Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 759(@200wpm)___ 607(@250wpm)___ 506(@300wpm)
He chuckles. ‘Get used to it, Eleanor. She won’t be the only one who’ll hate you.’
I shrug off his comment. He’s not telling me anything that I don’t already know.
‘How’s your mother?’ he asks.
‘She’s . . .’ I pause, wondering what word to use. Happy? Thriving? Reborn? ‘Amazing,’ I answer, because she is.
‘And what did she have to say about the news of your engagement?’
‘I’ve not told her yet,’ I tell him, making the old man’s grey eyebrows jump up in surprise. ‘I want to tell her face-to-face. I’m going home to see her soon.’
‘You should have her come to London. We can celebrate.’
‘I’ve already purchased my ticket home. Maybe another time. She’s never been to London before.’
‘Never been to the capital?’ He looks sympathetic, and I appreciate why. Everyone should experience the grandeur of London at least once. And if they’re anything like me, they’ll never want to leave.
‘Never,’ I confirm. ‘Dad wasn’t much of an adventurer.’
He smiles fondly. ‘You were rather attached to your dad, weren’t you?’
‘Literally.’ I smile. ‘He liked having me nearby. I used to watch him working on old junk while I dreamed of selling a Rembrandt to a snooty countess for a cool thirty-five mill.’ My smile stretches when he grabs his tummy and throws his head back on a laugh.
‘Bet he would be very proud of you, my girl.’
My smile falters a little. I think shocked might be more apt. Forged sculptures, a con-artist boss, a secret map, the police. ‘Maybe,’ I murmur. ‘He always told me that the high-end world of antiques wasn’t worth the bother. Obviously, I don’t agree. I love it here, as you know.’ I smile and the old man returns it. ‘But it’s not much fun being interrogated by the pol—’ I catch my tongue.
Mr H’s old face frowns, and he pushes his glasses up his nose. ‘The police? Did they find out who broke into your apartment?’
‘Um . . .’ I stall, my brain engaging. Becker told me his gramps was the one to get Lady Winchester’s file out so it could be destroyed, so he must know the police are investigating her. Right? ‘A policeman approached me when I was meeting my friend outside her office. He asked a few questions about Lady Winchester.’
He sits back, surprised. ‘Price? Stan Price?’
‘That’s the one,’ I confirm, ‘I didn’t like him.’
‘Then you have a good sense of character,’ he says on a sardonic laugh. ‘I’m sorry about that, my darling. You shouldn’t have to deal with such nonsense.’
‘It’s fine,’ I assure him, brushing off his concern. ‘I honestly didn’t know what I should say.’
‘Don’t tell them anything, whether you know or not. He was far from helpful when we needed him after Lou’s car accident.’
‘It was Price who dealt with Becker’s mum’s death?’ This is news to me. When Becker said the police were less than helpful, I didn’t think he meant Price in particular.
‘He hardly dealt with it, rather he dismissed it. All the nonsense that’s happened since Lou was killed might not have happened had he done his job.’ His words resonate deeply, and he shakes his head, as if trying to shake away all of the memories that plague him.
‘Do you really think the Wilsons are responsible?’ I ask. We’re talking murder here. Not stealing or conning, but killing.
‘We have the proof, Eleanor.’
‘So why didn’t the police do something?’
‘Because Stan Price is in Wilson’s pocket.’
‘What?’
‘Wilson has dirt on Price, that much I’ve figured out. I just don’t know what.’ His eyes drop a little to the table and he smiles a small smile. ‘I’d love to know where Becker’s hiding that map so I could destroy it and put my mind at rest.’
I wince, feeling all kinds of guilty. I know where that map is, not that it will make much difference. ‘But it’s plastered all over his back,’ I remind him.
‘True.’ He sighs. ‘It’s quite something, don’t you think?’
‘Beautiful,’ I agree. ‘The detail is just incredible, the equator, the compass.’ I still find my head shaking in wonder every time I think about it or see it. And I know I can’t stop my mind racing with thoughts of where the heck the missing piece could be. And as I look at Mr H, I wonder . . . does he still battle his curiosity? I’d love to ask, but he looks a bit vacant. The air needs clearing of the sadness it’s suddenly laced with after the mention of Becker’s parents. ‘I’m so looking forward to the Andelesea Gala.’
That soon grabs his attention. ‘Becker’s taking you?’
‘Yes, and they’re showcasing the Heart of Hell.’ My eyes must be glimmering as spectacularly as that ruby. ‘I can’t tell you how excited I am to see that precious stone, Mr H. Did you know the discovery of that gem was rumoured to be a myth? Just a publicity stunt?’ I don’t know why I’m saying this. Of course he knows.