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Chapter Five
The Keepsake
Rick Baldwin walked up West Parade towards the Marshall's house, beside Emmi Jones. How weird to be doing that again.
He glanced sideways at her face. Eight years hadn't left a mark on her. Seriously, not a mark.
Eight years. Rick wasn't sure why he'd chosen this Christmas to visit with the Marshalls again. He'd received the invitation as usual, tossed it on the table by the door as usual, and expected to think nothing more about it. He'd been surprised to find it on his mind during the day at the gallery. When he'd got home, he'd looked again at the little hand-made card, and thought, why not?
And so here he was. And it probably was a good time to revisit his past. Things were going well for him now. He could hold his head up and face the old neighbourhood. The group walked past his pillar-box red Porsche, and for a moment, nothing else could hold his attention. God he loved that car!
It had taken him long enough to be able to afford it as well. Whatever the others thought – he shot a sour look at Edwin, who walked silently on the other side of Emmi – he had not had life handed to him on a plate. At least, not since he was a kid. Mother had always picked him up and dropped again him whenever she pleased. If she got tired of having him around, she only had to have an attack of nerves and it was back to the Marshalls' again.
Rick clenched his teeth and pushed down the old, familiar pain. It had become a habit over the years. Well, he hadn't taken a penny of her money. Or his father's, for that matter. Father had only ever been a chequebook and a personally printed card at Christmas anyway. Rick squared his shoulders. He was a self-made man now, and nobody could take that away from him.
And now, predictably, she wanted to show him off. Her son, the successful businessman. Well, to hell with that, and to hell with her!
They were almost at the gate when Emmi sighed, that sharp little snorting sigh of hers, and Rick remembered that he was not alone in the street. He shook off his angry thoughts.
"What's up, Gers?"
She didn't answer, just walked along with that small frown printed on her forehead. He remembered that intense, focused look. It was one of the things that had first interested him about her.
"Gers?"
Still no reply. He hated it when she did that.
Janie unlocked the door, and she and George went inside.
"Look, you got what you wanted, didn't you? You talked to the woman. What were you expecting to happen?"
"I don't know. I suppose I thought – I hoped – she might be able to give me some clue. Something that would show me what I should do next. Just… something! But now I'm right back where I started. It's just one more dead end."
The three of them entered the hallway and took off their coats. George and Janie could already be heard chatting in the kitchen.
Rick was about to speak again when Edwin drew off Emmi's attention.
"Emmi, may I borrow it?"
She just looked at him.
"I know it's asking a lot. But it'll only be for a little while. You'll have it back by this evening at the latest, I promise. I have an idea."
Rick watched, fascinated, as the doubtful look on Emmi's face gradually give way and her hand moved towards her pocket. She brought out that brooch of hers, now safely wrapped again, and looked at it for a moment, lying there in her hand. Then she looked up at Edwin. Finally, she began to hand it over.
Rick couldn't believe it. She'd barely ever let him even look at the bloody thing. Now she was actually putting it into Edwin's hand—but then she paused. No, she wasn't going to do it. Rick felt absurdly pleased at the thought, as though it were a personal victory.
But the final hesitation was only momentary. With her determined little frown, Emmi placed the little package firmly in Edwin's hand, and withdrew her own.
"Thank you," was all he said. He shot one pointed look towards the incredulous Rick, then looked back to Emmi, who gave him a tiny nod and a smile. Edwin returned the nod, then grinned. Rick suddenly wanted to punch him.
"Cheer up," Edwin said. "There's always something you can do about everything." Then he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.
Emmi started up the stairs, but Rick caught her arm.
"Don't run off, Gers. I haven't seen you in years."
She stopped for a moment, looking down at him, and Rick pressed his advantage. "Come on," he said. He crossed the hall and opened the door to the living room. "Let's catch up."
Emmi hung back for a moment, then slowly descended the steps she'd climbed and walked past him into the room.
* * * * *
Edwin found George reunited with his beloved Mac Airbook. At the far end of the room, Janie was rummaging in the cupboards for food. Edwin pulled up a chair to the corner of the table by George, and placed the Keepsake in front of him.
George looked at it.
"Is that what I think it is?"
Edwin nodded.
"She let you borrow it? Actually borrow it?"
"Yes."
George sat, wordless, as Janie wandered over with a bowl of dry Sugar Puffs, which she was eating by the handful, like popcorn.
"Wow," she said, "I didn't think she ever let anyone else touch that thing."
Edwin could feel the colour rising in his face. He cleared his throat.
"I have an idea," he said. "Actually, I've been wondering about it on and off for years, but I never had a chance to test the theory before."
