The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part Two: Secret Loves

by Holly Hepburn

‘It’s a diary,’ she breathed, transferring her wondering gaze to Mr Young. ‘Elenor’s diary from Egypt.’

  Her employer looked as flabbergasted as Hope felt. ‘Well, well, well. I fancy there’s only one person in York who could have given you something so precious. Is there a note?’

  Hope combed through the tissue paper. At the bottom of the box, she discovered a thick cream envelope bearing her name. Reluctant to relinquish the diary, she almost ignored it but Mr Young was watching her expectantly, so she put the journal aside and opened the envelope. A single sheet of matching writing paper was folded inside.

  Flat 9

  1 Purey Cust

  York

  Tuesday 8th June

  Dear Ms Henderson,

  I trust this note finds you well.

  Firstly, I must thank you for the flowers you sent last week. It was an unexpected kindness and I appreciate the gesture very much.

  I have thought about your visit often over the past few weeks and have come to realize I was perhaps less helpful than I might have been. You must forgive my reluctance to divulge the details of my scandalous family history – I have been guarding these secrets for most of my life and it was something of a shock to hear of Elenor’s letter and to see that unhappy ring again. The way she and Khalid were treated has always been a matter of deep shame to me and that has encouraged me to stay silent, but your visit has forced me to accept that while I cannot change the past, nor should I pretend it did not happen. I am therefore entrusting you with Elenor’s journal, which I hope will shed some light on both her remarkable life and the tragedy that befell her.

  I know I do not need to ask you to take very great care of the diary – the photograph in particular is one of very few that remain and I would appreciate your utmost caution when handling it. Perhaps you could contact me once you are ready to return them both.

  Yours sincerely,

  Isobel Lovelace

  Wordlessly, Hope handed the letter to Mr Young and began to turn the journal’s pages, searching for the photograph Isobel had mentioned. She found it tucked inside a tattered pocket in the back cover of the journal, a feather-edged, grainy black-and white image of two men and a woman standing beside a set of stone steps leading down into a shadowy square doorway. One of the men was Howard Carter; Hope recognized the stern expression and bristling moustache beneath his cream Panama hat from the pictures she’d found online. In contrast, the man next to him was smiling. His skin was darker underneath his traditional Fez and he boasted an even more luxurious moustache than Carter. Both men wore white shirts beneath heavy-looking suits that Hope knew must have been unbearably hot in the sweltering Egyptian temperatures. She had no doubt that the picture had been taken at the Valley of the Kings – she’d seen those steps before too: they marked the entrance to the tomb of Tutankhamun and featured in a hundred photographs of the famous excavations. But all of that was inconsequential detail because Hope only really had eyes for one thing: the woman in the photograph.

  Elenor was also overdressed for the heat but Hope knew she wouldn’t have had much choice. She wore a white, long-sleeved blouse with a wide tie and a high-waisted skirt that covered all the way down to just above her ankles. The wide brim of her hat couldn’t mask the mane of blonde hair underneath, just as its shadow couldn’t hide the spark in her eye or the hint of a smile that played around her mouth. Hope couldn’t help wondering how much that secret joy had to do with the man in the Fez. Could he be the one she’d fallen in love with?

  ‘This is quite extraordinary,’ Mr Young said, lowering the letter to look at Hope. ‘It should certainly help you to unravel the mystery behind Elenor’s letter.’

  ‘It really will,’ Hope replied, as another rush of gratitude flowed through her. ‘What a wonderful gift from Isobel.’

  Her employed nodded. ‘We don’t always get to know the story behind the Emporium’s treasures. This is a rare treat. And I’m sure Professor McCormack would be interested in reading it too, although I imagine his interest will be in the field notes, rather than the personal aspect.’

  Hope kept her face as blank as possible as she nodded; no one at the Emporium had any idea that her relationship with Ciaran was anything other than professional and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it to become common knowledge yet. But Mr Young was spot on – a first-hand account of Howard Carter’s excavations was exactly the kind of thing Ciaran would drool over. ‘I’ll send him an email once I’ve read it,’ she said neutrally. ‘That way I’ll know how much detail there is.’

