Big Bang Big Bang: The Last Van Gogh, Part II
(For story info: go to this post)
Part I
“Leonard, I don’t think the phrase ‘rather odd’ was quite on the mark,” Penny said dryly.
They were standing at the door of one Sheldon Cooper, who lived a floor above Leonard.
There was a periscope hanging off the door, no doubt affixed to an eyepiece on the other side. There were also several signs, in English and various other languages that Penny assumed were all translations of ‘Keep Out.’
Mr. Cooper had ignored Leonard’s request to come in. They knew he was home; Penny could hear papers rustling and someone puttering about.
“Mr. Cooper, sir, I know you’re home. Please come to the door,” Penny said, assuming her sweetest tone.
Inside, the papers stopped rustling, but there was no sound of footsteps approaching the door.
Penny rested her head against the door and took a deep breath. She wasn’t the most patient person on her best day, and today she was tired and beyond frustrated. Not to mention the Cooper fellow had kept them in the hall, looking and feeling like idiots for at least twenty minutes.
“Look. Mr. Cooper. We’re here because we have a very puzzling and important case, and you’re the only one who can help us at this point.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the entire truth, but she couldn’t give everything away up front.
After a minute it was clear that he wasn’t answering her plea.
Penny felt her already fragile self-control snap. She didn’t have time to waste on this jackass.
“Okay, Cooper! Don’t say you didn’t earn this!”
She raised her fist and began to hammer against the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Cooper!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Cooper!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Cooper!”
Just as her fist was about to connect with the door again, it opened to reveal a tall, gangly man, his pointed face flushed and puffed out with rage.
“Great Caesar’s ghost, woman! Do you and your sad little company not know how to take a hint?”
“About bloody time, Cooper! Do you not know that it’s the worst sort of offence to ignore a woman in distress?”
His mouth opened and closed several times, but clearly he had no retort.
“I’m also assuming that your mother forgot to teach you not to allow visitors to linger on your doorstep.”
Cooper’s mouth snapped shut and he gestured for them to come in with a stiff bow.
For a bachelor, his flat was absolutely meticulous. The entrance led straight into the parlor, where there was a large sofa in the middle of the room with a well-worn, striped pillow at the end. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, packed with what appeared to be carefully labeled journals. Penny assumed they were for the cases Cooper had been involved with.
The rest of the room was devoid of personal effects. Penny could not see beyond the parlor, but judging by the smell of disinfectant, she guessed that the rest of the flat was just as sparse and clean.
Cooper went into another room and returned carrying a couple of chairs.
“I believe it is customary for people who call themselves guests to take a seat,” he said.
Penny smirked and sat in the corner of the sofa.
“Not there,” he snapped.
Penny huffed, but she moved over a spot anyway.
“May I ask why not?”
“That’s my spot,” he said, lowering himself onto the cushion.
Apparently it was a favorite spot of his, if the way he visibly relaxed was any indication.
He folded his hands in his lap and looked over at Leonard, who had taken a chair across from him.
“So what inspired your intrusion this evening? Today is Friday. You know I like to spend my Friday evenings brushing up on my Chinese. It’s the language of the future after all.”
“I know, Sheldon, and we’re sorry to disturb you, but you may be the only person who can help us. If you don’t, there might not be a future, let alone a Chinese-speaking one.”
Penny chose that moment to chime in.
“There are a couple of questions I’d like to ask you first though.”
He turned a level gaze on Penny. He’d have nice blue eyes, if they weren’t currently staring her down.
“If you don’t mind.”
He inclined his head, inviting her to go on.
“I’m…” She was suddenly at a loss for words. “Well, it’s difficult to choose which to ask first.”
She shifted to face him more fully, and his eyes flew to the small rose-shaped barrette in her hair.
“You are Penny Cuthbert.”
“I… yes. How do you know who I am?”
“Every decent Van Gogh scholar knows who you are.”
“Detective Cooper, how much do you know about Vincent Van Gogh?”
“While I do not normally indulge in the aesthetic frivolities of the fine arts, I have always been interested in Van Gogh. He’s practically extended family. My recently departed grandmere owned the yellow house he rented for a time and eventually died in.”
Penny’s heart was pounding in her chest.
“And your grandmere’s name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Jacqueline Cooper.”
. . .
Detective Cooper’s revelation had been interrupted by a phone call. It’d been a client calling; some old woman who apparently called him routinely so that he could help her find her cat.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Mrs. Vartabedian. No, no, don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find Zazzy in no time. Goodbye.”
He returned the receiver to its cradle and addressed his guests.
“I’m afraid I have to leave. As stimulating as this strange meeting has undeniably been, I’m afraid it will have to continue at another time.”
They all rose from their seats and began to file out the door. Sheldon caught Penny’s eye and gave the tiniest nod of his head. Just as she reached the front door, she pretended to stop short and told the boys to “Wait outside a second. I think I dropped my handkerchief in the parlor. Be right back.”
She came back into the room and Sheldon handed her the small square of linen he usually kept in his pocket. Idly, he noted how small and warm her hand was in his. Strange. He never took notice of such silly things.
“Tomorrow. Here. Tea time. Just you.”
“Okay,” she said, pressing his hand before leaving the room.
He could still feel her fingers squeezing his long after he had located Zazzy, dealt with a grateful Mrs. Vartabedian, and returned home to retire for the night.
. . .
Penny arrived right on time the following afternoon. She didn’t have to wait any longer than for the time it took Detective Cooper to look through the periscope either.
“Miss Cuthbert. Please, come in.”
“Thank you.”
He was markedly changed from the day before. True, he still gave the impression of being a twitchy sort of person, but Penny believed that he knew what was going on. Perhaps that made him feel that they were on a more equal footing.
The tea things were already on a tray in the parlor, and she took a seat next to him on the sofa.
Cooper poured her a cup of tea and helped her to a cucumber sandwich.
“Delicious, thank you.”
“Not at all. And it’s my grandmere’s recipe. She was quite the cook, may she rest in peace.”
Penny put a hand on his knee.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Meremere was very precious to me. And the only family I had left, I’m afraid.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I know what it’s like to be the only one left, believe it or not.”
“I do.”
“Looks like you’ve followed my career pretty closely,” she said archly.
Cooper flushed.
“Well, more like I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.”
“Your grandmother told you, right?”
“Yes,” he replied, setting his tea down and turning to face her fully.
“Miss Cuthbert…”
“Penny. Please.”
“Penny. I was not entirely honest with you yesterday. Yes, I am something of a Van Gogh scholar, and I’ve followed your career closely, but only because I know you can see Them too.”
“And you’ve seen the hints in the paintings?”
“Yes, and cursed the blindness of the rest of the world many a time. My grandmother knew, I know, and my parents knew too.”
Penny felt her heart lurch in her chest.
“Detective Cooper…”
“Sheldon. If I’m to call you Penny, you should call me Sheldon. We appear to be in this together. May as well call each other by name.”
“Sheldon, did your parents die in an ‘accident’?” she whispered.
“That’s what I tell people,” he said.
Penny nodded and they sat quietly for a moment.
“I’ve never met someone else who knew the truth before, besides my employer,” Sheldon said.
“I haven’t even told the boys about my parents,” Penny said.
“You trust them though? Implicitly?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
. . .
Penny showed him the journal, sipping quietly at her tea as he read.
Sheldon closed it with a soft sigh and let the small book rest on his knee.
“I believe she was just cautioning you for your own sake Penny.”
“I know. But it still bothered me. I can’t just sit back and watch, you know?”
“You Yorkshire women tend not to let anything go without a fight.”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t say that I agree with my grandmother’s way of doing things either, but she did live to a ripe old age, so there’s that. She wanted me to remain in France with her, but that just wasn’t possible. I had to do something.”
“And what brought you to England?”
“My mentor, Hercule Poirot.”
“The Hercule Poirot?”
“Well, yes. There is only one Hercule Poirot.”
“Haha.”
“I’m afraid you set yourself up for that jibe.”
“Point. Go on, please.”
“I knew if anyone could help, he could. The man doesn’t miss a trick; he was bound to notice what the Shadow Men were up to.”
“And have you two worked out what can be done?”
“We have a working theory, but it’s not a sure thing. Poirot and I have just been waiting for the proper venue to execute our plan.”
“A proper venue like a large auction house? And a friend on the inside whose word is as good as gold with her boss?”
“Precisely,” he said, smiling at her.
The expression was genuine, and it transformed his face entirely. Penny didn’t think he looked so pointed anymore; his smile made him handsome, in a schoolboyish way. She quickly squashed that thought though. There would be time for romance later. Hopefully.
Sheldon left the room for a moment and came back carrying a small business card.
“Bring the others with you to this address tomorrow. I will be there to introduce you all to Poirot so we can finally get to work.”
“What time would you like us there?”
“Tea time again. Poirot likes to take his tea at home lately.”
“Of course.”
She stood and he walked her to the door. She turned to thank him for the tea, but the words died in her throat as he cautiously put his arms around her.
The hug was slightly awkward-he clearly wasn’t used to hugging that many people-but Penny returned it gladly.
“What was that for?”
“No one has ever referred to me as their friend before.”
Penny felt an incredible surge of warmth. Sure, he was odd, but his heart was in the right place. And he had pretty much just endeared himself to her for life with that statement.
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll see you tomorrow sweetie.”
. . .
