Harmony Angel held her hand out, and Rhapsody passed her the roll of red ribbon. She watched, fascinated, as Harmony wove the length of satin into a complex bow around the beautifully wrapped box.
“The label, please?”
Labels were something that Rhapsody could do. She had neat, elegant handwriting, and had always taken pride in making her own gift tags. To Paul, with love from Dianne.
Harmony tied the label into the bow, and handed the parcel back to Rhapsody.
“Thanks, Kwan. You do this so beautifully.”
Harmony dipped her head gracefully. “I am pleased to be of assistance at this time of your celebration,” she said, nevertheless eyeing the pile of Christmas gifts still awaiting wrapping with certain misgivings.
Symphony looked up from writing her Christmas cards. “What have you got Paul this year, Di?” she asked.
Rhapsody hefted the box, admiring the immaculate wrapping and expertly-tied ribbon. “A dagger.”
“A what!?”
Rhapsody laughed at the look of horror on her fellow Angels’ faces. “Don’t panic! It’s a replica. We went to Hampton Court on our last leave together, and saw an exhibition of weapons and armour designs. Paul fell in love with a knife designed by Hans Holbein for Henry VIII. The gift shop had one, so I bought it on the sly.”
Destiny looked up from her own pile of unwritten cards. “He will love it. He has good taste in these things.”
“I hope so,” Rhapsody sighed. “I never know what to get him. Mind you, he always says the same about me, but I always love whatever he gives me.”
“What’s the best present you’ve ever been given?” Symphony asked.
“By Paul, or anyone?”
“Anyone.”
Rhapsody frowned. “Gosh, that’s difficult. I really don’t know… I’ll have to give that some thought.”
“I think mine was Pecos,” Symphony mused, a faraway look in her eyes. At her colleagues’ looks of enquiry, she clarified: “I was nine. Mom and Dad wanted to turn our place into a dude ranch, so they’d bought some riding horses. One of the mares was pregnant, and her foal arrived on the morning of my birthday.” Symphony smiled at the memory of that long-ago excitement. “I was enchanted… this baby, almost as tall as me… all knobbly knees and a ridiculous little tail. I didn’t even have to ask. Mom and Dad said straightaway that I could have him as my very own horse. The mare seemed to agree, too – when I went over to stroke Pecos, she put her head over my shoulder and kind’ve pushed us together.”
“What a lovely story!” Rhapsody exclaimed. “Do you still have him?”
“Oh yes. He still lives on the ranch. He’s pretty much retired now, but he’s always pleased to see me whenever I go on a visit.”
Symphony called up her personal storage area on the Amber Room computer, and accessed her pictures folder. Pecos appeared in dozens of photographs, with or without Karen and various members of her family. In one picture, multi-coloured ribbons were woven into his tail and mane. “Mom did that, on the day before our Spectrum commissioning ceremony.”
The other Angels cooed over the photos, until a muted hum from the lift announced Melody’s return from Angel One duty. The amber-coloured glass doors swished open, and Melody unstrapped herself, easing out of the chair with an exaggerated groan of relief.
“Hello, Melody! I’m on now, girls,” Rhapsody said. “I’ll give it some thought.”
Rhapsody took the seat that Melody had just vacated, and disappeared up towards Angel One. “Give what some thought?” Melody asked, then noticed the pictures of Pecos, still displayed on the computer monitor. “Hey, cute horse! But give me a fast car any day.”
“That is Pecos,” Destiny explained. “He is Symphony’s best-ever present.”
“Really? That’s neat. I think mine was my first time behind the wheel of a real, honest-to-God race car,” Melody grinned.
As Magnolia Jones, Melody had made quite a name for herself on the junior racing circuit, so the significance of the gift wasn’t lost on the other Angels. At their prompting, Melody explained: “Pa took me to the Atlanta Motor Speedway, the day after Christmas. I was so excited… parked at the pitstop was a real race car, with a big bow tied round it, and a label: ‘To Magnolia, Happy Christmas, with love from Pa’.”
