There were breaks in the cloud as Cesca pulled up outside Kristofer’s house, chinks of silver-blue that struggled through the gloom, only to be swallowed again. But the rain had stopped and the temperature had risen to somewhere more like the average for a British June.

She gave her reflection in the rear-view mirror a quick inspection before she unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out. But as she shut the car door, Kristofer was already out, striding down his tiny garden path.

‘Good morning!’ he called.

Cesca broke into a broad smile. She was quite sure that if Kristofer aimed his delightful face at the clouds and ordered them to part, they would. But for now, she contented herself with letting his face chase away the remnants of any bad mood she might have been affected by that day.

‘You’re keen,’ she said.

‘I’m naturally curious. For the answer to a riddle, I am always keen.’

‘A man after my own heart,’ Cesca said as she climbed back into the driver’s seat and leaned across to open the other door for him.

He held up a CD as he climbed in. ‘I have music for our journey.’

‘What is it?’ she asked, gesturing for him to insert it into the CD player anyway.

‘Some traditional music from my country. I think you liked it last night.’

‘I did. I hadn’t heard any before.’

‘These are professional musicians – it will sound much better than what I could play for you.’

‘I thought you were brilliant.’ Cesca started the engine and the sounds of fiddles and pipes burst from her speakers.

He grinned. ‘That’s very kind. You are flattering me.’

‘Not really; I honestly thought you were great.’

‘This…’ He started to drum on the dashboard. ‘This is better.’

Cesca had never listened to much folk music before, unless it was in the course of her studies or work. But there was something so infectious in Kristofer’s enthusiasm that she couldn’t help but be seduced by his CD too. Before she knew it, she was bobbing her head as they took the gentle curves of the country lanes leading up to Silver Hill House. Street-cool Paolo – more likely listening to sounds of the underground than the sounds of the fjords – would roll his eyes in despair if he could see her now. But Paolo wasn’t here, and why care anyway?

Fifteen minutes later, she accelerated to escape the drag of a slow-moving tractor and Silver Hill House appeared on the horizon ahead.

‘It looks amazing,’ Kristofer said. ‘I have longed to see inside since I arrived in Cerne Hay.’

‘It is amazing,’ Cesca agreed. ‘Sadly the interior is in dire need of repair. Sympathetic repair too, not some bodge-up with plasterboard and laminate flooring. Unfortunately, the kind of renovations it needs come with a hefty price tag. It breaks my heart to see it in such a mess and I’m afraid if things get much worse the structure itself may start to disintegrate.’

‘We should begin a campaign to save it,’ Kristofer said. Cesca turned briefly to see him staring thoughtfully up at the colonnaded frontage in the distance.

‘That would be a huge commitment for anyone.’

‘It would. But you could do it? You have your museum – they could help?’

‘I’m not sure how much. Financially, I doubt it very much; we need every penny we get for our own exhibitions and upkeep. We could drum up publicity I suppose. I don’t know where I’d stand on campaigning in a personal capacity. I suppose it would have to be registered as a charity or something – everything done in the proper way.’

‘I would help,’ he said firmly, and Cesca didn’t doubt his intentions for a moment.

‘Perhaps it’s something we can talk to Will about when we get there,’ she said.

‘He was happy for me to read his family’s documents?’ Kristofer asked.

‘He seemed OK with it on the phone,’ Cesca said. ‘I think he’ll take what help he can get in that quarter.’

‘Do you think the find will be returned to him?’

‘I have a feeling it does belong at Silver Hill House; the problem lies in establishing proof for that. That’s much harder to do. My gut is telling me that the decision will go for the crown.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means Harper will get a finder’s reward and the collection will go to the state. I expect it will end up in a London museum, particularly that spectacular crucifix, which is already causing some excitement. If that alone goes for the sort of money I think it will we certainly won’t have enough to buy it for our museum.’

‘That would be a shame.’

‘It would be a shame to see it leave Dorset where it belongs, but that’s the way things are done.’

‘You are pragmatic about it.’

She shrugged. ‘I have to be – it’s my job.’

---

The vast main gates of Silver Hill House were open. Will stood to one side, closing them again and twisting a key in the padlock as Cesca drove through.

He was walking towards the car as she and Kristofer climbed out.

‘Miss Logan.’ He nodded, but then checked himself as she gave a good-natured frown. ‘Sorry – Francesca.’

‘You can do better than that,’ she said. ‘Only my mother calls me Francesca, and only when I’ve been naughty. Cesca is just fine. And this is Kristofer… the gentleman I told you about on the phone.’

Kristofer stepped forward, hand at the ready for an enthusiastic shake. But Will seemed to be more cautious, taking it but barely cracking a smile.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said, though he sounded anything but.

