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Michael grinned from ear to ear.

Alex kept one arm wrapped around the vase while she resumed texting with her free hand.

“Joan, Lex still rocks striped t-shirts. Can’t keep her out of them,” said Freddie, taking ownership of the second album.

Alex hit send on her text to Mark:

‘Snapdragons! So beautiful! Thank you. They’d be rather fetching with your majestic red crown—if only you were here. Please wish your mum and family a Merry Christmas. I’ll be waiting impatiently on New Year’s. I’m easy to corrupt, remember? Lex xo’

Freddie howled. “Ooh, and there’s the obligatory nudie photo in the bath…”

Alex snapped out of her reverie. “Oh, good God. I wish I left these books in the back of my closet—better yet, back in Florida.” She set her phone and flowers on the table. “Let me see…”

She shuffled on her knees towards the tree and playfully yanked the album from Freddie’s hands. A bundle of stapled papers flew out of the album and across the lounge. It landed underneath the coffee table like a disheveled butterfly.

“What’s this? The Secret Diary of Alexandra aged ten-and-a-half?” Lucy fetched the splayed pages and twirled the sheets around so the cover page faced up. Her eyes bugged out of her head as if she had just seen a ghost. “Holy shit. Lex?”

Alex continued flipping through the album with Freddie. She figured that Lucy’s find was another cringeworthy slice of her Floridian past. A bunch of old notes passed to her best friend in grade six? A childhood story typed one letter at a time on her mom’s old typewriter?

Lucy swallowed, her eyes still wide. “It’s your play…the original suffragette play. Look.” She stuck the pages underneath her friend’s nose.

Alex dropped the photo album into Freddie’s hands and grabbed the stapled document. Her eyes poured over the title page. She spotted her name, her play’s title, and smudged March 2015 date stamps from Emory University, as well as comments and her grade—an A—left in red pen by her professor.

Her hands shook as she turned the pages over one by one, the words all too familiar. Bringing up the rear, her complete play notes, listing sources used in her research and a brief synopsis on why this subject matter was important. The hardcopy hadn’t been snatched after all.

Freddie hovered over Alex’s shoulder, staring at the pages. “I thought Olivia took it. How is this even possible?”

“Maybe she read it and made a photocopy?” said Lucy. “You said the version she had in Isabella’s workshop was identical, right?”

Dazed, Alex could barely speak. “Yeah…every word. Even the notes…”

Michael leaned in, getting a better look. “Bloody hell.”

“She replaced the title page, it had her name and everything, but yeah…she must’ve copied it and put the original back. But when? I came home the night she read it and it was in my room. The front page was folded back, but apart from that, everything was just as I’d left it…”

“All she’d have to do is scan it on her printer using OCR, and she’d have a text file. I can’t believe someone would stoop so low as to steal like that,” said Joan.

“I still don’t get how it ended up in your photo album,” said Freddie.

“Didn’t you say Harry has a cleaning lady?” asked Lucy.

Alex nodded.

“Maybe she moved it. How many times did you knock over those book stacks? I bet the cleaning lady crashed into them hoovering your room. Stuck the play in the largest book she saw?”

“Oh, Lucy. Stop it. I’m getting aroused. You sound just like Benedict, deducing like Sherlock.” Freddie fanned his face.

“Freddie!” yelled Lucy. Joan laughed.

Alex scratched her brow and stood up. “I guess it’s possible. She had a heck of a time in there. I always knew when she’d knocked over the books because I’d find them piled up differently when I came home. And Olivia never claimed to have the original hardcopy, so…” She sank down beside Joan.

“But she still took the play and said it was hers,” said Joan. “I would stick it to her. Tell that writer lady what that girl’s done.” She pointed at the papers in Alex’s hands. “You have all the proof you need right there. It’s even got your teacher’s marks all over it.”

“Never mind New Year’s. Here’s the real fireworks.” Lucy unwrapped a Quality Street orange cream. “Do it. Show Isabella. Can you imagine Olivia’s face? Man, I want to be there.”

“You’ve changed your tune,” said Alex. “After she stole it, you persuaded me not to get into a battle with her, she’s so well-connected…”

“Things are different now. Olivia destroyed your laptop, all your work. Now you’ve got Isabella’s ear and the hard evidence to take the bitch down.”