The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part Four Read online

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  Chapter One

  It was a scene that played out in Hope Henderson’s nightmares for weeks after the event: Isobel Lovelace collapsing onto the floor of the Ever After Emporium. Sometimes, the flashing lights of the ambulance appeared immediately and the bad dream got better as Hope watched the paramedics whisk the older woman to hospital. On other nights, they took forever to arrive and Hope was forced to do what she’d done in real life – place Isobel in the recovery position and hold her until the terrifying seizure had passed, praying that help would arrive in time. And, once, they didn’t come at all, causing Hope to run outside into York’s streets to beg for assistance, but no one would stop. She woke up drenched in sweat after that dream, her heart thudding and her face wet with tears, and found it impossible to get back to sleep.

  In reality, the reassuringly calm paramedic team had taken excellent care of the unconscious Isobel. Hope had hesitated over whether to accompany her in the ambulance – Isobel had been furious with her and might not appreciate waking up to find Hope at her side, but there was no family for Hope to call and she couldn’t let Isobel go alone. The hours spent in A and E, waiting for news, were horribly tense and Hope only began to breathe easily when she heard Isobel had regained consciousness and was undergoing tests.

  ‘Why don’t you go home?’ a kindly nurse had advised Hope as midnight came and went. ‘She’s resting now, and we’ll know more in the morning.’

  There had been guarded good news when Hope rang the next day; Isobel continued to respond well to treatment and seemed to have suffered no lasting effects from the seizure. She spent several days in hospital before being discharged into the care of a private nurse and was now back in her penthouse apartment, recovering, although Hope hadn’t been to see her. Their last meeting had been angry and full of accusation. Hope was convinced it had helped to trigger the seizure. She wasn’t sure how much Isobel remembered, or whether she knew that Hope had accompanied her in the ambulance, but she wasn’t keen to upset her again.

  ‘You’ll have to speak to her eventually,’ Iris pointed out over drinks as two weeks stretched into three. ‘She needs to understand it wasn’t you who sold her family secrets.’

  Hope sighed. ‘I did tell her. But I don’t know if she remembers.’

  Iris narrowed her gaze. ‘On that subject, has that cockwomble archaeologist admitted responsibility yet?’

  She meant Ciaran McCormack, Professor of Egyptology at the University of York, and the insult was only improved by Iris’s no-nonsense Yorkshire accent. It raised a reluctant smile from Hope, who had received a message only that morning. ‘No, not yet. He wants to meet up, to convince me of his innocence.’

  ‘Of course he does,’ Iris said with a level look. ‘But he’s about as innocent as Dick Turpin.’

  Again, Hope couldn’t help smiling. The infamous highwayman had been imprisoned and eventually executed in York, for horse theft. She knew he had a reputation as a roguish charmer, although the truth was his crimes had often been fairly brutal when viewed with an unromantic eye. There could be no doubt of his guilt, however, and that was the point Iris was making. ‘There isn’t anyone else who could have taken the photographs,’ she conceded. ‘It had to be Ciaran.’

  The source of Isobel’s anger had been a letter from the mysterious sounding Abyssinian Institute, a historical society claiming to have seen pictures of an old journal belonging to her great-aunt, Elenor Lovelace, and offering to buy the diary for its collection. The only person Isobel had shared the journal with was Hope. She had misguidedly shown it to Ciaran and, since the writings made reference to a shameful family scandal, Isobel was understandably furious to receive a letter that suggested the journal’s contents had been leaked. Hope knew it must have been Ciaran who’d been responsible. There was no other explanation.

  ‘Cockwomble,’ Iris repeated, with increased disgust. ‘As if it wasn’t bad enough that he started seeing you when he was still married. You should report him to the university – if nothing else, it’s extremely unprofessional behaviour.’

  Hope couldn’t argue with that but she had no proof that Ciaran was behind the leaked journal, other than opportunity, and a married man having an affair was hardly unusual. ‘I’m half-tempted to meet him,’ she admitted to Iris. ‘I think he might come clean, face to face.’

  Iris snorted. ‘I doubt it. He’s lied to you before, remember – what’s to stop him doing it again now?’

