CHAPTER ELEVEN
My head was still reeling from my discovery when I arrived at the café.
I’d have to speak to Leonard when he came in for his elevenses, and maybe ask him if I could hold onto his precious box for a little while longer, after all.
I was keen to spend more time poring over the contents.
The diary especially might shed more light on Charlotte’s life and maybe even reveal exactly where in Hampshire she was living.
Later, I was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher and trying to decide which of Austen’s masterpieces to re-read next, when Maddy popped her head round the door.
I did a double-take. ‘Are you okay?’ She looked red-faced and a little ruffled.
‘Erm . . . yes. But there’s someone here to see you and he’s in a raging hurry. He needs to speak to you immediately.’
‘Oh.’ I stared at her, bewildered. Had I given a customer the wrong coffee by mistake? Or served them the wrong kind of cake?
‘Actually,’ said Maddy, ‘it’s that man from yesterday.’
‘The other day?’
‘Yeah, you know? The hot guy who helped you off the horse? When Wyatt was doing his superstar look-at-me-I’m-a-fabulous-actor thing?’
Ignoring her dig at Wyatt, I laughed. ‘You think he’s hot?’
‘Er . . . duh!’
I swallowed, aware of feeling weirdly flustered.
He might be to some people’s taste but he certainly wasn’t to mine!
‘What on earth could that pompous wazzock want with me?’ I muttered, glaring at the door.
‘Maybe he’s delivering a pamphlet on safety measures when riding a horse, with particular reference to helmets. ’
Maddy gave me a wary look. ‘I’m . . . not sure what he wants. But you’d better get out there – and fast. That man has the angriest eyebrows I’ve ever seen.’ She retreated with a grin. Then she popped her head back round the door. ‘By the way, what’s a wazzock?’
‘Northern expression,’ I said grimly. ‘My granny was from Sunderland. It means someone very annoying indeed.’
‘Right.’ She winced. ‘Are you coming, then? He’ll be breathing fire by now, melting the icing on the chocolate fudge cake.’
With a sigh, I headed for the door, feeling thoroughly unsettled.
I still had no idea what Dante could possibly want to talk to me about . . .
‘Ah, here she is,’ he said, as soon as I emerged. ‘The artefacts thief.’
I blanched. Never mind the chocolate fudge cake icing. His expression was blazing enough to melt the paint off the café walls!
‘Thief?’ I stared at him, bewildered. ‘I think you must have got the wrong person.’
‘So you don’t have a wooden box in your possession containing documents from the early nineteenth century? Documents that could be of great interest to an historian?’
I swallowed hard. ‘Oh. Well, yes, I have. But what has it got to do with you?’
‘It has everything to do with me. It concerns an elderly man who’s already been the victim of some low-life scumbag who tried to con him out of his life-savings!’
‘Elderly man?’ The dots were joining up in my head. ‘Oh. Do you know Leonard, then?’
I could feel his devilishly dark eyes burning right into my soul.
‘Yes, I know Leonard. He’s my uncle.’