Cesca was puzzled by the moment. She couldn’t imagine Kristofer offending anyone no matter how long they spent with him, and certainly not before the first words of greeting were exchanged. But Will, though displaying a courtesy that befitted his station, definitely seemed guarded.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing your wonderful home and to finding out more about your history.’ Kristofer followed Will as he started to walk towards the house, apparently oblivious to any discomfort he might have caused.

‘It’s certainly a long one,’ Will replied.

Cesca trotted after them, her shorter legs having to work much harder to keep up with their long strides.

Will led them through the grand but damp entrance hall, past the doors of disused rooms to his favourite sitting room, where a small fire burned in the enormous grate. It was early June, but in a room this big and shaded from the sun, the extra heat was welcome.

‘I’ve found what I could,’ he said, gesturing to a pile of paperwork on a leather-topped desk. ‘I’ve read through some of it but I must admit I don’t know how useful it will be.’

‘Might there be more?’ Cesca asked as she moved to flick through the top few sheets. At first glance, there looked to be a lot of lists and household reports and not much else and they didn’t go back nearly far enough. ‘Anything older?’

‘I’ve yet to find it if there is,’ Will said.

‘Perhaps I could help you to look?’ Kristofer said.

Will looked him up and down. The appraisal was so brief, so subtle, that anyone not paying attention would have missed it. But Cesca didn’t. What was Will’s problem today? He could be aloof but this was something else entirely.

‘I’d rather handle it myself,’ he replied. Kristofer gave an amiable nod.

‘For sure. Ask any time if you change your mind.’

‘Thank you,’ Will said. ‘I appreciate that.’ He turned his attention to Cesca. ‘Do you need space to work, or will you be taking everything back to your office?’

‘We actually wondered if we could take a look around first,’ Cesca said.

‘What on earth for?’ Will asked, looking from her to Kristofer and back again. ‘What would that achieve?’

‘Kristofer has offered to help and I thought it might be useful for him to get some background.’

‘I can’t see that the colour of my ancestors’ bed sheets will have any bearing on the case,’ Will said.

Cesca tried not to let her mouth drop open. On the phone earlier, he’d been far more receptive to the idea of visitors and had expressed no misgivings at the suggestion that they might do some detective work of their own. Granted, she’d only mentioned looking at old paintings and documents and such, but she still didn’t see why he’d suddenly become so closed.

‘Of course, if that’s a problem we wouldn’t dream of imposing,’ Kristofer put in, seeming to finally sense the tension. ‘I should explain that I’m a writer, and a natural mystery seeker. A house like yours…’ He smiled and stretched his arms. ‘It is too incredible for me to resist.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t go rampaging through it, however,’ Will insisted, managing very well to resist the effects of Kristofer’s infectious enthusiasm. ‘I’m more than happy to take Cesca around, and she can bring any items she feels are pertinent to the investigation down to this room for you to inspect. I hope you won’t be offended by my decision, but please understand that this is my home and not some curio.’

Kristofer threw an uncertain look at Cesca, who gave a tiny nod.

‘That’s a good idea,’ she said. ‘I’m sure Kristofer will be OK with that, won’t you?’ she asked him.

‘I’ll wait here,’ Kristofer said, digging his hands in his pockets and wandering over to the fire.

‘Shall we?’ Will turned to Cesca and she followed him from the room.

---

Despite being puzzled by his attitude today, a frisson of excitement zipped through Cesca as Will led her up the stairs that she’d been denied access to before. And even as she mulled over the possible reasons for his strange mood, it seemed to change. She’d known him to be cautious in his dealings with others before, even cold, but she’d felt at their last meeting and during subsequent phone calls that he was thawing, at least towards her, and what she’d heard from Harper and Pip seemed to suggest the same was true for others. Today, so far, he’d been the same man she’d met at her first visit. But now, as they took the stairs, he seemed to relax again.

‘I’m afraid that, for the most part, the upper floors of my house will not be somewhere customers would pay vast sums of money to stay – unless they had booked a ghost tour, in which case they would be delighted.’

‘I’m quite partial to a ghost story myself,’ Cesca said, gazing at the dusty portraits as they climbed. ‘And I’m even more partial to an old ruin. Not that I think your house is an old ruin,’ she added quickly.

‘I think you might find it falls very comfortably into that category,’ Will said, and as she shot him a sideways glance, she could see a rare smile pulling at his lips.

‘Doesn’t it drive you mad?’ she asked.

‘Living here? Sometimes. But it means a great deal to me.’

‘Have you ever tried to get money to renovate?’

‘My father paid a substantial deposit to a company who promised to start work. The family coffers were almost empty after that.’

‘And what did they fix?’

‘Nothing. They took Father’s money and disappeared.’

Cesca was thoughtful for a moment. It seemed the Framptons had had their share of rotten luck. Perhaps there was some truth in the story of the cursed treasure after all. ‘I think Harper Woods’s fiancé is a builder, isn’t he?’