Sheldon pressed a finger to the spot on his cheek where Penny had kissed him. No one had ever done that, except for MereMere. It was a strange sensation, but he found it enjoyable nonetheless.
He went to his bookshelves and began to pull some of his journals down. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, especially if he didn’t compile his notes.
. . .
Penny and the boys stood in the vestibule of Poirot’s apartment, waiting for George to announce them to the esteemed detective. They were all alight with excitement. Not everyone was so fortunate as to get an audience with the man; and they were also looking forward to finally getting some answers. They’d brought the canvas with them, as well as Jacqueline’s journal and Penny’s notes.
George returned.
“They are awaiting you in the parlor. This way, please.”
He saw them into a room that was modernly styled but elegantly furnished. Sheldon was seated at the end of a large sofa-the left end again, Penny noted with amusement-and in the armchair opposite sat a middle-aged man with a balding, egg-shaped head and an exorbitantly paraffined mustache.
“Thank you George. Please to bring the tea things in about twenty minutes.”
“Very good sir.”
Poirot rose to greet them. Penny saw that he was rather short, barely as tall as Howard. And yet, his presence dominated the room. He smiled at them kindly. Penny liked him already.
“Mademoiselle Cuthbert it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Hercule Poirot,” he said, taking her hand in his and pressing it.
“It is an honor, Monsieur Poirot. Truly.”
“Ah Sheldon, you did not tell me that your charming friend was tres jolie, with her green eyes and beflowered hair.”
Penny smiled.
“You are too kind.”
She could see Sheldon flushing out of the corner of her eye and decided to change the subject.
“I’d like to introduce my friends: Leonard Hofstadter, Howard Wolowitz, and Rajesh Koothrapali. They also work with me at Sotheby’s.”
Poirot shook hands with each of them in turn before inviting them all to sit down.
Penny lowered herself down on the sofa next to Sheldon.
“Hi sweetie.”
“Hello Penny.”
His voice was clipped, and far more formal than it had been the day before. Penny wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed over his display of affection the day before or because of what Poirot had just said, but she was determined not to take it personally.
“Now, let us begin, mes enfants,” Poirot said, settling himself once more into the armchair. “Sheldon tells me that you, Mademoiselle Cuthbert, along with your friends, have been investigating the works of Vincent Van Gogh. Because you too see that there are things very wrong in this world today, yes?”
“Yes sir. Each of us has had personal experience dealing with the Shadow Men. Some more disastrous than others.”
“Your parents’ death was just as much an ‘accident’ then as that of mon ami Sheldon’s?”
“Yes. And I saw one of Them at the cemetery one night, and I just knew. I used to go there sometimes, when the loneliness got very bad. But I haven’t been back since I saw Him.”
“And you, Monsieur Hofstadter?”
“Back in Jersey, I saw one of Them outside of our beach house. We kept a summer place on the Shore, and I used to go out at night to watch the surf and explore the dunes. One night, I saw one of Them by the water’s edge, so I stayed close to the house, kept to the shadows. He stepped into the shallows and this cloud of blackness just surrounded Him and then started to spread through the water. I still blame that night for the crisis in the oceans, no matter what the papers say about pollution from steamships.”
Poirot’s eyes never left Leonard’s face as he spoke. Sheldon was furiously scribbling notes in his corner of the sofa.
The detective turned his gaze to Raj next.
“Howard and I saw Them a few years ago, when we were still at Oxford. We had been disappointed, because we had both been hearing for so long of the beauties of the country there. But when we arrived, the fields were withered, and all of the color seemed drained from the county. It just didn’t feel right.
“One night we were walking back to our quarters, having just come from town, and we saw one of Them standing in a field. He… He was dragging down stars.”
Howard squeezed Raj’s arm; reliving what they had seen that night always upset them.
“And how was he doing this, exactly?”
Howard recounted the rest.
“There was that same black mass that Leonard mentioned. It went from His hand, and stretched on and on as far as the eye could see… and then we saw some stars just… go out. It was like He sucked their light into that mass and dragged it back into Himself.”
Poirot sat back once Howard had finished, his hands steepled beneath his chin.
“So far, everything you have told to me is of accordance with the theory Sheldon and I have developed. Now, I would like to make the comparison of our notes. The time has at last come for us to get to work mes amis.”
. . .
They took their tea and worked for a couple more hours before Poirot dismissed them.
“I wish to spend the evening determining which course of action we shall be taking, but I do not want any of you to venture out of doors after the sun has set from this point forward. And you are to travel always in pairs, si vous plait. Tomorrow being Sunday, I would like you all to be here for ten o’clock. There is much work to be done.”
They nodded their assent and George came to see them out.
“And Sheldon?”
“Yes sir.”
“Someone is to stay in your apartment with you. No one is to be alone, understand?”
Sheldon clearly wanted to say no, but he agreed and followed Penny and the others out.
. . .
Leonard offered to stay with Sheldon-he had to stay with someone, and was hoping to ease Sheldon’s anxieties by not asking the other man to uproot himself and move to the flat downstairs-but Sheldon was having none of it. He argued with Leonard the entire way back to the buildings where Penny, Howard, and Raj lived.
“Enough!” Penny snapped, after she had ushered them all inside. “Leonard, you will take my room here, and I will go and stay with Sheldon.”
“But Penny, I only live a floor below him! You don’t have to go out of your way; he’s just being difficult.”
“Excuse me, Leonard, but I am still in the room!” Sheldon interrupted.
“I would prefer it if Penny stayed with me. I feel comfortable with her.”
“Are you sure? Because Penny is super messy.”
“You love being my maid Raj, and you know it.”
“I can tell Penny is messy by the state of this parlor, but quite frankly I’ll feel safer with her. Penny’s a Yorkshire girl, after all. They’re… sturdy.”
“Gee, thanks Sheldon.”
“You’re welcome, Penny.”
She sighed tiredly and went to pack an overnight bag. She could return for the rest of her things the next day.
. . .
Penny and Sheldon stopped at a small sandwich shop on the way to his flat. The sun was sinking in the sky, so they did not have time to stop for heavier and more satisfying fare.
They shared their small supper in the parlor once they were safely ensconced at home for the night. Sheldon brought out the wireless he normally kept in his bedroom and put the BBC on for them as they ate. Neither of them paid particular attention to the news announcements; nothing in the world could quite rival what they were going to be facing.
Penny finished her sandwich and sat back with a contented sigh.
“Thank you for dinner Sheldon.”
“You’re very welcome Penny.”
“Is it true? What you said to Leonard earlier, I mean. About feeling safe with me.”
“Well, yes. But that was only part of the reason. Truth be told, I feel myself to be rather at ease when I am near you. It’s quite puzzling, because there are very few people I actually like, and ever fewer whom I respect. And you appear to have found your place among them, though I hardly know you.”
“Sweetie that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
“It’s simply the truth.”
“Which makes it twice as nice,” she said, smiling at him. “I feel the same. There’s just something about you I like, even if I don’t always understand the words that come flying out of your mouth.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the wireless. The orchestra was playing now. Penny didn’t know what, exactly, but it was some lovely old song that she remembered hearing when she was just a girl. Her parents had liked to listen to the wireless as well, when they had sat by the fire in the evenings.
“My parents were farmers in Yorkshire. We had a lovely little spot of land called Lincoln Place. We were never very wealthy, but comfortable enough and happy,” Penny said.
Sheldon was watching her quietly from his end of the sofa.
“All my life, I wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps. I wanted to stay at Lincoln forever; live a simple life.
“But then my mother and father were killed. I was just sixteen, but I did everything to keep the farm going on my own; even after I saw Him in the graveyard that night.
“I was obsessed though, with solving the riddle of what had really happened to my parents. And one day, it had just clicked. I’ve always loved Van Gogh for his own sake you see, and I studied his life and works because doing so made me happy. But then I began to notice a sense of wrongness in his pieces, and especially in the way he died.
“For someone who so loved the people and scenery all about him, and who was able to see such beauty in the world despite living a difficult life, suicide just seemed illogical. I understand that he suffered with several nervous disorders, but the Vincent I had come to know would never have killed himself.
“I began to wonder if he, too, was able to see Them. And so I decided to look into the matter as well as I possibly could.
“The rest you probably know. I came here to London, having sold the farm so that I would have something to live on, found work with Sotheby’s, and worked my way up through the ranks. That’s all there is to tell, really. I’m afraid my life has been consumed with finding answers and seeking justice. It hasn’t been terribly exciting thus far.”
“It seems to me that we’ve had nothing but the wrong sort of excitement.”
“Too right.”
“I was just ten when I lost my parents. I believe, and I always have, that they died merely to discourage my grandmother from speaking out against the Council. My mother was an unassuming, simple woman, and my father ran Van Gogh tours during the day and drank himself into a stupor every evening once the last of the visitors had gone for the day.
“They couldn’t see Them, but I always could. I used to warn our visitors away, and eventually I frightened off so many people that my father forbade me from being anywhere near the house during the day.
“One day I was out playing in the fields, as usual, and went on my way back home once the sun had set, since it was time for supper. When I reached our house, I heard my grandmother screaming curses and wailing something awful. She had gone to the market earlier, and no doubt was just arriving home herself.
“I ran to her side…and there were my mother and father, dead on the ground. Someone had shot them in cold blood.
“I went inside and phoned the authorities, fearful that the murderer was still lurking somewhere. And there He was, standing in our kitchen as if He belonged there.”
