He pulled a face. ‘She suggested this weekend but I’ll be at my place in Scarborough. I’ll be back on Monday, if you’re free in the evening?’
And now it was Hope’s turn to pull a face. ‘I have a dance class on Monday evening. Sorry.’
‘A dance class,’ he repeated, and she thought there was a spark of something more than polite interest in his expression. ‘What kind of dancing?’
Belatedly, it occurred to Hope that she should have kept things vague, because now she had to reveal exactly what type of class it was. Either Ciaran was going to laugh at the notion of a 5’10” redhead attempting to belly dance or he’d find it fascinating and she wasn’t sure which she’d prefer. ‘Belly dancing,’ she said, forcing herself to sound confident. ‘But I’m just a beginner.’
‘Sounds great,’ he said with an approving nod. ‘I bet it’s harder than it looks.’
‘It is,’ Hope agreed fervently. ‘Anyway, that’s where I’ll be on Monday night. But I’m free every other evening.’
The words sounded ridiculously sad to Hope and she wished she’d made it sound like she had some kind of social life but Ciaran didn’t seem to notice. ‘Let’s pencil something in for Tuesday and I’ll confirm tomorrow.’
‘Great,’ Hope said and felt a quiver of anticipation at the thought of potentially discovering more about Elenor and her unfortunate fiancé.
Ciaran leaned forward expectantly. ‘And now that we’ve got the business out of the way, let’s get to the interesting bit. Tell me about you.’
She began with growing up in Upper Poppleton and it turned out Ciaran knew the village well. He had been part of a large family too, back in Cork, and they shared some hysterical stories of the awful things their siblings had done over the years. When Hope stopped laughing long enough to discover her glass was somehow empty again, Ciaran raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘One for the road?’
She hesitated. ‘Didn’t you say you’ve got assignments to mark?’
He shook his head. ‘They’ll keep. So I can join you in another drink if you feel like being daring.’
Hope could already feel the effect of the alcohol fizzing through her veins but it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation. Why shouldn’t she have another? It wasn’t as though she had anything to get up for in the morning.
‘Sure,’ she said, smiling at Ciaran. ‘I like the sound of daring. But it’s my round.’
He flatly refused to allow her to go to the bar and in the end, Hope gave in. The drink he brought back wasn’t another G&T but a Tom Collins. ‘You said we should be daring,’ he said, placing it in front of her. ‘So I took a risk on what you’d fancy.’
His eyes met hers as he delivered the last sentence and a sudden fizzle of heat buzzed through her that had nothing to do with the alcohol she’d drunk. He was talking about which cocktail she might enjoy, of course, but it was still fun to entertain the fleeting possibility that he’d meant something else entirely…
‘You chose wisely,’ she responded with a smile. ‘It’s perfect.’
This time when he sat down, his leg pressed against hers immediately and she knew it wasn’t an accident. Relax, she told herself, nothing is going to happen. We are just two people enjoying each other’s company.
The next time she checked the time, she was amazed to see it was 10.30pm.
‘Time flies, doesn’t it?’ Ciaran observed. ‘I should probably think about making a move, sadly – I’ve got a two-hour lecture to deliver tomorrow morning on the preservation of anaerobic environments.’
‘Oof,’ Hope said sympathetically. ‘Rather you than me.’
The night was still warm but Hope couldn’t hide a shiver as they stepped outside and the cooler air hit her bare arms.
‘Do you want my jacket?’ Ciaran asked instantly but Hope shook her head.
‘I don’t have far to go,’ she said and pointed to the old wharf buildings just visible over the rooftops along Walmgate. ‘See?’
‘In the converted flour mills – very nice,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I’m an old-fashioned gentleman so I’ll have to insist on seeing you home safely.’
‘Honestly, there’s no—’ she began.
Ciaran held up a hand to interrupt her. ‘Ah, but there is. My ma would never let me hear the end of it if she knew I’d let a lady walk home alone.’ He slipped his leather jacket around her shoulders. ‘And you might as well wear this and be warm instead of shivering the whole way.’
