Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part Three Read online

  He sounded weary but optimistic, Hope thought, and once again her heart ached for the two of them, but most especially for the child who’d lost both her parents and everything she’d known. Will was doing a great job and Brodie had adjusted as well as could be expected but it had to be impossibly hard. ‘Let me know if I can do anything to help,’ she said. ‘I’m always here if you need me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Will said and Hope felt the warmth behind the words. ‘Let’s grab a coffee or something soon. Brodie has missed you and so have I.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Hope said. ‘How does Friday morning sound? Charlotte was telling me about a new pop-up coffee van in Rowntree Park, near the playground. They sell out of this world pastries, apparently.’

  ‘Sounds like my kind of place,’ Will said. ‘Around eleven?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Hope said, smiling. ‘That gives me plenty of time to find a new book for Brodie.’

  ‘You really don’t have to,’ Will protested. ‘I can do that myself.’

  ‘I know I don’t have to,’ Hope replied. ‘But I want to. Is that okay?’

  ‘It’s very okay,’ he said. ‘But only if you have time.’

  She would make time, Hope decided, not that she needed much encouragement to browse the delightful Little Apple Bookshop a few doors down from the Emporium, but the look of delight on Brodie’s face when she was presented with a new story from Hope would be an even greater pleasure. ‘So, I’ll see you on Friday,’ she said aloud. ‘By the playground.’

  ‘Last one to arrive buys the pastries,’ Will agreed. ‘See you there.’

  It wasn’t until she’d ended the call and returned her phone to the coffee table that Hope realized she was still smiling. She’d approached the last few weekends with a sense of dull dread, knowing she had no work to distract her but, between Isobel’s invitation and spending some time with Will and Brodie, she was looking forward to the next one. All of a sudden, Friday couldn’t come fast enough.

  Chapter Two

  Hope was relieved to wake up on Friday to bright July sunshine streaming through the skylight above her bed. The previous two days had been grey and wet, and she’d wondered whether she should suggest to Will that they reschedule their coffee date, or at least switch venue – a rainy park wasn’t ideal, although Hope knew her brother, Harry, took his boys out in all weathers.

  ‘Believe me, they are better outdoors than cooped up inside,’ he’d said with a shudder on more than one occasion.

  Will hadn’t seemed fazed by the rain, either, but nevertheless, Hope was glad to see the sun. Everything felt better when the sun shone.

  She arrived five minutes early, with the bag containing Brodie’s new book tucked under her arm, and made straight for the children’s playground. The pop-up coffee shop beside it was exactly as Charlotte had described – a yellow VW campervan bedecked with brightly coloured bunting, with an enticing menu chalked onto a blackboard to one side. There was a queue of people snaking away from the serving hatch and the sound of children’s voices filled the air; it was such a charming scene that Hope couldn’t help but smile. And then she saw Will and Brodie, a little way from the coffee shop, and her smile widened as she raised her arm to wave.

  Brodie’s face was as solemn as ever as Hope greeted them but she saw the little girl’s eyes flicker to the Little Apple Shop bag. Will noticed too and gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head, which Hope took to mean the gift should wait.

  ‘Thanks for sorting out the sunshine,’ he said easily. ‘I had visions of standing here in the rain.’

  Hope grinned. ‘I can’t take the credit, I’m afraid. I thought it was you.’

  Will returned her grin. ‘Nope, not us. I suppose we should just be thankful.’

  Brodie was tugging at his hand, casting longing glances at the slide, and he nodded at her. ‘Go on, then. Don’t go too high on the climbing frame.’

  Surprised, Hope watched her beetle towards the play area. ‘She seems more confident.’

  Will tipped his head. ‘She can be, if it’s a familiar environment and she knows what to expect. I think playing with your nephews at your parents’ anniversary party was a big help, to be honest – she learned I didn’t vanish if she let go of my hand.’

  His tone was matter of fact but Hope knew it was a significant step forward. And it was entirely understandable that Brodie would cling to him, given the tragedy that had already dogged her young life, but it was a promising sign that perhaps she was at least feeling more settled. ‘That’s great,’ Hope replied. ‘I’m so pleased. And how did the visit to school go?’

