Three paintings of French chateaux hung on the walls in Elizabeth’s office. James stared into his barely recognisable reflection in the glass. Long gone were the days where he could pull an all-nighter and still look fresh as a daisy the next morning. He sighed as he placed the final stack of paperwork on the white desk in the centre of the office.
Journals and PhD theses, all bearing sticky notes with illegible scribbles, filled her tiny office. Elizabeth showed no signs of slowing down. She had an addiction. He looked up at the glass case. The white bookshelves were covered with black fingerprint powder.
Why did she take the sword home with her? Did she suspect Maximilian would try to steal it? And if so, why did she make it easy for him?
‘This stuff is everywhere.’ Alistair ran his finger along the glass case, disturbing the fresh coating of white dust.
‘I don’t know what I was hoping to find, but it wasn’t mountains of paperwork,’ James said as he ran his fingers through the pile of papers he had just skimmed through.
‘I need coffee.’ Alistair pulled out another set of journals from the shelves.
‘Perfect. You get the coffee while I continue searching the rest of the apartment.’ James walked out of the office, then down the hall and towards the main bedroom.
Twenty minutes later, James was sitting at the edge of Elizabeth’s bed, flipping through the third travel guide he’d found in the top drawer of her bedside table. One guidebook, he could understand, but three was obsessive. Each guide rehashed the same information and missed out on the most beautiful parts of France, areas off the well-worn tourist trail. They were places his grandparents had dragged him to when he was younger. His summers comprised visits to an endless number of chateaux with rare book collections and abbeys. It was as if his grandfather wanted to visit them all before he died. In those libraries, James developed a love of literature.
James closed the book and sighed. He missed his grandparents. It was becoming unbearable to flip through the pages of the book without reliving those moments.
Elizabeth shared his grandfather’s love of medieval chateaux, as evidenced by the sticky tabs placed throughout the pages of all three books. As he threw the third travel guide into the bedside table, a Eurostar Standard Premier boarding pass to Paris floated out from the pages and onto the floor. The date on the ticket was the eighth of July, eight days after the dig. James crouched down and slipped the ticket into the inner pocket of his jacket. Then he pulled the three travel guides out of the bedside table drawer for a second time.
A bang echoed through the apartment.
‘Sorry it took so long. The service was a nightmare,’ a voice called out from the front of the apartment. ‘I had to order three times.’
James looked down at the travel guides and wondered if he should tell Alistair about the ticket or keep it to himself. As James pondered the root of his newfound paranoia, Alistair barged in through the door while holding two cups of coffee and a brown paper bag. A buttery aroma filled the tiny bedroom and enticed James to smile at Alistair.
‘Some light reading?’
‘Maybe these could hold a few answers.’ James followed Alistair out of the bedroom and towards the living room. ‘I realise that I’m probably reaching, but it could lead us somewhere.’
It was as James had expected. Someone had been through Elizabeth’s office at the NMA before him. Papers were scattered across the desktop and across the floor. Filing cabinets were left hanging open. And based on the carnage that surrounded him, their search was fruitless. He was tempted to point the blame at Maximilian, but it all seemed too easy. Almost too convenient. Or maybe Anwar was right—he had a gap in the front page to fill and missed the excitement that came with chasing a story. For now, James was sticking with “too convenient”.
James stood at the door and took in the scene. His eyes wandered through the trail of shattered ceramic treasures on the floor to find a way through the mess without disturbing the evidence. Alistair pushed past him and meandered around the office. It wasn’t the aimlessness of a first-time visitor. His route seemed purposeful, like he had been there before.
Alistair leaned over and rummaged through the open drawer.
‘Be careful of the broken pottery pieces,’ James said as Alistair looked up at him.
‘They’re forgeries.’ Alistair continued to rummage through the drawer.
James rolled his eyes as he tiptoed into the office and stopped in front of the bookshelf behind the seat where he had been only a few days earlier. He pulled out the books, checking to see if anything lay hidden behind or between the pages.
James froze.
