Trouble Brewing

by Jane Tara

  “You weren’t to know.”

  “I’m so sorry …”

  “Taran, it’s not your fault.”

  Taran stared at the waterfall, almost silent now, as though the forest sounds had been lessened, out of respect. “I can’t imagine how tough it was.”

  She wiped a lone tear from her cheek. “On some level I’d always thought … I never sensed his early death psychically, but the way he lived … He’d had a close call once before, so he himself thought he was living on borrowed time.” She shook her head. “But still, I think he expected to go out in a blaze of glory, not from a drunk driver when he was out buying ice cream.”

  “Was the driver charged?”

  “Yes. Doesn’t change what he did.”

  “Are you still in touch with Scott’s family?”

  “Sometimes … I call around Scott’s birthday. Other than that … I feel like I’m a reminder.”

  “Do you still miss him?”

  “Of course, but only … moments. I’ll see something that I think he’d like. Or pass a place we visited a lot together. Or whenever I see the ocean, and the waves are perfect, I think, what a waste. He should be out there, surfing.” Calypso sighed. “I could never read the future with him, so even if he were alive, we might not be together. The grief I still feel stems from the senseless death of a wonderful person.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “I understand now. I do. I’ve never met anyone like you and would like nothing more than the opportunity to spend time with you. But if you’re not ready, then I understand.”

  Calypso linked her fingers through Taran’s. “I won’t deny it, Taran, love petrifies me. It’s such a fragile thing.”

  “Life is fragile, Callie … love is the rock-solid foundation it clings to.”

  “I never thought I’d ever be ready again. What I had with Scott was special, and I’ll never deny that, even if it hurts you.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to. He sounds like quite a guy.”

  “He was. But so are you, Taran. And Scott would kick my butt from here to next week if I were foolish enough to miss a chance of happiness.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and sank into him, completely and utterly certain that all was right in the world while she was there. “I’m ready to move on now, Taran. And I want to move on with you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Drink goldenrod tea for bladder and kidney stones

  Nell watched as her boss disappeared headfirst into the dumbwaiter shaft.

  “Percy, please, let me look for it.”

  “It’s fine, dear.” His voice boomed from the small shaft.

  She wondered if she should hold onto his feet. “It was on the right side, under a small ledge.”

  Percy stretched forward. “Oh, yes … there is a ledge. Good God,” he exclaimed “I see something.”

  Nell stood beside him, ready to grab his legs if necessary, just as he inched forward and disappeared a bit further into the shaft and then let out an echoing cheer. “It’s here! Nell, I’ve got it.”

  There was a long silence and then:

  “Do you think you could pull me back out, dear? I seem to be stuck.”

  Nell tugged Percy out of the elevator shaft and watched as he wriggled back to standing, adjusted his glasses, his waistcoat, and then his hair, before placing the package down on the table before them.

  “Your gift is extraordinary, Nell.”

  “It came to me in a dream last night.”

  “I’ve been searching for this for years. It was one of the things my mother hid during the war. I never expected to find it again.”

  “Are you going to unwrap it?”

  “Oh yes … of course.” Percy unwound the string and cloth that covered his lost treasure. Beneath it was a medieval medallion covered in green patina. He turned it over, but it was impossible to make out the inscriptions. With great reverence, he placed it back on the table and the two friends, one old and male, one young and female, stood side by side, admiring it.

  “Do you know anything about it?” Nell asked.

  “My mother told me grand tales about this piece, Nell. Whether or not any of them are true remains to be seen.”

  Nell’s psychic antenna was buzzing. There was something familiar about the disc.

  Percy took his glasses off and cleaned them. The excitement was making them fog up. “Mother swore it had been given to her by a witch. I remember being quite frightened of that when I was young, but now that I’ve met you … I’m sure the witch was very nice.”

  “Most are, Percy.” Nell patted Percy’s arm. “So this piece was a gift?”