Hope pulled the jacket around herself and conceded defeat once more. ‘Thank you. I haven’t quite got used to York’s slightly lower temperature yet. In London, the summer evenings feel much warmer.’
He nodded. ‘Plus there’s the sweat fest that is the Underground. Is that where you lived before – London?’
‘Yes. But it’s nice to be back in York, near my family again.’
‘Of course. Except for when they leave dead frogs in your bed,’ he said, grinning as he referenced one of the stories they’d swapped earlier in the evening.
She laughed. ‘I think Harry’s grown out of that now. Probably.’
They crossed the river and made their way slowly towards Hope’s apartment block, chatting comfortably as though they’d known each other for years. It wasn’t until they’d almost reached the door that it occurred to Hope that Ciaran might try to kiss her. She’d been aware of his hand pressed against the small of her back as they’d crossed the road but the pressure had vanished as soon as they were safely on the other side. What should she do if he did try, she wondered? How would it feel to kiss him back?
But it appeared she’d been worrying for no reason. He kept a respectable distance from her when she slowed to a halt a metre or so from the doorway. ‘Thanks for seeing me home, and for a nice evening.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ he said, his expression warm and sincere. ‘Although I will take my jacket back now. I’m not so much of a gentleman that I’m prepared to catch my death on the walk back to the campus.’
Hope laughed at his dramatic tone and gave him the coat. ‘I hope your lecture goes well tomorrow.’
‘Ah, they’ll all be asleep within minutes anyway,’ he said, with a self-deprecating smile. ‘I’ll let you know about Tuesday. Have a good weekend.’
He raised a hand in a friendly wave and turned to walk briskly back the way they’d just come. Hope stood watching him for a moment, then pressed her fob against the keypad and made her way to the top floor. The apartment was silent as she let herself in but for once, she didn’t mind – she was too busy mentally spooling back through the evening. There’d been a lot of laughter, she recalled as she removed her make-up, plenty of lively conversation and a flattering amount of flirting. She’d had a great time, only enhanced by the delicious pressure of his leg against hers beneath the table. And if she was totally honest with herself, she’d enjoyed being escorted gallantly home, with Ciaran’s jacket around her shoulders to make her feel just that tiny bit more cosseted. He’d been the perfect gentleman. Hope could have no complaints at all.
And yet she had a niggling sense of frustration as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to claim her. She’d panicked slightly when they’d reached her door but now that she’d had time to reflect on the moment, she felt irrationally disappointed. The only sensible explanation was that part of her had wanted Ciaran to be a little less of a gentleman, that she’d subconsciously hoped he would try to kiss her. And now that she had admitted it herself, she had no idea how to feel about the realization.
No idea at all.
Chapter Eight
The apartment belonging to Elenor Lovelace’s great-great niece was even more grand than Hope had imagined. Part of the renovated Purey Cust hospital buildings, with the Minster looming large nearby, the red brick building shone in the evening sunshine as she and Ciaran approached and rang the bell.
‘She’s in the penthouse,’ Ciaran murmured as they waited to be buzzed in. ‘Like I said, not short of a bob or
two.’
Hope half-expected the apartment door to be opened by a maid in traditional black and white but the woman who answered did not have the bearing of an employee. She was elderly, with a lined face that suggested she was in her eighties and an elegant twist of white hair pinned to the top of her head. She wore expensive-looking, tailored trousers and an immaculate silk shirt. Definitely not a maid, Hope decided.
‘We’re here to see Isobel Lovelace,’ Ciaran said politely.
‘I know,’ the woman said, with more than a trace of irritability. ‘Well, don’t just stand there – come in.’
There was just time for Hope to exchange a look with Ciaran before going inside. The woman led them down a short hallway and into an ivory living room. Tall windows were swathed with gold edged curtains and billowing translucent cotton, vases of perfect white lilies graced the side tables and the floor was covered by pale carpets that Hope thought wouldn’t have stayed clean for more than a minute in Harry’s house. Belatedly, she thought about removing her shoes but the woman waved them towards the sofa. ‘Don’t worry about the carpet,’ she said. ‘My housekeeper will take care of it tomorrow.’