Melody brushed a tear from her eye, momentarily lost in the memory of that momentous day. “The car wasn’t the present, of course. Pa wasn’t that well off. The present was a day at the race school. As soon as I sat behind the wheel, and rolled that beautiful machine out onto the track, I knew that’s what I wanted to do – I wanted to race.” She grinned at her youthful ambition. “Until I took one of those birds up for the first time –” she jerked her thumb towards the runway above “– nothing ever came close to that first lap. Nothing…”
“I do not think that my best gift was so life-changing,” Destiny remarked thoughtfully. “But at the time, it seemed to be… it was when I first perceived myself as a grown woman.”
She paused for a moment, smiling to herself at the exclamations of “you can’t leave it there! What happened?” from the others. Even Rhapsody, listening to the conversation in the cockpit of Angel One, joined in.
“I was sixteen,” Destiny continued. “Papa had been away on my birthday, as he so often was, on affairs of business. But I was home from school for the Christmas holiday, and he suddenly said that he was taking me to dinner. Me, alone. Not maman, not Monique… moi, seulement. We went to a restaurant near the Palais de Chaillot, and watched the tour boats on the Seine, and the Christmas lights sparkling on the Tour Eiffel. We drank fine wine, and ate a superb meal. The maître and the waiters addressed me as ‘madame’… I had never felt so – adulte… This became a thing that we do every year. It is only since I joined Spectrum that I have missed it.”
Harmony tucked the last of the beautifully-wrapped parcels under the tree, then checked the time. Her shift as Angel 3 now over, she crossed quickly to the computer, accessed the scheduler, and signed off duty.
“Bye, Kwan! See you later!” Symphony called as the main door swished open. Harmony waved as she left the Amber Room, then headed to her quarters in a pensive mood.
The conversation about gifts had sparked an old memory to life – a memory never forgotten, but nevertheless no longer at the forefront of her thoughts. Perhaps this was my best present, she mused, as she lifted a small box out of her closet, and opened it. Even after all these years, there was still a faint waft of chocolate. The box was tied with gold cord and bore curly gold writing. Writing which, once upon a time, she’d been unable to read… “ Harrods”… Inside the box, nestled in dark green and gold tissue paper, was a tiny metal model of a small executive jet, exquisitely painted with the logo of Peking Air Taxis. The memory flooded back…
Chan Guiren and his wife Huian had wholeheartedly embraced Japanese culture since their arrival in Edo Province, and little Kwan, born in their first year in Tokyo, was growing up to be a proper little Japanese girl.
At the moment, though, Guiren was in something of a quandary. His wife was away, Kwan’s school was on its winter holiday, and as they had only very recently moved into this new neighbourhood, he didn’t know any of the neighbours well enough to ask them to take Kwan in for the afternoon. It would be unthinkable to ask for a postponement of his meeting, so there was only one thing for it…
Guiren sighed, and looked towards his little daughter who sat cross-legged on the floor, drawing something. Another jet-fighter, Guiren realised. Their visit to the Tokyo Airshow had obviously made a deep impression. That wasn’t important right now, though.
“Kwan, I am going to take you somewhere very special for the afternoon. I am meeting a very important person, so you must be on your very best behaviour.”
Kwan loved her father dearly, so she scrambled to her feet and ran over to him. “I will be so good!” she promised.
The British Embassy in Tokyo was an imposing building close to the Imperial Palace. As she walked down the corridors, tightly holding on to her father’s hand, Kwan was awed into silence by the grandeur of the building and the rows of forbidding-looking portraits displayed on the walls. She had no idea why they were there, just that her father was going to be meeting a very important person.
Sir Peter Wright, British Ambassador to the court of Emperor Yoshihito, and Chan Guiren sat facing each other across a low table, on which stood a teapot and two cups. Kwan sat a little distance away, happy with her drawing pad and pencils. Pleasantries over, Sir Peter got to the nub of the meeting: “I am authorised to tell you that Emperor Yoshihito himself wishes to meet you. He believes that you have much of value to offer – while your air-taxi company is by no means unique, he feels that you offer the best way forward in business relations between Japan and China. Now that the hostilities in Europe are over, and Great Britain is finally joining the World Government, we have need for astute and far-seeing businessmen such as yourself.”
He paused for a moment, then reached into his briefcase and brought out a carrier bag with the logo of London International Airport on it. “Which reminds me: some small gifts for you and your family. They are nothing, but I hope they please you.”
Guiren was genuinely surprised to be offered omiyage, little souvenir gifts, by such a high-ranking personage in the Japanese Imperial circle, but had no trouble remembering the customary refusal of the gifts.