  He hesitated. ‘It wasn’t as smooth as I’d hoped but we got through it. And the teacher was lovely – she made a real effort to include Brodie, even when she clung to my leg and refused to open her eyes.’

  ‘Did she let go at all?’ Hope asked.

  ‘Towards the end,’ he said. ‘And then only long enough to grab a biscuit from the plate the teacher was holding. She wouldn’t sit on the carpet for a story.’

  ‘Perhaps it wasn’t the right story,’ Hope said, and patted the bag under her arm. ‘I’m hoping she’s going to love this one.’

  Will nodded. ‘I’m sure she will, since it’s a gift from you.’ He glanced towards the campervan café, where the queue was dwindling. ‘I could murder a coffee. And I know I said the last one to arrive should buy the pastries but I’m pretty sure it’s my treat so what can I get you?’

  ‘A pecan and maple Danish,’ Hope said promptly. ‘Charlotte says they’re incredible.’

  They joined the briskly moving queue but Hope saw that he kept his eyes on Brodie, even as he chatted to Hope. The obvious bond between them warmed Hope’s heart and she was glad they had each other. In the weeks and months after Rob’s death, she’d sometimes wished they’d had a baby, a living reminder of their love that she could focus on and cherish, someone to live for. But she’d also known it would have been harder in so many ways and it felt intolerably selfish to wish for a child to love, knowing they would grow up without a father.

  A bench had become available by the time Hope and Will had their coffees and pastries. They sat in companionable silence, eating and watching the children play. Hope saw Brodie glancing over, checking on their location, and she gave her a reassuring wave.

  ‘That was an excellent apple turnover,’ Will said as he brushed stray flakes of pastry from his shorts. ‘How was yours?’

  ‘Blissful,’ Hope said, once she’d swallowed the last mouthful of maple and pecan deliciousness. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He shifted round to study her. ‘So how are things with you? What have you been up to?’

  ‘Work, mostly,’ Hope admitted. ‘And family stuff. Mum and Dad are still away on their second honeymoon so we haven’t had the usual Sunday lunches at home but I’ve seen a lot of Charlotte.’

  Will gave her a sideways glance. ‘Has that been helpful?’

  She raised her eyebrows wryly. ‘She means well. And sometimes I’ve needed the company so I can’t complain.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest you would,’ he said, sounding a little embarrassed. ‘But I know your family can be a bit overwhelming.’

  ‘They really can,’ Hope said, smiling. ‘But I’m so glad I have them.’

  Will nodded. ‘Of course.’ His gaze came to rest on Brodie once more. ‘Have you heard from Ciaran?’

  Instinctively, Hope’s fingers twitched towards the phone on her pocket, as though drawn by invisible threads. ‘Not since I told him not to contact me again. He’s given me that, at least.’

  Will grunted in derision. ‘Yeah, what a guy.’ Then he blinked, as though realizing he’d spoken aloud instead of in his head, and his cheeks reddened. ‘Sorry. I just think he’s an idiot. An utter tool, in fact.’

  Now it was Hope’s turn to blink. There was a vehemence behind the words that surprised her; Ciaran’s behaviour was something both Charlotte and Iris held strong views about but W
ill was usually so mild-mannered and affable that it felt out of character to hear the condemnation in his voice. And Hope suddenly realized she didn’t know much about his life before Brodie had come into it – perhaps someone had cheated on Will in the past. That would certainly explain his outburst, she thought. ‘I can’t argue with that,’ she said ruefully. ‘I just wish I didn’t feel like such an idiot myself for not seeing it from the start.’

  ‘This isn’t on you,’ Will replied firmly, without hesitation. ‘You took Ciaran at face value, trusted him and he betrayed that trust. You couldn’t have known, Hope.’

