Rubies in the Roses

‘Because DeBurgh doesn’t like me and won’t say a thing, while he does seem to like you. But make sure he doesn’t get a chance to get too close to you, huh. Could be the Don Juan type. Off you go.’ Oliver clapped her shoulder and disappeared into the room again.

‘Thanks a lot,’ Guinevere muttered. Then she called for Dolly and went downstairs to see where Max had vanished to.

Chapter Three (#u90d77593-56b9-56a1-a075-6612c40d74be)

Max stood in the yard, looking around. His expert eye seemed to search for the perfect shot to capture the place’s authentic feel: the braziers with wood in them, bumblebees buzzing around pots with blossoming plants, small orange trees already sporting first fruits.

The bright sunshine from above illuminated everything in breathtaking intensity, enhancing the colours and even the scents with its warmth.

Guinevere went up to Max and said, ‘I’m going to walk my dog. Want to join me for a look around the island?’

‘Sure. What’s his name?’

‘Her name. It’s a she. And it’s Dolly.’

Max nodded. ‘I can’t have a dog. I’m travelling all the time. Never in one place for longer than a few days.’

‘You like that?’

‘I need that. The proverbial rolling stone.’ Max snapped two shots of a weathered headstone in the wall, then he turned to her again. ‘Lead on.’

They walked out of the small door in the tall wooden gate. Those huge doors were normally never opened. In the old days they had only been used when something large like a cart had to pass through or when influential company arrived.

Overhead a great tit shot away, chattering indignantly. ‘Has a nest in the wall,’ Guinevere said, pointing up at a small hollow between the stones. ‘It’s a miracle he can squeeze himself through there. Judging by the voices of the baby birds he actually has six to eight babies in there. They should be old enough to leave the nest any day now.’

Max followed the small bird with his camera and when it sat down on a branch, he zoomed in and took a few shots. The camera’s clicks rang out in the silence.

Guinevere said, ‘If you shoot deer or other wildlife, don’t they get spooked by the sounds of the camera?’

‘There are beeps and stuff that go with the focus and the zoom but you can turn those off. I did so right after I bought my camera. The only thing you can’t turn off is the click when a photo is taken. It’s a mechanical sound having to do with parts inside the camera moving. It does disturb animals that are very sensitive to sound, like deer, but birds don’t mind usually.’

Guinevere nodded and looked around her, breathed deep and then said, semi concerned, ‘It would be a disaster if people started to dig around here. Do you think there’s a real chance of that?’

‘No, of course not.’ Max sounded sure. ‘This chap Vex, who writes up those stories in the gardening magazine, even calls his own contributions: “Seeds of folklore”. He explains for instance where plants’ nicknames come from or why some sites have become popular for their specific natural wonders. I don’t think there’s a single soul who will rush out here to find this so-called goblet of Rose and Stars.’

‘I wonder if the name shouldn’t be goblet of roses and stars. You know, both nouns plural?’

Max shook his head. ‘Don’t let Wadencourt hear you say that. He could give an hour-long lecture about the name. Rose is not the same as stars.’

‘But …’ Guinevere frowned. ‘I thought the name referred back to the precious stones used on the goblet? Rubies and diamonds, roses and stars.’

‘Very good. That’s the superficial explanation. But our super intelligent Wadencourt is the first living being who was able to discover that rose is singular and therefore doesn’t refer to the rubies but to a name: Rose. He believes that the name of the lady in the tale is wrong, that she wasn’t called Anne, but Rose. That’s also how he deduced that the keep referred to is Cornisea Castle. Of course he refused to give me any details, but I guess that there is a Lady Rose in this castle’s past and a siege because of her.’

Max looked at Guinevere expectantly as if waiting for her to confirm this.

‘I haven’t come across her yet, but then I’ve only been here for a few weeks. And Bolingbrooke owns a ton of books.’ Guinevere made a mental note to check with Oliver and Bolingbrooke, continuing to Max, ‘But if Wadencourt is the only one who realized the significance of Rose, instead of roses, in the goblet’s name, how did this garden historian Vex figure it out? In his article he also claims Cornisea Castle is the place where the goblet is hidden, right?’

‘Right. And that is Wadencourt’s big frustration. He was the first but he wasn’t the only one. This garden historian also realized it and according to his article Vex even has some proof to support it. Now before that hits the world, Wadencourt wants to find the goblet. Here.’ Max gestured around him.

Guinevere still didn’t understand it all. ‘And Wadencourt thinks he can actually do that before the article goes out? I thought publication was imminent?’

