The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part One: Starting Over

by Holly Hepburn

  ‘I mean she disappeared without trace,’ Professor McCormack said as he sat down and slid the book across the desk for Hope to take a closer look. ‘There were rumours of a relationship that had come to an unhappy end and she was seen walking the cliffs around Whitby the day before she disappeared, but her body was never found.’

  Hope studied the picture, picking out the young woman identified in the tiny print beneath as Elenor. Her spirits plummeted as she recalled the quiet desperation of the letter. ‘Suicide, then?’

  ‘That was the accepted explanation,’ he agreed and tapped a finger in the middle of the triangle formed by the book, the letter and the ring. ‘Until now.’

  The meaning of that sank in. ‘You don’t think she killed herself?’

  ‘I’m not saying that,’ he said evenly. ‘But there are a number of things that don’t add up. If Elenor posted the letter ending her engagement and returned the ring to her fiancé, how did both items remain in York?’

  It was a good question, especially since the letter had suggested the fiancé couldn’t come to England. ‘Do you know who she might have been planning to marry?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. But there were a lot of people involved in those excavations, locals as well as visitors from other countries, and very few detailed records have survived. Short of discovering Elenor’s Secret Diary, aged 26 and 3/4, you might never find out who her betrothed was.’

  Of course it made sense, Hope thought; the odds of finding a name when they had so little to go on must be miniscule. ‘Mr Young was going to go through the paperwork, to see if he could find out who authorized the Emporium to clear the house,’ she said slowly. ‘Maybe that will lead us to a relative who can fill in some of the gaps.’

  ‘It might,’ Professor McCormack said. ‘I’ll put some feelers out among my colleagues at other universities, see if any of them can shed any light on who the mystery man might have been. As I said earlier, Elenor was a very well-regarded archaeologist. And she became something of a legend when she disappeared.’

  Hope’s eyes came to rest once more on the photograph and she realized she was more intrigued than ever. ‘I’ll let you know what Mr Young finds out.’ She looked up gratefully. ‘Thanks for your time today, Professor. You’ve been very helpful.’

  He smiled, reminding her all over again how distinctly out-of-place he looked in the rather dusty academic office. ‘Call me Ciaran, please. The only people who call me professor are my students.’

  I bet that’s not all they call you, Hope thought, and had to catch herself before she blushed. ‘Thank you, Ciaran,’ she said, collecting up the letter and the ring. ‘I really appreciate your help.’

  He picked up the book and gave it to her. ‘You can borrow this, if you like. A bit of background reading.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, slipping it into her bag. ‘I’ll get it back to you when I’ve finished it.’

  He held the office door open for her and shook his head as they made their way down the stairs to the entrance hall. ‘You know, you’re not at all what I expected from your email. I thought you’d be older.’ He glanced sideways. ‘Less like the kind of model who inspired Titian himself.’

  Hope felt her face start to glow; no one had ever compared her to an artist’s muse before. ‘I expected you to be older too,’ she said, as much to cover her blush as anything. ‘My university lecturers certainly were.’

  Ciaran tipped his head as they walked into the sandstone courtyard that lay outside the ornate entrance to King’s Manor. His grey eyes held hers as they faced each other. ‘Good point. Do you think it’s fair to say we were both pleasantly surprised?’

  She couldn’t ignore it any longer – he was definitely flirting with her. But even more unexpectedly, she was tempted to flirt back. ‘I think that is fair.’

  He grinned, as though pleased she was playing the game. ‘We’ve got each other’s contact details. Let’s see what we can dig up between us.’

  ‘Thanks again for your time,’ she said, and stepped back before he could offer to shake hands – the last thing her suddenly overactive imagination needed was the touch of his long lean fingers on hers. And as she walked across the gravel to the gates that led off campus, she had to fight hard not to glance over her shoulder for a final glimpse of him, outlined against the carved doorway of the old building, but she couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. The afternoon had turned out to be even more interesting than she’d anticipated. The tragedy surrounding Elenor Lovelace had her intrigued, regardless of whether she turned out to be the author of the letter. And, if Hope was honest, Ciaran McCormack had exceeded her expectations too. Charming, smart, knowledgeable and far more attractive than a professor had any right to be, she couldn’t help hoping their paths would cross again.