‘The wrong sort, or so I believe. Not a specialist in this type of renovation.’

‘But he might know people who are.’

‘I very much doubt he’d be disposed to extend the hand of friendship to me, even if it meant business for him or his cronies.’

‘You don’t much like him.’

‘No.’

‘I don’t think he’s keen on you either.’

Will let out a surprisingly soft chuckle. ‘I’m sure he isn’t. I’ll try not to lose any sleep over it.’

‘There must be more of you,’ Cesca pressed. ‘Your family, I mean. Couldn’t they help to restore the house? There’d be something in it for them, after all.’

‘Ay, there’s the rub. The family split not long after the end of the First World War. Many of us are estranged from one another and many of us have no clue where the others currently reside, even if we had a desire to reunite. If I’m honest, I rather like it that way.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you always ask this many questions?’

‘No. But you intrigue me.’

He stopped at the darkened door of a room, hand resting on the doorknob as he stared at her.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘That was probably a bit inappropriate. Mouth saying what brain should probably be keeping in, that sort of thing.’

‘Not at all,’ he said, composed again. ‘Your directness is refreshing. Too many people say what they don’t mean, or don’t say what they do. It’s the reason I prefer my own company; I think exactly what I mean.’

The door to the room swung open, and he reached for a chunky old Bakelite switch to fill the space with yellow light. The window at the far end was obscured by a heavy velvet curtain. A four-poster bed stood in the centre of the room, its mattress stripped bare. Dark wooden furniture lined the walls stacked with leather-bound notebooks, old paintings, jewellery boxes and what looked like a hundred Christmases’ worth of biscuit tins. It smelt like centuries of history. Cesca breathed it in like the best perfume. The passing of time – here was something she could make sense of.

‘I keep the daylight out to stop the paintings fading,’ Will said.

Cesca nodded and stepped forward to inspect the nearest sideboard. ‘May I?’ she asked.

‘Be my guest.’

Gently wiping the dust from an oil-painted canvas, she picked it up and held it to the light. ‘This is Silver Hill House,’ she said. ‘It’s fabulous.’

‘Painted in 1887, I believe.’

‘You know them all?’

‘Most of them. I have plenty of time for study.’

Cesca looked at him. There wasn’t a flicker of emotion on his face, and yet she saw the whole of his loneliness clearly for the first time. A king locked in his castle, unable to understand the sun that shone down upon it. He’d said he was happy here, disengaged from the outside world, but how much happier could he be as a part of it? He’d once told her he wanted a wife and a family, but how could he ever find that shut away in this house looking at old paintings? She loved history, and she loved ancient treasures more than most, but even she knew that the real world was something to be embraced too.

‘Could you sell some of them?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps. However, I suspect they’re not terrifically valuable to anyone outside the family.’

‘But they might be of great interest to a collector, or to a museum or gallery. I could find out for you.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ he said mildly. Something told Cesca that if she did come up with a buyer, he wouldn’t be that keen to sell after all. She set the painting down.

‘Do you have more that show the stolen jewels being worn?’

‘There are some with jewellery, but I don’t know if any of it belongs to the cache or not. Perhaps you could tell me if you recognise anything.’

He strode over to where she stood and began to root through the canvases lying in the dust.

‘Blast!’ he said, leaping back and shoving his thumb to his lips. ‘Old nail,’ he said, by way of explanation.

‘Let me see…’ Cesca stepped forward and before he could argue pulled his hand towards her. He made to yank it back, but he stopped suddenly and stared at her.

Cesca’s pulse quickened, caught in his gaze while everything else faded.

Another second and it was over. She tore her eyes away and brought his thumb up to inspect, her heart thudding.

‘It doesn’t look too deep.’ She looked up at him again, her own words echoing strangely in her ears as if she was outside herself.

His hand languished in hers. Imperceptibly, drawn by something she couldn’t understand, she moved closer, her eyes never leaving his…

But the spell was broken by a loud sneeze from down below. Will shook himself and moved away.

‘I’d better… painting…’ he mumbled.

Cesca’s hand dropped to her side, but she could still feel the memory of his skin in it. ‘Kristofer…’ she said quietly. ‘I should check he’s OK.’

‘Oh,’ Will said, seemingly his remote self again, ‘I’d quite forgotten about your friend. I’m sure he’s capable of standing in a sitting room for half an hour. Unless you think he’ll fall into the fire or something. I thought you wanted to have a look at the house.’

She did. She wanted desperately to explore Silver Hill’s old rooms, to have them whisper secrets to her. But suddenly she couldn’t trust herself to be alone with its owner. Something had just happened – and it was almost supernatural in its intensity. She had no idea what it was, and she had no idea whether she liked it or not. Perhaps it was better that she didn’t find out.