“Please, I insist. And there is something here for Chan Kwan-san too – where is she?”
Guiren called his daughter forward, where, wide-eyed with pleasure, she accepted the gift of a small green box. On the bag was some curly gold writing, of a kind she had never seen before. She remembered her manners, and bowed low to their distinguished host, who smiled, and returned the bow. She couldn’t wait to leave so that she could open it… especially as she detected the delectable smell of chocolate rising from the bag.
The ambassador made sure that the little girl was paying them no further attention before continuing in a low voice: “and here is the item you ordered from London, Chan-san.” He gave Guiren another small green box. “I had it sent over in the diplomatic bag, so it would get here in time for Christmas.”
Guiren cautiously opened the box – nestled in a bed of tissue paper in a Harrods gift box was a tiny model of the very first plane operated by Peking Air Taxis. “That is perfect,” he murmured. “Thank you so much for taking delivery of this, Wright-san. I will give it to her on Christmas Day.”
The Mysterons delivered their threat on the morning of Christmas Eve. Evacuating the enormous shopping mall, thronged with last-minute shoppers, was well-nigh impossible, and time ran out as Scarlet was shepherding the last of the public to the exits. Bombs disguised as brightly-wrapped parcels exploded under every Christmas tree in the walkways; half of the building collapsed, burying dozens of people under the rubble. Emergency services worked hand-in-hand with Spectrum and International Rescue to dig out the survivors – incredibly, there were only a handful of fatalities. One of those was Captain Scarlet.
Dr Kobicha, like Harmony Angel, usually volunteered to take Christmas shifts, as long as the favour was returned for important Japanese holidays. She’d already completed her night-rounds – the only patient requiring any attention was Captain Scarlet, who was in the final stages of recovery. Sickbay was quiet and peaceful, with some traditional shamisen music playing softly on the sound-system.
Her attention was suddenly attracted by the main Sickbay door sliding open. Kobicha smiled to herself as she recognised the newcomer, and returned to her work, letting Rhapsody Angel make her way to Captain Scarlet’s recovery room.
Rhapsody pushed open the door to the room where Scarlet normally spent the hours of his recoveries. Beside the bed was an armchair where Captain Blue was usually to be found dozing while his field partner slept through the retrometabolic process. This time, as she’d already known, the chair was empty. She sat down, and watched the sleeping man for a few minutes, then reached forward and took Scarlet’s hand in hers. It was warm – he had almost reached the end of the process – and she raised it to her lips to kiss it gently.
“I really hope that’s not Adam…”
Rhapsody gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry, darling! I didn’t mean to wake you up!”
“You didn’t.” Scarlet’s voice was still weak and a little raspy, but his eyes were open and clear, and there was a slight smile on his lips.
Rhapsody stroked his face. “A couple of days ago, the girls and 1 were discussing what the best present we’d ever received was. I couldn’t make up my mind. But I have now.” She looked up at the bank of monitors above the bed. Each screen bore electronic evidence of the miracle of retrometabolism. “It’s this…”
AUTHOR’S NOTES The customary disclaimer that all rights to characters, objects and concepts from Captain Scarlet and the Mysterons are owned by someone who is not me, and I am making no profit other than enjoyment from their use. Many thanks to my beta-reader and dear friend Marion Woods for variations on a theme of “for crying out loud, get on with it!” and “would you like some more wine?”, and to Chris Bishop for her tireless efforts in keeping the memory of Captain Scarlet alive on the ’net. And to Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, very much missed, for creating such wonderful worlds for our imaginations to play in. Hazel Köhler, December 2019 Scarlet’s present: Design for a Ceremonial Dagger (picture on the right). Brush drawing in black ink on paper, 45.5 × 12.6 cm, British Museum, London. Hans Holbein appears to have designed weapons as part of his responsibilities as the King's Painter of Henry VIII. This design is for a baselard, an ornamental dagger worn suspended from a girdle. It is the only surviving design by Holbein for a complete weapon. Destiny’s present: Based on a true story. My Dad took me out to dinner for my 16th birthday. Not in Paris, but in the West End of London. We ate in a Chinese restaurant and I had Mateus Rose wine which I thought was the last word in sophistication. I had never felt so grown up! |
