He shook his head. ‘No. But there were a lot of people involved in those excavations, locals as well as visitors from other countries, and very few detailed records have survived. Short of discovering Elenor’s Secret Diary, aged 26 and 3/4, you might never find out who her betrothed was.’
Of course it made sense, Hope thought; the odds of finding a name when they had so little to go on must be miniscule. ‘Mr Young was going to go through the paperwork, to see if he could find out who authorized the Emporium to clear the house,’ she said slowly. ‘Maybe that will lead us to a relative who can fill in some of the gaps.’
‘It might,’ Professor McCormack said. ‘I’ll put some feelers out among my colleagues at other universities, see if any of them can shed any light on who the mystery man might have been. As I said earlier, Elenor was a very well-regarded archaeologist. And she became something of a legend when she disappeared.’
Hope’s eyes came to rest once more on the photograph and she realized she was more intrigued than ever. ‘I’ll let you know what Mr Young finds out.’ She looked up gratefully. ‘Thanks for your time today, Professor. You’ve been very helpful.’
He smiled, reminding her all over again how distinctly out-of-place he looked in the rather dusty academic office. ‘Call me Ciaran, please. The only people who call me professor are my students.’
I bet that’s not all they call you, Hope thought, and had to catch herself before she blushed. ‘Thank you, Ciaran,’ she said, collecting up the letter and the ring. ‘I really appreciate your help.’
He picked up the book and gave it to her. ‘You can borrow this, if you like. A bit of background reading.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, slipping it into her bag. ‘I’ll get it back to you when I’ve finished it.’
He held the office door open for her and shook his head as they made their way down the stairs to the entrance hall. ‘You know, you’re not at all what I expected from your email. I thought you’d be older.’ He glanced sideways. ‘Less like the kind of model who inspired Titian himself.’
Hope felt her face start to glow; no one had ever compared her to an artist’s muse before. ‘I expected you to be older too,’ she said, as much to cover her blush as anything. ‘My university lecturers certainly were.’
Ciaran tipped his head as they walked into the sandstone courtyard that lay outside the ornate entrance to King’s Manor. His grey eyes held hers as they faced each other. ‘Good point. Do you think it’s fair to say we were both pleasantly surprised?’
She couldn’t ignore it any longer – he was definitely flirting with her. But even more unexpectedly, she was tempted to flirt back. ‘I think that is fair.’
He grinned, as though pleased she was playing the game. ‘We’ve got each other’s contact details. Let’s see what we can dig up between us.’
‘Thanks again for your time,’ she said, and stepped back before he could offer to shake hands – the last thing her suddenly overactive imagination needed was the touch of his long lean fingers on hers. And as she walked across the gravel to the gates that led off campus, she had to fight hard not to glance over her shoulder for a final glimpse of him, outlined against the carved doorway of the old building, but she couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging at the corners of her mouth. The afternoon had turned out to be even more interesting than she’d anticipated. The tragedy surrounding Elenor Lovelace had her intrigued, regardless of whether she turned out to be the author of the letter. And, if Hope was honest, Ciaran McCormack had exceeded her expectations too. Charming, smart, knowledgeable and far more attractive than a professor had any right to be, she couldn’t help hoping their paths would cross again.
Iris guessed something was up before Hope could confide a single word. Throughout their belly dance class, she kept darting curious looks Hope’s way and the final track had barely finished before the florist was standing in front of her.
‘Okay, what’s going on?’ she demanded, hands on hips. ‘There’s a dreamy look in your eyes and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the spins we’ve just done.’
‘Sssshhh!’ Hope hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had overheard. ‘It’s nothing, honestly.’
Iris raised a disbelieving eyebrow. ‘Nothing. Right.’
Hope bit her lip. The truth was she was bursting to talk to someone about her afternoon. She had good friends in London, of course, but couldn’t quite bring herself to tap out a jaunty Guess what?! message. Part of the problem was that they’d all known and loved Rob, and although they had been encouraging when she’d dipped her toe back into dating, Hope still felt oddly uncomfortable about discussing her unexpected attraction to Ciaran. Her sister was off-limits for a different reason: Charlotte would be only too delighted to hear a man had caught Hope’s eye and wouldn’t let it go until she had done something about it. All of which meant she was tempted by the opportunity to confide in Iris. ‘Okay, I do have something to tell you,’ she admitted. ‘But not here.’
‘Come on,’ Iris said, untying her coin belt and stuffing it into her rucksack. ‘I know just the place.’
It wasn’t until they were tucked away in a booth of a nearby basement cocktail bar, with a half-drunk Cosmopolitan in front of each of them, that Hope felt relaxed enough to spill the beans. Iris listened, wide-eyed, as she described both Ciaran and the information he’d given her. And although the florist was interested in the revelations about Elenor Lovelace and her mysterious disappearance, she was definitely more fascinated by Hope’s description of Ciaran.
‘But this is great,’ she said, when Hope had finished. ‘He sounds perfect. Does he have a whip? More importantly, does he have friend? We could double date!’
Hope
