Grace had missed meeting Ellis the day before as she’d had to get home to see to Cora rather than get another telling off for being late again. Now, the next morning, Grace had just arrived at work and could hear him talking in the office. After smoothing her top down, she stuffed her cardigan (it had a snag in the sleeve from catching on the corner of the kitchen counter as she’d rushed out to get the bus) into her handbag and pushed open the door with a big smile on her face to mask the anxiety she was feeling inside. Meeting new people was on a par with going to new places as far as she was concerned – fraught with uncertainty and something she’d rather avoid if possible. And last night had been another trying one, so she was now exhausted, and that never helped. Cora had hardly slept, calling out for drinks followed by demands for the lamp to be switched on, or indeed off, as the mood took her, and making Grace feel murderous. At about midnight Grace could have sworn she’d seen a smirk on her mother’s face when she’d bellowed for the lamp to be switched on again so she could read. It was all Grace could do not to bop her mother over the head with the flaming book, she was that worn out.

When she had eventually managed to get her mother settled, Grace had then been so wired that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Instead her thoughts had meandered into a destructive spiral of self-loathing brought on by going over all the little digs Cora had given her recently. Forgetful. Nosey. Rough-handed. Lazy – this had been shortly after 2 a.m. when Grace hadn’t come into Cora’s bedroom quickly enough to check out the noise coming from the street outside that had woken her mother up. When Grace had then got back into her own bed she had analysed each of Cora’s criticisms, turning them over inside her head, searching her memory for all the shreds of evidence that corroborated the words, so they were now hanging around her like a millstone dragging her down and making her feel quite useless.

Grace looped her bag over the back of the chair by her desk, then straightened her hair and inwardly rallied herself so as to appear outwardly poised and breezy. Mindfulness. Or ‘in the moment’ as her counsellor called it. A strategy he had taught her to help her focus and to not let her mind wander away with self-sabotaging thoughts.

‘Here she is! Our wonderful Girl Friday.’ Betty came bustling towards Grace and put an arm around her shoulders, giving them a little reassuring jiggle as she propelled Grace forward. ‘Ellis, this is our Grace. She keeps the whole place going and we’d be absolutely lost without her,’ Betty said kindly, lifting Grace’s spirit. Blushing, she said, ‘Hello,’ and put out her hand. Ellis wasn’t at all how she had imagined he might be – big and brash and dressed in long baggy shorts and a baseball cap with a Yankees logo on; she realised now that this stereotypical image was way off. He was younger too, late thirties perhaps, and wearing a dark navy, impeccably cut suit and a crisp white open-necked shirt. He was also very attractive; tall, athletic, with a natural tan that accentuated his toffee-coloured eyes and dark brown hair.

‘Hello. Pleased to meet you, Grace.’ He shook her hand, firm and self-assured. ‘And thank you for thinking to email the images of the artwork over to me. I’m very excited to see them in real life, as it were.’ He smiled, showing perfect white teeth and making his eyes crinkle at the edges.

‘Oh, it’s no trouble.’ She looked away and downwards. ‘Thank you for coming to see them. Shall I take you to the unit now?’ she then asked, realising that she still had hold of his hand as she stole another quick look at him. She promptly dropped his hand and folded her arms instead, wishing she’d kept the cardigan on now to wrap around as a comfort to mask her feelings of inadequacy. ‘Um, that is if you have time, you might want to … do other stuff first, or get a drink or something … I’m not sure what the plan is …’ She let her voice fade away, knowing she was talking too much.

‘Let’s get you both a cup of tea first, love, and then you can show him everything,’ Betty said, chivvying Ellis towards an armchair in the customer waiting area and beckoning for Grace to come along too. ‘Or would you prefer one of those posh coffees you like, Ellis?’ Before he could answer, Betty bellowed over her shoulder to Larry: ‘Can you go to the café on the corner and see if they do that macchiowotsit coffee that Ellis likes?’

‘Aunty, it’s fine. Please don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account. A cup of quintessential British tea would be perfect.’ Ellis smiled, placing a grateful hand on Betty’s arm as he saw the bewildered look on Larry’s face.

‘It’s no trouble,’ Betty said.