  “Mother invested a lot of money buying pieces we now have on display, but this was given to her. It was her favorite. I’m not sure if it was a gift, or if it was given to her for safekeeping. I guess that’s why she hid it so well.”

  “Can you remember what was on it, Percy?”

  “Not really. There is an image on one side and an inscription on the other. My mother once said that translated it meant, she who keeps secrets.” Percy turned it over. “I can’t remember what language it is. One of the early Slavic languages, I think. I’ll call a linguist I know at Oxford and get him to look at it.”

  “We’ll need to take it to a conservator first, and have it cleaned properly.”

  “Any other insights, Nell?”

  Nell’s brow furrowed. “It’s an unusual piece. I don’t feel it stands alone. It’s a part of something else.” Nell shrugged at Percy. “Sorry, that’s all I’m picking up. And who knows if I’m right?”

  Percy gave her one of his slightly lopsided smiles. “I don’t doubt you for a minute.”

  Nell smiled. She liked that Percy, who was in his seventies, had so much faith in her. Many men of his generation chose to ignore psychic phenomena, but Percy was always open to Nell’s predictions.

  Much of Percy’s uniqueness came from his mother, Bea Smyth, an unusual woman for her time. Bea had been quite bohemian, something Percy’s father, a wealthy, conservative man, never tried to quash. The family had lived in the Hampstead terrace, which was now the British Museum of Romance. Bea whispered grand tales of love and romance to her son. She collected romantic artifacts and the old house was full of things that had been owned by some of England’s most famous lovers. She enthusiastically shared each new acquisition with her son.

  “Look, Percy, Queen Victoria had this clock made for Albert.”

  “Geoffrey penned this poem for Philippa Chaucer. Isn’t that romantic?”

  “This medallion belonged to a witch. She was a keeper of secrets. She protected something of great importance, Percy.”

  Percy was six when Britain declared war on Germany. His father disappeared to fight and his mother became obsessed with saving their love – everyone’s love, actually. With Percy’s help she hid the pieces she’d collected in secret spots all over the house. She was determined that no one else would get their hands on them. All her beloved pieces remained safe, unlike her beloved husband, who was killed in France. She never remarried, despite a number of offers, and instead concentrated on raising her son.

  Percy was in his fifties, teaching history at a boy’s high school, when his mother passed away, leaving him a number of properties around London, including the family’s Hampstead home. Percy’s wife, Nancy, was ecstatic. They’d hit the jackpot. At last, she’d have the life she’d always dreamt of.

  But Nancy’s plan to move to Hampstead and live off Percy’s inheritance was thwarted by a condition in the will. Percy’s mother stipulated that the home be turned into a museum, otherwise everything would be left to charity.

  Nancy screamed and cried and cursed her dead mother-in-law. Percy pretended to comfort his wife, but behind his act of unity, Percy was ecstatic. It was his dear old mother’s final act of love for her only child. They’d always had a secret dream of opening a museum, but then he’d married Nancy and he felt it best not to test her patience. She didn’t have much
at the best of times.

  Of course, Bea had been bitterly disappointed when her son fell in love with the cold, disinterested Nancy. She never voiced her disapproval, but she secretly vowed that not even over her own dead body would that icy bitch strip her son of his chance at romance – even if it were only in a museum.

  And so she changed her will and by doing so, Percy’s life.

  Percy sold some of the real estate to fund the museum. He and Nancy did move to Hampstead, but to an apartment near the big house. Despite her moaning, they were actually quite well off. Percy was certainly happier than ever once he opened the museum, and tried to include his wife in all his grand plans. But Nancy never showed the slightest bit of interest. Her bitterness finally manifested physically, and three years after her mother-in-law passed away, so did she.

  Percy mourned his wife, but he had to admit that it was much easier without her around. That was nearly fifteen years ago, and while the British Museum of Romance had never reached the potential he dreamed of, it stayed afloat and was appreciated by thousands of romantics annually. And Percy rose each day excited to be doing something he found so completely fulfilling. He honestly felt blessed, and not a week went by when he didn’t drop by his mother’s grave and thank her.

