Operation Brushstroke on Glass

Here is the second of 25 stained glass window designs on the Palace Pier which AI & I are using as inspiration for some of these BrightonBeach365 daily posts - see Stained glass window 1 for background.

This one is a vibrant tableau of mid-century joie de vivre. A ruby-red convertible bursts forth from its circular frame, promising adventure on sun-drenched boulevards and Brighton Beach beyond. At the wheel sits a debonair driver, sporting a jaunty cap, while his companion, draped in emerald green, gestures with carefree abandon towards the azure sky. 

Limerick starter

Two travellers sped down the lane,

In a car that was red as a flame.

With a cheer and a shout,

They were zipping about,

On a Brighton trip wild and insane!

Operation Brushstroke on Glass (in the style of James Bond)

James Bond and Veronica Steele were speeding down Marine Parade in a cherry-red convertible. Veronica’s scarf whipped behind her as she raised her arm to secure her hair against the wind.

‘You do realise this car is about as subtle as fireworks on New Year’s Eve?’ she quipped.

‘Subtlety is overrated,’ Bond replied, shifting gears as they approached the pier. ‘Besides, it’s Brighton. We’ll blend right in.’

As they reached the pier entrance, Bond parked with deliberate carelessness, drawing more than a few curious glances. The pair strolled onto the wooden planks, their eyes darting between the garish carnival games and food stalls. The salty air mingled with the scent of fried fish and seaweed. As they entered the Winter Garden, the sun poured through the stained glass dome, casting a kaleidoscope of colours. 

James Bond leaned casually against a bar, ordered a martini, and let his sharp blue eyes scan the bustling crowd. The image above him - a vibrant depiction of a man and woman in a red convertible - seemed almost prophetic.

‘Careful, Bond,’ said Veronica Steele, appearing at his side. She wore a green silk dress that matched her piercing gaze. ‘You’re staring at that stained glass as if it’s going to offer you answers.’

‘Art has a way of speaking to us,’ Bond replied with a smirk. ‘And this one seems to be saying “trouble ahead.” ’

Trouble wasn’t far off. Somewhere among the revellers was Emil Kovacs, an art smuggler turned arms dealer who had stolen a priceless microfilm encoded with nuclear launch codes. MI6 had intel that Kovacs planned to hand it off tonight on the iconic Palace Pier.

No sooner had his martini arrived than Veronica whispered ‘there’, nodding toward a small group just beyond the exit, outside, with Kovacs at its centre.’

‘Stay close,’ Bond murmured.

They approached casually, blending into the crowd until they were within earshot. Kovacs handed over a small package wrapped in brown paper just as Veronica stepped forward.

‘Excuse me,’ she said sweetly, ‘but I believe you’ve dropped something.’

Kovacs turned, startled, but before he could react, Bond had him pinned against a carousel’s painted horses.

‘Let’s not make this difficult,’ Bond said coolly, relieving Kovacs of both his weapon and the package.

The man in the yellow jacket bolted toward the end of the pier, but Veronica was faster. She intercepted him with an elegant sweep of her leg, sending him sprawling onto the wooden planks.

‘Well done,’ Bond said as he cuffed Kovacs with a set of MI6-issued restraints. ‘You’re proving quite useful.’

‘I aim to please,’ Veronica replied with a sly smile.

As they walked back toward their car with Kovacs in tow, Bond glanced up at the stained glass dome glowing faintly in the distance.

‘Art does imitate life,’ he mused.

‘And life with you is never dull,’ Veronica added.

The night air carried their laughter as they disappeared into Brighton’s neon-lit streets - a red convertible gliding through chaos like a brushstroke on glass.

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