Smiling weakly, Hope perched on the edge of an elegant cream sofa. Ciaran sat beside her.
Isobel fixed them with an imperious stare. ‘So, what is it you’ve come to show me?’
Her tone wasn’t rude exactly but she definitely had the air of someone who didn’t suffer fools gladly. Hurriedly, Hope reached into her bag for the letter and the ring, while Ciaran did the introductions.
‘I’m Professor McCormack, from the university, and this is Hope Henderson from the Ever After Emporium. As I said when we spoke on the phone, we’d like to show you some artefacts that might relate to Elenor Lovelace and perhaps see if you can answer some of our questions.’
Isobel pursed her lips. ‘It was all a very long time ago. She’s been dead for decades.’
Hope summoned up her most professional smile. ‘I’m not sure whether you know the Ever After Emporium – it’s just around the corner from here, on the corner of High Petergate and Minster Gates.’ Isobel grunted in recognition and Hope went on. ‘A few weeks ago, we discovered a letter we believe was written by your great-great aunt hidden in a cedarwood puzzle box. With it was a ring – quite a special ring – and we’ve been trying to find its rightful owner ever since.’
The old woman’s voice crackled with suspicion. ‘What kind of letter?’
Hope glanced at Ciaran, who took up the tale. ‘It’s a letter breaking off an engagement. We thought perhaps—’
There was the merest hint of indrawn breath as Isobel became oddly still. ‘What does it say?’
‘We brought it with us – I can show you if you’d like?’
The old woman shook her head. ‘No need for that. Just read it aloud, if you please.’
Hope didn’t dare look at Ciaran as she passed him the letter. That elicited another ill-tempered sigh from Isobel. ‘Not him – you. I’m sure you don’t have the breeding, but I want to imagine it’s my aunt reading it.’
Beside her, Ciaran seemed to be trying not to laugh. Hope took a deep calming breath. They seemed to have got off on the wrong foot with Isobel and she wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that Isobel was clearly determined to be as disagreeable as possible. But Hope decided she might as well do as she’d been asked; she dug deep for her business voice and read the letter aloud, doing her best to imbue the words with all the emotion she thought Elenor might have felt as she wrote. When she’d finished reading, Isobel didn’t move.
‘Did you say there was a ring?’ she said at length, when Ciaran had discreetly cleared his throat.
‘I did,’ Hope replied nervously. ‘Would you like to hold it?’
Isobel gave an imperious nod. Hope got to her feet and crossed the living room to place the scarab ring in Isobel’s wrinkled hands. At first, she wasn’t sure whether she’d imagined the faint sigh as the old woman ran her fingers across the rounded emerald and diamond encrusted sides. Then Isobel smiled in a way that seemed to light up the whole room and Hope was stunned to see two tears appear on her cheeks. ‘It’s so good to hold this again,’ she said in a voice that was warm with emotion. ‘I thought it was lost forever.’
On the other side of the room, Ciaran leaned forwards. ‘It did belong to Elenor then?’
Isobel stayed silent for a moment, still caressing the ring. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now. Everyone involved is long dead. Yes, it belonged to her. It was the ring Khalid gave to her when she agreed to become his wife.’
Hope glanced at Ciaran, who nodded imperceptibly in recognition of the matching initial but said nothing.
‘This was back in nineteen twenty two, when Elenor was out in Egypt, working in the Valley of the Kings,’ Isobel went on. ‘That fool Carter hadn’t been able to find anything of note and was about to give up, but Elenor knew they were close. She’d been working with the local archaeologists, you see, gaining their trust and encouraging them to confide in her. There was one in particular who seemed cleverer than all the rest – a doctor of Archaeology from the University of Cairo called Khalid Al Nazari. I suppose you can guess the rest.’
‘They fell in love,’ Hope said softly. ‘But her family didn’t approve.’
Isobel let out a long sigh. ‘It didn’t matter how well-respected he was in the archaeological community, or how well-educated. All Elenor’s parents saw was the colour of his skin. How could they welcome such a man into their society, they asked? How could they be expected to accept any grandchildren?’
