A Royal Wedding(15)
She was back in her makeshift office across the hall before eight. She’d photographed each of the pages yesterday, taking her time to get detailed photographs of every page and then more detailed shots of the cut edges where they’d been sliced from the book.
The rest of the day she’d spent making meticulous notes on the condition of each of the pages. For something reputed to be upwards of six hundred years old, they were remarkably well preserved, a fact that at first had her doubting they could possibly be authentic and wondering if they were nothing more than a clever forgery. After all, nobody really knew what had been in the missing pages, only that the book and its prayers had been famous for their healing words.
And yet the more she’d examined the pages, the more she’d been convinced they were the genuine article. It couldn’t be confirmed until samples were matched with what little remained of the Salus Totus, but she almost didn’t need that confirmation right now to be sure. And the longer she examined the pages, the more certain she was that this had the potential to be the very biggest discovery of the twenty-first century.
And she was at the heart of it.
Her heart raced with the potential. People worked thankless long decades in this industry, re-examining texts already long known, searching for an angle, a point of difference with which to elevate their careers out of obscurity. Seldom did people have an opportunity like this, the chance to examine a new discovery practically thrust upon them.
It was really happening.
And now, because the pages were in such amazingly good condition and she didn’t have to spend time stabilising what was left, she could get to work on the translation. Some time this morning the power had been restored and gratefully she snapped on the lamps she’d arranged around the desk.
She’d recognised just an odd word or two as she’d performed yesterday’s tasks and it had been tempting to stop and decipher more. Now she had the luxury of time to study them more closely. So it was with a heart bursting with possibilities that she retrieved the package from the box in which she’d stored it and gently placed the first page in front of her.
It was hours later before she happened to glance at her watch. Excited about her work so far, she knew she had to move, so she stood and did a few stretches before heading to her room across the hall and the jug of water she had left there.
She poured herself a glass and took a long drink, gazing out of the window, musing over the pages, before her eyes caught on a movement below the castle. A boat was nearing the dock—it looked like the same boat that had brought her over yesterday, although she’d got the impression from the way the men spoke that the provisions runs happened no more than once or twice a week. She glanced down and saw Bruno standing ready to meet it. Curious, she waited for it to dock, wondering what they were bringing this time.
Make that who, she amended, as a raven-haired woman was handed by a smiling skipper to the shore. A striking woman too, in a peasant top and skirt that showed off a tiny waist and generous curves. With a laugh and a wave to the skipper, she pulled a scarf around her shoulders and climbed into the Jeep alongside Bruno. Grace lost sight of them as they started up the cliff track.
Who was she? Grace had got the impression visitors weren’t exactly welcome here. She shrugged and drained the rest of the glass. Maybe someone who worked at the castle. And with any luck a cook, given how hungry she suddenly felt.
Barely ten minutes later she was back at work when Bruno appeared, a very welcome tray in his hands. Whatever was on it, it smelled wonderful. She smiled and thanked him as he put it down on a table set a safe distance away from the desk and her work, even though she knew her words wouldn’t make a dent in his grizzled visage.
‘You’re busy today,’ she said. He merely grunted in response, peering at her from under tangled brows that looked like something that had been washed up in a storm. ‘I saw you down at the dock. Who’s the woman? Does she work here?’
He threw her a dark look. ‘The woman is not your concern.’
‘No, of course not. I just thought it might be nice to say hello—’
‘Forget the woman!’ he said, marching back to the door. ‘She is not here for your benefit.’
The door closed behind him with a bang. Okay, maybe his message was none too subtle, but he was right. She should just get on with the job. At least then she could finish up here and leave. God knew, the prospect was tempting.
She was waiting for him. He let himself into the darkened room, the ache in his loins more insistent than ever after a night spent torturing himself thinking about that damned Dr Hunter. He refused to let himself think of her as anything else. He needed to think of her as a cold-blooded scientist and not as a woman.