  ‘He didn’t exactly lie,’ Hope said, hating the defensive note in her voice. ‘He just didn’t tell me everything.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Iris said, nodding with infinite patience. ‘Because he is a duplicitous weasel who is not worthy of you. And the fact that he used your relationship to acquire and sell Isobel’s family secrets is all the proof you need. Don’t give him the opportunity to try and snake round you again, Hope. That’s exactly what he wants.’

  Taking a long sip of her Cosmopolitan, Hope pictured Ciaran, all floppy dark hair and chiselled chin and sparkling grey eyes. Everything about him suggested he’d just returned from seeking the Lost Ark of the Covenant and it was partly his good looks that had drawn her in so completely. That, and his easy charm and gorgeously lilting Irish accent that made even the most mundane observation sound poetic. And because of that undeniable attractiveness, Hope knew she had to be even more on her guard because, in spite of the way he’d treated her, deep down she suspected there was part of her that wasn’t quite over Ciaran McCormack.

  ‘What does Will think?’ Iris asked.

  And now Hope’s mind flipped to their mutual friend, whose opinion of Ciaran had never been high to start with. ‘About what you’d expect,’ she told Iris. ‘But I think he’s trying to keep most of his thoughts to himself.’

  Iris nodded. ‘Unsurprising, given you fell out for weeks the last time he gave his opinion.’

  Hope shifted in her seat, remembering how miserable she’d been when she and Will hadn’t been talking. ‘Yeah, it’s safe to say we haven’t really discussed it. He was concerned about Isobel’s wellbeing, obviously, but once we knew she was going to be okay, we let the subject go.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘But enough about me – how are things with you? How’s Martin?’

  An uncharacteristically bashful smile crossed her friend’s face. ‘He’s good. Great, in fact.’

  For as long as Hope had known Iris, she’d been struggling with the frustrations and disappointments of online dating and even though they’d often laughed about the disastrous dates Iris had sat through, she knew the florist craved the elation and security of a relationship with someone who complemented her instead of trying to compete. From what she’d said, Martin was nothing like the men she’d dated previously but perhaps that was the reason things seemed to be working out. Whatever the difference, Hope was pleased Iris had finally met someone who made her happy. ‘I’m glad,’ she said simply.

  ‘I think you’ll like him,’ Iris went on. ‘Will too. I’d love for you both to meet him sometime.’

  That might prove tricky, Hope thought. Will was guardian to his niece, Brodie, who had an aversion to strangers, which meant Will was unable to go out in the evenings, since babysitters were out of the question. The loss of both her parents in a car accident had left Brodie silent and suffering from separation anxiety, and although the little girl had come to accept Hope’s presence in Will’s house, it had taken time and perseverance to form a bond Brodie was comfortable with. All of which meant Will’s social life was severely limited and Hope couldn’t see the situation changing any time soon. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t meet Martin and give him the best friend seal of approval. ‘I’d like that too,’ she told Iris. ‘He sounds great.’

  ‘He is,’ Iris said and gave Hope a sidelong look. ‘Want me to see if he has a single friend I can match you up with?’

  ‘No thanks,’ Hope said, holding up her hands to ward off the well-meaning suggestion. Between the hurt Ciaran had inflicted and the disastrous misunderstanding that had led Will to try to kiss her, romance was the last thing she needed right now. ‘I’m taking a break from men.’

  Iris gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I don’t blame you. But don’t give up completely – the right guy for you is out there somewhere. You just haven’t found him yet.’

  Except she already had, Hope thought wistfully, and cancer had stolen him away far too young. But it wasn’t that no one could live up to the memory of Rob – she was under no illusion that he’d been perfect – more that she’d yet to meet anyone who fitted her like he had, someone who was like a warm coat on a cold day, someone who felt like home. Ciaran had been the first man she’d allowed close since Rob’s death and she’d been hopeful her attraction to him might blossom into love, but the revelation of the wife he’d failed to mention had caused those hopes to wither. It felt easier to avoid romantic entanglements all together.

  ‘Maybe you’re right,’ she said to Iris with a sigh. ‘But I’m too tired to go searching.’