‘I could go for the coffee, if you like.’ Grace quickly intervened to save Larry having to go, and thinking it best to offer in case Ellis was just being polite and really did want a macchiowotsit. He was their guest, after all, and had come to help them find out more about Connie, for which she was very grateful, so it was the least she could do. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Grace started to panic. Where was the café? It wasn’t between here and the bus stop, that was for sure. But it couldn’t be that far if Betty said it was on the corner, and she had asked Larry to go, and she knows he can’t walk a long way with his knee … so maybe it would be OK.

‘That’s really kind of you, Grace, but I’m sure you have better things to do than fetch coffee,’ Ellis said.

‘Honestly, it’s no bother,’ she replied on autopilot, missing her chance to quell the panic at the prospect of going somewhere new. ‘I’m used to …’ She stopped talking.

‘How about you both go to the café?’ Betty stepped in again and saved Grace from floundering even further.

‘Sure. Let’s do that,’ Ellis said. ‘We can grab a coffee and you can bring me up to speed on what you know so far about Mrs …’ He paused before pulling his phone from a pocket and going to check.

‘Donato,’ Grace prompted. ‘Mrs Constance di Donato. Although, from what I can gather in her diaries, she liked to be called Connie.’

‘Then Connie it is! I like that too … brings her alive and makes it more personal.’ He beamed, his eyes dancing with curiosity. ‘And Uncle Larry says you’ve already found out lots about her from some old diaries?’

‘That’s right. I have.’ Grace nodded, the panic subsiding slightly now. But she still had to go to the café. With Ellis. A stranger.

‘Well, I’m intrigued to know more.’ And Ellis headed towards the door. So without any time to deliberate further, Grace grabbed her bag and caught up with him. ‘After you …’ He pulled open the door and held it ajar for her.

*

Twenty minutes later, and Grace had shared everything she knew so far about Connie with Ellis. They were sitting in a booth in the café and, having finished his macchiwotsit, as he had now renamed it in honour of Betty, he’d asked for a glass of orange juice, and persuaded Grace to go for a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. Insisting it was absolutely necessary, even though she had initially chosen just a plain hot chocolate to have after her glass of water as, ‘Hot chocolate isn’t hot chocolate without all the pizazz!’ he’d said. And so she had decided to go for it. And now Grace was inwardly marvelling at herself for actually feeling fairly relaxed in his company. Although Ellis had made it very easy. There had been no time for her to feel anxious over the number of steps to the café as he had walked fast and chatted nonstop all the way. He was so upbeat and cheery and it was rubbing off on her, making the millstone from earlier seem so much lighter.

She leant forward to see Ellis’s phone – he had found the email that Larry had sent to him and was scrolling through the images.

‘See this one here …’ He pointed to the screen.

‘Yes, it’s beautiful, my favourite of all the paintings,’ she said to him, then thanked the waitress when she placed the hot chocolate with an enormous tower of swirly cream on to the table.

‘Wow, that looks good,’ Ellis looked up from his phone.’

‘Sure does, don’t know what I was thinking going for the plain one at first,’ she grinned. Ellis grinned back before he turning his attention to the waitress. ‘Can I get another coffee please? The strongest you have, to help stave off this jetlag.’

‘Sure, you can get whatever you like.’ The waitress beamed at him, fiddling with her hair coquettishly, then added, ‘Are you American?’ in a coy little girl voice.

‘Yes I am,’ he smiled politely. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ and Grace was intrigued when he put out his hand to the waitress, never having seen anyone do that before in a café or restaurant. Maybe it was an American thing … to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger, as it definitely wasn’t a British thing, where people mostly avoided conversations with anyone they didn’t know. And part of her wished it wasn’t this way; she reckoned it must be nice to be that self-assured and friendly instead of anxious and inward-thinking. ‘I’m Ellis, what’s your name?’

‘Cheryl,’ the waitress giggled, followed by, ‘pleased to meet you, Ellis.’ Then, after wiping a hand on her apron, she shook his hand. ‘Where are you from?’

‘America.’ Ellis glanced at Grace, a flicker of confusion on his face.

‘He’s from New York,’ she prompted.

‘New York! Wow. Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to New York, would you show me around if I came to New York?’

‘Oh, err … probably best not to. My girlfriend is the jealous type you see, so … I’m very sorry.’

‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean anything by it, sorry, I—’ Cheryl stopped talking and glanced nervously at Grace.