  She knew it was true and yet there was still some part of her that was convinced she’d missed something, a clue or red flag that could have saved her so much heartache. But it didn’t really matter now; what was done was done. All she could do was learn from the experience and be more guarded in the future. ‘It’s all water under the bridge now, anyway,’ she said, straightening her shoulders. ‘History. And speaking of history, guess who I’m going to see tomorrow afternoon…’

  Will listened as Hope told him about Isobel’s invitation. ‘Do you think she wants something from you?’ he asked once she’d finished.

  ‘Like what?’ she asked. ‘Iris thinks she might be lonely.’

  ‘It could be that,’ Will agreed. ‘I guess you’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘I’ll let you know when I do,’ Hope said.

  He nodded. ‘Please do.’ There was a brief pause as his eyes sought Brodie among the melee of children. ‘You could come over for dinner again if you like – maybe one evening next week? Brodie would love it and you could fill me in on what Isobel wants.’

  Hope mentally reviewed her diary; apart from her belly dance class with Iris on Monday, she had no plans for the following week. ‘Yes please,’ she said. ‘But I can’t ask you to cook for me again. Let me bring something.’

  ‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s nice to have someone to cook for. Someone who doesn’t demand chicken nuggets and exactly thirty-two peas, I mean.’

  Hope grinned. ‘Of course. I won’t accept anything less than forty-nine.’

  Will laughed. ‘Noted. Let me know which day works for you.’ He turned his face to the sunshine for a moment, then sighed. ‘And now I suppose I should think about getting back to work. Shall I call Brodie over so you can give her the book?’

  ‘That would be great,’ Hope said, patting the bag on the bench beside her. ‘It’s a counting rhyming picture book called Snug as a Bug. I thought it might help with the school prep.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ he said, and reached out to press her hand. ‘Thank you again.’

  His fingers were warm even in the heat of the morning. They rested there for a moment and then they were gone, leaving just the whisper of a tingle on her sun-kissed skin. Hope cleared her throat and picked up the bag. ‘My pleasure,’ she said.

  Brodie was every bit as delighted as Will had predicted, and insisted Hope read the book to her as they sat together on the bench. When the story was over, the little girl immediately turned to the front and demanded Will read it.

  ‘Told you she’d love it,’ he said to Hope, smiling over Brodie’s head.

  It felt to Hope as though the smile lingered on her lips all the way home. If her afternoon with Isobel was even half as enjoyable as her morning, she’d be winning at Friday.

  * * *

  Isobel’s apartment was almost exactly as Hope remembered it – impractically white, cool despite the July heat and as serene a space as she’d ever seen. The air was scented with flowers; last time, it had been lilies in tall vases in both the hallway and the living room, and this time it was heady white roses, which Hope knew had been delivered by Iris just a few days before. The carpet was as pristine as ever – Hope had planned ahead and brought a spare pair of ballet flats to slip on as she waited at the front door. She had no intention of leaving even the slightest mark on the luxuriously thick carpets.

  Isobel gave off the same intimidating aura that Hope remembered too, although she also knew the older woman could be gracious; she’d allowed Hope to read Elenor’s diary, after all, and invited her round for tea. But there was still a stiffness to her greeting, which put Hope on a little on edge as she took a seat on the sofa opposite.

  ‘Would you like some tea?’ Isobel enquired as her housekeeper waited silently. ‘Or perhaps a cold drink?’

  ‘Some water would be lovely,’ Hope said. ‘Thank you.’

  Isobel inclined her head towards the housekeeper. ‘I’ll have the same, Susan. With ice and lemon, please.’

  As the other woman withdrew, Isobel fixed Hope with a knowing look. ‘Well, Miss Henderson, I imagine you’re wondering why I’ve invited you here.’

  It was a typically blunt opening but Hope saw no reason to lie. ‘A bit. It’s very kind of you, nonetheless, and gives me the opportunity to thank you in person for the wonderful gift of Elenor’s journal.’ She summoned up what she hoped was a disarming smile. ‘And please, call me Hope.’

  Isobel brushed both the thanks and the request aside. ‘I knew you could be trusted. There aren’t many people I feel that way about.’

  ‘Then I’m even more honoured,’ Hope said and steeled herself. ‘Especially since you chose me over Professor McCormack.’