  Her friend reached ac
ross to squeeze her hand. ‘You won’t have to look far. I have a funny feeling he’s just around the corner.’

  * * *

  The following morning, Hope woke up from another dream about Isobel with Iris’s comment revolving around her head – You’ll have to speak to her eventually. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to contact Isobel – the truth was she was desperate to hear how the older woman was doing – but she was wary of upsetting her. No one wanted a repeat of the seizure that had landed her in hospital.

  But at last Hope’s curiosity and need to explain outweighed her reservations and she landed on the idea of writing a letter. Her relationship with Isobel had begun with a letter and it seemed somehow fitting to reconnect with her now via the same medium. And it was a real pleasure to place the nib of the fountain pen she’d bought especially for the task onto the thick, expensive writing paper. She paused after Dear Isobel and composed her thoughts, then wrote without interruption, allowing the words to flow. When she was finished, she read the letter over once and sealed it in a matching envelope. The plan was that Iris would deliver it, along with a bouquet of summer blooms. Surely it couldn’t make the situation any worse.

  The letter she received in reply, almost a week later, was stiff and formal in tone but Hope was relieved to see that Isobel was prepared to accept her explanation, although she took an extremely dim view of Ciaran’s alleged involvement. The style of writing was typically Isobel but the handwriting itself caused to Hope to frown – spidery and loose, it was a long way from the older woman’s usual impeccable presentation. A deep uneasiness wormed through Hope; just how badly had the seizure affected Isobel? Iris had said that, on the surface, she appeared to be almost back to her normal imperious self but the handwriting told a different story.

  ‘Why don’t you go and see her if you’re worried?’ Will suggested, when Hope dropped round on Friday evening. ‘Iris delivers to her apartment, doesn’t she? I’m sure she’d let you tag along the next time she calls in.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Hope said doubtfully, wondering how Isobel would view an uninvited appearance. ‘I don’t want her to feel ambushed, though. I’m trying to rebuild her trust and it might put Iris in an awkward position too.’

  ‘Good point. Maybe a neutral location would be better,’ Will said and cleared his throat. ‘Speaking of trust, I wanted to sound you out about something.’

  The suddenly peculiar expression he wore piqued Hope’s curiosity. ‘Oh?’

  ‘It’s more of a favour, really,’ he went on, shifting on the sofa. ‘An old friend is visiting York next week and wants to go out for dinner one evening.’

  There was a brief pause, during which Hope thought she knew what was coming – the torn look on Will’s face told her everything. But she didn’t want to pre-empt him, so she waited.

  ‘Normally, I’d say no but…’ he trailed off, then threw a resolute look Hope’s way. ‘Well, I need to stop depending on you for my entire social life. So, I wondered whether you might babysit Brodie for a few hours. We’d go somewhere local, obviously – I could be back in minutes if she needed me—’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Hope said, gently interrupting. She studied him, taking in the faint circles beneath his hazel eyes, the weary set of his shoulders. ‘You’re entitled to some time for yourself, Will – it’s been a rough year for you too.’

  The tension seemed to whoosh out of him then, as though he’d been expecting her to say no. ‘Really? You don’t mind?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Hope said, with undisguised enthusiasm. ‘It’ll be my pleasure. We’ll have a proper girls’ night – pizza, popcorn and Peppa Pig.’

  His eyes crinkled as he smiled with obvious gratitude. ‘She’d love that. Thank you.’

  A warm glow washed over Hope; was it her imagination or did he look a tiny bit less exhausted already? ‘Just tell me when.’

  ‘Maybe Thursday?’ he said. ‘But we can work around you.’

  Hope mentally reviewed her diary. ‘Thursday is fine. I have dinner with the belly dancing ladies on Friday evening and I usually go to see my parents on Wednesdays but I’m sure Dad won’t mind if I miss a week.’

  Will shook his head. ‘No, I won’t make you change your plans. Why don’t we pencil in Thursday, then, and I’ll confirm once I’ve spoken to Alex. Thanks again, Hope, I really appreciate this.’

