She laid a hand on his arm with just enough pressure to stop him. ‘It’ll fetch more if it’s perfect. Don’t take it tonight. Let me finish restoring it in the morning.’
He squinted at her. Then shrugged, evidently mollified by the thought of an even bigger payout.
‘Right. Excellent. Marvellous plan. You’re very good at this, you know. Always thought you had hidden talents.’ He slurred the last word slightly, then blinked.
‘I try,’ she said. And meant it. In more ways than he could imagine.
‘But you will bring it? Tomorrow?’
She nodded. But I will also pray Percy’s expert proves it’s protected from sale, she thought.
Christina called the local taxi firm. While they waited, Hugo stared at the cup like it might sprout wings and fly. When the car arrived, he rose unsteadily and kissed her forehead with an awkward sloppiness that she could tell was meant to bebrotherly affection.
‘Don’t forget,’ he said, pausing in the doorway. ‘Morning. Manor. Cup. The whole shebang.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ Christina replied.
She shut the door and locked it twice, before leaning against it, letting the silence wash over her in heavy waves.
The cup gleamed on the table like a beacon – or a lure. Too exquisite to resist. Too dangerous to keep. And tomorrow, she’d have to hand it over – because she’d run out of ways not to.
But she’d made a promise to herself. She wouldn’t let Ernest win. Not this time When she touched the rim, the metal pulsed once beneath her fingers, as if in farewell. She turned off the light – and the cup kept shining.
Thirty-three
In the morning, Christina drove Elspeth to school. Her daughter was all chatter and fizz, clutching a dog-eared script, reciting lines fromAs You Like Itbetween mouthfuls of toast she hadn’t finished at home.
‘Do you not know I am a woman? When I think, I must speak!’
Christina laughed, glancing across at her. ‘Remind me never to argue with you.’
Elspeth grinned, eyes sparkling. ‘Too late.’
After school today, Penelope would collect Elspeth for a rehearsal at Langford Manor with Ben –theBen – the boy Elspeth still blushed over. Even thinking of her daughter’s shy giggles made Christina smile, warmth blooming inside her like sunlight on frost.
‘Ben’s mum is going to help us with our lines – Ben says she’s awfully good, and that’s cos she was in the Oxford drama society,’ chirped Elspeth.
‘Maybe that’s where Ben inherited his theatrical streak?’ suggested Christina.
Elspeth giggled, the sound sending a pulse of happiness through Christina. And later tonight, Hamish would come home from Scotland, and the two of them would have dinner. Working together to protect the cup had brought them a little closer – the easy laughter, the shared glances, the sense of being on the same side at last. Elspeth would sleep at Langford Manor tonight andspend Saturday – auction day – rehearsing with Ben. Tonight, Christina would light candles, open a good bottle of wine, and make the evening something just for her and Hamish. Create the right atmosphere to finally discuss what had gone wrong in their marriage.
Driving away from the school, watching Elspeth shrink in the rear-view mirror, Percy called. ‘I’ve appointed a handwriting expert.’ He announced.
She nearly cheered. ‘My hero,’ she cried, ‘tell me more?’
‘Retired chief inspector, she lives in Taunton. She’s coming to the office this afternoon to collect the document, together with a sample of Lady Flora’s handwriting that I can vouch for.’
‘Well, that’s pure dead brilliant,’ she said. Today, life finally felt like it was righting itself. The cup wouldn’t be entered as a late lot. After scooping a fortune from the auction, she suspected Ernest would slither off, with Frank, never to be seen again. She would confess her ‘Great Matter’ to Hamish, tell him what her father did all those years ago. And – with luck – after two years of a sham marriage, he would come back to her. She drove home, collected the loving cup, then drove to the Manor. Everything, for once, felt exactly where it should be.
The ballroom shimmered with early-morning light, the floor to ceiling windows spilling gold across the polished parquet and picking out the colours in the Aubusson rug. Tables groaned under polished silver, porcelain shepherdesses and ormolu clocks lined up like sacrificial lambs waiting to be transported to the marquee.
Christina held the cup in her arms, wrapped in a linen cloth.
Ernest, Frank, Amy and Hugo stood together beside a mahogany side table, Amy flicking through the printed auction catalogue, looking bored. ‘Ah, there she is,’ Ernest said, arms spread wide like a game show host. ‘Bearer of the grail. Come on,darling girl, hand it over.’
He sounded genial, but something in his eyes warned her to be careful.
‘I’ve brought it to show you, now I’ve finished restoring it,’ she said, setting the cup down with deliberate care. ‘Percy’s looking into the legal status–’
