Chapter 16
Lincoln
Uncharacteristically of me, I place a call to a rare antiques dealer I met in New York many years ago, when I was still furnishing
this house. Ordinarily, Edgar would be my go-between with the outside world, but this feels . . . personal. Or maybe I just
don’t want him to ask questions about what I’m doing. Because I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing.
I searched for the shop online and confirmed it’s still trading, and Harriet, the woman I met, is still listed as the owner.
She answers after a few rings. “Hardman Antiques. This is Harriet Hardman speaking.”
I smile to myself. Her landline telephone number and professional telephone manner are almost an antique in today’s fast-paced
technological world. It makes me feel nostalgic for a forgotten time in my life, a time before I was who I am today.
“Harriet. My name is Lincoln Knight. We met some years ago.”
“Of course we did. I remember you well, Mr. Knight. I believe you put two of my children through college.” She laughs softly.
“Are you looking for some new furniture?”
“Not exactly. I’m looking for a book.”
“A book?” She sounds surprised.
“A first edition if possible.”
“Books aren’t really my specialty, but I have a friend who could help.”
I bristle at the thought. I abhor dealing with new people and avoid it as much as possible, especially when involving anything
remotely personal. “I’d rather deal with you.”
She pauses for a few beats. “Of course. I can arrange the transaction if you’d prefer. Which book is it you’re looking for?”
“The Secret Garden.”
“Oh, that is a beautiful book, and we should be able to get you a copy of that quite quickly. Do you have a price range in
mind?”
“Whatever it costs. I want one in the best condition you can find.”
“Oh, delightful,” she squeals. “Is it for your collection, Mr. Knight, or a gift?”
Even more uncharacteristically, I find myself replying with the truth. “It’s a gift.” A long overdue one, although I don’t
reveal that. “I’ll email you details of the PO box to send it to, and I’ll wire the money as soon as you confirm you have
the item in your possession.”
“Perfect, Mr. Knight. I imagine we can obtain a copy by tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Harriet.”
“My pleasure. It was wonderful to hear from you.”
I end the call and lean back in my chair, and can’t help picturing the happiness on Imogen’s face when she sees the book.
At least I hope it will make her happy.
There’s no denying the fact that I’ve trapped her here against her will, yet she seems to have an ability to find happiness in the smallest of things.
I recall her squeal of delight in discovering a rose growing out of the brambles in the garden, the way she savors a slice of apple pie, how excited she was over a simple calendar.
She’s an incredible young woman who deserves the world, and if I cannot give her the world, I will bring whatever she wants of the world to her.