Reverently, Edwin uncovered the Keepsake. He noticed that it was still wrapped in the same felt, now rather worn and grubby. With a warm rush of memory, fifteen years slipped away. He'd been about twelve, and she eleven. It was one of the few times she'd actually shown him the Keepsake. She'd been worried about it getting scratched, and he'd provided her with the piece of felt from an old glasses case.
"Edwin? Are you still with us?" George waved a hand in front of his face.
"Yes. Sorry. I was thinking."
Janie shook her head. "Always your weakness."
"Anyway," said George, "What is this idea of yours, and where do I come in?"
Fifteen minutes of web-searching later, Edwin had what he was looking for. He smiled. Re-wrapping the Keepsake, he said, "George, can I just go on Facebook for a minute?"
* * * * *
By the time Emmi came through to the kitchen, Edwin had left the house. George was chatting with Henry, and Janie was practicing her Taekwondo on the back lawn. The light was starting to fail.
Cecily came downstairs after her rest, and Henry asked what everyone wanted for tea. Finalising this momentous decision required consulting Janie, who shortly came back in, sweating and slightly out of breath, but apparently still full of energy. Emmi said that she didn't mind and would leave it to the others, then quietly slipped out into the twilit garden.
At this point, she realised that she really should have brought her coat. But she didn't want to go back inside just yet. Her thick jumper would have to suffice.
The garden was very much as she remembered it, with the tiny patio, and the shrubs around the pocket-handkerchief lawn. Like the front garden, it was a trifle more overgrown now. She looked up at the old ash tree beside the lawn. The times she’d climbed that tree! She used to be able to get higher than any of them—even Janie. It seemed to be drooping slightly now, as though it were somehow more tired. On closer inspection, she found that it had a large patch of rot in its trunk. It would probably have to be cut down sooner or later. The idea saddened her. She turned away from this now forlorn feature of her childhood memories.
* * * * *
Rick closed the front door, strode to the gateway and perched neatly on the wall, one ankle crossed over the other knee. He lit his Sobranie and drew deeply from it, his eyes playing over the Porsche a few yards down the road. The beauty of its lines always blew him away, and the setting sun really brought the colour alive, though the streetlights were starting to come on, which spoiled it a bit. He might take it out for a spin later. He might take Gers, perhaps.
He blew smoke down his nose, resting his hand on his knee. She definitely still had it. Whatever it was that had always fascinated him about her, it was still there. She had some – quality, some essence - that he could never quite define; never quite touch. Perhaps that was it; that self-containedness. Perhaps it was because there was something inside her that he couldn't reach.
Rick was confident with women. Success had always come easily in that area. At first, it had seemed to come easily with Emmi, too; just like all the others. But she'd proved to be different. She'd been a challenge.
Rick took another long draw. He liked a challenge.
* * * * *
Edwin sat in his favourite corner of the snug, familiar café, reading the Poetic Edda. He'd be glad to see Dr Merrick again. His mentor's residence in Lincoln had been a comfort to Edwin during his academic exile, and they generally met up at some point during college holidays. But such meetings were always tinged with regret.
With a sigh, he laid the book aside. It wasn't that he disliked being a librarian. In fact, he enjoyed it a lot of the time. He felt at home in a world of books, and he loved helping the students from the university. He even got on fairly well with the technological side, though it wasn't his favourite element of the job. It was a good life, really, and he tried to be grateful for that. But it wasn't The Dream.
The door opened, letting in a blast of December air, and Edwin looked up to see a slightly rotund little man in round spectacles approaching. His dark hair was somewhat receding now, but just as curly ever. The man beamed at him out of his neatly trimmed beard.
"Edwin, my lad! Always a pleasure, always a pleasure." Dr Cornelius Merrick removed his scarf, drew up a chair, folded his hands and looked earnestly at Edwin.
"It was good of you to come, Dr Merrick." Edwin smiled. "What can I get you?"
"A cup of tea would be splendid. Splendid. And perhaps one of those delicious Danish pastries?"
Edwin ordered accordingly, then returned to their table.
"And how are you, my boy?"
"Oh, pretty good, thanks. I’m up for Head Librarian in the New Year."
"Ah. Good, good. And how is your mother?"
"Same as always." Edwin could barely remember what his mother had been like before the accident, and he knew that Janie had no recollection of it. He saw her often. Sometimes she even seemed to know who he was.
Merrick scrutinised Edwin for a moment, then said, "And you are still no closer to returning to us?"
Edwin smiled ruefully. "No," he said. "Not yet."
"Your foster parents are still in need?"
"Yes. Cecily's been ill for years, and will probably never be much stronger. And Henry can't go back to nursing with his back as it is, and he isn't trained for anything else - and he's not getting any younger. His pension won't pay the bills, and it would break Cecily's heart to lose that house. So here we are."
