Chapter 6
Miss Wheeler’s smile vanished but it was the only sign she was perturbed by Mr. Defoe’s accusation.
“This is nothing to do with me. If I told Mr. Barratt and Professor Nash that we were coming here for the purpose of them beating us to the abbey, they’d have come weeks ago when you set this date.
I do agree with you that this isn’t a coincidence, however.
” She tapped the end of her parasol into the tiled floor.
“Well, Mr. Barratt? I presume this idea was yours and not Professor Nash’s. ”
A part of me was a little offended that she didn’t think I was devious enough, but then I realized she’d probably guessed that Oscar deliberately coincided our visit with theirs so that he could see her.
She’d correctly guessed that out of the two of us, I wasn’t the sort to make such a grand romantic gesture.
Because, I belatedly realized, that was exactly what this was.
Oscar wanted to see Miss Wheeler again, and this was the best way to ensure they met up.
He had suspected she’d read the Mackenzie book in Edinburgh and told her employer it could be found here.
Bribing the abbot to inform Oscar of the arranged date of their visit ensured we could time our visit to coincide with theirs.
It was not only a clever scheme, but the act of a man infatuated with her.
Whether Miss Wheeler appreciated it or not, I couldn’t tell. She tapped the end of her parasol against the side of Oscar’s shoe. “Well then, Mr. Barratt? Explain to Mr. Defoe how you coerced the abbot into telling you when we’d be here.”
He shifted his foot back, perhaps remembering how she’d once stabbed him in the toes with her umbrella.
“First of all, I didn’t coerce anyone. Secondly, it’s a bit rich that you’re accusing us of wrongdoing when it is you who peeked at the Mackenzie book and found out the location of the other book with the tattoo ink spell. ”
Mr. Defoe sniffed. “Sometimes in war, principles must be set aside.”
“Last time I checked, America and England were not at war, Defoe.”
Mr. Defoe’s thin features pinched as if he were holding himself together to keep his anger from bursting out. “Why did you want to be here at the same time as us? Why not come as soon as you learned where the book was last year?”
“Why didn’t you? You’ve also known a year.”
“I run a very large, very important business empire, Mr. Barratt. I’m not as free to do as I please, unlike you writers.
” He waited for Oscar to answer, but Oscar merely stood there, his stubborn silence a challenge in itself.
“You did it to rub my nose in it, didn’t you?
” Mr. Defoe grunted. “You wanted me to see you here, so you could gloat about already being to the abbey. I take it a trip up the hill would be a waste of our time.”
Oscar merely smiled.
Defoe grunted again and stalked off toward the check-in desk, his strides as long as he could make them, as if he were trying to create the illusion that he was taller than he was. He wrapped his knuckles on the desk to get the clerk’s attention.
“While he’s not here,” Miss Wheeler said, mildly, “tell me, did you also pay off our boatman to slow us down yesterday and ensure we arrived too late in the day to travel to the abbey?”
She addressed Oscar, but he merely bowed. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Wheeler.”
“Somewhat surprisingly, I’m happy to see you, too, Mr. Barratt.” She smiled at him then turned it onto me. “But I am not at all surprised that I’m happy to see you again, Professor.”
“I promise I had nothing to do with this,” I said. “If he’d confided in me, I would have urged him to abandon the idea. You have every right to be cross with him.”
“I’m not cross. How can I be when I would have sabotaged your journey if the positions were reversed.”
She turned back to Oscar, who’d not taken his gaze off since he first saw her.
Indeed, I couldn’t stop staring either. She was as elegant as when we’d seen her in Edinburgh, but this time the pastel peach color of her outfit suited not just her own dark coloring, but the summer heat of Italy.
Even the wide-brimmed hat positioned at a slant on her jet-black hair was peach.
“Mr. Barratt, tell me the real reason you made sure to coincide your visit here with ours.”
“Can you not guess?” Oscar asked, his honeyed voice a low hum.
Miss Wheeler’s lips parted ever so slightly and her dark eyes searched his. “You waited a year to come when the book, and its spell, mean so much to you?”
Oscar merely smiled. Then it suddenly vanished. “Why do you presume it means something to me? Something other than an interesting book to add to the new library?”
Miss Wheeler’s rueful smile returned. “Your magic specialty isn’t a secret, Mr. Barratt. I read it in the biography of one of the books you authored.”
“You read one?”
She laughed and rolled her eyes.
His smile widened. “Call me Oscar.”