  ‘Excellent idea. Depending on what the diary contains, there may be strong interest from the University and Isobel may not be keen for her aunt’s writing to be widely shared.’

  It was another good point. Wishing she could start reading immediately, Hope closed the journal and wrapped it back up in the protective tissue. ‘I was going to catch up with a boxset this evening but I think that’s going to have to wait,’ she said, replacing the cardboard lid. ‘I’m going to travel back in time instead.’

  * * *

  Hope couldn’t get home fast enough that evening. She ate a hurried dinner, thrust the dirty plate into the dishwasher and poured a glass of wine. An hour later, it was still untouched on the coffee table and Hope was happily lost in the dusty streets of Cairo, where Elenor had travelled with Howard Carter. The plan was to meet an eminent academic from the university, who had reported some interesting artefacts being touted in the markets; if the items were genuine, Elenor hoped they might offer some invaluable clues in the search for Tutankhamun’s tomb.

  There is little doubt that time is running out; HC fears that Lord Carnarvon is losing patience and this may be the last season he supports our endeavours. We must find something soon and these artefacts, while almost certainly stolen by local tomb robbers and orphaned from their original context, may at least prove we are digging in the right area.

  The descriptions of Cairo were so vivid that Hope felt she was there with Elenor and Carter as they made their way to the rendezvous. It was early evening and the sandstone streets were bustling with traders, musicians and locals. Elenor was fascinated by everything she saw and seemed particularly taken by the snake charmers, although she was sure the cobras must have had their fangs removed. But it was the academic from the university who impressed her the most – she compared his face to those she had seen carved in marble at the British Museum and declared him to be ‘more beautiful than any Pharaoh’, with eyes like liquid cocoa.

  His intelligence had made an impact too – she found him ‘extremely well-educated and knowledgeable’, with a quick, dry wit that delighted her. In fact, she was so clearly smitten that her notes on the artefacts they had discovered and bought on the market were almost sparse by comparison.

  The bracelets were particularly fine, made from gold and carnelian and together with the amulet, appear to be of the type that I suspect might have adorned a King’s mummy. Dr Al Nazari kindly agreed, and said similar pieces might be found throughout the city, if one knew where to look. HC was much encouraged and asked if Dr A-N might advise him further. I think we may be seeing much more of him in the future, which I confess pleases me greatly.

  Hope grinned when she read the last line. ‘I bet it did,’ she murmured, stretching her neck and reaching for her wine. There was no doubt that Elenor had fallen for Khalid from the first moment she’d seen him but her diary did not mention him for several more days. Even then, she seemed determined to keep things business-like, and merely mentioned that he had visited the Valley of the Kings to meet with Carter. Hope cross-referenced with Carter’s journal online and saw that he referred to ‘Meeting with K A-N’. It all tied up, she thought to herself with a quiet surge of satisfaction. She’d become so caught up in the doomed relationship that it felt like a huge privilege to be observing Elenor and Khalid’s very first meeting. She wanted to binge on the whole journal but forced herself to slow down and appreciate the incredible sense of history unfolding; Cia
ran would be interested in the build up to the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb but for Hope, it was just background. She was 100 per cent invested in Elenor and Khalid, even though she knew how it would end.

  Mr Young gave her a knowing smile when he saw the next morning. ‘Late night?’

  ‘Very,’ she said, stifling a yawn. ‘I fell asleep reading and dreamt I was being chased through Cairo by angry crocodile men.’

  He laughed. ‘And they say a book at bedtime is supposed to be relaxing. I assume the diary is as fascinating as you hoped?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said, nodding. ‘Elenor has just returned to England after the close of the winter digging season in Egypt and is trying to persuade her parents to allow her to go back in the autumn.’

  Mr Young raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t suppose she’s told them why.’

  Hope pulled a face. ‘She’s said they’re on the brink of an astonishing discovery, that it’s imperative she returns to Egypt. But, as we know, that’s only half the story.’