‘It’s fine,’ Grace smiled at the younger girl, ‘I’m not his girlfriend.’

‘Phew, that’s a relief. Me and my big mouth.’ And she scooted off quickly.

Grace picked up a teaspoon and busied herself by scooping whipped cream into her mouth as she wondered what Ellis’s girlfriend was like. Jealous type! A mean-girl cheerleader perhaps, all blonde hair and bouncy like the Perky Yoga One; or a power type, perhaps, working on Wall Street and wearing suits and super-spikey stilettos that she could power-walk really fast in – something Grace had never managed to master.

‘Are you always so polite to waitresses?’ she asked, to open the conversation again.

‘Sure. If they’re friendly, why not?’ he shrugged easily.

‘It’s just not something we tend to do here … not that I’m criticising, far from it. It’s nice, you know … to be kind,’ Grace grinned.

‘Well, kindness matters! That’s what they say.’ And he chinked the side of his coffee cup against her mug in agreement. ‘And I know you Brits are more reserved so I probably should take note of that, or I could end up in trouble with women like Cheryl looking to hook up when they come to visit the Big Apple.’

Grace laughed and was about to ask what his girlfriend’s name was when her mobile rang. She glanced at the screen, surprised on seeing that it was Phil.

He never rang her.

‘Do you mind?’ She waggled the phone in the air, figuring it the polite thing to do before answering. It was such a long time since she’d been out in a social situation that she wasn’t even really sure what the protocol was these days.

‘Sure,’ Ellis nodded, ‘go right ahead.’

‘Hello,’ Grace said tentatively, racking her brain as to why Phil would be calling her in the middle of the day.

‘Listen, Grace,’ he said to open the conversation. ‘I’ve been thinking … about our chat the other night.’

‘Oh, I see,’ she said softly, bracing herself for what was to come but wishing she hadn’t answered now as nobody wanted to be dumped in public. Maybe he’d had a rethink and seen that what she had said made some sense. She’d be sad, of course, as he had been kind to her in the beginning, but recently … well, it was inevitable that he’d go the same way that Matthew had. Having a demanding mother like Cora would certainly put a damper on any relationship. She knew that, and Phil had said Cora was ruining his life …

‘Yeah. About the spa break. And I really need to know if you’re properly up for it because I know a bloke who can get me a deal. His missus has bailed out on him so he wants to shift the booking asap.’

‘Oh, I see. Did he say when the booking was for?’ she said, mentally crossing her fingers that it was sufficiently far away to give her enough time to see if it was even possible to sort out care for Cora. That’s if she’d even consider letting Grace have a weekend away for her birthday.

‘Err, don’t know off the top of my head. A few weeks’ time I think. But what does it matter?’

‘Um …’ she stalled.

‘We don’t want to miss out and end up having to pay full whack. If we go halves it’ll be a right bargain.’

‘Can we talk about it later?’ she asked, feeling flummoxed at being put on the spot, let alone how they’d suddenly gone from him treating her, to them going halves on her own birthday trip. But then this was typical of Phil; on Valentine’s Day they had gone to the Indian restaurant round the corner for a curry. It was to be his treat. Only he discovered he’d left his wallet in the pocket of his other jeans when the waiter brought the bill … and so she had paid. And he still hadn’t ‘sorted her out’ for the pizza she paid for the other night. Not that she minded paying, but it would be nice if he took a turn now and again, especially if he had promised up front to treat her. And she didn’t have enough money to spend on spa weekends in any case. But she wasn’t about to debate all of this in front of Ellis.

‘Where are you then?’ Phil asked. ‘I thought you were just at work.’

‘I am,’ she quickly told him, ‘well, I’m actually in a café—’

‘What are you doing there? You don’t even like going out.’

‘Oh, I’m drinking hot chocolate.’

‘What? On your own?’

‘No, I’m with Ellis. He’s Betty and Larry’s nephew, he’s come over from America to help us—’

‘I see.’

‘Phil, I can’t really talk right now,’ she said quietly into the phone, conscious of Ellis stirring his coffee. He was seemingly not listening to the conversation out of politeness, but how could he not hear what was being said when he was sitting right opposite her?

‘Whatever.’ And Phil ended the call.

Grace slipped her phone inside her bag and went back to the cream on her hot chocolate.

‘Everything OK?’ Ellis asked gently.

