Chapter 11 #3
She sat. “I do hope this weather clears up. We’re venturing across the lake tomorrow to see the other villages.
” It was a lie, of course, but she said it so smoothly that I would have believed her if I hadn’t known she’d said it for Mr. Defoe’s benefit.
I was quite sure he’d directed his assistant to follow us again.
The waiter arrived with two spare chairs and we men sat. All four of us crowded around the small table. “We leave the day after tomorrow,” Mr. Defoe announced. “I’m needed in New York. That gives you all of tonight and tomorrow to consider my proposal.”
“We still don’t have the book, Defoe,” Oscar said. “Scala hasn’t told us who he sold the book to.”
“But he will once you complete whatever task he set for you. If you complete it tomorrow, I’ll buy the information he gives you then and there. If not, we can negotiate by wire.”
Oscar scoffed. “We’re not selling you the location of the book or the book itself.”
“You haven’t heard my price.”
“Save your breath, Defoe.”
Mr. Defoe focused on me with all the hungry intensity of a hawk sighting a worm. The silky smile made me squirm. “What say you, Professor? What’s your price?”
“Me? Er…” I pushed my glasses up my nose. “Oscar speaks for both of us. The book isn’t for sale.”
“Come now, Professor. Be your own man. Don’t let him bully you.”
“He’s not.”
“The only bully here is you, Defoe,” Oscar said coolly.
The American ignored him. “Just think of all the books you could buy for your library with my money, Professor. Is the book he wants worth giving up all the books you want?”
I opened and closed my mouth, fidgeted with my glasses, cleared my throat. I knew that my every move told him how anxious his attention made me, but I couldn’t stop.
“The abbey librarian told me about another book you wanted,” he went on. “Something to do with bloodlines.”
Finally, something I could discuss without sounding like a fool.
“Bloodlines and Birthright: Observations on Inherited Traits by a Monk. It’s considered an important work.
Charles Darwin used it as a basis for his theory on evolution, which has in turn been used to explain how magic evolved.
Through families,” I added. “It’s an inherited trait.
The book is rare. The Bloodlines and Birthright book, not Darwin’s.
” Ugh. Even on a topic I knew a lot about, I came off sounding like a fool. Mr. Defoe made me nervous.
“Fascinating, Professor. I do hope you find it, and that the seller suggests a price you can afford. If not, write to me. We can come to an arrangement whereby I pay for all the books you want and keep only the one with the tattoo spell.”
“No!”
Mr. Defoe’s smile didn’t waiver. “Think about it, Professor.” He rose. “Adele, if you prefer to stay then feel free to order a plate of local delicacies and charge it to my account.”
Once he was out of earshot, Miss Wheeler asked me if I needed more tea. “You look frayed by that encounter, Professor.”
“I’m quite all right,” I said, feeling anything but. I reached for my cup laced with brandy and sipped deeply.
“The thing to remember about Defoe is that he respects self-confidence. Even if you don’t possess it, don’t show that you don’t.”
“Fake it,” Oscar added, most unhelpfully. “That’s what I do.”
Miss Wheeler scoffed. “You don’t need to fake self-confidence, Mr. Barratt. You have too much of it.” She reached out and patted my hand. “Don’t let Mr. Defoe upset you or sway you. If you want to take up his offer, then do. If you don’t—”
“He doesn’t,” Oscar said.
Miss Wheeler rolled her eyes. “You do what is right for you, Professor.”
“I do,” I assured her. “I am. The book with the tattoo spell isn’t important to me, but it is to Oscar, and I would never sell it if he didn’t want me to. Nor do I want a man like Defoe to get his hands on it.”
She patted my hand again before releasing it. “Do stop smiling so smugly, Mr. Barratt. It’s not at all becoming in a gentleman.”
Oscar’s lips turned down at the corners. “I wasn’t smiling,” he muttered.
“Now, tell me where you went this afternoon, Professor. I’ve been dying to know ever since I saw you return hours later, soaking wet. It must have been a good outing for you to have been gone so long.”
I told her about following the dandy to Villa Corzoni. Like Oscar, she was worried that I’d been seen, but once I reassured her, she fell into a thoughtful silence.
Oscar ordered a platter of local cheeses and cold meats from a waiter. Once the waiter left, he looked out of the window again. “It’s stopped raining.”
I was about to ask him what he had planned when Miss Wheeler leaned forward. Voice low, she said, “I propose we break into Villa Corzoni tonight.”
I silently groaned. I’d expected Oscar to suggest the mad plan and had hoped Miss Wheeler would help me talk him out of it. It would seem I was outnumbered. “To search for the bill of sale for the collection of abbey books?” I asked.
“You two do that. I want to solve the murder, and if Scala’s friend, or Scala himself, is involved, there may be evidence there.”
Oscar’s smile—which was definitely smug this time—implied that my hunch was right and that he’d already decided on the same course of action. But instead of telling her, he simply said, “What time shall we meet?”