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‘That is beside the point. When you find her, you tell her it’s your mistake. I cannot have people out there thinking that Ibuy women.’
‘I hardly think that’s the most important—’
‘You promise meright now.’
‘Okay, okay,’ Mateo said, pulling the phone away from his ear for long enough to give the driver the name of his hotel, and returned to the call, ‘I promise I’ll let her know.’
‘Listen, don’t worry about Lexicon. I know the deal as well as you do,’ Henri assured him. Mateo bit back the thread of discomfort at the idea of handing it over to anyone, but he trusted Henri with his life. He’d already caught enough grief when he’d called to cancel dinner with his mother, and leaving work rankled, even if it was just long enough to get back the notebook.
‘But are you sure that meeting Léi Chen is the right thing right now? You’ve not taken a holiday foryears.’
‘This isn’t a holiday,’ Mateo growled.
‘But you’re in Shanghai, and with a pretty professor too—’
‘I’m hanging up now,’ Mateo announced, despite the smile pulling at the curve of his lip. When his entire life had changed in an instant, Henri—the first student he’d met at the exclusive boarding school his mother’s family had sent him to—had been the one to make him laugh until his stomach hurt, and smile when he’d thought he’d not find anything to smile about again. Family—Mateo knew—was made of more than just DNA.
It was made from being there when needed. Present and in person. Time and time again throughout his whole life his father had made him wait. Second to a treasure hunt that was scribbled about in the pages of a notebook Mateo couldn’t bring himself to read. There had been so many times over the years when his mother had needed her husband. Whenthey’dneeded him. But instead, it was Mateo who had stepped up to comfort his mother when she cried. He’d been the one who had made sure that his mother had what she’d needed, the security she’d needed. And his father? He’d buried himself in his research, or some dig site that might finally prove his utterly baseless theories about princesses and pirates true.
So yes, he’d come to Shanghai because he wanted that notebook back. If only to burn the thing and be done with it for ever.
In the viewing room of one of Shanghai’s most famous auction houses, Evie felt the hushed silence, as reverent as that in any museum. The large warehouse-sized space stored all of the items up for auction over the next forty-eight-hour period, and what she saw was a veritable feast of exquisite historical artefacts, some impressive, some simply beautiful.
Feeling much better than when she had landed, and dressed in clothes that were much more comfortable and familiar to her than the black and white suit she’d chosen to wear to meet Mateo Marin, she made her way slowly towards the area that displayed the items of the auction she was interested in.
Her heels clipped on the concrete floor, polished to a gleam. Her high-waisted, wide-legged trousers concealed the ferocious height of her favourite pair of shoes. It was her only indulgence, she thought, smiling a little at the rather shocking amount of money she’d paid for this particular brand. It wasn’t that she was short. In fact, if anything, at five feet six, she was almost tall in some circles. But shoes had become the thing she’d relied on to see her through whatever she faced. She’d been walking through Cambridge, shortly after her first—and last—May ball, her confidence in tatters and her heart low. She’d passed a shop and stopped to stare at the beautiful high heels in the display window.
A girl wearing those wouldn’t be laughed at, she’d thought.A girl wearing those would be confident, alluring. A girl wearing those would be awoman.
At sixteen years old, not even able to legally drink, having just been humiliated and rejected by her first crush, she’d wanted all those things so desperately. Even now, Evie’s breath shuddered in her lungs from the memory of that need. It felt like a lifetime ago, but she remembered the hurt, the pain and the hope. That was the day she’d bought her first pair of heels and she’d worn them for hours and hours, practising to walk in them until she’d mastered it completely.
Yes, she would be embarrassed again, and yes, laughed at too, and she might even have to fake that confidence a little. She might never quite be alluring enough, but she was a woman from that point on in her mind, heart and soul.
And inthismoment? Utterly sure in her ability and her knowledge of the item she was about to assess, she relished the clip of her shoes echoing in the large space as she drew closer and closer to the very item that could, one day perhaps, give credence to the Professor’s final research paper. And maybe, just maybe, help prove her own theories about Princess Isabella too.
There were a few other people in the brightly lit area but she let their hushed whispers disappear into a haze of background noise as she came to the raised glass case containing the gold legs and semi-circles of the eighteenth-century octant up for auction.
A beautiful example of an early edition octant from John Handly (1682-1744), made of gold and ivory. Unique for its unusual design and materials for the period, and the thicker, graduated arc along the bottom. The navigational equipment has exquisite and unusual detailing, with the following engraving:
‘Presented by J Berry Aberdeen on behalf of His Majesty King George II. May your travels be swift and take you where you need to go.’
Item reported, without proof, as having belonged to Loriella Desaparecer.
It was a thing of beauty, and not just because of how well it had been preserved. Despite the fact that every inch had been intended to aid navigation, there was elaborate artistry in every curve. And as she came around to the back of the glass box, allowing her to see the back of the octant, she searched for the mark that the Professor had written about in his notebook. It had been a habit of Isabella’s father, the King, to place his own mark upon any expensive gifts, in case ownership ever came into question. And there it was! A small but perfectly identifiable etching of the five petals, single stem and leaf of a clematis; the national flower of Iondorra. Just like the one from the old charcoal rubbing Professor Marin had folded into the pages of his notebook.
She peered closer just as she felt someone behind her. When she moved a step to the side to see more clearly, a shadow again fell across her line of sight. Sighing irritably, she turned to confront the person and stumbled the moment she saw who it was.
A strong arm swept out around her waist, holding her, when she would have fallen from heels that had never once let her down before, ever. As she looked up into the eyes of the man who held her, rich dark whispers of heat were interrupted by a cynical glare.
‘Fancy meeting you here,’ Mateo Marin said with absolutely no surprise whatsoever.
Her hands clutched at his waistcoat and theheat... He felt burned, deeper than his skin, so much so that he nearly dropped her.
Mateo cursed. He could read volumes in the gaze staring up at him, marvelling at the clarity of each emotion he saw. And while his mind chose to ignore the flash of desire he sensed she struggled with, his body didn’t. Fighting back his own arousal, he righted her and looked away from the pink flush across her cheekbones. He pulled once sharply at the points of his waistcoat, needing something to do with his hands other than reach for her again.
‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded with a bite no more dangerous than a papercut. She glared at him angrily from beneath long lashes he remembered being fascinated by. ‘Wait, how did you...how did you find me?’ she demanded, passing a leather briefcase from one hand to another.
He shrugged as if he hadn’t paid an inconceivable amount of money to hire someone to find precisely that information out. ‘It wasn’t that hard.’