‘Oh, yes, sure. That was …’ Grace hesitated on realising that she hadn’t actually ever said that Phil was her boyfriend out loud to anyone before now. Not even to Jamie. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if she had ever spoken properly about Phil to him. Maybe she should. It might be useful to get another perspective on their relationship … but then, possibly not, for she knew Jamie probably wouldn’t like Phil. He hadn’t been impressed when she’d mentioned about having to pay at the last minute for the curry on Valentines Day … ‘A friend,’ she settled on.

‘A friend.’ Ellis nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

‘You were showing me the pictures …’

‘Oh yes, see this one here …’ He put the cup down, picked up his phone and tapped the screen to bring the image of the Venice waterway and the Salute into view.

‘Ah, that’s my favourite one,’ said Grace, licking a speck of cream that had fallen from the spoon onto her index finger.

‘In that case you have an excellent eye for art.’

‘Really?’ she smiled, leaning in closer, but then quickly sitting back on realising she sounded overly effusive.

‘You sure do. Because this is the image that made me want to tag on some extra days to my trip and come to London right away!’

‘Oh?’

‘Sure did. You see, this could be an original by a recently discovered artist. Is there a mention of the paintings – or indeed an artist – in Connie’s diaries by any chance?’ he asked, looking up from the phone.

‘No. Not that I’ve come across so far. But I did wonder if Connie was actually the artist, as she’s certainly very creative in her prose … maybe she had a flair for painting too.’

‘Hmm, interesting theory. But I don’t think so. You see, I’ve seen the marking on the bottom right-hand corner of these paintings before. The first time was on a collection of three American landscapes which were recently acquired by the Guggenheim Museum in New York. Then a miniature watercolour dated 1943 was discovered here in England, in the attic of a house in Woolwich,’ he said.

‘That’s such a coincidence, as I actually live in Woolwich.’

‘Really? Well, I never,’ Ellis said, lifting his arms and turning his palms upward in a gesture of incredulity. ‘Perhaps you know the street where the house was. I have the details right here.’ And he quickly searched his phone, explaining that he’d made a note of all the information they held about the miniature watercolour on the auction house computer systems, just in case it proved useful while he was here. ‘Repository Road.’

‘Oh, that’s where the army barracks is. Maybe the artist was a soldier if the painting is dated 1943.’

‘Could be. A bundle of pencil drawings were also found there too … all with the same marking on, so we will need to work out how they’re all connected.’ Grace liked how he said ‘we’, as if they were already a team bound together in their quest to unravel the mystery of the forgotten items in unit 28. ‘Little is known about the artist, other than that they were reclusive and most prolific in the 1950s and 60s, as there are more pieces with the same marking on in private collections around the world, each one commanding significant sums at auction. But some of those paintings surfaced in America and then some later works were found in Italy. George Clooney is a big fan, which of course has helped drive collectability of the paintings.’

‘Wow! So you think the paintings in our storage unit are by the same artist?’

‘Well, I need to take a close look, but I’m hopeful,’ Ellis grinned, lifting his eyebrows.

‘And a recluse, you say.’ Grace was intrigued. ‘Does that mean nobody knows who the artist is? Rather like a Banksy of olden days?’

‘Yes. I guess so,’ he nodded. ‘Although there was rumour of the artist being of noble descent – a count, or was it a lord? It was definitely a title or prominence of some kind, but nothing has ever been proven so it could all be hearsay. But mystery surrounding an artist always adds a certain intrigue and premium to the value of each piece as it surfaces.’

‘How exciting. And Connie did live in Italy,’ Grace added. ‘I know that for sure from her diary which is dated 1955 … so the timing fits. Maybe she knew the artist and bought the paintings before they became valuable.’ Ellis nodded slowly, as if mooting the idea as a possible answer to the conundrum.

‘But how come the collection is here in the UK?’ he asked. ‘Why would she bring them all the way from Italy and put them in a storage unit in Greenwich, England? Surely she’d hang them on the walls of her home … don’t you think it seems odd to hide them away for all these years? Call me biased, but to me art is a joyful thing. Something to be treasured and enjoyed, not banished away.’ He shook his head, deep in thought.

‘I agree. But I’ve seen all sorts of things hidden away inside our storage units.’ She smiled, remembering the medals and the fossils.

