it was given to the Fordyces in a legally binding agreement, it is now yours to sell.’
‘Would it ease your conscience if I did so?’ Christopher laughed bitterly. ‘No, for you do not possess one. I, however, do and have no desire to benefit from blood money. I came here to return it to its rightful owner.’
‘Well, that ain’t me,’ Lord Armstrong said, looking quite appalled. ‘And I doubt very much that your mother’s family will wish to be reminded of what they have lost, so there’s no point in asking me to give it back to them. If you won’t sell it, put it in a museum, if what you say about it being an ancient artefact is true.’
And have the amulet, a potent symbol of the lie his life had been based on, on permanent public display! Christopher shuddered. Unthinkable. ‘No. That would not be appropriate. I have no choice but to return it the original owner.’
‘Original owner? What on earth do you mean by that?’
He had spoken on the spur of the moment, but as Christopher returned the amulet to its leather pouch, a plan began to take shape in his head, and he knew instinctively that this was the only possible course of action. ‘The descendants of the original owner,’ he said. ‘The quality of the diamonds, the colour of the turquoise, and the purity of the gold are all highly distinctive.’
‘How do you—ah, yes, of course.’ Lord Armstrong picked up the business card again. ‘You specialise in minerals and ores. You have then surveyed in Arabia?’
‘I have never been to Arabia. Locating the precise area, matching it with the source of gold and turquoise—as you say, that is my area of expertise. But in order to do so I will require assistance from you, in your own field of expertise.’
His lordship stilled. ‘How so?’
‘I will require papers to allow me freedom of movement,’ Christopher said, thinking rapidly. ‘Contacts who will be able to assist me with local information, and the means to extricate myself from—let’s say any tricky situations which may arise due to my incognito activities being viewed as suspicious or even hostile.’
His lordship looked aghast. ‘I can’t help you with any of that. The identities of our agents in Arabia are a carefully guarded secret. Not, mind, that I’m admitting such people exist.’ Lord Armstrong drummed his fingers on the blotter. ‘Even if I could put you in touch with such contacts, you’re asking me to obtain official papers...’
‘Secured through unofficial channels. And I’m paying you the compliment of assuming that you know exactly which strings to pull in order to facilitate that.’
More finger drumming set Christopher’s teeth on edge. ‘You deride my having abused my position for my own ends,’ Lord Armstrong said, ‘and yet isn’t that exactly what you’re asking me to do for you?’
Was it? The notion disgusted him. But, no, the man was twisting the situation to his own advantage, as he always did, trying to make him beholden, which was the last thing he ought to be feeling. ‘A different matter entirely,’ Christopher said. ‘You acted to cover up a wrong, to protect yourself. My motivation is restitution.’
‘Very noble,’ his lordship said, in a tone which contradicted his words. ‘Why should I do as you ask? You have made it very clear that you have no interest in exposing me. What is in it for me?’
His lordship spoke belligerently, but Christopher was not fooled. ‘You will do as I ask because, bluntly, you will do whatever it takes to be rid for ever of the living breathing evidence of your youthful folly,’ he responded coldly. ‘You are fortunate that I ask so little, and though I am not a gentleman like yourself, you may trust my word when I say it is all I will ever ask of you.’
His words hit the mark. Lord Armstrong resorted to bluster. ‘Aye, all very well, but it’s no simple matter to obtain such papers. It will take time. There are channels to be gone through, questions to be answered. For a start, how am I to explain the purpose of your visit?’
Christopher struggled to contain his impatience. He didn’t want to wait, not another minute, let alone days or weeks or months, before taking action. The sooner the amulet was returned, the sooner he could wipe the slate clean and start afresh. Years of negotiating with Egyptian pashas who, like Lord Armstrong, valued knowledge and power even over wealth, provided him with inspiration. ‘You ask what is in it for you. I will tell you. While I am in Arabia, I will carry out a survey for you.’
Lord Armstrong pursed his mouth. ‘What kind of survey?’
‘A survey of the commercial landscape of whichever parts of Arabia my quest to return the amulet compels me to visit. I will compile a dossier of which kingdoms are open to trade with the west, the valuable natural resources they possess, potential trade routes, who is allied to whom—information which I imagine would be very much welcomed by Lord Liverpool. Our Prime Minister is very eager to promote international trade and bolster Britain’s coffers, and would, I am certain, look favourably on anyone who can provide him with such intelligence. Do you really need me to spell out the potential benefits?’
Two thin eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘No, you most certainly do not. Now that Napoleon is safely confined on Elba, the opportunities for Britain to expand her influence in the east—’
The lord of the realm who was his father broke off, rubbing his hands together. Smiling for the first time since Christopher made his surprise entrance, he got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘I will not offend your sensibilities by saying you are a chip off the old block, but you have yourself a deal, sir.’
‘The only thing we have in common is a desire never to set eyes on each other again,’ Christopher said, pointedly ignoring the proffered handshake for the second time that day. ‘I have written my temporary London address on the back of my card, you may have all the relevant papers and contact information sent there. I do not expect we will have cause to meet again. I bid you farewell.’
Arabia—August 1815
‘The encounter I have just described took place nine months ago,’ Christopher concluded. ‘You understand now why it mattered so much to rid myself of the amulet. It was blood money. It symbolised the lie that my life had been, living with the people whose son I thought I was.’
‘Fordyce.’ Tahira furrowed her brow, trying to clear her mind. ‘The name of the man who was with you when you found the Roman coin we have just buried. The man who shared his own love of the past with you and his profession too, yet he hid the amulet away all those years. He didn’t sell it. I wonder why.’
‘Guilt, most likely. Or maybe he was afraid. An ordinary hard-working man, a priceless artefact—it would have raised suspicions. I don’t know why he didn’t sell it, and I don’t care. It’s buried now, back where it came from, and all those lies with it.’
Christopher had been distraught at the start of his story, shaken to the core by how close they had come to making love. So very close. Tahira shivered, appalled by her own utter abandon, appalled to discover that she was not as relieved as she should be that he had had the willpower to stop before it was too late. The desire to be one with him, to unite with him in the way only a husband and wife should be united, had been so instinctive that she hadn’t questioned her actions, driven only by that fierce need—no, it was not a need, it was a certainty. There was nothing more right than making love to him.
And nothing so wrong. Christopher knew that, even if she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. But his mood had changed during
