The Little Shop of Hidden Treasures Part Four: Christmas Wishes

Chapter One

It was a scene that played out in Hope Henderson’s nightmares for weeks after the event: Isobel Lovelace collapsing onto the floor of the Ever After Emporium. Sometimes, the flashing lights of the ambulance appeared immediately and the bad dream got better as Hope watched the paramedics whisk the older woman to hospital. On other nights, they took forever to arrive and Hope was forced to do what she’d done in real life – place Isobel in the recovery position and hold her until the terrifying seizure had passed, praying that help would arrive in time. And, once, they didn’t come at all, causing Hope to run outside into York’s streets to beg for assistance, but no one would stop. She woke up drenched in sweat after that dream, her heart thudding and her face wet with tears, and found it impossible to get back to sleep.

In reality, the reassuringly calm paramedic team had taken excellent care of the unconscious Isobel. Hope had hesitated over whether to accompany her in the ambulance – Isobel had been furious with her and might not appreciate waking up to find Hope at her side, but there was no family for Hope to call and she couldn’t let Isobel go alone. The hours spent in A and E, waiting for news, were horribly tense and Hope only began to breathe easily when she heard Isobel had regained consciousness and was undergoing tests.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ a kindly nurse had advised Hope as midnight came and went. ‘She’s resting now, and we’ll know more in the morning.’

There had been guarded good news when Hope rang the next day; Isobel continued to respond well to treatment and seemed to have suffered no lasting effects from the seizure. She spent several days in hospital before being discharged into the care of a private nurse and was now back in her penthouse apartment, recovering, although Hope hadn’t been to see her. Their last meeting had been angry and full of accusation. Hope was convinced it had helped to trigger the seizure. She wasn’t sure how much Isobel remembered, or whether she knew that Hope had accompanied her in the ambulance, but she wasn’t keen to upset her again.

‘You’ll have to speak to her eventually,’ Iris pointed out over drinks as two weeks stretched into three. ‘She needs to understand it wasn’t you who sold her family secrets.’

Hope sighed. ‘I did tell her. But I don’t know if she remembers.’

Iris narrowed her gaze. ‘On that subject, has that cockwomble archaeologist admitted responsibility yet?’

She meant Ciaran McCormack, Professor of Egyptology at the University of York, and the insult was only improved by Iris’s no-nonsense Yorkshire accent. It raised a reluctant smile from Hope, who had received a message only that morning. ‘No, not yet. He wants to meet up, to convince me of his innocence.’

‘Of course he does,’ Iris said with a level look. ‘But he’s about as innocent as Dick Turpin.’

Again, Hope couldn’t help smiling. The infamous highwayman had been imprisoned and eventually executed in York, for horse theft. She knew he had a reputation as a roguish charmer, although the truth was his crimes had often been fairly brutal when viewed with an unromantic eye. There could be no doubt of his guilt, however, and that was the point Iris was making. ‘There isn’t anyone else who could have taken the photographs,’ she conceded. ‘It had to be Ciaran.’

The source of Isobel’s anger had been a letter from the mysterious sounding Abyssinian Institute, a historical society claiming to have seen pictures of an old journal belonging to her great-aunt, Elenor Lovelace, and offering to buy the diary for its collection. The only person Isobel had shared the journal with was Hope. She had misguidedly shown it to Ciaran and, since the writings made reference to a shameful family scandal, Isobel was understandably furious to receive a letter that suggested the journal’s contents had been leaked. Hope knew it must have been Ciaran who’d been responsible. There was no other explanation.

‘Cockwomble,’ Iris repeated, with increased disgust. ‘As if it wasn’t bad enough that he started seeing you when he was still married. You should report him to the university – if nothing else, it’s extremely unprofessional behaviour.’

Hope couldn’t argue with that but she had no proof that Ciaran was behind the leaked journal, other than opportunity, and a married man having an affair was hardly unusual. ‘I’m half-tempted to meet him,’ she admitted to Iris. ‘I think he might come clean, face to face.’

Iris snorted. ‘I doubt it. He’s lied to you before, remember – what’s to stop him doing it again now?’

‘He didn’t exactly lie,’ Hope said, hating the defensive note in her voice. ‘He just didn’t tell me everything.’

‘That’s right,’ Iris said, nodding with infinite patience. ‘Because he is a duplicitous weasel who is not worthy of you. And the fact that he used your relationship to acquire and sell Isobel’s family secrets is all the proof you need. Don’t give him the opportunity to try and snake round you again, Hope. That’s exactly what he wants.’

Taking a long sip of her Cosmopolitan, Hope pictured Ciaran, all floppy dark hair and chiselled chin and sparkling grey eyes. Everything about him suggested he’d just returned from seeking the Lost Ark of the Covenant and it was partly his good looks that had drawn her in so completely. That, and his easy charm and gorgeously lilting Irish accent that made even the most mundane observation sound poetic. And because of that undeniable attractiveness, Hope knew she had to be even more on her guard because, in spite of the way he’d treated her, deep down she suspected there was part of her that wasn’t quite over Ciaran McCormack.

‘What does Will think?’ Iris asked.

And now Hope’s mind flipped to their mutual friend, whose opinion of Ciaran had never been high to start with. ‘About what you’d expect,’ she told Iris. ‘But I think he’s trying to keep most of his thoughts to himself.’

Iris nodded. ‘Unsurprising, given you fell out for weeks the last time he gave his opinion.’

Hope shifted in her seat, remembering how miserable she’d been when she and Will hadn’t been talking. ‘Yeah, it’s safe to say we haven’t really discussed it. He was concerned about Isobel’s wellbeing, obviously, but once we knew she was going to be okay, we let the subject go.’ She paused and shook her head. ‘But enough about me – how are things with you? How’s Martin?’

An uncharacteristically bashful smile crossed her friend’s face. ‘He’s good. Great, in fact.’

For as long as Hope had known Iris, she’d been struggling with the frustrations and disappointments of online dating and even though they’d often laughed about the disastrous dates Iris had sat through, she knew the florist craved the elation and security of a relationship with someone who complemented her instead of trying to compete. From what she’d said, Martin was nothing like the men she’d dated previously but perhaps that was the reason things seemed to be working out. Whatever the difference, Hope was pleased Iris had finally met someone who made her happy. ‘I’m glad,’ she said simply.

‘I think you’ll like him,’ Iris went on. ‘Will too. I’d love for you both to meet him sometime.’

That might prove tricky, Hope thought. Will was guardian to his niece, Brodie, who had an aversion to strangers, which meant Will was unable to go out in the evenings, since babysitters were out of the question. The loss of both her parents in a car accident had left Brodie silent and suffering from separation anxiety, and although the little girl had come to accept Hope’s presence in Will’s house, it had taken time and perseverance to form a bond Brodie was comfortable with. All of which meant Will’s social life was severely limited and Hope couldn’t see the situation changing any time soon. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t meet Martin and give him the best friend seal of approval. ‘I’d like that too,’ she told Iris. ‘He sounds great.’

‘He is,’ Iris said and gave Hope a sidelong look. ‘Want me to see if he has a single friend I can match you up with?’

‘No thanks,’ Hope said, holding up her hands to ward off the well-meaning suggestion. Between the hurt Ciaran had inflicted and the disastrous misunderstanding that had led Will to try to kiss her, romance was the last thing she needed right now. ‘I’m taking a break from men.’

Iris gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I don’t blame you. But don’t give up completely – the right guy for you is out there somewhere. You just haven’t found him yet.’

Except she already had, Hope