“The Bearded Man?”
“Yes. His name is Wil, you know. He had the gall to introduce Himself to me.”
Sheldon cleared his throat before continuing. Penny could clearly see that this was not easy for him to recount.
“He looked at me with this awful smile and said: ‘That will be the consequence of speaking up, you know. Your world is doomed anyway, always has been, so it’s really best if you just sit back and enjoy the ride, Shelley.’
“How it hurt for Him to use my mother’s nickname for me…
“I cannot say that my parents always understood me, or that I understood them, but I loved them all the same. MereMere and I were quite lost after they were gone.
“Anyway, once He had warned me, He simply disappeared. And I didn’t see Him again. I’d see a Shadow Man or two periodically, but never the Bearded Man. Not since that awful night.
“My unfortunate parents were merely collateral damage in the Council’s struggle to keep people like me quiet.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Sheldon nodded his appreciation at her.
“It looks as if they’ve failed on all accounts though,” Sheldon said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “MereMere still managed to safely hide the journal for you. And you… well, I’m not sure many things would stand a chance against you.”
Penny beamed at him.
“Damn right.”
. . .
Sheldon warmed some milk on the hob while Penny poured herself a small nightcap. They resettled into their places on either end of the sofa, weariness beginning to get the better of them.
“So why detective work? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem more the academic sort.”
“I was I suppose. I still am. I went to study in Aix for a time-science-but it wasn’t long before I realized that an eventual tenure with some university somewhere wasn’t going to give me the proper means or venue with which to deal with the Shadow Men.
“Since the death of my parents, MereMere had been ever more adamant that we should keep our heads down and just allow fate to take its course. She was the person I loved most in the world, so though I’ve always believed concepts like fate and destiny to be entirely pedestrian hokum, for a time I went along with her wishes. I went to university because I desired an education for my own sake, but I always had a wish of pleasing my grandmother.
“But every single time I returned to Arles on holiday to visit her, I noticed the place was growing worse and worse. All of our floral life had been decimated. The field mice had stopped coming around, and the colors were bleeding out of everything and everyone, as if there was always a giant leech there, draining the life from everything around.
“I had to do something. For my family, for myself, and for the people of Arles. I had to find a way to stop those monsters from taking our home from us. And I needed to gain the consequence to make something like that possible.
“My thoughts turned to the law, but I quickly realized that courtroom proceedings were nothing more than glorified politics, and would accomplish nothing of real importance any time soon.
“I then turned to the police force, which satisfied me for a time, but none of my fellow officers showed the mental capability that dealing with Them requires. They were all just local men, dealing with domestic disturbances and trying to keep the town drunk under control.
“Rising through the ranks to detective was my only option. I would be able to work with someone who could if not match at least keep up with my intelligence, and someone that high up would have the resources necessary to pull strings and make big changes when needed. I would need someone well-respected, who could help me to take on the government or the press, search out the appropriate forums for exposing the Council.”
“Poirot.”
“Naturally.”
“But how on earth did you meet? He’s quite… er, exclusive. I took him for a man who does not venture beyond the higher circles of society.”
“And you’re quite right. I was just fortunate enough to happen to run in to him in Marseilles. I had taken MereMere there on holiday, and Poirot was there, working a case for a friend.”
“What a lucky coincidence,” Penny remarked dryly.
Sheldon made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to admit that she had figured him out. She was fine with that; she knew when she was right.
“We formed an acquaintance, and I have worked by his side now for the last eight years. My grandmother was violently against it at first, and we did not speak for a time, but she eventually came to accept my decision. Thankfully, I was able to go home to Arles for a time, and stayed by her side during her final illness.”
His voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over. His loss still cut him deeply.
“I’m very sorry Sheldon. It’s not easy, to suddenly find one’s self alone.”
“No.”
“I have to ask you something, though. Gablehauser told me that he got the painting at an estate sale. Why would you ever agree to sell it? You couldn’t possibly have known that it was going to reach me safely.”
Sheldon had the good grace to blush.
“That is actually a funny story.”
“Oh?”
“Well, perhaps it’s not that amusing. You see, there was no actual sale. I staged it.”
“I knew it.”
“I knew you would. I got some of the neighbors to pose as potential buyers, and I put out my grandmother’s other possessions as bait. And Gablehauser fell for the ruse completely. Poirot came up with the idea, as he is a close personal friend of Gablehauser’s, and had heard of you through him. Once he had learned your area of expertise, and that you were indeed the girl with the flower always in her hair, he knew that you were the one to help us get our venue.”
“I can’t help but feel slightly used,” she pouted.
‘Please don’t. We wouldn’t be able to do this without your knowledge… or your bravery, frankly. Your reputation for having some gumption more than precedes you.”
Penny smiled at that.
“I’m also glad that you’re here, personally. I feel much less lonely than I have since MereMere died. It’s good to have someone who knows what it is like to lose everything that they hold dear.”
Penny cleared her throat.
“I… I’m grateful every day that I’ve got the boys in my life. They’ve given me a family again.”
She got up and walked over to where he was sitting.
“You don’t have to be alone either, Sheldon. I’m here. For you, I mean. If… if you need someone, that is.”
He surprised her for the second time in as many days by taking her hand and squeezing it warmly.
“Thank you Penny.”
He rose from the couch and stretched.
“Well, we have to be up early, so it is definitely time for bed. Goodnight, Penny.”
“Goodnight, honey.”
She gave him a quick hug before retiring to the guest room.
. . .
The next day began what would come to be their daily routine for the next several weeks: any spare moment they had was spent at Poirot’s flat, planning. They would head over once Sotheby’s closed down for the day to find Sheldon and Poirot already rifling through their notes.
Leonard and Penny had acclimated to their new living situations, Leonard with a little more ease than Penny:
“Leonard, what’s that you’re reading?”
“Oh. Wells’ Time Machine. I got the first edition at an auction in Liverpool last year. Would you care to borrow it?”
“Does the sun rise in the east??? Of course I would!”
Penny and Sheldon, on the other hand, had many days where they were at each other’s throats-her ‘mess’ disrupted his ability to think, and his many obsessive compulsions had her wanting to toss him bodily into the Thames:
“For the love of…! Penny! How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your underthings on the bathroom floor!”
“Maybe if you didn’t follow me around with a broom and dustpan like I was some out of control toddler I wouldn’t feel the need to rebel against your neuroses!”
“Well if you would just pick up after yourself, I wouldn’t have to follow you around!”
…
“DO NOT touch that!”
But beneath it all, there was a deepening fondness forming between them:
“I’m sorry I was cross with you.”
“I’m sorry I broke your model of the solar system.”
“I will endeavor not to treat you so much like a child. I am very well aware that you aren’t one.”
“I promise to try not to antagonize you so much.”
“Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Penny admired his ability to never compromise who he was for the sake of false propriety, and Sheldon had voiced his wonder more than once over how she intrigued him, despite the differences in their intellects. Penny chose to take it for the compliment that it was; Sheldon treated her, usually, anyway, as an equal. He never “dumbed things down” for her, and she loved him for that.
. . .
Between all of their hemming and hawing, and excessive comparing of notes, they’d soon agreed on several things:
The Council only ‘worked’ at night.
Artificial light, and quite possibly sunlight, appeared to be noxious to them. Enough could probably kill them.
Their leader was the Bearded Man, Wil. Stopping Him would bring the organization to its knees.
They just had to find a way to draw enough of Them out, so that the Bearded Man would put in an appearance.
So that they could deal with Him accordingly.
. . .
Penny stood down the hall from Director Gablehauser’s office, psyching herself up. She ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it up, and pinched her cheeks to get them to look flushed. She took a deep breath and ran down the hall, bursting through the door to Gablehauser’s office and startling the secretary.
“Miss Cuthbert! Whatever is the matter?”
“Ramona I need to see the Director right away. Please tell me that he’s in.”
The man himself appeared just then.
“Ramona, what’s all the commotion about?”
“I’m sorry to intrude Director Gablehauser, but I have something of the utmost importance to tell you,” Penny said, her chest heaving and her voice breathless with excitement.
“Of course. Please, come through.”
“Thank you.”
He offered Penny a seat and she appeared to sink into it gratefully.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this, but what I have to tell you is absolutely astounding.”
“In a good way, I hope?”
“Oh my, yes.”
She took a deep breath, looking for all the world as if she were trying to calm herself, rein in her excitement.
“Do you remember the painting you brought to me last month?”
“Of course. What about it?’
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to say this: I was entirely wrong. It is a Van Gogh. His last work in fact.”
Gablehauser looked skeptical.
“But you assured me it was not. What has made you change your mind?”
“I found a few papers tucked into the back of the canvas. They’re in the hand of Jacqueline Cooper, the woman who owned the Yellow House. She looked after the artist in his final days, and observed him while he worked on the painting. The brushstrokes are different because he continued working through violent tremors in his final hours.”
She kept her facial expression an appropriate mixture of bewilderment and excitement. Gablehauser looked hopeful but cautious.
“Are you certain? Beyond any doubt this time?”
Penny looked him square in the eye.
“I went back and examined the canvas myself. I allowed for a shaking hand when I looked at the brushwork, and there is no doubt in my mind now that it’s him. Sir, it’s the last Van Gogh.”
. . .