"Yes. I see, I see." Merrick nodded, his brow furrowed with concern. "It's a shame, lad, a dreadful shame. I've seen a great many promising students in my time, but you were always outstanding. Truly outstanding." He removed his glasses and polished them. "As a matter of fact, I'd always pictured you filling my shoes one day. Yes, and probably finding them too small. You were a shining light, my boy. It would have been an honour to pass on the baton to you, so to speak. An honour. Yes."
Edwin found that he had a lump in his throat. "The honour would have been mine, sir," he said.
By the time they'd finished their Danishes, Merrick had heard all about Janie's latest triumphs, and also about the trip to the Ash Well (which he found "fascinating"), and Edwin was fully abreast of the problems and challenges which the current batch of students presented, as well as the progress of the doctor's grandchildren. As Merrick wiped his hands on a pristine pocket-handkerchief, Edwin decided it was time to get down to business.
"While you're here, doctor, I thought perhaps you could shed a little light on this." He produced the Keepsake and carefully removed its wrapping.
Merrick tucked his handkerchief away, adjusted his spectacles and prepared to be interested.
"Ah," he said. "Yes, yes I see."
After a moment or two, he reached into the recesses of his tweed jacket and produced an appraiser's lens.
"Yes, yes. Quite fascinating." He turned the brooch over in his hands. "The design quite distinctively Scandinavian, of course, and quite in the style of the early Viking Age. Enamelling is unusual in that period, but not unknown. Cats being sacred to Freyja, as wolves to Odin, I imagine it represents one of the Gib-Cats. Yes."
"Yes, I was thinking along those lines. Thanks for the confirmation, doctor."
Merrick put the lens down on the table and sighed. "Such a pity it's not genuine."
Edwin's shoulders drooped slightly. He'd thought that was too much to hope for, but still…
I’m afraid we have some bad news for you…
Edwin shook the thought away. "Too perfect?" he said.
"Quite so. Quite so. Work of this calibre was beyond the reach of the craftsmen of the time, skilled though they were. Also, I would have expected to see more wear and corrosion on an item of such great antiquity. Though I do notice a scratch here," he indicated with his little finger, "but that appears quite recent."
"Yes, I think it happened just yesterday, as a matter of fact." Of course, Edwin's scholarly soul had sung at the idea that it might, just possibly, have been genuine. That in its own right would have delighted him, even without the implications for Emmi's search. And a genuine find of this sort would have been a wonderful lead – hardly anyone in the world owned anything like it. But even as it was, they'd narrowed the field considerably. He'd have to be content with that.
"So we can safely say that this must have been made by someone who had a sound knowledge of Viking Age jewellery, and an excellent level of craftsmanship?"
"Quite so, my boy, quite so. Really exceptional workmanship. Yes. I would say that very few persons today could produce such an item."
Well, Edwin still had contacts, and the doctor might be able to put him onto a few more. It might just get them a lead, you never knew.
"Thank you, Dr Merrick," he said.
* * * * *
Ok, so it had been a mistake. Emmi paced the lawn, her breath hanging white in the air, hugging her jumper about her. She should have gone straight upstairs, but no, she had to get drawn in. Again.
She reached into her pocket for the comforting familiarity of the Keepsake, and panicked for a moment when she didn't find it there. Then she breathed again. Of course, Edwin had it.
Rick's idea of a catch-up session had turned out to consist of him telling her about his business, his money and his car. He'd spent perhaps twenty minutes flaunting his success at her, and hadn't seemed much interested in anything she might have to say. And he still insisted on calling her 'Gers'. He knew she hated that.
Emmi clenched her hands against the feeling that one of them should be holding a cigarette. She really could murder a cigarette. And that was his fault, too.
Rick had given Emmi her first cigarette ten years ago. She'd coughed, of course; the smoke had rasped at her throat; she'd felt sick. And then Rick had clapped her on the back, making her swallow the smoke. "You'll smoke all right now," he'd said. And she had.
They must have been together for about two years, she supposed. Rick had really swept her off her feet. Always a lonely child, always on the fringes of things, to suddenly be the focus of an attractive boy, two years older than herself, and so full of life and energy and charm – was it any wonder that she'd been starry eyed? All the girls at school had wanted him. No one had ever been jealous of Emmi before, as far as she knew. She'd soon been completely infatuated. Her first love.
And it had been good at the start. Very good. At the start.
Emmi lifted her chin. Well, that was a long time ago. She'd moved on. She had her own life, her own achievements. Of sorts. Over the last few years, she'd barely given him a thought. She knew what he was now.
So why was it still there; that stirring in her blood when she looked at him? Why did his voice still have the power to pull at her heart? That warm, bewitching, plausible voice.
Yes, it was still there, that chemistry between them. They'd always had plenty of that.
But she'd never be fool enough to trust him again.
Emmi stood still for a moment, cold and alone in the darkening garden.
Dear God, she wanted a cigarette!
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