‘Oh, I bet you have! So come on, tell me what’s the most bizarre thing you’ve ever found?’ he asked, putting his phone away in a pocket so as to give her his full attention.

‘Well, this isn’t bizarre, exactly, but it did make Larry and me stare in silence for a few minutes after unlocking the door to this particular unit … number 211. It’s stuck in my head ever since.’

‘Go on … what was in number 211?’ he prompted, widening his eyes and hanging on her every word.

‘A collection of prosthetic limbs! Which isn’t that unusual; but all of these ones were right legs, and in various sizes from tiny baby ones right up to adult man-size ones – luckily the owner turned up, after Larry sent the third payment reminder notice, and took them away, as we had no idea what we were going to do with them.’ They laughed together, and Grace liked how being here with Ellis made her feel. Light and relaxed. And she wondered if she might get to come to the café again before he had to leave for the next part of his European trip.

‘That’s too funny! I can just imagine Uncle Larry’s face on seeing all the legs. I bet it was a picture.’ And they laughed some more. ‘Well, thankfully it didn’t put you off opening abandoned units for ever more or we would never have discovered Connie’s intriguing collection. And I can’t wait to get inside the unit and take a look.’

‘Well, it’s very kind of you to come here and see for yourself,’ Grace said in a moment of exuberance. ‘I’ve grown quite fond of Connie, so it would mean a great deal to me to find out more about her life and what happened to her.’

‘Then it means a great deal to me too, Grace! I’ve really enjoyed being here in the café with you and I’m looking forward to us spending more time together on this.’ He nodded as if to punctuate his point, making Grace blush as she looked down into her now empty mug.

Was he flirting?

She’d been out of the loop for so long that she couldn’t really tell. And her and Phil had just kind of become a thing. There had never been any flirting as such … more a casual acceptance of two people walking home from the bus stop together. But then, suddenly, Cora’s words from last night were flying around inside her head again … Forgetful. Nosey. Rough-handed. Lazy. And then: he has a girlfriend, in America, you fool, and she’s bound to be smart and vivacious and beautiful so he’s hardly going to flirt with someone like me now, is he?

She inhaled sharply and let out a quick breath to clear her head, determined to not let the millstone drag her down again and spoil the moment, for right now she did actually feel normal. She was out in a café with someone who knew nothing about her difficulties with anxiety and the challenges she dealt with at home, and it felt nice. In fact, it felt very nice indeed to be enjoying herself and participating in her own life for a change. And not waiting for Cora to bang on the flaming ceiling any minute now and bellow her demands.

‘Me too,’ she said softly, ‘I’m looking forward to it as well.’ She didn’t look him in the eye, but she’d work up to it for sure. Today was just the beginning as, in that moment, she made a promise to herself to make more of an effort, knowing that she was ready to break out of her self-imposed confinement. Even if it was only to come to the café now and again for a hot chocolate, and maybe Larry would be OK with her bringing her laptop and doing the invoicing spreadsheet while she was here? It would make a change from just being at home or at work, plus she couldn’t really see another way as she could hardly stop going home at lunchtimes to give Cora her lunch and a comfort break. And she was also going to broach the topic with Cora of having a weekend off to go to the spa with Phil. After all, her mother had said she should make more of an effort with this one …

‘Awesome,’ Ellis said, then after clearing his throat he carried on. ‘Unravelling the provenance of an interesting piece of art is the very best part of my job. And there are ten paintings in Larry’s email, so if they are all genuine … then we need to hurry up and find Connie’s next of kin, however far removed, and break the good news, because the Guggenheim – and George Clooney – are bound to be interested for sure.’

‘Good news?’

‘That’s right. The collection could be worth a considerable amount of money if sold to the right buyer. Of course, I’ll need to establish authenticity and ownership of title.’

‘Title?’

‘Yes, we need to be sure the paintings were Connie’s … that they are her possessions to be inherited, and weren’t stolen or acquired by some other criminal activity.’

‘Oh, I’m sure that isn’t the case,’ Grace quickly intervened, ‘Connie doesn’t strike me as being that kind of person; her diary is so open and honest, and well … it’s very romantic. Romantic people aren’t usually criminals, are they?’ Ellis smiled at her, as if amused by her rationale. ‘And we know now that she had a daughter, Lara. I wonder what happened to her?’