Poirot and Sheldon were in Piccadilly for lunch later that day, Poirot having taken on a sudden craving for fish and chips. Sheldon rather suspected that Poirot knew he wanted to visit the shops, and was indulging him. They walked along the crowded thoroughfare, Poirot enjoying his food (Sheldon refused to eat anything that came wrapped in a newspaper) while his young friend watched the people that passed by.
“And what did Mademoiselle Penny have to report when she telephoned you this morning?”
“Gablehauser was thrilled. He wants to have an auction. A massive one. Penny says they’re thinking Trafalgar Square, so that they can pack the crowds in.”
“C’est magnifique! A big venue will be just the thing. The Bearded Man is sure to put in an appearance.”
“I believe you are right, Hercule. The publicity alone will be sure to draw in a number of the Council.”
They walked by a shop selling women’s accessories, and Poirot paused to dispose of his newspaper and to clean his hands. Sheldon went up to the shop’s window and looked at the display there, a small smile working its way onto his face. Poirot joined him and smiled benignly at his young partner.
“I believe she would like that very much Sheldon.”
Sheldon’s ears were tinged pink.
“It is not too presumptuous of me?”
“Mon ami, I know as little of the wooing craft as you, but Mademoiselle Penny she adores flowers. And it does not require much work of the little gray cells to discover your mutual fondness for one another.”
“Perhaps you’ll be so good as to accompany me then?”
“Oui, avec plaisir.”
. . .
Six weeks later
There was nothing left to do but wait. The press had eaten the story up-Penny, Sotheby’s, and ‘The Last Van Gogh’ had appeared in every major newspaper in the country-and Poirot had helped his young friends chart out a proper course of action. It had become a running joke amongst the group that the auction was going to kill two birds with one stone: they were going to bring the Council to its knees, and Penny was going to make such a large commission that they could all retire.
Still, beneath all the joviality, there was a white streak of fear a mile wide.
. . .
Penny and Sheldon had a rare Saturday free, so they decided to enjoy it. Sheldon had been looking for a perfect opportunity to give Penny her present. He’d done some field research, and learned that not just any moment would do. It had to be ‘special.’ He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that bit of information, but he supposed that treating Penny to an outing of her choosing qualified as ‘special’ enough. And today was to be the day. The auction was set for the following night, and they would be busy making preparations for the entirety of the following day.
Today was going to have to suffice.
He and Penny were going to the National Gallery. He’d never been, and she’d never been for fun. When he’d asked if she wasn’t rather sick of staring at paintings and sculptures all day she had laughed and told him that it would be refreshing to just enjoy the art, without being threatened by anything that went bump in the night.
They set out shortly after breakfast, Sheldon preferring to walk. It was one of his few whims that Penny was willing to indulge, being very fond of walking herself. She took his arm as they went, and Sheldon noted a now-familiar, curious flutter in his stomach. It happened every time Penny got close to him, or touched him, and was altogether very pleasant. He’d discussed the sensation with Poirot, only to be told that it meant he was attracted to Penny. At first he’d dismissed the idea, declared it to be flat out preposterous, but in the time since then he’d accepted it. He’d never been interested in anyone before, at least in a romantic sense, but Penny was clearly the exception to the rule.
Sheldon insisted on paying her admittance to the gallery once they arrived.
“Sweetie, you really don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to. I would very much like to.”
“Thank you.”
Her pink cheeks caused his heartbeat to accelerate.
He paid for their tickets and Penny seized his hand, dragging him off into one of the exhibits.
“Wait until you see St. George and the Dragon!”
. . .
They found the painting in no time, and Penny stood looking at it with all the enjoyment of lengthy familiarity as well as with all the fervor and passion one reserves for something newly discovered.
“I’ve always loved this one,” she sighed.
Sheldon looked at it closely. It depicted a knight, a lady, and the bloody corpse of a dragon.
“I… I see,” he replied.
Penny had the good grace to laugh.
“It’s alright, Sheldon. I know you’re not a great art lover,” she said, smiling up at him. “I suppose it’s not so much this painting itself that I admire-though it is a masterpiece in its own right-but St. George. He’s our saint, our great English protector. And I’ve always loved this image of him because he stands tall and proud, even after grappling with the dragon. He didn’t let his fear get the better of him, and in the end he walked away with his head held high.”
“It puts one in the mind of Alfred the Great.”
“Or Arthur.”
“Or Henry V.”
Sheldon took her hand this time and pressed it.
“We’ll prevail as well, Penny. You will live up to your hero’s standards, I am sure.”
“I hope so, Sheldon.”
. . .
Sheldon hadn’t expected to enjoy himself half as well as he did. But he found that the works they visited were far more interesting than they otherwise would have been because Penny was with him. She wasn’t an expert-Van Gogh was really her only specialty-but she knew enough to make smart, insightful comments, and she even knew some of the history behind the pieces. What he enjoyed most though was her enthusiasm. Every work seemed to be a treat for her to discuss with him, and it was clear to him that she loved what she spoke of. He began to understand that her love for the fine arts was very much like his own for his detective work. In fact, there were many parallels between the ways that each conducted their work.
Before they left, Penny insisted that they stop in the gift shop. She went to the counter and asked the girl to procure an item for her and to wrap it. She would not tell Sheldon what it was.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see!”
“Very well.”
. . .
They took their lunch in a restaurant not far from their flat (Penny couldn’t help but think of it as their flat now). Penny ordered for both of them. She didn’t want a repeat of a previous incident the week before, when Sheldon had provoked their waiter so badly he had almost earned himself a black eye. As it was, Penny had swatted him on the head for his troubles. The forty-minute rant she’d endured afterward had been entirely worth it.
Their meal was spent in comfortable silence and when they had finished Sheldon suggested a stroll in the park across the way. Penny didn’t want their day to end just yet either, so she agreed. They still had several hours of daylight left anyway.
The park was full of families and couples, reveling in such a beautiful day. Sheldon walked with Penny around the pond before leading her over to a bench where they could sit and watch the people around them.
“It’s astounding, isn’t it? All of these people, and none of them notice that there aren’t any ducks in the pond or flowers in the garden.”
“People don’t notice anything. They’re always overlooking little details, and eventually those add up to something very big and very wrong indeed.”
They fell silent for a moment, neither daring to hope that none of those things would be a problem after the events of the day to come.
“Penny?”
“Hmm?”
“Is that why you wear a flower in your hair? Because they’re disappearing?”
“It’s one of the reasons. I wear it to remember my mother as well. Her flower garden was the thing she was most proud of on the farm. This is my way of being close to her.”
Sheldon reached into his coat pocket and removed a small wrapped package.
“Now is the perfect moment to give this to you then. I saw it in Piccadilly weeks ago, and it just seemed right for you.”
Penny looked at him, curious, and tentatively unwrapped the gift. Nestled inside a tiny box was a jeweled flower, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It was a lovely shade of vermillion, and would look brilliant in her blond hair.
“Sheldon, this is beautiful,” she breathed. “You didn’t have to do this, honey, really.”
“Yes, I did. The shop girl said that this particular shape is called a Penny Blossom.”
“Oh that’s lovely!”
Sheldon took the hair pin from its box and gently placed it amongst her curls, right above her left ear.
“Besides, I have found out that it is customary when courting someone to bestow them with gifts.”
Penny’s face flushed the same shade as her Penny Blossom.
“Sheldon, think of what you’re saying. Are you sure you know what that entails?”
His hands fluttered nervously.
“I believe I do. I have looked into the matter, and when you wish to share your life and your home with someone, it is customary to court them.”
He turned and looked her in the eye.
“Did I get that right?”
Penny’s heart was in her throat, and her voice was hoarse when she answered him:
“Yeah, you’ve got it right.”
He took her hand in his and she rested her weight against his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. They stayed on the bench like that until the sun began to sink in the sky.
. . .
They passed the evening quietly enough at home. Penny read through all of Jacqueline’s journal one more time and Sheldon told her stories of his grandmother. Her death still weighed on him quite heavily, but he found that having Penny beside him did wonders for easing the ache in his chest.
Tomorrow promised to be a long day, so they made a point of retiring early. Sheldon followed Penny down the short hallway and, before they could part ways in front of her room as they usually did, she stopped him in his tracks by placing a hand on his chest.
“Wait here a moment,” she said, before disappearing into her room.
She returned holding a small bag with the National Gallery’s logo on it.
“I want you to have this. Consider it your courtship gift, if you like.”
Sheldon upended the bag over his open hand and a small silver medallion fell into his palm. It was attached to a delicate matching chain. He held it up to his eye and recognized the image in the metal.
“St. George.”
“I know you think religion and saints are often rather silly, but I’d like you to have something to protect you, just in case I’m unable to keep my eye on you.”
“Religion is silly,” he said, slipping the chain over his neck. The metal felt cool against his suddenly warm skin.
“But you aren’t. I’ll keep this close to me, Penny. Thank you. Really.”
“You’re welcome.”
She ran her hands over his chest and snaked her arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth across his, capturing his bottom lip between both of hers.
He experienced a brief sensation of soft curves pressed against him and her scent surrounding him, but before he could react to any of the stimuli she was inundating him with, she was gone into her room with a quiet “Goodnight, Sheldon.”
Part III
Part I
“Leonard, I don’t think the phrase ‘rather odd’ was quite on the mark,” Penny said dryly.
They were standing at the door of one Sheldon Cooper, who lived a floor above Leonard.