Max shrugged. ‘He claims that he knows exactly where to look. I think he’s lying. He has never turned up a single thing before, you know.’

Guinevere studied the tight, suntanned face. ‘Then why did you get in touch with him in the first place? If he never turned up a great find, he’s not an attractive prospect to work with, I’d say. Did you do it just to get this free Cornish trip?’

‘Let’s say I have my reasons for wanting to work with Wadencourt right now.’ Max exhaled. ‘Sometimes you have to do something unpleasant for the sake of your career.’

This was all a little too cryptic for Guinevere’s analytical mind. Oliver had confirmed that Wadencourt’s publications created waves and that he had rich sponsors, so maybe that had been appealing to Max. Even so … She carefully put it into words. ‘I can understand that you want to work with him, but why would he accept you along?’ She could hardly tell Max to his face he was rather rude to Wadencourt, but there you had it.

Max gestured. ‘I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.’

It sounded quite ominous. Guinevere studied his profile. He seemed like such a nice, normal chap – apart from his behaviour towards Wadencourt. But maybe he had an ulterior motive for being here. Wanting something with that priceless goblet himself?

A few weeks ago it wouldn’t have crossed her mind to be so wary, but after what had happened with Branok the Cold-hearted’s secret stash her perspective of situations and people had changed.

Once the Cornisea Historical Society had announced they were re-creating the history of Branok, a medieval steward of Cornisea Castle who was rumoured to have appropriated gold illegally, locals had believed that Branok’s secret stash could be located somewhere on Cornisea Island. The search for it had divided people, and the re-enactment of the Branok trial had even ended in murder, in the castle dungeons.

The belief you were entitled to something was a powerful motive to do things you would normally never do. Guinevere wasn’t quite sure if Max had signed up to be Wadencourt’s photographer because he was personally interested in the supposedly priceless goblet.

Max looked at her as if he was trying to discern what was behind all of her questions. Then he smiled. ‘All right, I’ll let you in on the secret.’

He leaned closer to Guinevere so she could see the golden specks in his eyes. Max whispered, ‘I come cheap. That’s what matters to our friend up there.’ He waved behind them at the castle’s front. ‘To be honest, his career is waning. He needs a big find, pronto, or those sugar daddies that sent him to Corfu and other places are going to stop being so generous.’

‘Aha. So the goblet is really a last resort for him?’ Guinevere concluded.

‘You could put it that way.’ Max folded his hands at his back. ‘Too bad it doesn’t exist. I had really wanted to do a nice shoot with you and the goblet. You have a classic face. Would have been perfect for it.’

Guinevere felt a little awkward under his praise. ‘Will you help Wadencourt look for it? Even though you don’t believe that it exists?’

‘Helping him look for it is an overstatement. He won’t tell me any of his clues or directions to the place where it’s supposedly hidden. He keeps everything he knows very close to his chest. Literally. He has this notebook that he doesn’t let out of his sight for one moment. I bet he even sleeps with it under his pillow, dreaming of his big breakthrough find. But hey, this island is supposed to be a treasure trove. Maybe we can hit on something, even if it’s not Wadencourt’s coveted bejewelled wedding goblet?’

Guinevere remembered the map in the front of the book she had studied earlier, mentioning the pirate ship, crown and gold coin chest, and she nodded slowly. ‘I suppose so.’

‘You don’t seem thrilled at the idea of a big find here. Don’t you want to go treasure hunting?’

She could hardly tell him the entire story about the Branok stash and the disaster that had turned out to be, so she said generally, ‘I like Cornisea kind of quiet. Sure, tourists come out here in the summertime, but not by the thousands a day. Something like that changes a place.’

‘Yes, it does.’ Max stared ahead with a frown. ‘I’ve been to places to photograph them before they had tourist appeal and after. It can spoil it completely. Pure natural beauty.’

He glanced at her and smiled again.

Guinevere flushed. He was flirting with her, and she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. She did find him attractive, but he also seemed to be rather short-tempered and callous in his treatment of his boss. Wadencourt was not a true friend to Bolingbrooke either it seemed, so maybe the two of them would have to leave again soon? Guinevere had enough experience with people vanishing from her life not to want to go through that again.

A painful void spasmed inside as always when she thought of the blank pages in her life. The parents she had never known. The family life with them she had never had.

As if Dolly noticed her sudden sadness, the dachshund pulled at the leash, and Guinevere lengthened her stride to keep up with the doggy. The physical exertion pushed the twinge of pain aside. Moving forward was always the best way to go.

Max said, ‘So how did you end up here?’