  ‘Seen his type before,’ Isobel replied briskly. ‘Too charming for his own good. And besides, Elenor rarely had a good word to say about the male professors during her university days, apart from Flinders Petrie, of course. No, it was always the women who inspired her – Margaret Murray was a particular favourite.’

  Hope felt her curiosity stir. Of course, she’d known Elenor must have attended university – her detailed knowledge and understanding of her work shone from every page of her journal – but she hadn’t been able to establish which one. She’d assumed Cambridge but the names Isobel had just mentioned were tugging at her memory. Maybe they’d come up in her early research, when she’d been trying to work out just who the mystery letter writer might be.

  ‘Which university did Elenor go to?’ she asked.

  ‘University College London,’ Isobel replied. ‘Some of the finest archaeologists of the time taught or studied there. And it was a dream come true for Elenor, although her family couldn’t have known how much it would change her life. They would never have let her go if they had.’

  Life-changing was an understatement, Hope thought; ultimately, Elenor’s career had led to her death. But it was easy to imagine her embracing university life – her love of learning had been evident from her journal entries.

  Susan reappeared, bearing a tray that held two tall glasses of iced water and a glass jug that was beaded with condensation. She offered one of the glasses to Hope, then placed the tray on the side table beside Isobel and silently withdrew.

  ‘Tea will be ready presently,’ Isobel said, as Hope sipped her water. ‘But before then, I have something that might interest you.’

  She rose and went to an elegant bureau along one wall. A fizzle of breathless anticipation ran through Hope as she sat up a little straighter. This had to be the reason for the invitation, and while she knew there couldn’t be a sequel to the journal – the one she’d read had ended with Elenor’s death – perhaps there were photographs or something that might add to what little she knew of Elenor’s fiancé, Khalid.

  ‘I thought long and hard about letting you see these,’ Isobel said, turning back to Hope with a bundle of yellowed papers in her hands. ‘But without wanting to sound mawkish, I’m getting older, with no family of my own left. There comes a time when stories should be passed from one person to the next, even when it means letting some secrets into the light.’

  There wasn’t a trace of self-pity in her voice, Hope observed. If anything, Isobel spoke with more dispassion than normal. But even so, there was an undercurrent of something beneath the words – a definite sense of something being left unsaid. Perhaps it was as Iris had suggested –
the older woman was lonely and this was her way of reaching out. Whatever the motivation, Hope certainly couldn’t deny that Isobel had her attention. She opened her mouth to speak but Isobel waved her into silence.

  ‘That’s why I’m sharing these with you now,’ she went on. ‘I don’t want Elenor’s story to be lost. I want someone to bear witness to her life, and you seem to be a trustworthy person for the job.’

  So it was more of Elenor’s story. Hope felt a flutter of excitement stirring inside even as she weighed Isobel’s words. ‘I’m pleased you feel that way. It’s such a privilege to learn about Elenor’s life and work and I really appreciate you sharing it with me. I—’ She paused as she sought the right response. ‘I feel like I’ve got to know her, at least a little. Almost like a friend.’

  Now Isobel nodded, as though Hope had confirmed something she’d suspected. ‘She was extraordinary. Which is another reason for me to make sure there’s someone else to remember her after I’m gone.’

  The final three words caused something inside Hope to go still. She didn’t know how old Isobel was and would rather poke rose thorns under her fingernails than ask but surely she couldn’t be more than in her early seventies. Hope tried to look casual as she appraised the other woman – tall and elegant, with ramrod straight posture, she certainly looked like the picture of health. Perhaps it was simply that Isobel was more aware of the passing years and had one eye on her own mortality, Hope thought uneasily. But it felt like there was more.

  It was none of her business but she asked anyway. ‘Is everything okay, Isobel?’

  For a nanosecond, the older woman appeared to hesitate but then she offered a brisk smile that banished any suggestion of indecision. ‘Quite all right, thank you.’ She glanced towards the door that led to the hallway, where Susan had just materialized. ‘It appears tea is served. I do hope you’re hungry.’

  * * *