There was a periscope hanging off the door, no doubt affixed to an eyepiece on the other side. There were also several signs, in English and various other languages that Penny assumed were all translations of ‘Keep Out.’
Mr. Cooper had ignored Leonard’s request to come in. They knew he was home; Penny could hear papers rustling and someone puttering about.
“Mr. Cooper, sir, I know you’re home. Please come to the door,” Penny said, assuming her sweetest tone.
Inside, the papers stopped rustling, but there was no sound of footsteps approaching the door.
Penny rested her head against the door and took a deep breath. She wasn’t the most patient person on her best day, and today she was tired and beyond frustrated. Not to mention the Cooper fellow had kept them in the hall, looking and feeling like idiots for at least twenty minutes.
“Look. Mr. Cooper. We’re here because we have a very puzzling and important case, and you’re the only one who can help us at this point.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the entire truth, but she couldn’t give everything away up front.
After a minute it was clear that he wasn’t answering her plea.
Penny felt her already fragile self-control snap. She didn’t have time to waste on this jackass.
“Okay, Cooper! Don’t say you didn’t earn this!”
She raised her fist and began to hammer against the door.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Cooper!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Cooper!”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Cooper!”
Just as her fist was about to connect with the door again, it opened to reveal a tall, gangly man, his pointed face flushed and puffed out with rage.
“Great Caesar’s ghost, woman! Do you and your sad little company not know how to take a hint?”
“About bloody time, Cooper! Do you not know that it’s the worst sort of offence to ignore a woman in distress?”
His mouth opened and closed several times, but clearly he had no retort.
“I’m also assuming that your mother forgot to teach you not to allow visitors to linger on your doorstep.”
Cooper’s mouth snapped shut and he gestured for them to come in with a stiff bow.
For a bachelor, his flat was absolutely meticulous. The entrance led straight into the parlor, where there was a large sofa in the middle of the room with a well-worn, striped pillow at the end. The opposite wall was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, packed with what appeared to be carefully labeled journals. Penny assumed they were for the cases Cooper had been involved with.
The rest of the room was devoid of personal effects. Penny could not see beyond the parlor, but judging by the smell of disinfectant, she guessed that the rest of the flat was just as sparse and clean.
Cooper went into another room and returned carrying a couple of chairs.
“I believe it is customary for people who call themselves guests to take a seat,” he said.
Penny smirked and sat in the corner of the sofa.
“Not there,” he snapped.
Penny huffed, but she moved over a spot anyway.
“May I ask why not?”
“That’s my spot,” he said, lowering himself onto the cushion.
Apparently it was a favorite spot of his, if the way he visibly relaxed was any indication.
He folded his hands in his lap and looked over at Leonard, who had taken a chair across from him.
“So what inspired your intrusion this evening? Today is Friday. You know I like to spend my Friday evenings brushing up on my Chinese. It’s the language of the future after all.”
“I know, Sheldon, and we’re sorry to disturb you, but you may be the only person who can help us. If you don’t, there might not be a future, let alone a Chinese-speaking one.”
Penny chose that moment to chime in.
“There are a couple of questions I’d like to ask you first though.”
He turned a level gaze on Penny. He’d have nice blue eyes, if they weren’t currently staring her down.
“If you don’t mind.”
He inclined his head, inviting her to go on.
“I’m…” She was suddenly at a loss for words. “Well, it’s difficult to choose which to ask first.”
She shifted to face him more fully, and his eyes flew to the small rose-shaped barrette in her hair.
“You are Penny Cuthbert.”
“I… yes. How do you know who I am?”
“Every decent Van Gogh scholar knows who you are.”
“Detective Cooper, how much do you know about Vincent Van Gogh?”
“While I do not normally indulge in the aesthetic frivolities of the fine arts, I have always been interested in Van Gogh. He’s practically extended family. My recently departed grandmere owned the yellow house he rented for a time and eventually died in.”
Penny’s heart was pounding in her chest.
“And your grandmere’s name, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Jacqueline Cooper.”
. . .
Detective Cooper’s revelation had been interrupted by a phone call. It’d been a client calling; some old woman who apparently called him routinely so that he could help her find her cat.
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, Mrs. Vartabedian. No, no, don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find Zazzy in no time. Goodbye.”
He returned the receiver to its cradle and addressed his guests.
“I’m afraid I have to leave. As stimulating as this strange meeting has undeniably been, I’m afraid it will have to continue at another time.”
They all rose from their seats and began to file out the door. Sheldon caught Penny’s eye and gave the tiniest nod of his head. Just as she reached the front door, she pretended to stop short and told the boys to “Wait outside a second. I think I dropped my handkerchief in the parlor. Be right back.”
She came back into the room and Sheldon handed her the small square of linen he usually kept in his pocket. Idly, he noted how small and warm her hand was in his. Strange. He never took notice of such silly things.
“Tomorrow. Here. Tea time. Just you.”
“Okay,” she said, pressing his hand before leaving the room.
He could still feel her fingers squeezing his long after he had located Zazzy, dealt with a grateful Mrs. Vartabedian, and returned home to retire for the night.
. . .
Penny arrived right on time the following afternoon. She didn’t have to wait any longer than for the time it took Detective Cooper to look through the periscope either.
“Miss Cuthbert. Please, come in.”
“Thank you.”
He was markedly changed from the day before. True, he still gave the impression of being a twitchy sort of person, but Penny believed that he knew what was going on. Perhaps that made him feel that they were on a more equal footing.
The tea things were already on a tray in the parlor, and she took a seat next to him on the sofa.
Cooper poured her a cup of tea and helped her to a cucumber sandwich.
“Delicious, thank you.”
“Not at all. And it’s my grandmere’s recipe. She was quite the cook, may she rest in peace.”
Penny put a hand on his knee.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. Meremere was very precious to me. And the only family I had left, I’m afraid.”
“I’m terribly sorry. I know what it’s like to be the only one left, believe it or not.”
“I do.”
“Looks like you’ve followed my career pretty closely,” she said archly.
Cooper flushed.
“Well, more like I’ve been keeping an eye out for you.”
“Your grandmother told you, right?”
“Yes,” he replied, setting his tea down and turning to face her fully.
“Miss Cuthbert…”
“Penny. Please.”
“Penny. I was not entirely honest with you yesterday. Yes, I am something of a Van Gogh scholar, and I’ve followed your career closely, but only because I know you can see Them too.”
“And you’ve seen the hints in the paintings?”
“Yes, and cursed the blindness of the rest of the world many a time. My grandmother knew, I know, and my parents knew too.”
Penny felt her heart lurch in her chest.
“Detective Cooper…”
“Sheldon. If I’m to call you Penny, you should call me Sheldon. We appear to be in this together. May as well call each other by name.”
“Sheldon, did your parents die in an ‘accident’?” she whispered.
“That’s what I tell people,” he said.
Penny nodded and they sat quietly for a moment.
“I’ve never met someone else who knew the truth before, besides my employer,” Sheldon said.
“I haven’t even told the boys about my parents,” Penny said.
“You trust them though? Implicitly?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
. . .
Penny showed him the journal, sipping quietly at her tea as he read.
Sheldon closed it with a soft sigh and let the small book rest on his knee.
“I believe she was just cautioning you for your own sake Penny.”
“I know. But it still bothered me. I can’t just sit back and watch, you know?”
“You Yorkshire women tend not to let anything go without a fight.”
“Exactly.”
“I can’t say that I agree with my grandmother’s way of doing things either, but she did live to a ripe old age, so there’s that. She wanted me to remain in France with her, but that just wasn’t possible. I had to do something.”
“And what brought you to England?”
“My mentor, Hercule Poirot.”
“The Hercule Poirot?”
“Well, yes. There is only one Hercule Poirot.”
“Haha.”
“I’m afraid you set yourself up for that jibe.”
“Point. Go on, please.”
“I knew if anyone could help, he could. The man doesn’t miss a trick; he was bound to notice what the Shadow Men were up to.”
“And have you two worked out what can be done?”
“We have a working theory, but it’s not a sure thing. Poirot and I have just been waiting for the proper venue to execute our plan.”
“A proper venue like a large auction house? And a friend on the inside whose word is as good as gold with her boss?”
“Precisely,” he said, smiling at her.
The expression was genuine, and it transformed his face entirely. Penny didn’t think he looked so pointed anymore; his smile made him handsome, in a schoolboyish way. She quickly squashed that thought though. There would be time for romance later. Hopefully.
Sheldon left the room for a moment and came back carrying a small business card.
“Bring the others with you to this address tomorrow. I will be there to introduce you all to Poirot so we can finally get to work.”
“What time would you like us there?”
“Tea time again. Poirot likes to take his tea at home lately.”
“Of course.”
She stood and he walked her to the door. She turned to thank him for the tea, but the words died in her throat as he cautiously put his arms around her.
The hug was slightly awkward-he clearly wasn’t used to hugging that many people-but Penny returned it gladly.
“What was that for?”
“No one has ever referred to me as their friend before.”
Penny felt an incredible surge of warmth. Sure, he was odd, but his heart was in the right place. And he had pretty much just endeared himself to her for life with that statement.
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ll see you tomorrow sweetie.”
. . .
Sheldon pressed a finger to the spot on his cheek where Penny had kissed him. No one had ever done that, except for MereMere. It was a strange sensation, but he found it enjoyable nonetheless.