  His beaming smile was all the thanks Hope needed. ‘I’m looking forward to it already,’ she said, and meant every word.

  Chapter Two

  ‘Bedtime is no later than seven-thirty and make sure you tuck Mr Mopsy in too,’ Will told Hope for the third time as he dithered by the front door, trying to project an attitude of casual confidence that was undermined by the tension in his voice. ‘Brodie, be a good girl for Hope. Make sure you brush your teeth and go to sleep when she tells you to.’

  Brodie gave him a solemn faced nod that made her seem older than her five years. Will checked his phone. ‘I’ll only be round the corner, at La Luna – it’s less than ten minutes away. Call if you need anything.’

  ‘I know,’ Hope said, with a reassuring smile. ‘I’ve eaten there. But we won’t need to call you – we’re going to have a great time, aren’t we, Brodie?’

  Instead of nodding again, the little girl slipped her hand into Hope’s. Will glanced at his niece, then at Hope, and she saw the tightness around his mouth relax a little. ‘Go,’ she said gently. ‘Have a wonderful time. I’ll see you in a few hours.’

  With another look at his phone, Will seemed to reach some kind of decision. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Bed at seven-thirty and don’t forget—’

  ‘Mr Mopsy,’ Hope finished in mock exasperation. ‘I know, Will. Stop fussing, we’ll be fine. If you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late.’

  Crouching down, he took Brodie’s free hand in his. ‘Sleep well, Dee-dee. I’ll come in for a goodnight kiss when I get home.’

  The little girl nodded, her eyes fixed on his and Hope felt something inside her turn liquid at the love between them. For a moment, the three of them were linked by their joined hands. Then Will gave Brodie’s hand a final squeeze, stood up and squared his shoulders. ‘Thank you for doing this. I won’t be late back.’

  Hope smiled. ‘Would you just go already? Brodie and I have a hot date with Tom Hardy on the Bedtime Story and we’re going to need snacks before then.’

  Will laughed and held up his hands. ‘Fine, I’m going. See you later.’

  She half-expected him to dither some more but he smoothed down his fitted white shirt and turned to crunch down the drive. At the gate, he turned to wave and they watched him turn left and vanish from sight along the narrow road that led past the university gardens to York’s twisty snickelways. Hope glanced down at Brodie on the doorstep, wondering how the little girl would react to his absence; it was the first time they’d been apart since she had come to live with him over six months earlier. And sure enough, there was a faint wobble around Brodie’s lips and the hint of tearfulness in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I’d love a hot chocolate,’ Hope said, without closing the door. ‘I brought some raspberry syrup and unicorn sprinkles.’

  Brodie’s gaze turned sharply upwards as she considered her options. After a moment’s thought, she stepped backwards and started to lead Hope towards the gleaming white kitchen. Easing the front door shut, Hope allowed herself to be led. No doubt the incoming sugar rush would scupper Will’s instructions for a seven-thirty bedtime but Hope was more concerned with getting through the evening without having to bother him and the best way to manage that was by distraction. Which was why she’d stopped at the supermarket on the way to Will’s house earlier in the evening; she and Brodie had already polished off the pepperoni pizza she’d brought, and watched several episodes of Peppa Pig with a large bowl of popcorn while Will ironed his shirt and got ready. Now it was time for Phase Three – hot chocolate on the sofa, followed by as many bedtime stories as Brodie needed to fall asleep.

  In the event, they were true to their promises and Brodie was safely tucked up in bed, with Mr Mopsy beside her, at seven-thirty. Her eyelids were drooping by the end of the first picture book, although Hope knew she was fighting sleep with everything she had. Five minutes later and she was gone, her long eyelashes dark against her creamy pale skin and Mr Mopsy clutched under one arm. Hope watched her slumber for several minutes, aware of a gradual soothing sense of peace easing through her, and then crept noiselessly out and pulled the door shut. She was about to go downstairs when she heard a muffled thump coming from Will’s bedroom, where the kittens he’d unwittingly fostered still lived with their mother, whom they’d nicknamed Missy. Surely Will wouldn’t begrudge her a quick peek at the feline family? It was practically her job as babysitter, after all…