  And now, the final hidden piece belonging to his mother had been found. He felt like her vision was complete. It was quite an emotional moment. It called for a celebration really.

  “Would you like a cup of tea, Nell?”

  “I’d love one, Percy.”

  He made a pot of Earl Grey and they sat and admired their find.

  “There’s more to this piece than meets the eye?”

  Something about that statement made Nell uncomfortable. “It’s certainly a mystery.” Her phone rang. She checked it and groaned. “Sorry, Percy, it’s my grandmother.”

  Percy’s eyes lit up at the mention of Eleanor, who he thought was a handsome woman, if slightly uptight. “Go ahead, dear. I need to catalogue this piece and register it with the antiquities scheme.”

  He took the medallion and headed out the back while Nell answered the phone.

  “Hello, Gran.”

  “Where are you, Nell?”

  “At work.”

  Slight pause. “Oh, you got a job?”

  “At the BMR.”

  “Well, that’s hardly work, seeing as he hardly pays you.” Eleanor sniffed. “Good news, dear. I’ve got you an interview for a real job.”

  Nell was tempted to argue that the BMR was a real job, but knew she’d never win. Eleanor continued anyway.

  “Julian DeHart is expecting you in his office at two p.m. today.”

  “But I’m working until four.”

  Eleanor’s frustration was building. “So leave early. Percy probably won’t even notice.” She gave Nell all the details and a few extra instructions on what to wear and how to act that left Nell wondering if she was going on a job interview or a blind date. She hung up and wandered into Percy’s office.

  “Everything alright with your grandmother?” Percy asked.

  “Yes, apart from her being a meddling old busybody.”

  To Nell’s surprise, Percy defended Eleanor. “Now, now, she’s simply concerned for you. It’s a delight to see such an involved grandmother. It warms my heart.”

  Nell stared at him, surprised by his fervor. “She’s set up a job interview for me this afternoon. Her friend’s grandson works for the National Museum, and he has agreed to meet me. The poor guy probably had no choice, just like I don’t.”

  “That’s wonderful. What department?”

  “Prehistory and Europe. Her friend’s grandson specializes in early medieval Europe.”

  “Nell, it sounds perfect for you. I think you should take the rest of the day off to prepare for it.”

  “No, no, Percy, I don’t need—”

  “I won’t hear another word. The National Museum is the most important institution in Britain,” Percy said. “It would be an incredible honor to work there, Nell.”

  Nell gathered her things. There was no point arguing with Percy – he was very much like her grandmother in that respect. She didn’t mention that she’d rather work full time for the BMR. She didn’t want to pressure him, but she needed a job. She couldn’t survive forever on what she was earning, and that meant looking for work elsewhere. And the National was an amazing museum. But she left the British Museum of Romance that afternoon with a heavy heart.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Hot elderberry on a cold morning wards off colds

  Batty tried to concentrate on the accounts, but it was an impossible task. Nearby, Alf was preparing the menu for the coming week. Normally he’d interrupt her regularly with a stream of questions:

  “Steak and kidney pie?”

  “Sounds good, Alf.”

  “How about soft-shell crab lasagna?”

  “That didn’t sell so well last time. Not sure why. What about a new chicken dish?”

  “Good idea. Lemon and pink peppercorn chicken?”

  And so it would go until Batty eventually lost her patience and snapped, “Alf, I’m trying to do the books. Can’t you just be quiet for five minutes?”

  But today he was silent. Not a question, not a suggestion, not a word sprang from his mouth. And that silence bothered Batty more than his endless chatter ever could. Finally, she’d had enough.

  “Everything alright, Alf?”

  “Sure love, all good.”

  “Need any help with the menu?”

  “No, it’s taking shape.”

  “Got something on your mind you’d like to talk about?”

  A nervous pause. “No, Bettina … everything is fine.”

  “Have you added the linguini primavera?”