He went to his bookshelves and began to pull some of his journals down. Tomorrow was going to be a long day, especially if he didn’t compile his notes.
. . .
Penny and the boys stood in the vestibule of Poirot’s apartment, waiting for George to announce them to the esteemed detective. They were all alight with excitement. Not everyone was so fortunate as to get an audience with the man; and they were also looking forward to finally getting some answers. They’d brought the canvas with them, as well as Jacqueline’s journal and Penny’s notes.
George returned.
“They are awaiting you in the parlor. This way, please.”
He saw them into a room that was modernly styled but elegantly furnished. Sheldon was seated at the end of a large sofa-the left end again, Penny noted with amusement-and in the armchair opposite sat a middle-aged man with a balding, egg-shaped head and an exorbitantly paraffined mustache.
“Thank you George. Please to bring the tea things in about twenty minutes.”
“Very good sir.”
Poirot rose to greet them. Penny saw that he was rather short, barely as tall as Howard. And yet, his presence dominated the room. He smiled at them kindly. Penny liked him already.
“Mademoiselle Cuthbert it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Hercule Poirot,” he said, taking her hand in his and pressing it.
“It is an honor, Monsieur Poirot. Truly.”
“Ah Sheldon, you did not tell me that your charming friend was tres jolie, with her green eyes and beflowered hair.”
Penny smiled.
“You are too kind.”
She could see Sheldon flushing out of the corner of her eye and decided to change the subject.
“I’d like to introduce my friends: Leonard Hofstadter, Howard Wolowitz, and Rajesh Koothrapali. They also work with me at Sotheby’s.”
Poirot shook hands with each of them in turn before inviting them all to sit down.
Penny lowered herself down on the sofa next to Sheldon.
“Hi sweetie.”
“Hello Penny.”
His voice was clipped, and far more formal than it had been the day before. Penny wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed over his display of affection the day before or because of what Poirot had just said, but she was determined not to take it personally.
“Now, let us begin, mes enfants,” Poirot said, settling himself once more into the armchair. “Sheldon tells me that you, Mademoiselle Cuthbert, along with your friends, have been investigating the works of Vincent Van Gogh. Because you too see that there are things very wrong in this world today, yes?”
“Yes sir. Each of us has had personal experience dealing with the Shadow Men. Some more disastrous than others.”
“Your parents’ death was just as much an ‘accident’ then as that of mon ami Sheldon’s?”
“Yes. And I saw one of Them at the cemetery one night, and I just knew. I used to go there sometimes, when the loneliness got very bad. But I haven’t been back since I saw Him.”
“And you, Monsieur Hofstadter?”
“Back in Jersey, I saw one of Them outside of our beach house. We kept a summer place on the Shore, and I used to go out at night to watch the surf and explore the dunes. One night, I saw one of Them by the water’s edge, so I stayed close to the house, kept to the shadows. He stepped into the shallows and this cloud of blackness just surrounded Him and then started to spread through the water. I still blame that night for the crisis in the oceans, no matter what the papers say about pollution from steamships.”
Poirot’s eyes never left Leonard’s face as he spoke. Sheldon was furiously scribbling notes in his corner of the sofa.
The detective turned his gaze to Raj next.
“Howard and I saw Them a few years ago, when we were still at Oxford. We had been disappointed, because we had both been hearing for so long of the beauties of the country there. But when we arrived, the fields were withered, and all of the color seemed drained from the county. It just didn’t feel right.
“One night we were walking back to our quarters, having just come from town, and we saw one of Them standing in a field. He… He was dragging down stars.”
Howard squeezed Raj’s arm; reliving what they had seen that night always upset them.
“And how was he doing this, exactly?”
Howard recounted the rest.
“There was that same black mass that Leonard mentioned. It went from His hand, and stretched on and on as far as the eye could see… and then we saw some stars just… go out. It was like He sucked their light into that mass and dragged it back into Himself.”
Poirot sat back once Howard had finished, his hands steepled beneath his chin.
“So far, everything you have told to me is of accordance with the theory Sheldon and I have developed. Now, I would like to make the comparison of our notes. The time has at last come for us to get to work mes amis.”
. . .
They took their tea and worked for a couple more hours before Poirot dismissed them.
“I wish to spend the evening determining which course of action we shall be taking, but I do not want any of you to venture out of doors after the sun has set from this point forward. And you are to travel always in pairs, si vous plait. Tomorrow being Sunday, I would like you all to be here for ten o’clock. There is much work to be done.”
They nodded their assent and George came to see them out.
“And Sheldon?”
“Yes sir.”
“Someone is to stay in your apartment with you. No one is to be alone, understand?”
Sheldon clearly wanted to say no, but he agreed and followed Penny and the others out.
. . .
Leonard offered to stay with Sheldon-he had to stay with someone, and was hoping to ease Sheldon’s anxieties by not asking the other man to uproot himself and move to the flat downstairs-but Sheldon was having none of it. He argued with Leonard the entire way back to the buildings where Penny, Howard, and Raj lived.
“Enough!” Penny snapped, after she had ushered them all inside. “Leonard, you will take my room here, and I will go and stay with Sheldon.”
“But Penny, I only live a floor below him! You don’t have to go out of your way; he’s just being difficult.”
“Excuse me, Leonard, but I am still in the room!” Sheldon interrupted.
“I would prefer it if Penny stayed with me. I feel comfortable with her.”
“Are you sure? Because Penny is super messy.”
“You love being my maid Raj, and you know it.”
“I can tell Penny is messy by the state of this parlor, but quite frankly I’ll feel safer with her. Penny’s a Yorkshire girl, after all. They’re… sturdy.”
“Gee, thanks Sheldon.”
“You’re welcome, Penny.”
She sighed tiredly and went to pack an overnight bag. She could return for the rest of her things the next day.
. . .
Penny and Sheldon stopped at a small sandwich shop on the way to his flat. The sun was sinking in the sky, so they did not have time to stop for heavier and more satisfying fare.
They shared their small supper in the parlor once they were safely ensconced at home for the night. Sheldon brought out the wireless he normally kept in his bedroom and put the BBC on for them as they ate. Neither of them paid particular attention to the news announcements; nothing in the world could quite rival what they were going to be facing.
Penny finished her sandwich and sat back with a contented sigh.
“Thank you for dinner Sheldon.”
“You’re very welcome Penny.”
“Is it true? What you said to Leonard earlier, I mean. About feeling safe with me.”
“Well, yes. But that was only part of the reason. Truth be told, I feel myself to be rather at ease when I am near you. It’s quite puzzling, because there are very few people I actually like, and ever fewer whom I respect. And you appear to have found your place among them, though I hardly know you.”
“Sweetie that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me.”
“It’s simply the truth.”
“Which makes it twice as nice,” she said, smiling at him. “I feel the same. There’s just something about you I like, even if I don’t always understand the words that come flying out of your mouth.”
They sat quietly for a few moments, listening to the wireless. The orchestra was playing now. Penny didn’t know what, exactly, but it was some lovely old song that she remembered hearing when she was just a girl. Her parents had liked to listen to the wireless as well, when they had sat by the fire in the evenings.
“My parents were farmers in Yorkshire. We had a lovely little spot of land called Lincoln Place. We were never very wealthy, but comfortable enough and happy,” Penny said.
Sheldon was watching her quietly from his end of the sofa.
“All my life, I wanted nothing more than to follow in their footsteps. I wanted to stay at Lincoln forever; live a simple life.
“But then my mother and father were killed. I was just sixteen, but I did everything to keep the farm going on my own; even after I saw Him in the graveyard that night.
“I was obsessed though, with solving the riddle of what had really happened to my parents. And one day, it had just clicked. I’ve always loved Van Gogh for his own sake you see, and I studied his life and works because doing so made me happy. But then I began to notice a sense of wrongness in his pieces, and especially in the way he died.
“For someone who so loved the people and scenery all about him, and who was able to see such beauty in the world despite living a difficult life, suicide just seemed illogical. I understand that he suffered with several nervous disorders, but the Vincent I had come to know would never have killed himself.
“I began to wonder if he, too, was able to see Them. And so I decided to look into the matter as well as I possibly could.
“The rest you probably know. I came here to London, having sold the farm so that I would have something to live on, found work with Sotheby’s, and worked my way up through the ranks. That’s all there is to tell, really. I’m afraid my life has been consumed with finding answers and seeking justice. It hasn’t been terribly exciting thus far.”
“It seems to me that we’ve had nothing but the wrong sort of excitement.”
“Too right.”
“I was just ten when I lost my parents. I believe, and I always have, that they died merely to discourage my grandmother from speaking out against the Council. My mother was an unassuming, simple woman, and my father ran Van Gogh tours during the day and drank himself into a stupor every evening once the last of the visitors had gone for the day.
“They couldn’t see Them, but I always could. I used to warn our visitors away, and eventually I frightened off so many people that my father forbade me from being anywhere near the house during the day.
“One day I was out playing in the fields, as usual, and went on my way back home once the sun had set, since it was time for supper. When I reached our house, I heard my grandmother screaming curses and wailing something awful. She had gone to the market earlier, and no doubt was just arriving home herself.
“I ran to her side…and there were my mother and father, dead on the ground. Someone had shot them in cold blood.
“I went inside and phoned the authorities, fearful that the murderer was still lurking somewhere. And there He was, standing in our kitchen as if He belonged there.”