He stared at the last book on the shelf. It seemed so out of place. The book was a limited edition of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. He pulled the cloth-covered hardback from the shelf. James ran his fingers along the thick pages in an attempt to pry them apart, but they were stuck together. As he flipped the cover open, he found the book was hollow, and it contained a collection of receipts.
‘I didn’t have you pegged as an Austen fan,’ Alistair said from the corner of Elizabeth’s office.
‘It’s full of receipts.’ James looked back at him. ‘It’s unorganised. I can’t figure out if it’s all work or personal expenses.’
He pulled out a paper receipt from The Olive Garden in Tintagel.
‘That must be from the dig.’ Alistair dismissed the receipt, pulled it out of James’s hand, and threw it back inside the book.
James picked up the receipt and stared at the date on the bottom. ‘No, the date is wrong. It’s more recent than that.’ James continued to stare at the receipt. ‘Was the sword excavated nearby?’
‘It’s a long shot,’ Alistair said. ‘Maybe she hid a piece of the sword there, but it seems too obvious.’
‘I’ll see if I can get someone from IT to grant me access to her computer to check for any appointments. I’d imagine she couldn’t have visited the site without an official appointment.’ James pulled out his phone and tapped on the screen.
Alistair picked up the Olive Garden receipt and studied it. ‘No, the castle ruins are back open for tourists. She wouldn’t need an appointment. I’d imagine she showed up, hid the piece, and left.’
Fifteen minutes later, James found a vehicle hire receipt from a company in Paris, a receipt from a local brasserie in the city of Pierrefonds, and a speeding ticket from the French police that she’d received somewhere along the D973. He smiled to himself. All these events had taken place within the same time frame; on the same day as the Eurostar ticket.
‘The quickest way to travel to the castle ruins in Tintagel is by car,’ Alistair said. ‘I’ll go because I’m familiar with the Arthurian legend. I’ve worked at the site, and I know my way around. If it happens to be closed, I’ll get better access.’
‘Sounds good.’ James nodded. ‘I’ve found a receipt to a bakery in France that’s within walking distance of a chateau in Pierrefonds. It could be a long shot, but I think she may have hidden a piece there. My grandfather is a chateau enthusiast like your lady. I think he’ll be able to get me into a few of the more restricted sections of the chateau.’
‘Yes, I think we’ve spent far too long here already. We should move along and travel to our respective destinations. I think it’s better if we get to the pieces before anyone else while we have the advantage.’ Alistair grabbed the hollowed-out book from James’s hand and placed it back on the shelves.
Amongst the receipts, James felt the coolness of a piece of metal. He looked at the receipts and moved them around in his hand as Alistair guided him towards the door.
‘James, we need to leave. I’m worried that Maximilian might come back. And if he does, we’re both screwed.’ Alistair closed the oak door to Elizabeth’s office behind them.
James stared at the rusted metal in his hand and slipped it into his pocket. Alistair grimaced at the letters etched into the gold plate on the door. There was something odd about the way Alistair was pushing him away from Elizabeth’s office. Alistair was playing the part of the estranged, stressed-out lover too well. It was almost as if Alistair was trying to distract him from a trail of clues James hadn’t found earlier. Or maybe he was blaming Alistair because he had sat face to face with the man who kidnapped Valentine a few days earlier and didn’t see the clues. Perhaps it was easier to believe the man in front of him was playing a role instead of suffering at the hand of his poor judgement.
‘She changed her name.’ Alistair pointed towards the name etched into the gold plate. ‘She’s dropped my last name.’
‘I’m sorry.’ James placed his hand on Alistair’s shoulder.
Alistair stared at the name plaque on the closed door. ‘It’s been changed, and so soon.’
James grabbed Alistair by the arm. ‘We should leave. At this point, you’re just torturing yourself.’
The two men strolled away from Elizabeth’s office and through the museum towards the carpark. Still clutching the receipts and the secret fragment of the sword, James said goodbye to Alistair and planned an impromptu trip to France in his mind as he dashed towards his red Peugeot.