She lapsed into brooding silence for several long seconds. Neither Hope not Ciaran dared speak in case they broke the spell. Instead, they waited.
‘When Elenor was taken ill and had to return to England, they took their chance,’ Isobel continued, with a shake of her head. ‘They ensured she was locked away in a sanitorium, supposedly for her own good. And they hired a group of Cairo street thieves to ensure Khalid got the message too.’
Hope couldn’t help it; she gasped. Even Ciaran looked pale. ‘Did they – did he…’
Isobel sniffed. ‘They didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking. As bad as my forebears were, they did at least draw the line at murder. But he was badly injured. His recovery took many months. And in the meantime, they persuaded Elenor to write the letter you read to me, breaking off the engagement. But as you might suspect, it was never sent.’
‘So, what happened?’ Hope asked, wondering how the letter and ring had come to be included in a house clearance some ninety years after the events Isobel described. ‘Did Khalid recover?’
‘I don’t know,’ Isobel replied. ‘As you probably know, Elenor took the broken engagement very badly. I don’t know what they threatened her with, to make her write those terrible words, but she was almost mad with grief. She disappeared in the storms over Whitby one night in April.’
‘It’s an awfully tragic story,’ Ciaran said, his tone heavy with respect. ‘I wonder why they never sent the letter. It seems they went to a lot of bother to get her to write it – why not send it to Khalid and make sure he knew the engagement had been broken by Elenor herself?’
Isobel hesitated. ‘I expect he went to ground after the attack. They probably didn’t have an address for him.’
Ciaran frowned. ‘But they could have sent it care of the University.’
The old woman sighed again, and this time Hope sensed she was running out of patience. ‘I don’t know why,’ she said. ‘Maybe they thought it had been sent. Or maybe they thought they’d done enough.’
Hope saw Ciaran open his mouth to frame another question and caught his eye. If they handled this the right way, Isobel might talk to them again. But if they pushed her now in a direction she didn’t want to follow…
‘Would you like to claim ownership of the ring, Miss Lovelace?’ she asked, remembering her instructions from Mr Young.
Isobel looked thoughtful for a moment
and her fingers brushed the emerald once again. ‘No,’ she said, after a moment’s reflection. ‘I don’t want it here. Elenor came to think it was cursed in the end. You keep it – put it on display somewhere or hide it away for another hundred years. I don’t care.’
‘Are you sure?’ Hope said, frowning at the hint of something unspoken behind the older woman’s words. ‘It’s worth a lot of money.’
The old woman tipped her head. ‘Quite sure. Take it away, please.’
She turned her head to stare out of the window. Hope and Ciaran took that as their cue to leave and got to their feet. ‘Thank you for sharing your family’s story,’ Hope said as Isobel showed them to the door. ‘We really appreciate it.’
‘It’s all ancient history,’ Isobel replied, and Hope wasn’t sure if she was speaking to herself or to them. ‘They’re just ghosts now.’
Ciaran didn’t speak until they were outside once more, being warmed by the evening sunlight. ‘I’ll tell you what, they say Irish parents are terrifying but they’ve got nothing on the English aristocracy.’
Hope shuddered. ‘I know. What an awful way to behave.’
He shook his head and sighed. ‘Yeah. Look, I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. Want to join me?’
This time, Hope didn’t need to think twice. ‘Absolutely. As long as the first round is on me.’
* * *
Unsurprisingly, one drink led to another. At some point, Hope had realized she was hungry and they’d gone to a beautiful old Italian restaurant Ciaran knew on Gillygate, where they’d eaten pasta and drunk mellow red wine and laughed until the evening was almost gone. And now they were weaving slightly unsteadily along Fossgate, towards Hope’s apartment.
‘You really don’t have to do this,’ Hope said for the third time as they walked. ‘I’m perfectly capable of getting home, you know.’
Ciaran smiled. ‘I know. But indulge me, okay? I want to be sure you get back in one piece.’
‘But who’s going to make sure you get back in one piece?’ she teased.
The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part One: Starting Over Page 8