“The Bearded Man?”
“Yes. His name is Wil, you know. He had the gall to introduce Himself to me.”
Sheldon cleared his throat before continuing. Penny could clearly see that this was not easy for him to recount.
“He looked at me with this awful smile and said: ‘That will be the consequence of speaking up, you know. Your world is doomed anyway, always has been, so it’s really best if you just sit back and enjoy the ride, Shelley.’
“How it hurt for Him to use my mother’s nickname for me…
“I cannot say that my parents always understood me, or that I understood them, but I loved them all the same. MereMere and I were quite lost after they were gone.
“Anyway, once He had warned me, He simply disappeared. And I didn’t see Him again. I’d see a Shadow Man or two periodically, but never the Bearded Man. Not since that awful night.
“My unfortunate parents were merely collateral damage in the Council’s struggle to keep people like me quiet.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
Sheldon nodded his appreciation at her.
“It looks as if they’ve failed on all accounts though,” Sheldon said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice. “MereMere still managed to safely hide the journal for you. And you… well, I’m not sure many things would stand a chance against you.”
Penny beamed at him.
“Damn right.”
. . .
Sheldon warmed some milk on the hob while Penny poured herself a small nightcap. They resettled into their places on either end of the sofa, weariness beginning to get the better of them.
“So why detective work? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem more the academic sort.”
“I was I suppose. I still am. I went to study in Aix for a time-science-but it wasn’t long before I realized that an eventual tenure with some university somewhere wasn’t going to give me the proper means or venue with which to deal with the Shadow Men.
“Since the death of my parents, MereMere had been ever more adamant that we should keep our heads down and just allow fate to take its course. She was the person I loved most in the world, so though I’ve always believed concepts like fate and destiny to be entirely pedestrian hokum, for a time I went along with her wishes. I went to university because I desired an education for my own sake, but I always had a wish of pleasing my grandmother.
“But every single time I returned to Arles on holiday to visit her, I noticed the place was growing worse and worse. All of our floral life had been decimated. The field mice had stopped coming around, and the colors were bleeding out of everything and everyone, as if there was always a giant leech there, draining the life from everything around.
“I had to do something. For my family, for myself, and for the people of Arles. I had to find a way to stop those monsters from taking our home from us. And I needed to gain the consequence to make something like that possible.
“My thoughts turned to the law, but I quickly realized that courtroom proceedings were nothing more than glorified politics, and would accomplish nothing of real importance any time soon.
“I then turned to the police force, which satisfied me for a time, but none of my fellow officers showed the mental capability that dealing with Them requires. They were all just local men, dealing with domestic disturbances and trying to keep the town drunk under control.
“Rising through the ranks to detective was my only option. I would be able to work with someone who could if not match at least keep up with my intelligence, and someone that high up would have the resources necessary to pull strings and make big changes when needed. I would need someone well-respected, who could help me to take on the government or the press, search out the appropriate forums for exposing the Council.”
“Poirot.”
“Naturally.”
“But how on earth did you meet? He’s quite… er, exclusive. I took him for a man who does not venture beyond the higher circles of society.”
“And you’re quite right. I was just fortunate enough to happen to run in to him in Marseilles. I had taken MereMere there on holiday, and Poirot was there, working a case for a friend.”
“What a lucky coincidence,” Penny remarked dryly.
Sheldon made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to admit that she had figured him out. She was fine with that; she knew when she was right.
“We formed an acquaintance, and I have worked by his side now for the last eight years. My grandmother was violently against it at first, and we did not speak for a time, but she eventually came to accept my decision. Thankfully, I was able to go home to Arles for a time, and stayed by her side during her final illness.”
His voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over. His loss still cut him deeply.
“I’m very sorry Sheldon. It’s not easy, to suddenly find one’s self alone.”
“No.”
“I have to ask you something, though. Gablehauser told me that he got the painting at an estate sale. Why would you ever agree to sell it? You couldn’t possibly have known that it was going to reach me safely.”
Sheldon had the good grace to blush.
“That is actually a funny story.”
“Oh?”
“Well, perhaps it’s not that amusing. You see, there was no actual sale. I staged it.”
“I knew it.”
“I knew you would. I got some of the neighbors to pose as potential buyers, and I put out my grandmother’s other possessions as bait. And Gablehauser fell for the ruse completely. Poirot came up with the idea, as he is a close personal friend of Gablehauser’s, and had heard of you through him. Once he had learned your area of expertise, and that you were indeed the girl with the flower always in her hair, he knew that you were the one to help us get our venue.”
“I can’t help but feel slightly used,” she pouted.
‘Please don’t. We wouldn’t be able to do this without your knowledge… or your bravery, frankly. Your reputation for having some gumption more than precedes you.”
Penny smiled at that.
“I’m also glad that you’re here, personally. I feel much less lonely than I have since MereMere died. It’s good to have someone who knows what it is like to lose everything that they hold dear.”
Penny cleared her throat.
“I… I’m grateful every day that I’ve got the boys in my life. They’ve given me a family again.”
She got up and walked over to where he was sitting.
“You don’t have to be alone either, Sheldon. I’m here. For you, I mean. If… if you need someone, that is.”
He surprised her for the second time in as many days by taking her hand and squeezing it warmly.
“Thank you Penny.”
He rose from the couch and stretched.
“Well, we have to be up early, so it is definitely time for bed. Goodnight, Penny.”
“Goodnight, honey.”
She gave him a quick hug before retiring to the guest room.
. . .
The next day began what would come to be their daily routine for the next several weeks: any spare moment they had was spent at Poirot’s flat, planning. They would head over once Sotheby’s closed down for the day to find Sheldon and Poirot already rifling through their notes.
Leonard and Penny had acclimated to their new living situations, Leonard with a little more ease than Penny:
“Leonard, what’s that you’re reading?”
“Oh. Wells’ Time Machine. I got the first edition at an auction in Liverpool last year. Would you care to borrow it?”
“Does the sun rise in the east??? Of course I would!”
Penny and Sheldon, on the other hand, had many days where they were at each other’s throats-her ‘mess’ disrupted his ability to think, and his many obsessive compulsions had her wanting to toss him bodily into the Thames:
“For the love of…! Penny! How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your underthings on the bathroom floor!”
“Maybe if you didn’t follow me around with a broom and dustpan like I was some out of control toddler I wouldn’t feel the need to rebel against your neuroses!”
“Well if you would just pick up after yourself, I wouldn’t have to follow you around!”
…
“DO NOT touch that!”
But beneath it all, there was a deepening fondness forming between them:
“I’m sorry I was cross with you.”
“I’m sorry I broke your model of the solar system.”
“I will endeavor not to treat you so much like a child. I am very well aware that you aren’t one.”
“I promise to try not to antagonize you so much.”
“Tea?”
“Yes, please.”
Penny admired his ability to never compromise who he was for the sake of false propriety, and Sheldon had voiced his wonder more than once over how she intrigued him, despite the differences in their intellects. Penny chose to take it for the compliment that it was; Sheldon treated her, usually, anyway, as an equal. He never “dumbed things down” for her, and she loved him for that.
. . .
Between all of their hemming and hawing, and excessive comparing of notes, they’d soon agreed on several things:
The Council only ‘worked’ at night.
Artificial light, and quite possibly sunlight, appeared to be noxious to them. Enough could probably kill them.
Their leader was the Bearded Man, Wil. Stopping Him would bring the organization to its knees.
They just had to find a way to draw enough of Them out, so that the Bearded Man would put in an appearance.
So that they could deal with Him accordingly.
. . .
Penny stood down the hall from Director Gablehauser’s office, psyching herself up. She ran her fingers through her hair, mussing it up, and pinched her cheeks to get them to look flushed. She took a deep breath and ran down the hall, bursting through the door to Gablehauser’s office and startling the secretary.
“Miss Cuthbert! Whatever is the matter?”
“Ramona I need to see the Director right away. Please tell me that he’s in.”
The man himself appeared just then.
“Ramona, what’s all the commotion about?”
“I’m sorry to intrude Director Gablehauser, but I have something of the utmost importance to tell you,” Penny said, her chest heaving and her voice breathless with excitement.
“Of course. Please, come through.”
“Thank you.”
He offered Penny a seat and she appeared to sink into it gratefully.
“I’m sorry to barge in like this, but what I have to tell you is absolutely astounding.”
“In a good way, I hope?”
“Oh my, yes.”
She took a deep breath, looking for all the world as if she were trying to calm herself, rein in her excitement.
“Do you remember the painting you brought to me last month?”
“Of course. What about it?’
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to say this: I was entirely wrong. It is a Van Gogh. His last work in fact.”
Gablehauser looked skeptical.
“But you assured me it was not. What has made you change your mind?”
“I found a few papers tucked into the back of the canvas. They’re in the hand of Jacqueline Cooper, the woman who owned the Yellow House. She looked after the artist in his final days, and observed him while he worked on the painting. The brushstrokes are different because he continued working through violent tremors in his final hours.”
She kept her facial expression an appropriate mixture of bewilderment and excitement. Gablehauser looked hopeful but cautious.
“Are you certain? Beyond any doubt this time?”
Penny looked him square in the eye.
“I went back and examined the canvas myself. I allowed for a shaking hand when I looked at the brushwork, and there is no doubt in my mind now that it’s him. Sir, it’s the last Van Gogh.”
