‘Maybe even in Egypt,’ Hope offered. ‘In which case there’s no hope of a paper trail, right?’
‘Probably not,’ Will said. ‘I mean, the emerald is a beauty – that originated in Colombia – but they were popular throughout the nineteen twenties and thirties so that doesn’t tell us much. I’m surprised there aren’t any markings inside the band but that happens sometimes.’
‘You’ve been really helpful,’ Hope replied. ‘I’ll let you know what the professor says – he sounded intrigued in his emails.’
Will grimaced. ‘Just don’t let him hang on to it. It’s hard to know for sure but the unusual design probably means it’s worth at least ten thousand pounds.’
Hope almost swallowed her last mouthful of tea too fast. ‘Really?’
‘Something like that,’ he said, then threw her an amused look. ‘You look like the people on the Antiques Roadshow who find out the painting they’ve kept in the garage is worth millions.’
The ring might not be worth millions but it did make Hope worry about putting it in her handbag to walk through the crowded market. ‘Wow. I’m not sure I’d have agreed to take it if I’d known.’
Will eyed her with concern. ‘I can walk you home if you’re worried.’ Then he seemed to replay the offer in his head and his cheeks grew pink. ‘With Brodie, I mean. Although I’ve just realized I have no idea where you live – it could be miles…’
He trailed off, looking even more embarrassed and Hope took pity on him. ‘I live on the wharf, down by Foss Bridge. But honestly, you don’t need to walk me anywhere. I’ll be fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ he said, frowning. ‘It’s no trouble and we could probably use some fresh air.’
Hope looked at Brodie, who had discovered the secret of the dolls and had them all laid out in front of her. ‘No, don’t worry. But I should probably get going. I’m meeting Iris for dinner this evening.’
‘Of course,’ Will replied, and stood up straight. ‘The ring is locked away in the safe, I’ll just grab it.’
While he was gone, Hope watched Brodie playing for a moment or two. On impulse, she crouched beside her on the rug. ‘Do you like them?’
The answering nod was immediate.
Hope smiled. ‘I think they like you too. And the nice thing about these dolls is that they love to listen. So, if you ever want to tell them anything – anything at all – they’d love to hear it.’
Brodie’s blue eyes were wide as they met Hope’s. She brushed a strand of blonde hair from the little girl’s forehead. ‘Do you believe that?’
Again, the nod was instant.
Hope smiled. ‘Good. And the best thing is, they’ll never tell anyone else. So, you can trust them no matter what is worrying you.’
Will came back into the room. He held out a dark green, velvet-covered ring box. Hope rose and took it. ‘Thanks.’
He glanced down at Brodie, who was once more happily engrossed in the dolls. ‘No problem. But I think it’s me who should be thanking you.’
‘You did,’ Hope reminded him. ‘I’ve thanked you and you’ve thanked me, so I think we’re all sorted for thanks.’
Will laughed. ‘I think we are. We’ll pop into the Emporium next week for a catch up – I’m already curious about what this professor is going to say.’
‘Me too. I hope it’s going to be worth the trip.’ She gave a little wave towards the rug. ‘Bye, Brodie.’
The girl raised her own hand to wave back and her face split into a shy smile.
‘I think she likes you,’ Will said as he showed Hope to the door that led to the market square. ‘She doesn’t smile for just anyone, you know.’
Warmth washed over Hope and she was glad all over again that she’d chosen the Matryoshka dolls. ‘That’s good,’ she answered, more than a little touched. ‘Because I like her too.’
Chapter Six
Hope wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting a Professor of Egyptology to look like but a tousle-haired, chiselled-cheeked rock god had definitely not been on the list. Embarrassingly, she’d gaped when Ciaran McCormack had crossed the parquet floored entrance hall of the grand King’s Manor campus building to greet her and she felt she’d been on the back foot ever since. Were university professors supposed to wear leather jackets and skinny jeans and look like they’d just come off the Pyramid stage at Glastonbury, she wondered faintly as she sat in his wood-panelled office and watched him study the letter. Did they all have the kind of glorious Irish lilt that made everything they said sound like poetry? Attendance at his lectures had to be through the roof. In fact, he didn’t belong in a classroom at all – she could picture him battling bad guys and saving the world without even breaking a sweat. All he needed was a hat.
‘I can see why this letter caught your imagination,’ he said, without looking up. ‘There’s so much that isn’t being said.’
Hope dragged her gaze from the way his dark hair fell perfectly across his forehead and forced herself to focus on what he’d said. ‘That’s what fascinates me the most. It must have been pressure from her family that made her break off the engagement but she doesn’t actually give a reason. She’s too intent on making sure he knows how much she loves him, which is at odds with the message overall.’
Professor McCormack looked across the desk at her, his grey eyes interested. ‘So, what’s your theory?’
She blinked. ‘My theory?’ she repeated, not sure if she understood the question. ‘About who she was?’
‘No, I already have a good idea who might have written the letter,’ he said, and leaned back in his chair. ‘But put yourself in her shoes for a moment. What would bring you to end a relationship with a man you knew