  “Yes, I added that.”

  “Are you having an affair, Alf?” There, she’d said it.

  Alf stared at her in complete horror. His mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. “Good God, woman, what on earth …? How could you ever think …?”

  Batty knew immediately how wrong she’d been. Every cell in her body knew the truth just by looking at him. Her husband definitely wasn’t having an affair. But still, all the signs were there.

  “It’s just you’re not present at the moment. And you have a lot of mysterious appointments. You’re distant, closed off from me, Alf.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Little things have added up recently … and you are a handsome man. I thought perhaps someone had caught your eye …”

  “Oh, love, how can anyone else catch my eye when my eyes are still glued to you?”

  “Then what is it, Alf? Something is up. I just know it is.”

  Alf made his way over to her and pulled up a stool. “Yes, Batty. Something is up.”

  *

  Nell waited nervously in Julian DeHart’s office. She hated job interviews, or anything else that took her out of her comfort zone. She glanced around the room. By most people’s standards, it was cluttered, but to one who had a passion for history, the books and papers and artifacts waiting to be studied or numbered were fascinating. Julian’s tiny, cramped, partitioned office in the Prehistory and Europe department was a small slice of heaven to a bookworm and history nut like Nell.

  A tall, goofy-looking man with a pleasant, if rather craggy, face loped into the room.

  “Nell, so sorry to keep you waiting.” Julian stretched out a hand. “Just had a collection arrive from Hallstatt. On loan for an exhibition we’re doing. So thrilling.” Julian’s eyes were alight and she almost expected his bow tie to start spinning through sheer excitement.

  Julian motioned for her to sit again, and he squeezed his long frame behind his desk. Nell took a moment to check him out. Her grandmother had raved about how handsome he was, but she obviously still hadn’t found her glasses. She’d mentioned stylish, but the bow tie blew that theory out the window. He was also supposedly a genius, but it was too soon to tell. One thing was clear: Julian DeHart was nice. Nell was immediate
ly drawn to him and was glad she’d agreed to the interview.

  “So, Nell, let me tell you a bit about the job. It’s assistant curator, here with me. It’s a twelve-month contract while my current assistant is on maternity leave, but I’m sure we’d be able to create something for you afterwards. The National Museum, as you know, is the largest museum in the UK. And the most prestigious.”

  Nell nodded, trying not to feel too overwhelmed, just as Julian leant forward and gave her a conspiratorial grin.

  “But what the tour guides don’t tell you is how fun it is. This is Disneyland for history geeks like us.”

  Normally, Nell would’ve been offended to be called a geek, but in this instance she felt quite honored to be included. To her, having access to some of the world’s most important historical artifacts was the ultimate fun.

  “Over one thousand people work here,” he continued. “And it would be a rare employee who didn’t feel privileged to be a part of such a great institution.”

  Nell was tempted to ask whether the people who cleaned the toilets felt that way, but kept her mouth shut.

  “Your key responsibilities would include record keeping and handling of all incoming and outgoing pieces. You’d be involved in installation, both the permanent collection and special exhibitions, and new media projects. The list goes on. The job certainly never gets boring.” Julian gave Nell a sweeping stare and she wasn’t sure whether he was checking out her potential as a coworker or a date. “Normally we hire people with a minimum of two years’ experience, but your grandmother said you’ve just finished your degree.”

  “My masters, yes. But I’ve also been working part time at a museum for nearly three years.”

  Julian’s face lit up. “That’s great. Where?”

  Nell steeled herself for his inevitable disappointment. “The British Museum of Romance.”

  To her surprise, Julian clapped his hands together in delight. “I know it well. Wonderful little place. Wasn’t it called the London Love Museum?”

  “Yes, we changed the name a couple of years ago.” Nell didn’t mention how she’d pressured Percy into the name change because she was sick of dealing with people who arrived expecting a sex tour. Percy had originally resisted the change, but was now grateful. He’d been wondering how to get rid of all the hookers who dropped by.