“I’ve got you, honey,” said Rich.
The bird swooped over Emma, circled around, and flew backtoward her. She was terrified, her mouth open in horror. Donna’s expression was beatific. Sylvie looked wan. Cleo looked wary of Danny, who had his hand on his Tudor sword.
“And…smile!” said the photographer.
“What a happy family,” said Ainsley.
PART SEVEN
SIMON’S SURPRISE
1
Sylvie
“Good morning, everyone!” said Simon. Sylvie watched her fiancé sleepily. He was giddy, wearing a cashmere sweater, waxed cotton coat, corduroy pants, and wool socks with high rubber boots. (He’d dressed Sylvie in similar birdwatching attire.)
“Is it morning, though?” muttered Cleo. In her defense, it was still extremely dark. Simon had informed them at the end of the Tudor portrait session that he had a big surprise: a birding tour of the nearby Winefride Royal Society for the Protection of Birds reserve (also known as the WRSPB). “And we’re going to leave before sunrise,” he’d said, “to try to catch the chiffchaff warblers before they leave their mud-and-twig nests to forage for fish.”
The Peacock family’s reaction to this announcement had been muted. Donna groaned audibly and hissed, “Did he sayforage for fish?” to her new sidekick, Danny. Apparently, Danny and Cleo had had a fight, and he had asked Louisa Freck to move him to his own room in the castle. When Sylvie had asked Cleo what was going on, Cleo said, “Danny wants to sulk in the pele tower.” When Sylvie asked Cleo why he was sulking, Cleo said, “Don’t ask.”
So much for sisterly confessions.
Sylvie had slept fitfully, inhabiting another disconcerting Alexander dream. In this one, Alexander was pleading with her to help him escape a video-game-like maze. When the front desk (aka Louisa Freck) called to wake Sylvie and Simon for birdwatching, she dressed slowly, still half with her first husband, running through a nightmare Roblox world, and half donning wellies in the chilly Gatekeeper’s Cottage.
She knew it was wrong but she’d wanted to get back under the covers and return to Alexander. Remembering him—not moving on—was all she could do for him anymore. It was the last connection to her first love. Giving that up would be…free fall.
Sylvie avoided uncertainty at all costs. Control was her salvation, and she could control a situation that had already reached its conclusion. What remained to be seen was if she could leap into a story that was just unfolding, wild with possibilities for joyandpain.
Sylvie knew that the Winefride Bird reserve meant a lot to Simon—his first published photograph had been a baby guillemot along the Winefride trail. In the image, the bird was tiny and fuzzy with newborn down, nestled under the wing of his father. It was a bird photograph, yes, but also a portrait of devotion.
Despite her family’s lack of enthusiasm, Sylvie respected and adored Simon’s knowledge of birds and animals. She’d gone on photo shoots with him, listening as he explained which places could provide interesting backdrops (a bush with bright yellow buds, or tall grasses in front of which a colorful bird would pop), then sitting still and quietly for a long time, hoping an animal would arrive to pose beguilingly.
“Some photographers chase after the animals,” Simon told her, “but I like to frame the perfect shot and see who wanders in.” He and Sylvie would sip coffee or tea or cold water from a metal bottle, whisper once in a while, but primarily watch. Sylvie foundthis quiet time soothing and revelatory. She daydreamed, or rearranged her library in her head, or thought about a book she was reading, and sometimes a bird flitted in and Simon shot with his various lenses, and sometimes nothing happened at all and they went home when it started to get dark.
—
Louisa Freck stood by the side of the hired minibus and addressed Sylvie’s family. “Don’t mind the rain!” she chirped. “We’ve prepared breakfast boxes and warm coffees for you. All aboard!”
“I wasnot informed,” complained Donna, “that I would be dragged on a muddy excursion in a Britishmonsoon.” Donna’s rabbit fur Cossack-style hat was growing wet, and her cinch-waisted wool coat did not appear to be waterproof. Even her matching muff, though possibly keeping her hands warm, was drooping.
“Princess Diana wore Wellingtons and Barbour coats in inclement weather,” said Danny. “Like Simon’s.Exactlylike Simon’s.”
“Don’t worry, Donna,” said Simon. “We’ve got an assortment of mackintoshes and boots for you at Winefride, and binoculars to see the birds in detail.”
Donna sniffed, but—seemingly cheered by the thought of a freebie or two—begrudgingly climbed onto the bus.
As her family tucked into gourmet baskets of scones and hot thermoses of coffee (not to mention an array of pastries, fresh jams, yogurt parfaits, meats, and cheeses) Sylvie relaxed a bit. She kissed Simon on the cheek, and he said, “OK, Syl, here goes nothing!”
Simon made his way to the front of the bus, where he stood next to the driver. He cleared his throat and spoke. “We are headed to my old stomping grounds,” said Simon, nervously messing with the buttons on his Barbour coat. “The Winefride warden will meet us there and we will walk a short, cliff-top path to see the only colony of cliff-nesting seabirds in North West England.”
“Will we see penguins?” asked Jameson, gripping the seat in front of him excitedly.
“Great question, Jameson,” said Simon. “One of the birds we might spot is the guillemot, which is actually a tiny British penguin! Since we’re going early, we might even see baby guillemots jump from the cliffs into the sea!”
“Yikes,” said Donna.
“Some of the other creatures we might encounter at Winefride include kittiwake, peregrine, wheatear, and…if we areverylucky…rare gray seals!” said Simon. “And of course, the chiffchaff warblers.”