  * * *

  Iris guessed something was up before Hope could confide a single word. Throughout their belly dance class, she kept darting curious looks Hope’s way and the final track had barely finished before the florist was standing in front of her.

  ‘Okay, what’s going on?’ she demanded, hands on hips. ‘There’s a dreamy look in your eyes and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the spins we’ve just done.’

  ‘Sssshhh!’ Hope hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. ‘It’s nothing, honestly.’

  Iris raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Nothing. Right.’

  Hope bit her lip. The truth was she was bursting to talk to someone about her afternoon. She had good friends in London, of course, but couldn’t quite bring herself to tap out a jaunty Guess what?! message. Part of the problem was that they’d all known and loved Rob, and although they had been encouraging when she’d dipped her toe back into dating, Hope still felt oddly uncomfortable about discussing her unexpected attraction to Ciaran. Her sister was off-limits for a different reason: Charlotte would be only too delighted to hear a man had caught Hope’s eye and wouldn’t let it go until she had done something about it. All of which meant she was tempted by the opportunity to confide in Iris. ‘Okay, I do have something to tell you,’ she admitted. ‘But not here.’

  ‘Come on,’ Iris said, untying her coin belt and stuffing it into her rucksack. ‘I know just the place.’

  It wasn’t until they were tucked away in a booth of a nearby basement cocktail bar, with a half-drunk Cosmopolitan in front of each of them, that Hope felt relaxed enough to spill the beans. Iris listened, wide-eyed, as she described both Ciaran and the information he’d given her. And although the florist was interested in the revelations about Elenor Lovelace and her mysterious disappearance, she was definitely more fascinated by Hope’s description of Ciaran.

  ‘But this is great,’ she said, when Hope had finished. ‘He sounds perfect. Does he have a whip? More importantly, does he have friend? We could double date!’

  Hope shook her head. ‘I’m not going to date him. He’s very good-looking and I’m flattered he flirted but that’s the end of it.’

  Iris quirked her eyebrows. ‘Give me one good reason why not.’

  Hope hesitated. ‘It’s unprofessional.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ her friend replied without missing a beat. ‘It might – might – be considered borderline unprofessional if you actually worked together but that isn’t the case. Next.’

  ‘I’m not ready.’

  Iris gave her a look that was more sympathetic but no less implacable. ‘I get why it might feel that way. But look – it’s been a while since you dated the numnuts who couldn’t handle your past – you’re stronger now. How can you know if you’re ready to swim if you don’t get into the water?’

  What if the water was cold, Hope was tempted to ask, but she didn’t doubt her friend would somehow find a way to make it sound rude. ‘I might be imagining the whole thing,’ she said instead. ‘Maybe he was just being polite.’

  ‘He called you a muse,’ Iris replied and downed the remainder of her cocktail. ‘Guys don’t do that unless they’re
trying to get into your knickers.’

  ‘Iris!’ Hope spluttered but the other woman simply nodded in affirmation then stood up to go to the bar. By the time she came back, bearing two Porn Star Martinis, she’d clearly marshalled her arguments.

  ‘Okay, let’s recap. A hot guy fancies you. Correct?’

  Hope opened her mouth to disagree but Iris carried on talking. ‘Don’t argue – he does. And you fancy the hot guy. Yes, you do – it’s written all over your face.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t even think about using that unprofessional line again,’ Iris warned, raising a hand. ‘It’s not like you work together. So, what’s stopping you from going for a drink and getting to know him a bit better?’

  She made it sound so easy, Hope thought wistfully. ‘When you put it like that, nothing, I suppose.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Iris replied. ‘Although you should try and be a bit more enthusiastic when he actually asks you out.’

