V.

With the subject of his interest lost, the noise coming from the pub became unbearable for his sensitive ears. Small snowflakes were falling from the dense mass of clouds. Sooner or later, snow storm was sure to start and it wasn't Stuart's desire to be caught in it.

He stayed at his house until Christmas passed. The storm indeed came and the only sound on the streets was the windy yodelling. Stuart spent holiday alone. The thought of the missed opportunity of dinning with Erwing, Carol and their close ones touched the painful spot whenever it came to his mind, which was often. For the past twenty years Stuart hadn't minded about Christmas season. He considered it a bad time for his business because he had even less customers than usually, but he never regretted spending it separated from the rest of the society. However, this year Carol's letter haunted him and brought back more memories from the forgotten past.

When he was a kid living with his family in a village far up north, they celebrated Christmas because it was a tradition. It didn't mean much to his parents, but he and his brother, being kids, adored it. He remembered how old baker Irwing would give them each a special Christmas pastry, his unique recipe. He gifted all children from the village in the same way. Every year, Stuart and Oliver discussed what the ingredients of the pastry might be with other children. He never considered how much work Irwing must have been putting into making those sweets, only to give them for free. Like a real Father Christmas. Now that he thought of him, he did look alike Father Christmas on the modern greeting cards. Other things from Christmases long gone came to his mind; Yule tree with candy and candles, chestnuts his father gathered in the woods, kids skating on the frozen lake. Oliver had shared his hiding spot with him when Stuart was ten years old. Safe between the bushes, they observed skating girls as they made pirouettes, circled around each other and smiled. Stuart was quite sure they actually knew they were being spied, but didn't mind. Years later, upon engaging with Oliver, Carol came to spend some time after Christmas with them. She was a brilliant skater. Stuart adored watching her and Oliver dance on the ice.

He spent Christmas besieged by sentiments which hurt him but also awoke a strange joyfulness in him. He would sit by the fireplace and a memory would suddenly come to his mind. He would smile or even laugh. If things had turned out differently, the line of good memories might not had been broken after the war, but would continue until his final days.

His sentimental mood was broken when the bell above his door rang on the morning of 27th.. "Come in", Stuart shouted, assuming his professional stand, hoping a customer had arrived with a requirement to remand him to real life.

Wearing her long black coat with a hood over her head, Regina turned her face to him. "Good morning", she spoke. Startled by unexpected visitor, Stuart was only able to answer her with a nod. "I hope I'm not intruding during work..." Her eyes fell onto old camera in front of the sofa. "Wow", she didn't try to sustain indifference, "you really have it! God, it's beautiful!"

Had anyone ever expressed such fascination for his equipment or work? Of course he was more than pleased because someone recognized the beauty he valued so much, but people usually considered his practice old–fashioned and repulsive. How should one answer to a compliment?

"You don't see ones like these privately owned any more. People got rid of them as soon as cheaper, easier ways of photographing were invented. But I guess you're different." Her look was focused on him now, which made him even more anxious. "My father was the same... Oh, sorry, I'm talking nonsense again, and I just came to apologize for the nonsense you must've heard from me in the Black Cat." She swirled her finger next to her head. "Alcohol hit me hard."

"I'm glad you came home safely", he finally spoke, "you didn't seem capable of moving around outside on your own. I was worried someone would hurt you or you'd get lost."

"Well, I'm tougher than I look."

"You look tough enough to me."

Under layers of scarf and hoodie, she blushed. "Gee, thanks. Inherited it from my dad. Oh, and thanks a lot for the medallion! It was terribly feckless of me to lose it."

"Were you drinking on the Christmas Eve to conceal your sadness?"

The expression on her face made him think he went to far, but she waved with her glowed hand and answered quickly. "Not really, it was something else. I'm not a drunkard, just to make that clear."

"Never thought you were."

"Good." She looked through the window. The ground of the streets was covered with snow, but it stopped falling on Christmas night. Traffic was rare since the snow was still not cleaned from the rows and people preferred staying inside, beside the fireplace. "I was hoping you wouldn't be too busy. May I suggest we take a walk together? I know it's cold and we just met, but the air is fresh and I want to remedy the impression I left on you in the pub. I wasn't in the best of moods back then." Her smile was like cat's, subtle smile of one who's aware she'll get what she came for.