. . .
Poirot and Sheldon were in Piccadilly for lunch later that day, Poirot having taken on a sudden craving for fish and chips. Sheldon rather suspected that Poirot knew he wanted to visit the shops, and was indulging him. They walked along the crowded thoroughfare, Poirot enjoying his food (Sheldon refused to eat anything that came wrapped in a newspaper) while his young friend watched the people that passed by.
“And what did Mademoiselle Penny have to report when she telephoned you this morning?”
“Gablehauser was thrilled. He wants to have an auction. A massive one. Penny says they’re thinking Trafalgar Square, so that they can pack the crowds in.”
“C’est magnifique! A big venue will be just the thing. The Bearded Man is sure to put in an appearance.”
“I believe you are right, Hercule. The publicity alone will be sure to draw in a number of the Council.”
They walked by a shop selling women’s accessories, and Poirot paused to dispose of his newspaper and to clean his hands. Sheldon went up to the shop’s window and looked at the display there, a small smile working its way onto his face. Poirot joined him and smiled benignly at his young partner.
“I believe she would like that very much Sheldon.”
Sheldon’s ears were tinged pink.
“It is not too presumptuous of me?”
“Mon ami, I know as little of the wooing craft as you, but Mademoiselle Penny she adores flowers. And it does not require much work of the little gray cells to discover your mutual fondness for one another.”
“Perhaps you’ll be so good as to accompany me then?”
“Oui, avec plaisir.”
. . .
Six weeks later
There was nothing left to do but wait. The press had eaten the story up-Penny, Sotheby’s, and ‘The Last Van Gogh’ had appeared in every major newspaper in the country-and Poirot had helped his young friends chart out a proper course of action. It had become a running joke amongst the group that the auction was going to kill two birds with one stone: they were going to bring the Council to its knees, and Penny was going to make such a large commission that they could all retire.
Still, beneath all the joviality, there was a white streak of fear a mile wide.
. . .
Penny and Sheldon had a rare Saturday free, so they decided to enjoy it. Sheldon had been looking for a perfect opportunity to give Penny her present. He’d done some field research, and learned that not just any moment would do. It had to be ‘special.’ He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that bit of information, but he supposed that treating Penny to an outing of her choosing qualified as ‘special’ enough. And today was to be the day. The auction was set for the following night, and they would be busy making preparations for the entirety of the following day.
Today was going to have to suffice.
He and Penny were going to the National Gallery. He’d never been, and she’d never been for fun. When he’d asked if she wasn’t rather sick of staring at paintings and sculptures all day she had laughed and told him that it would be refreshing to just enjoy the art, without being threatened by anything that went bump in the night.
They set out shortly after breakfast, Sheldon preferring to walk. It was one of his few whims that Penny was willing to indulge, being very fond of walking herself. She took his arm as they went, and Sheldon noted a now-familiar, curious flutter in his stomach. It happened every time Penny got close to him, or touched him, and was altogether very pleasant. He’d discussed the sensation with Poirot, only to be told that it meant he was attracted to Penny. At first he’d dismissed the idea, declared it to be flat out preposterous, but in the time since then he’d accepted it. He’d never been interested in anyone before, at least in a romantic sense, but Penny was clearly the exception to the rule.
Sheldon insisted on paying her admittance to the gallery once they arrived.
“Sweetie, you really don’t have to.”
“I know. I want to. I would very much like to.”
“Thank you.”
Her pink cheeks caused his heartbeat to accelerate.
He paid for their tickets and Penny seized his hand, dragging him off into one of the exhibits.
“Wait until you see St. George and the Dragon!”
. . .
They found the painting in no time, and Penny stood looking at it with all the enjoyment of lengthy familiarity as well as with all the fervor and passion one reserves for something newly discovered.
“I’ve always loved this one,” she sighed.
Sheldon looked at it closely. It depicted a knight, a lady, and the bloody corpse of a dragon.
“I… I see,” he replied.
Penny had the good grace to laugh.
“It’s alright, Sheldon. I know you’re not a great art lover,” she said, smiling up at him. “I suppose it’s not so much this painting itself that I admire-though it is a masterpiece in its own right-but St. George. He’s our saint, our great English protector. And I’ve always loved this image of him because he stands tall and proud, even after grappling with the dragon. He didn’t let his fear get the better of him, and in the end he walked away with his head held high.”
“It puts one in the mind of Alfred the Great.”
“Or Arthur.”
“Or Henry V.”
Sheldon took her hand this time and pressed it.
“We’ll prevail as well, Penny. You will live up to your hero’s standards, I am sure.”
“I hope so, Sheldon.”
. . .
Sheldon hadn’t expected to enjoy himself half as well as he did. But he found that the works they visited were far more interesting than they otherwise would have been because Penny was with him. She wasn’t an expert-Van Gogh was really her only specialty-but she knew enough to make smart, insightful comments, and she even knew some of the history behind the pieces. What he enjoyed most though was her enthusiasm. Every work seemed to be a treat for her to discuss with him, and it was clear to him that she loved what she spoke of. He began to understand that her love for the fine arts was very much like his own for his detective work. In fact, there were many parallels between the ways that each conducted their work.
Before they left, Penny insisted that they stop in the gift shop. She went to the counter and asked the girl to procure an item for her and to wrap it. She would not tell Sheldon what it was.
“It’s a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see!”
“Very well.”
. . .
They took their lunch in a restaurant not far from their flat (Penny couldn’t help but think of it as their flat now). Penny ordered for both of them. She didn’t want a repeat of a previous incident the week before, when Sheldon had provoked their waiter so badly he had almost earned himself a black eye. As it was, Penny had swatted him on the head for his troubles. The forty-minute rant she’d endured afterward had been entirely worth it.
Their meal was spent in comfortable silence and when they had finished Sheldon suggested a stroll in the park across the way. Penny didn’t want their day to end just yet either, so she agreed. They still had several hours of daylight left anyway.
The park was full of families and couples, reveling in such a beautiful day. Sheldon walked with Penny around the pond before leading her over to a bench where they could sit and watch the people around them.
“It’s astounding, isn’t it? All of these people, and none of them notice that there aren’t any ducks in the pond or flowers in the garden.”
“People don’t notice anything. They’re always overlooking little details, and eventually those add up to something very big and very wrong indeed.”
They fell silent for a moment, neither daring to hope that none of those things would be a problem after the events of the day to come.
“Penny?”
“Hmm?”
“Is that why you wear a flower in your hair? Because they’re disappearing?”
“It’s one of the reasons. I wear it to remember my mother as well. Her flower garden was the thing she was most proud of on the farm. This is my way of being close to her.”
Sheldon reached into his coat pocket and removed a small wrapped package.
“Now is the perfect moment to give this to you then. I saw it in Piccadilly weeks ago, and it just seemed right for you.”
Penny looked at him, curious, and tentatively unwrapped the gift. Nestled inside a tiny box was a jeweled flower, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It was a lovely shade of vermillion, and would look brilliant in her blond hair.
“Sheldon, this is beautiful,” she breathed. “You didn’t have to do this, honey, really.”
“Yes, I did. The shop girl said that this particular shape is called a Penny Blossom.”
“Oh that’s lovely!”
Sheldon took the hair pin from its box and gently placed it amongst her curls, right above her left ear.
“Besides, I have found out that it is customary when courting someone to bestow them with gifts.”
Penny’s face flushed the same shade as her Penny Blossom.
“Sheldon, think of what you’re saying. Are you sure you know what that entails?”
His hands fluttered nervously.
“I believe I do. I have looked into the matter, and when you wish to share your life and your home with someone, it is customary to court them.”
He turned and looked her in the eye.
“Did I get that right?”
Penny’s heart was in her throat, and her voice was hoarse when she answered him:
“Yeah, you’ve got it right.”
He took her hand in his and she rested her weight against his side, leaning her head on his shoulder. They stayed on the bench like that until the sun began to sink in the sky.
. . .
They passed the evening quietly enough at home. Penny read through all of Jacqueline’s journal one more time and Sheldon told her stories of his grandmother. Her death still weighed on him quite heavily, but he found that having Penny beside him did wonders for easing the ache in his chest.
Tomorrow promised to be a long day, so they made a point of retiring early. Sheldon followed Penny down the short hallway and, before they could part ways in front of her room as they usually did, she stopped him in his tracks by placing a hand on his chest.
“Wait here a moment,” she said, before disappearing into her room.
She returned holding a small bag with the National Gallery’s logo on it.
“I want you to have this. Consider it your courtship gift, if you like.”
Sheldon upended the bag over his open hand and a small silver medallion fell into his palm. It was attached to a delicate matching chain. He held it up to his eye and recognized the image in the metal.
“St. George.”
“I know you think religion and saints are often rather silly, but I’d like you to have something to protect you, just in case I’m unable to keep my eye on you.”
“Religion is silly,” he said, slipping the chain over his neck. The metal felt cool against his suddenly warm skin.
“But you aren’t. I’ll keep this close to me, Penny. Thank you. Really.”
“You’re welcome.”
She ran her hands over his chest and snaked her arms around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth across his, capturing his bottom lip between both of hers.
He experienced a brief sensation of soft curves pressed against him and her scent surrounding him, but before he could react to any of the stimuli she was inundating him with, she was gone into her room with a quiet “Goodnight, Sheldon.”
Part III