  Instinctively, Hope looked down at the bare finger on her left hand. ‘Fine. What if I say yes and he’s amazing and I fall in love and it all goes wrong? Or worse, what if it goes right and I start to forget Rob?’

  Iris reached across to squeeze her hand. ‘You’re never going to forget Rob. But I can’t promise you won’t ever get hurt again because that’s the risk we all take when we let someone into our hearts.’

  Hope picked at the skin around her thumbnail. ‘I’m just scared.’

  ‘I know you are,’ Iris replied softly. ‘But it doesn’t have to be for ever, or even for a night. Just think of it as a drink in a bar, or a coffee in the park, or whatever it is you decide to do. One step at a time.’

  Hope took a gulp of her drink and willed herself to be less of a wimp. ‘Okay. You’re right.’

  ‘I am,’ Iris said with some satisfaction. ‘And obviously if you decide to tear his clothes off at the end of the date, that’s fine too. Meaningless sex with a hot guy is never a bad idea. Unless you’re still in the park.’

  A snort of laughter escaped Hope. ‘You’re terrible.’

  ‘Damn right,’ Iris said, grinning. ‘And don’t forget to find out if he has any single friends.’

  Chapter Seven

  Hope exchanged several emails with Ciaran in the weeks that followed. At the Emporium, Mr Young had been through the paperwork that related to the house clearance and tried to contact the number listed in his records but hadn’t had much luck. The house itself had been sold and the trail had dried up. There wasn’t much more the Emporium could do.

  ‘We’ll keep the ring safe and try again to trace its owner,’ Mr Young explained to Hope, ‘but eventually we might have to accept that we’ve hit a dead end.’

  Hope had passed the bad news along but although Ciaran had expressed disappointment that the paperwork hadn’t thrown up any helpful information, he hadn’t seemed particularly concerned at the impasse. He’d simply replied that he was following up a few leads at his end and he’d keep her posted. The messages were so business-like that Hope found herself wondering whether she really had imagined his flirtatious manner. And now that she’d allowed herself to visualize going on a date with him, she had also started to consider introducing a little flirtation of her own. Iris would definitely approve of that.

  It was early on Thursday evening when an email marked URGENT! popped into her inbox. Hope sat up on the sofa and dropped the magazine she’d been reading.

  To: Hope Henderson

  From: Ciaran McCormack

  I’ve got NEWS. Can you meet me somewhere? What’s your number?

  Intrigued, she typed in her number and sent it. What news could he have that merited an urgent meeting?

  Less than a minute later, her phone buzzed again. This time it was a text message and it contained the address of a bar on Walmgate, with the words See you at 7pm?

  The sudden certainty that she was going to see him again caused Hope to dither over her reply for almost five minutes. But, eventually, curiosity overcame her fluttering nerves and she reminded herself of Iris’s observation that it was just a drink in a bar. OK, see you there.

  And then she spent the next thirty minutes in the shower, washing her hair and shaving her legs, and repeating in her head that this wasn’t date preparation – she’d do the same regardless of whoever she was meeting. And it wouldn’t hurt to look her best, she reasoned as she applied some make-up and tugged on a dress. How long had it been since she’d made this much effort, she wondered as she surveyed her glammed-up reflection. And then decided she preferred not to think about that.

  The venue Ciaran had chosen was only a few minutes’ walk from her apartment and she arrived just before seven o’clock. The decor had an understated, upmarket feel and several tables were occupied by couples and groups, giving it a busy but not overly crowded feel. She ordered a gin and tonic and took one of the tall seats beside the polished wooden bar, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach.

  When the door opened again, it was Ciaran. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said, and surprised her by swooping in to plant a kiss on either cheek. ‘An undergraduate emergency that turned out to be nothing of the kind.’

  Hope nodded distractedly as she breathed in the lingering scent of his aftershave. Had her other dates smelled so appealing? And then she remembered this wasn’t a date, which made it all the more inappropriate that she was practically drooling over the way Ciaran smelled.

  Seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having, Ciaran ordered a pint of Thirsty Bishop before turning to appraise Hope properly. ‘You look lovely. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.’