"Don't you have anything better to do than hang out with an old rag like me?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "You think I would've been in the pub on Christmas Eve if I had important things to occupy myself with? I'm a spontaneous soul with a refined taste for society. Believe it or not, but I find your personality worth my attention, at least for a while." She laughed. "I'm giving you a rare opportunity to impress me. Earn my respect." Then she lowered her head and whispered: "Of course, that's just nonsense I'm saying to myself. The fact is I'm lonely and you were alone on Christmas Eve, too, so I gather you don't have a wide range of acquaintances neither. Besides, we both like old photographs, so if our walk turns out a failure, we can talk about daguerreotypes and separate in peace."

Stuart liked the idea. Regina had something in herself which caused him to admire her regardless of her interest for his work. If he had found a girl like her thirty years ago, he would've done everything to make her his life companion.

Regina rubbed her hands against each other when they existed the studio. The temperature dropped below zero degrees, but Stuart felt strangely warm walking next to the pretty and intelligent young woman. He felt like a young man he used to want to be.

"I guess I'll be the one to ask the burning question we've both had on our minds since Christmas Eve", Regina said, "what the hell were you doing there on such a day? No holiday plans?"

"I actually had some this year, but I failed in completing them. Haven't been a family guy for quite some time. And you?"

"I have nobody", she sounded melancholic, "I used to spend every holiday, heck, every day with my dad, but..." A sigh. "That's over. Forever." A crystal clear tear appeared in her eye, but she quickly removed it. "Strange how you face death every day, but when it knocks on your door, it surprises you anyway."

"I know exactly what you mean."

They entered Pittencrieff Park which was recently given to the community my mister Andrew Carnegie through the new main entrance. A few people moved around, cuddled in coats and scarfs, some sending them sharp looks of evaluation. "I don't know anyone from Dunfermline except an old woman who owns a store and a barman or two. Me and my father always moved from one place to another quickly. I have no friends to speak of at all!"

"Neither do I and I haven't moved for twenty years." He tried a smile, but the painful truth in his words disabled his fake humour. "You seriously consider continuing his work on your own?"

"Our work", she corrected him, "we worked together. My father used to be a police inspector in Edinburgh, you know? Great Roland Jamieson. But I don't remember him in uniform, he gave his police job up when my mother died in 1885.. He mourned her for more than a year. His therapist proposed a hobby to occupy him. I don't know how he came to like photographing. I spent most of my time with nanny or tutors. When I was fourteen, he discharged them and appropriated me for himself. He talked his old colleagues into giving him a chance as a crime spot photographer. He was very good at it. While he was still being tested, my interest for photos was deepening. I became his assistant, then his co-worker in the shadow. At the age of seventeen I started following him to the scene of crimes. Sometimes murder, sometimes theft."

"He must've been good in his work."

She turned to face him. "He was the best."

The tension relieved when the smell of roasted chestnuts attracted Regina's attention. Hoping like a little girl, she approached the seller and asked for two portions. Stuart bit his tongue. As a male companion, he should've paid for them, but he was broke. However, Regina took out a little bag filled with coins and gave the man more than he asked. Stuart couldn't help but ask her where she got all that money from.

"Inherited", she sighed, smelling the nuts and felling their warmth on her face,, "father left me all he owned. Money, equipment, estate. One of the biggest houses in the suburbs of Dunfermline is now mine. I think I'll sell it and buy something smaller. Some long dead ancestor of mine built it when queen Victoria was still a virgin."

"Why? Isn't it family inheritance?"

"Means nothing. It's too big and not appropriate for one person. The only positive side is that it has a huge attic where I can store all my father's books and equipment." She finished chewing the last chestnut from her bag and looked in the distance. "I'm afraid of boredom. It's my biggest fear after death. Nobody wants to employ a woman to take photos of crime scenes and that's all I know how to do."

"Adapt. Take photos of something else."

She shook her head. "It's not the same. I could't take a fine photo of a living, breathing being. A layman wouldn't understand, but you must. It's special when you must take care of every step and the perspective. I know exactly what kind of photos the police needs, what kind the newspapers want to buy... But I know nothing about portraits or family photos."

He nodded, undertanding her point.

As the dark was slowly falling, they walked back to his studio. Another day without an earned penny, but he didn't regret this one. He felt sadness squeezing his heart as Regina was leaving his doorstep. He was afraid of never seeing her again. They lived in the same town now, but she might sell her house tomorrow and leave the day after without saying goodbye. They were barely familiars, not to speak of friendship. He was hungry, but had nothing except of an old, hardy chewable bread. He dipped it into water to make it softer. While eating tasteless meal, an idea shaped in his mind. Regina wanted to continue photographing, but nobody would employ her. The two of them got along. Maybe she'd want to work for him. He couldn't pay her well, but she might not mind since she was more than financially stable. She might accept his offer just because she'd enjoy the job! He decided to propose this to her as soon as possible and he knew where to look for her.