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He examines the photo closely. “Interesting. Please, go on.”
“Okay, well, I haven’t managed to identify her or her relation to your family. Believe me, I exhausted so many other avenues before requesting this meeting. I’ve been to Franklin Astor Dyce’s hometown in Rye, to the museum there. They assure me the work is authentic. I went back to the museum in Surrey. Spent hours scrounging through every archive in the Talbot Library.”
“There isn’t much you don’t know about us at this point.” Ben studies the letter. “You don’t know who this letter was meant for?”
“No, but I have a theory. The curator at the Rye museum agreed to a time frame of late 1940s to early ’50s, which is about the same time Robert Tulley disappeared and William Tulley died in theVictoriadisaster.”
“You believe this girl was involved with the brothers?”
“It’s a stretch, maybe. I know. I haven’t found a single reference to a woman who would match her age or description for this time period, though. Not if she’s a relative or closely associated with the family. But why else would this portrait have sat in the house for so many decades if she wasn’t connected to your family?”
“I’ve never seen it before. That’s not itself remarkable.”
“It’s a long shot, but I hoped you might have some idea. Or at least give me a clue to follow. I’m at the end of my rope on this hunt.”
Our main course arrives. A delicate piece of fish over veggies, the presentation so refined and immaculate I’m almost embarrassed it has to go in my stomach with my morning Cheerios.
“May I keep these?” he asks, gesturing to the photo and copied letter.
“Yes, of course.”
“This is a bizarre sort of mystery. There isn’t a reason I can think of the family would have commissioned a portrait if not to mark some formal occasion. A wedding or anniversary, certainly. A significant birthday. Still, it would only be done for a member of the family or close inner circle. I admit, your theory is intriguing.”
“Do you know much about your great-grandfather’s brothers?”
“Not as much as I should, I’m afraid. They died, Robert presumably, before Lawrence inherited the title. It’s generally said the brothers weren’t close. I do remember, years ago, there was a row about a documentary that wanted to explore theVictoriatragedy. Granddad forbid the family from participating. Over the years, there have been requests by someone or another investigating what happened to Robert. He was never interested in lending his time to that either.”
“Like I said, it was a long shot.” I’ve stopped getting my hopes up for a major breakthrough. Every minor step forward now comes in smaller increments. “I do appreciate your time in humoring me.”
“Don’t think you’re getting away that easy.” Ben pours the remnants of wine in our glasses. He waves off a waiter who lurches to save him the effort. “You have me well intrigued. I’m afraid I won’t be satisfied until I know how the story ends.”
“We might be waiting a long time.”
The alcohol has seeped its way into my pores, heating my face with the warmth of a midafternoon buzz. I’ve never been day drunk before. And probably never will be again at this price point. So I take another gulp of wine, because I might as well enjoy myself.
“I’m not sure there are any leads left to pursue. You were sort of my last resort.”
“Then we cannot in good conscience surrender the fight,” he says with amused earnestness. “You’ve captured my curiosity, Abbey. I’d very much like to help you.”
“Really? What do you suggest?”
“There are some boxes of old documents stashed away at one of our summer homes on the coast. I’ll speak to my father about getting access. If he permits it, I’ll have Sophie ship them to you. Can’t promise there will be anything of relevance, but I’ve a hunch that if there’s anything to be found, it’ll be in there.”
I don’t even try to hide my excitement. “That’d be fantastic. Thank you. Anything at all about Robert, William, or a woman who could be Josephine would be so helpful.”
I’m not sure why Ben gets such a bad rap in the press. Based on this lunch, I’ve found him delightful. He has no reason to accommodate my inquisition or waste his time entertaining my curiosity, yet he’s been more than courteous. Friendly, even.
The check arrives. Ben places his hand over it when I try to steal a peek. I glimpse what looks like a total of four hundred pounds before he slides it away from me.
“Please. I’d be a dreadful host if I didn’t treat. You’ve been a welcomed distraction to my day, Abbey.”
“You’re sure?” It’s a feeble offer. Inside, I’m relieved. Dad would’ve lost his shit when he got the alert that I’d spent a fortune on lunch. “I feel bad I can’t offer anything in return for your help. I’ve taken so much of your time.”
“There is something you could do,” he says, passing off the check to the waiter. “Let us finish our conversation. I’d be interested in what else you’ve learned about Josephine and my family’s history. I’m to attend a ball for Princess Alexandra’s engagement in a couple of weeks. I’d be delighted if you’d join me.”
Holy shit.
“Wow. Um, thank you.”