  ‘How could I refuse?’ Hope asked, trying to ignore the insistent little voice in her head that was pointing out how attractive he was. ‘You know I’m a sucker for a mystery.’

  He laughed. ‘The enigmatic approach works every time. Do you mind if we move to a table? I can never relax perched on these fancy bar stools.’

  Hope looked around. Most of the empty tables seemed to be u-shaped booths towards the rear of the bar. Blue velvet seats curved around beneath dim golden lights. They looked dangerously romantic to Hope but the only alternative was to stay where they were and she had to admit she was already starting to regret her choice of dress; the silky material was riding up her legs no matter how still she sat. ‘Sure, no problem,’ she said.

  She slid along the velvet seat of the booth, relieved when Ciaran sat opposite her rather than next to her.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his pint glass to touch hers. ‘Happy Thursday.’

  Hope took a sip of her drink, picturing the URGENT! subject header on his email. But whatever the news was, he seemed in no hurry to share it. ‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘How’s life in the antique business?’

  She described her day at the Emporium and he made her laugh with some colourful observations about the students he’d encountered that week. ‘They’re mostly good kids but sometimes I wonder if they have any brains at all,’ he said dryly. ‘That’s another reason I was glad you said yes – you rescued me from an evening of marking hastily-written assignments on “Funerary Beliefs in the Pre-Dynastic Period”.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ Hope said, grinning at his pretence of a shudder. ‘And I only live a couple of minutes’ away so it was easy to get here. How about you – do you live in York?’

  ‘On campus during the week, for my sins,’ he replied and grimaced. ‘Which is why it’s even more important to escape every now and then.’

  The conversation began to flow and before Hope knew it, she’d finished her drink. ‘Let me get you another,’ Ciaran said. ‘It’s the least I can do for dragging you out this evening.’

  He returned with a gin and tonic and a second pint for himself. ‘So, I suppose you’re wondering what news I could have discovered that was so urgent, right?’

  ‘A little,’ Hope said, smiling, but the truth was she was enjoying his company. It was exactly as Iris had said: they were having a drink in a bar and
it was nice. And then she became suddenly aware that her leg was resting against his beneath the table. For a millisecond, she considered moving it away and then forced herself to relax. It was just the way they were sitting. It didn’t mean a thing.

  ‘After you left my office, I contacted some other Egyptologists to show them your letter and ask what they knew about Elenor’s private life,’ Ciaran explained. ‘I didn’t expect much – it’s not exactly hot gossip, after all – but figured you never know. And today, I got a bite.’

  Hope felt a stirring of anticipation. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Quite a big bite,’ he said, and grinned. ‘From someone who had information about Elenor’s only surviving relative. A great-great niece, no less.’

  If he hadn’t had Hope’s attention before, he certainly had it now. ‘And?’

  He leaned back against the blue velvet, his grey eyes sparkling, and Hope realized he was enjoying himself immensely. Clearly, he was a born storyteller. ‘Have a guess where she lives.’

  Hope shook her head. ‘No idea. London. Cairo.’

  ‘Nope.’ His eyes sparkled as he looked as her. ‘Closer to home.’

  Hope stared at him. ‘Here? In York?’

  ‘Here in York,’ he confirmed. ‘And she’s willing to meet us, if you’re interested.’

  If she was interested, Hope thought faintly and almost laughed. ‘Yes,’ she told Ciaran. ‘I’m definitely up for meeting her. Did you mention the letter and the ring?’

  He nodded. ‘I think that’s what swung it, to be honest. I mean, she gave me her address and it’s within spitting distance of the Minster so she’s clearly not short of cash, but she seemed to recognize the ring when I described it. Would you be able to bring it along to show her, do you think?’

  The ring was securely back in Will’s safe but Hope was sure Mr Young would approve of another outing if it helped them to gather more information about its origins. ‘I think so,’ she said. ‘And we wouldn’t be going far – just around the corner from the Emporium. When did you have in mind?’