  Elenor had only grown more enamoured of Khalid as the weeks went by. She’d laid everything bare in her diary – the quiet desperation of wanting to see him, the longing looks when he did appear, the wondering whether he’d noticed her too and the cold, hard understanding that even if he had, nothing could ever come of it. But the attraction had proved impossible to fight and, little by little, the walls between Elenor and Khalid had been chipped away until she had admitted, if only to herself within the pages of her journal, that she loved him.

  ‘It’s like a novel,’ Mr Young said. ‘The kind that gets turned into a Hollywood blockbuster starring that young man who seems to be in everything at the moment.’

  ‘Nick Borrowdale,’ Hope supplied, because Iris had been swooning over him on Monday evening. She thought back to the photograph tucked away in the back of the journal. ‘He’d make a great Howard Carter. But you’re right, it has all the ingredients of an epic romance. Except it really happened.’

  He smiled. ‘Every romance feels epic to the couple at its heart. That’s why we keep going back for more, even when our hearts get broken.’

  A heavy weight settled over Hope at the mention of broken hearts. ‘I wish this one had a happier ending. But I’m trying not to think about that.’

  ‘We can’t change the past, unfortunately,’ Mr Young replied sympathetically. ‘But we can at least learn its lessons. Now, do you think you’re up to packaging up some of the online orders? Or do you need an infusion of coffee first?’

  Smothering another yawn, she flashed him a grateful look. ‘Definitely coffee first. Sorry.’

  He waved her apology away. ‘I could do with a cup myself and I didn’t spend half the night in Egypt. And besides, you were working, after a fashion.’

  ‘Hardly,’ Hope said with a rueful smile. ‘But thank you.’

  The look he gave her was a mixture of satisfaction and pride. ‘Don’t thank me. The Emporium is full of stories, just waiting to be uncovered. I think you simply found one that was meant for you.’

  Chapter Five

  It came as something of a surprise to Hope when she realized it was over two weeks since she’d seen Ciaran. Final preparations for her parents’ anniversary party were taking up more and more of her time and, when she wasn’t wrangling caterers or her sister’s heightened stress levels, she was engrossed in Elenor’s journal. And as much as she enjoyed Ciaran’s company, she also had to admit she was enjoying the time on her own. In the weeks and months after Rob’s death, she often found it difficult being alone but this felt different; this was her choice. Besides, seeing Ciaran would inevitably mean she’d have to share the diary and she wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.

  Elenor had returned to Egypt ahead of Carter to help smooth the way for investigations into the possible location of Tutankhamun’s fabled tomb. There was no guarantee that excavations would continue; rumour had it that Lord Carnarvon was ready to pull the plug on the quest and Elenor was desperate for that not to happen. She had, by then, fallen madly in love with Khalid; the two of them had spent the summer corresponding via letter and their reunion in Cairo had led them both to admit their feelings. Hope had practically punched the air as Elenor described the moment Khalid had first kissed her, after an evening trip to the theatre in downtown Ezbekiyya.

  His lips were sweeter than I could ever have dreamed. Planets may have collided, stars burned until they were cold, and I would not have noticed, for all I knew was him.

  They were careful and discreet, aware that their relationship would undoubtedly raise eyebrows, but the truth was that Cairo was in the grip of the Roaring Twenties – attitudes and taboos had relaxed. And then Carter had arrived, at the end of October, with the news that he had persuaded Lord Carnarvon to fund one last season. Elenor wrote that it was a gift in more ways than one and began to dream that she and Khalid might find a way to make things work. But the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb, just a few days later, turned everything upside down. Suddenly, the eyes of the world were upon the excavations and Elenor was reminded that attitudes in England towards a mixed-race relationship were not as liberal as those in Cairo. Even so, she hoped her family would be swayed by Khalid’s impeccable education and social standing and might see him through her eyes.