“No.” Her gaze shifted to Mr. Defoe, walking back to us. “He doesn’t know you’re an ink magician, by the way.”
“I’d prefer to keep it that way.”
“Then you’d better hope he doesn’t pick up one of your books.”
Oscar grew serious. “Have dinner with me tonight.”
Her eyes flared ever so slightly. “You’re not leaving now that you’ve got what you came for?”
Too late, Oscar realized he’d inadvertently hinted that we hadn’t got the book, after all.
Mr. Defoe checked the time on his gold watch. “I’ve decided to go to the abbey anyway and have secured transportation. We leave in thirty minutes. Do you need to return to your room, Adele, or shall we wait in the shade outside?”
“I’m ready.” She took his offered arm, and together they left the hotel.
I made my way to the dining room, but stopped in the doorway when I realized Oscar hadn’t followed. He was still watching the retreating figures of Miss Wheeler and Mr. Defoe. It wasn’t until the hotel door closed behind them and they were no longer visible that he joined me.
He looked glum.
“I’m sorry Miss Wheeler isn’t interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with you,” I said.
“Who says she isn’t interested?”
My gaze shifted to the hotel exit. “She declined your invitation to dine with you.”
“She didn’t decline.” He indicated a vacant table for two in the dining room. “Don’t worry, Gavin. We’ll see Miss Wheeler again, and I will win her heart.”
I followed him past other hotel guests enjoying their breakfast as he made his way to the table. “But she isn’t interested,” I said again.
“Didn’t you notice her flirting with me?”
“That was flirting?”
He stopped at the table and gave me a wry grin. “Clearly winning her heart won’t be easy, but the challenge will make it feel so much sweeter when I do.”
“She’s not a prize, Oscar.”
I still wasn’t convinced she would ever want a relationship with him, or anyone—she had a good life as the assistant to a very wealthy man. Nor did I think Oscar had completely convinced himself. The air of glumness clung to him throughout breakfast.
Although we could have walked on the street, we stayed on the promenade that hugged the lake’s shore.
The view was more picturesque, and we blended in with the tourists out for their morning stroll.
The street was used by locals going about their business with carts and donkeys laden with goods to supply the many hotels and shops in the village.
Not that Oscar paid much attention to our route. He kept glancing over his shoulder. There was no one there, however.
“Are you expecting to see Miss Wheeler following us?” I asked.
“She is following us.”
I stopped and looked around. “Where? All I see are tourists promenading.”
He urged me forward. “Keep walking. Let her follow.”
“She’s not there, Oscar. Your mind is playing tricks because you want to see her.”
He snorted. “Hardly. I’m not a lovesick fool. I know what I saw.”
“She went to the abbey with Defoe.”
“Neither of us saw her leave, so we can’t say for certain.” He gave me a nudge to keep me moving forward. “There’s the villa gate. It’s guarded. We need to think of something to convince the guard to let us through.”
The guard standing in front of the closed gates, hands clasped in front of him, wore a uniform with high polished boots, a peaked hat like those worn by railway stationmasters, and a military style jacket with brass buttons.
He wouldn’t have looked out of my place on the battlefield, except that his uniform was not like the Italian one worn by the soldiers we’d seen in Milan.
“Any thoughts on what to say?” Oscar asked me as we slowed our pace.
“The truth. That we want to purchase books. Signore Scala might be willing to entertain a price if he’s in financial difficulty.”
“That might work on Scala, but we have to get past him first.” Oscar nodded at the guard. “He’ll tell us to make an appointment and come back later. I think we should find another way in.”
I eyed the wall surrounding the estate. “I am not scaling that.”
“You won’t have to. I noticed on the ferry into Monteoro that the villa has a private dock. We could hire a boat to row us to it then cross the garden and knock on the front door.” His gaze moved beyond me to the bushes lining the gravel driveway.
I turned but couldn’t see anyone there.
“You!” the guard called out. “Are you the English come about the art?”
Oscar and I exchanged glances. Then we both nodded. “We are,” Oscar said, approaching the gate.
“You are early.” Even as he said it, the guard opened the gate.
We walked through, exchanged small smiles, then kept on walking.
“I should have realized something art related would get us in,” I said. “Brother Eduardo told me that Signore Scala is an aesthete.”
“Are you sure he meant it in terms of a lover of art?”
“His English is excellent. I think he knows what an aesthete is.”
Oscar stayed silent.
“Why? What else does it mean?”
Oscar took a moment to respond. “It’s a word used to describe a man who likes other men.”