‘Huh? How are the two things related? I don’t get it.’
‘I don’t either.’
‘Ah. That’s helpful.’
‘Exactly. Mind the hedge.’
‘Don’t start.’
‘I’m not. I’m just pointing out that you are scratching my—our—car.’
‘Do you practise being annoying, or does it come entirely natural to you?’
‘I would say the latter, as I was apparently very annoying when I was your daughter’s age. Oh, just as she is.’
‘Blame the cat, not Molly.’
‘Oh, she’s dead, papa. Stop all the clocks, papa. Woe is me, papa. I think I’m going to die of grief, papa.’
Ben laughed at the mimicry.
They didn’t have all that far to go. Professor Mark lived in the tiny hamlet of Kelly Bray, an hour or so on the Cornish side of the River Tamar. Once they left the main road, the lanes became almost too narrow for one vehicle let alone two, so Aleksey deployed his eyes-shut tactic and let Ben get on with it. When they finally found the address, some distance away from where their sat nav actually said it would be, they discovered a very pretty white stone house in its own garden, which backed onto Kit Hill, a feature well known to everyone in the region, as it was the highest point for miles around and visible even from Dartmoor.
There was a VW Beetle parked in front of a single stone garage. Aleksey wondered why the good professor wasn’t driving a Cornish car, and smirked as he pictured what one of those might resemble. Probably a VW Beetle when he thought about it.
They got out, opened the gate and walked up the path.
The back seat of the lime-green convertible car was half-packed with bags, the tiny boot standing open. It appeared they had arrived just in time.
They didn’t need to knock, for Dr Mark emerged through the front door, carrying some boots, a tennis racket and a folding bicycle. He stopped. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’
He didn’t have a local accent, but spoke with the natural tones that might be expected of a professor at such a prestigious institution.
Aleksey stepped forwards and replied, ‘Yes. I hope so. I contacted your department, hoping to speak with you. They told me I could catch you here—as I’m local also, it seemed a good idea. My name is Aleksey. This is my colleague, Ben.’
‘Oh, well, as you can see, I’m just about to leave. Is it something about the house? I’ve decided not to rent it out this term, so I can’t help you there.’ He put down the stuff he was carrying and folded his arms.
‘No. I saw you had translated a book—English to Cornish. I need something translated the other way around.’
He saw he had piqued the man’s interest. ‘You have a book in Cornish? A document? That’s exceptionally rare. Not many people speak it nowadays.’
Aleksey was tempted to make a pointed comment about this obvious fact which had occurred to him when Emilia had, for all intents and purposes, told him she was getting a degree in the language, but as he wanted the man’s help, refrained. He suspected Ben was staring at the back of his head, drilling into him, wondering why he was lying and why he wasn’t mentioning Emilia. He had his reasons.
‘Yes.’ He held the book up from where he’d been holding it rolled in his hand. ‘I think it’s a diary.’
‘Really? That would be…exceptionally rare. May I take a look?’
He handed it over. Mark flicked through it. ‘Oh, my God. It is. From 1964! This is absolutely incredible. Look, can I offer you a cup of tea? Come in.’
Bicycle and boots and half-packed car forgotten, head buried in the book, Mark headed back inside the pretty little house. Aleksey smirked at Ben, got a lip quirk back, and they both went into the cool, flagstoned hallway.
Mark was absentmindedly putting the kettle on with one hand and reading intently. Ben sighed. ‘Shall I?’
‘What? Oh, yes. Thank you…’ He sat down, still engrossed.
Aleksey, on not being offered a seat, took one anyway. ‘I was hoping you would be able to translate it for me. I would pay you for your services, of course.’
Mark nodded.