  It was reaching the uncovering of the tomb that made Hope think of Ciaran. She ought to contact him, tell him what Isobel had given her, but she told herself it made sense to read the whole thing first so that she knew exactly what she was sharing. She had a niggling suspicion that he might play the academic card and demand that she hand the diary over. If that happened, she would have to decline, or at the very least ask Isobel’s permission first. But then he’d messaged out of the blue on Tuesday, asking if she wanted to meet for a drink after work, and she’d been filled with a sudden desire to see his smile. Dithering, she had forwarded the text to Iris, who was in favour of Hope meeting him and had walked across the street from Blooming Dales to reiterate her point.

  ‘You don’t have to mention the journal,’ she said, leaning against the Emporium door frame. ‘You can’t tell me the two of you only talk about Elenor.’

  Hope pressed her lips together thoughtfully as she considered the last few times she and Ciaran had been together. ‘She’s bound to come up, though.’

  ‘Distract him, then,’ Iris countered. ‘Make sure you look amazing, so all he can think about is what he wants to do to you.’

  Blushing, Hope checked to make sure none of the other Emporium staff were in hearing range. ‘He’s really interesting. I like hearing him talk.’

  Iris shuddered. ‘Do yourself a favour – never tell him that. In my experience, men don’t need any encouragement to monopolize the conversation.’

  She had a point, Hope thought wryly, but Ciaran wasn’t like that. ‘I don’t know. I do want to see him but…’

  She trailed off, unable to articulate the vague sense of reluctance she felt. Iris folded her arms. ‘Listen, a good-looking Irish charmer in the hand is worth two in the bush.’ Iris stopped, frowning. ‘Okay, that needs work. Or maybe it doesn’t. Anyway, what I mean is, some of us would love the opportunity to go on a date with a normal single man who doesn’t spend all night staring at your chest.’

  Hope couldn’t help it – she laughed. ‘When you put it like that… Fine, I’ll message him to say yes.’

  ‘You know it makes sense,’ Iris said, looking satisfied. ‘And Tuesday is the new Thursday, right? Especially when you have a bonus day off tomorrow.’

  Ciaran would probably be too busy with end of year work to stay, Hope thought, but she didn’t want to burst her friend’s bubble. ‘I’ll let you know how it goes.’

  Iris sighed. ‘Please do. I need to know that good dates still happen.’

  * * *

  Hope expected Ciaran to suggest meeting in a bar but he surprised her by arranging to meet her in Tower Gardens, the small park that lay alongside Skeldersgate Bridge.

  The heatwave
of early June had passed but it was still a pleasant evening as Hope made her way past Clifford’s Tower to the Gardens. She spotted him immediately, waiting beneath the tall oak tree in the middle of the grassy expanse. As she got closer, she realized he was standing beside an outspread picnic blanket.

  ‘I thought we could make the most of the summer,’ he said, waving at a wicker hamper resting on the grass. I’ve got bread, cheese, champagne and Maltesers.’

  ‘All the main food groups,’ Hope said, smiling. ‘Thank you, this is amazing.’

  ‘Something a bit different,’ he shrugged, and stepped forwards to kiss her. ‘You look gorgeous, by the way. A vision of loveliness.’

  The compliments, together with the feel of his mouth on hers, gave Hope a warm glow and she was glad she’d agreed to see him. ‘So, how have you been?’ she asked, as they settled onto the blanket. ‘I guess work has kept you busy.’

  He ran a hand through his dark hair and Hope noticed a strand or two of silver glistening in the sun. ‘It has,’ he said apologetically. ‘Sorry to go quiet on you – I kept meaning to drop you a message and then something would come up and…’ He offered a smile. ‘Well, you know how it is. We’re here now.’

  ‘We are,’ she agreed. ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘Oh, it’s the usual boring stuff – undergraduates who somehow forgot they had deadlines, and exams. Marking.’ He lifted the lid of the picnic hamper and pulled out a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. ‘But it’s almost the end of the year, which deserves some kind of celebration, and I’m here with the most beautiful woman in the city so I decided to push the boat out a little.’

  The flattery was as outrageous as ever. She ought to be used to it by now, Hope thought, but it still made her head spin like a shot of the smoothest whiskey. She watched as he popped the cork and expertly filled two plastic flutes. ‘What shall we drink to?’ she asked, when he passed one of the glasses to her.