inventory, I hope you know you can call on me. I am, after all, your assistant."
Turnbull straightened with pride. He always loved it when he got things right as he so often seemed to just barely miss doing. "I certainly do. And I will not hesitate to call on you should I need it." Nor would he hesitate to make up a reason for it even if it was awfully hard to think up one. "Now, about this portrait," he said, looking around the office.
"Yes, of course, the portrait," said Anne, putting on her 'officially on duty' face, which was not quite so solemn as the face she'd practiced with Ray during the party, but not quite so frivolous as the one she'd been wearing only moments before. "I think right there would be the perfect place," she said, pointing. "Where everyone who comes inside will be sure to see it. You wouldn't want anyone to miss it, after all."
Turnbull turned his attention to where Anne was pointing and nodded once, firmly. "Right there looks absolutely perfect, thank you, Miss Shirley," he said, and reached to grab the hammer and nail he had set aside for hanging it. "If it isn't any trouble, would you mind holding the chair steady?"
"Oh, certainly," said Anne, moving hastily to perform her duties. It turned out to be somewhat of a blessing to be wearing slightly shorter skirts these days, that she wasn't constantly tripping over ever time she was inclined to do something active. "Right here?"
"Yes, just there. Thank you," he said, unable to wipe the smile off his face. Hammering the nail in took some doing, but eventually, he got it in and was able to hang the portrait in full view of the door way to the Consulate. "There," he said when he was finished. "How does that look?"
Anne peered around him to see the now-hung portrait, and smiled broadly. "I think it's perfect," she told him, eyeing it carefully. "Perhaps tilt it just a fraction to the right, we wouldn't want it to be at all crooked, not the portrait of the queen."
Turnbull nodded once and adjusted it so it hung perfectly off of its new peg in the wall. "There," he said, not without a significant amount of pride in his voice. "Now it truly is the Canadian Consulate. Thank you very much for your help Miss Shirley."
"Oh, it's always my pleasure," she said with absolute sincerity. "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Constable? I haven't anywhere else to be, and I've finished my book, so I'd be happy to take care of anything that needs to be done, providing, of course, that I'm able to do it, but I'm sure I would be capable of doing anything you asked of me."
If Turnbull were indeed a dirty old man, he would've taken Anne's words an entirely different way. However, he was nothing if not Proper (most of the time) and so he thought aboslutely nothing untoward about that statement. "No, actually, I believe I have not much for even myself to do at the moment. But, if I find myself in need of your assistance, I'll send Diefenbaker to find you."
Anne felt a small lump of disappointment at that, for she'd looked forward to spending some time here at the office with Constable Turnbull, and had made sure she had time especially for it.
"Perhaps if I waited, something would come up?" she suggested. "Or perhaps you might like something to eat or drink; I'd be happy to go to the kitchen for you, and in fact I could use a bit of fruit or perhaps a sandwich for myself as well, so it wouldn't be any trouble."
Turnbull thought on it long and hard for a whole minute before he nodded. "Yes, I think some fruit would be nice. And if your offer of a poem still stands, I should very much like to hear you recite one." Blast. He hadn't given her proper time to prepare, had he? Oh dear. This might not end up as good as he hoped it would.
Anne certainly hadn't been anticipating the invitation, but she certainly wouldn't decline it. "I would be happy to!" she said brightly, and determined that she would think of something to recite while she was getting their food. She was certain that there had to be something in her head that would be appropriate.
Turnbull waited paitiently for Anne to return from her food getting expedition. Well, patiently was relative, to be honest. Mostly, he spent time trying to make sure that his desk was neat and clean and organized enough to eat lunch off of. If it weren't for Anne in the first place, Turnbull would often forget to eat all together so he was really quite glad to have her around. In fact...he was more than a little glad for it, even if it did make him feel a little weird to think on it. He tried really qutie hard not to think on it.
"I didn't know what you wanted, exactly," said Anne, a bit breathlessly, sweeping back into the office, "so I brought a basketful. But if you tell me which fruits you like best I shall be sure to only bring those ones the next time."
Turnbull's brows rose at the basketful of fruit. "Really, I like all fruits provided that they aren't cherries," he said actually qutie surprised with her industry with the fruit. "Thank you, very much Miss Shirley." He smiled at her and took out an orange. "You have never failed to make me proud of you." That sounded rather corny then, didn't it?
Anne just beamed again, placing the basket on the desk and helping herself to a mango. She hadn't quite gotten the hang of how to eat them yet, but she'd at least learned how not to make a terrible mess. A little mess, though, that was inevitable, and she found herself sucking the sticky juice off her fingers often.
A little mess never truly bothered Turnbull, and Anne was so proper all the rest of the time anyway that he saw no reason at all to hold it against her. Somewhere in the Very Deep and Dark Recesses of his Mind there was a dirty old man laughing at the way she chose to clean herself though. He smiled and peeled apart his own fruit and tried Very Hard to ignore the Skeezy Old Man that lived there. "Did Detective Vecchio ever help you finish your wikiup?"
"Oh, yes!" said Anne, wide-eyed and excited. "Both Rays and Constable Fraser built it for me, and it's wonderful. I already have curtains and flowers and a little log outside to sit and read. Oh, you must come see it, Constable! I could not have asked for a better home here on the island."
Turnbull looked a little forlorn for several moments. "Oh, I would very much like to come see your home, but..." But what?. "Well there must always be someone on duty in here and so often lately the other officers are busy with ensuring that the new levels are safe. Perhaps I can ask one of the Detectives or even Constable Fraser to sit here for an hour or so, so that I might see it?"
"Oh, there are so many people working with the IPD now," Anne encouraged him. "I've seen all the paperwork, so I know how many there are. I would imagine you would have no trouble finding someone to mind the office while we had a visit and... and perhaps a walk, one day."
He smiled and nodded sagely. "It's settled then. I'll see if I can't find someone else to mind the office for awhile." It's not like there was truly much to do. Often, Turnbull found himself just making things up so as to keep himself busy and from...well...letting his ears leak out of his brain. Wait...no, that was backwards. Blast. "I do still owe you a dinner. Perhaps we can make it a picnic in the hamlet then. How does that sound?" Good Lord, did he just ask a sixteen year old on a date?
Said sixteen-year-old woman couldn't have looked happier about it. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea," she said. "I can show you my new hut and, oh! Have you seen the little waterfall? It's right nearby."
Turnbull flushed in embarassment. "To be honest, aside from the occasions in which I visited you at your garden and the other that Mr. Tallent convinced me to accompany him on the trampoline." An experience Turnbull did not ever care to repeat thank you very much. "So, sadly I have not seen the little waterfall, but I should very much like it if you would show it to me."
"Oh, I would very much like to show it to you," said Anne. "We can make an afternoon of it, and I can show you all of my very favourite places. Well, you've already seen the garden, of course, but the others, the Hidden Hamlet and the little waterfall and this lovely stretch of beach that I often slept near before I had a home of my own."
Turnbull didn't approve at all of Anne sleeping on the beach, so he was very Very glad when he got wind of his co-workers taking it upon themselves to build her a hut of her own. He smiled broadly and finished his orange. "That sounds like a lovely idea. I look forward to it."