my new assistant Guinevere Evans. She’s helping me catalogue my book collection.’
Guinevere walked over and held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Gregory Wadencourt. Historian.’
Dolly circled Wadencourt’s feet and sniffed at his shoes and his suitcases. Her tail was trembling as if she detected exciting scents of the place where these well-worn travelling bags had been before. To be honest, Guinevere herself itched to know more about that. And about the alleged priceless artefacts the historian was hunting.
Wadencourt spotted the book in her other hand and hmmm-ed. ‘I see you’re interested in treasures.’
‘Oh, it’s quite a coincidence I’m carrying this with me. We happened to start on a new pile of books this morning, and this was on top of it.’
Wadencourt looked at Bolingbrooke. ‘A coincidence, hmmm?’
Bolingbrooke looked down and fidgeted with his watch’s band.
Guinevere studied him suspiciously. He had just seen some interesting books on the top shelf and taken them down, right? On the very morning his old friend, a treasure hunter, ended up here for a visit!
Wadencourt said, ‘Well, I can’t blame you for looking into it. I mean, you must realize what will happen now? As soon as the word gets out, people will be flocking here to look for it. Your island will be under siege.’
‘My island under siege?’ Bolingbrooke repeated. ‘Why?’
Wadencourt surveyed him. ‘You mean, you don’t know anything about it? I thought that man had been here.’
‘What man?’ Bolingbrooke asked, glancing at Guinevere.
She shrugged to indicate she didn’t know either.
Wadencourt gestured with both hands. ‘The gardening expert of course. Vex. The one who wrote the article.’
‘I don’t know any Vex. And what article?’
‘So Vex hasn’t been here.’ Wadencourt rubbed his chin and peered at Bolingbrooke as if trying to make sense of a conundrum. ‘Or at least he didn’t call on you during his visit. He must have walked about and investigated on his own. Took his photos to illustrate the article. After all, this island is freely accessible to the public. Anyone traipsing down that causeway at low tide can reach it and skulk about. Regrettable really. I wonder …’
Bolingbrooke straightened up. His eyes flashed with impatience and anger. ‘Get to the point, man. What has happened here on my land?’
‘I wonder,’ Wadencourt continued as if he hadn’t heard his host, ‘if we can claim that the photos Vex shot were taken without your permission. Then we might stop him from using them. I doubt it can stop the whole publication, but it might delay it.’
He rubbed his hands together. ‘That would be perfect. You do understand that you need my help?’
At that moment the front door opened, and a young man was propelled through it.
‘Propelled’ was the right description as he didn’t walk on his own two feet but was sort of thrown inside by some invisible force. He stumbled, almost slipped over the carpet, and ended up bumping into Guinevere. He steadied himself with his hands on her shoulders. ‘Excuse me.’
She looked up into two chocolate brown eyes. His suntanned face was sharp-edged and intelligent, crowned by lots of unruly curls. He wore a red polo shirt and neat beige trousers and had a camera around his neck. Not a small one like tourists carried but professional gear with a long lens.
‘Hello there,’ he said to her. ‘Sorry for the odd arrival, but I’m afraid there’s some misunderstanding.’
‘Not at all.’ Oliver’s voice boomed through the hallway. He had come in after the other man, rubbing his hands as if he was satisfied about a chore he had finished. ‘This louche type was trying to peek into windows and take photographs.’
Wadencourt glared at Oliver. ‘That louche type as you call him is my photographer Max DeBurgh. An extremely bright lad who will help me locate the wedding goblet. The sooner we have it, the better. Or do you really want all of your gardens destroyed by an insane crowd rushing out here to dig?’
‘This island may be open to the public,’ Oliver said, ‘but we do have rules. Especially for the gardens. People aren’t even allowed to pick flowers, let alone to dig. Dig for what anyway?’
Max laughed. ‘Haven’t you heard yet?’ He sized up Oliver. ‘Soon you’ll need help warding off people who are looking in places you don’t like them to look.’
‘I caught you soon enough,’ Oliver countered. His eyebrows were furrowed over his blue eyes. They could be warm and interested, but right now they were cold and condemning. He rocked back on his heels and put his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. As usual he wore trainers without socks. ‘You’re not welcome here.’
‘I just told you,’ Wadencourt said tightly, ‘that he’s with me. Your father has invited me to stay here. So Max is staying here as well.’
Bolingbrooke lifted a hand. ‘Invited, invited … I only said that …’
‘You said that there was always room for me here, and I accept your offer of hospitality. Max, you carry up my bags.’ Wadencourt gestured at his photographer as if he was a butler who had to snap to attention. ‘What wonderful room will it be? In the tower maybe?’
‘Guinevere is already staying there,’ Oliver said. ‘There’s a perfectly good B&B near the harbour.’
But his father shook his head. His voice sounded tired but resigned when he said, ‘Wadencourt is an old friend of mine, Oliver. He’s staying here. And if this chap is his photographer, he can stay here as well.’
‘So you know what they’re here for?’ Oliver asked.
‘Not every detail …’ Bolingbrooke said slowly.
‘Not at all, you mean. You simplyinvite them in, not even knowing …’
‘This is my house.’ Bolingbrooke smiled, but the censure in his tone couldn’t be missed. ‘Please show them to their rooms, Guinevere. Gregory can have the room beside my library and the young chap can go into the one beside that. I’ll ask Cador to make some tea and sandwiches for us.’
Eager to get the guests settled before Oliver could create more hostility, Guinevere gestured to the stairs. ‘Follow me please.’
Wadencourt picked up his suitcases and smiled. ‘I know my way around here. I’ve stayed here before.’ His patronizing tone seemed to imply: long before you ever set foot here.
Dolly whined as if she didn’t like his attitude.
Oliver crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Cador can show the visitors where they are staying. Guinevere and I will see to the tea and the sandwiches. Come on.’ He walked off in the direction of the kitchens.
Bolingbrooke hitched a brow at Guinevere. ‘I have no idea what’s