‘I guess we have to assume that she died,’ Ellis said, ‘and that’s why the Bona Vacantia department got involved. Although, strictly speaking, everything in the unit belongs to the storage company now – it’s in the Ts and Cs of the contract in the event of non-payment – but I’m sure Larry wouldn’t want to deny someone their rightful inheritance, if it turns out that there is a long-lost living relative somewhere.’

‘Which, unfortunately, is looking unlikely.’ Grace sighed. Betty’s friend, Maggie, had managed to find out that Connie did indeed die intestate and with no living relatives that anyone was aware of. And adverts had been placed in newspapers but nobody had come forward, not even to contribute to the cost of the funeral. That had been paid for by the state and then recouped from the proceeds of the sale of Connie’s home. The balance of which, some £750,000, was sitting in a government bank account somewhere, waiting to be claimed. Apparently, the funds would be paid out, with interest added, if they were successfully claimed by a relative within twelve years.

‘But not impossible!’ Ellis said. ‘We know that Connie lived in Italy for a while so there could be family members there who she didn’t keep in touch with when she came back to London. If the paintings are genuine, then there are other ways to search for relatives. We have specialist law firms back home that hunt for heirs, especially if there is a large inheritance at stake. And £750,000 is a lot of money! I’m sure you have the same here in the UK.’

‘Ah, yes my mother watches that Heir Hunters TV programme,’ Grace told him, remembering when Cora went through a phase of sitting up all night watching back-to-back episodes with the volume up so high that she’d had to wear earplugs when trying to get some sleep.

‘That’s it.’

‘So how will we know if the paintings – or indeed all the possessions – truly belonged to Connie?’ she asked.

‘Well, it’s tricky without a will that specifically mentions each item in the storage unit, but if we can find some mention of them in her papers or diaries, and receipts would be useful, you know, if she bought them from a gallery perhaps … Or photos of her with the items showing in the background. Some connection is always helpful.’ He creased his forehead, as if pondering on all the possibilities.

Grace thought about what he had said as she took a mouthful of her hot chocolate. ‘Penny for them?’ Ellis asked, ‘that’s what you say here, don’t you?’

‘Ah, yes, we do,’ she laughed, touched by his efforts at Britishisms, ‘although I haven’t heard anyone say it for a long time … I was just thinking about Connie, and wondering why she didn’t sell the paintings, if they are worth a lot of money? Her neighbour told us that she died alone and in poverty …’ Grace shook her head. ‘Why would she struggle like that when she had all those valuable possessions in the storage unit right there at her disposal?’

‘Yes, it’s very sad, but not uncommon. I’ve seen it several times … usually the older person is reluctant to dip into their relatives’ inheritance, taking pride in being able to leave as much as possible to their children or grandchildren.’

‘Interesting. Then perhaps Connie was doing just that … kindly leaving everything for someone else to benefit from, at the expense of her own wellbeing.’

‘It’s odd then, that she didn’t leave a will. Maybe she simply didn’t know the true value of the paintings?’ he suggested. ‘It could be as you said, that she bought them back in the 1950s or 1960s and really had no idea … it is possible, and I’m looking forward to finding out.’

‘And what about the jewels? They could be costume and worth nothing at all, of course, but they are very realistic looking … what if the stones are precious diamonds and rubies? Wouldn’t they be worth a lot of money too?’ Grace wiped her mouth on a napkin before summoning a modicum of courage to look Ellis directly in the eyes. He smiled and held her gaze momentarily.

‘Jewels?’ He lifted one eyebrow.

‘Yes, there was a big leather jewellery box in the unit, crammed full of exquisite bangles, necklaces, earrings and brooches.’

‘And where is the box now?’ Ellis leant forward eagerly.

‘Larry locked it away, to be on the safe side.’

‘I’d like to take a look, if I may?’

‘Sure … do you know much about jewellery then?’ she asked, remembering what Larry had said.

‘Well, I’m no expert; art is my thing. But I did spend some time covering for a colleague a few years back in the Fine and Antique Jewel department.’

‘Oh, does that mean you have a contact who might be able to help us with the jewellery too?’

‘Yep. It sure does,’ he nodded enthusiastically, and then quickly drained the last of his coffee. ‘So I think it’s about time we finished up here and headed back … because the mystery of unit 28 just got a whole lot more intriguing.’