Aunt Dimity and the Buried Treasure (15 page)

S
arah Hanover looked as if she might be in her midtwenties. She was a fresh-faced, pretty girl, with almond-shaped blue eyes, dark lashes, and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She wore her long brown hair in a ponytail pulled back from straight bangs, and though she was petite, she was pleasantly curvy.

Instead of the standard youth uniform of top, jeans, and sneakers, she wore a short, tailored black wool jacket over a fitted dress patterned with brightly colored swirls. Black tights and ballet flats completed a look that was sophisticated but not in the least intimidating.

As she wound her way between the coffeehouse's tables, I heard Adam catch his breath and turned to look at him. His lips were parted, and his blue eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the approaching damsel. When she reached us, he jumped to his feet.

“Please, take my chair,” he said. “I'll get another.”

“Thank you,” said Sarah. Her smile produced a fetching pair of dimples as she took Adam's place next to Chocks.

Adam managed to trip over his feet twice while retrieving the extra chair, but he was composed enough to place it carefully between Fish and Ginger, a strategic location that would allow him to feast his eyes on the new arrival without being too obvious about it. My inner matchmaker noted hopefully that she wore no rings on either hand.

Chocks, Ginger, and Fish exchanged knowing glances. Their
amused smiles spoke volumes, but they were too kind to tease a freshly smitten young man in front of the young woman who'd smitten him. They greeted Sarah Hanover like an old friend and introduced her to Adam and to me.

Carrie, too, displayed remarkable self-restraint. She'd observed Adam from the moment he'd jumped to his feet, but when she brought us a tray loaded with miniature scones, tiny custard tarts, an enticing selection of petits fours, two pots of tea, and enough cups and saucers to go around, she placed it on the low table without even looking at him.

“Lovely dress,” she said to Sarah. “Another one of yours?”

“Yes,” Sarah replied with a becoming blush. “I found the jacket at the Oxfam shop on Goodge Street, but I made the dress myself.”

“Such a talented girl,” said Carrie. “And so thrifty!”

She nodded to the rest of us matter-of-factly and went back to work, but I had a sneaking suspicion that I wasn't the only matchmaker in the coffeehouse.

“Awfully good of you to join us, Sarah,” said Ginger.

“Yes,” I chimed in. “It's very good of you, Sarah. Is it true that you know Badger?”

“I haven't met him,” she said, “but I've known the story of Badger and Dimity since I was a child.”

I almost gasped. I wasn't used to hearing Aunt Dimity's name spoken aloud in public, much less by a stranger, but I covered my startled reaction by pouring myself a cup of tea.

“It was a story passed down through my family,” Sarah was saying, “a love story with an unexpected ending.”

“I talked it over with you yesterday,” said Ginger. “But you take it from the beginning, Sarah, so Lori can see the whole picture.”

“That's the plan,” she said and the dimples made another
appearance as she smiled at me. “My great-grandfather, Nigel Hanover, owned Carrie's Coffees before, during, and after the war, when it was known as the Rose Café.”

I couldn't tell her that a dead woman had mentioned Mr. Hanover's name to me recently, so I confined myself to an interested nod.

“To Great-Granddad, the Rose Café was a kind of theater,” she went on, “and his customers were the players. When he sold the business and retired, he loved to talk about the comedies and the tragedies he'd witnessed. But the story he told most often—the story my grandfather told to me—concerned a young man called Badger and a young woman named Dimity.”

“Is Badger the chap's real name?” asked Fish.

“Let the girl talk,” Ginger scolded.

“Sorry,” said Fish, and he motioned for Sarah to continue.

“My great-grandfather was on the spot when Badger fell head over heels in love at first sight with Dimity,” said Sarah. “Great-Granddad called it a
coup de foudre
—a thunderbolt. Badger had always been a rather shy man, but his shyness fell away when he caught sight of Dimity. Something about her allowed him to come out of his shell.”

“He lit up like a Christmas tree whenever she was around,” said Fish, apparently unable to contain himself.

“That he did,” Chocks agreed, nodding.

“Great-Granddad had seen many couples meet at his café,” Sarah said, “but he'd never seen a pair more suited to each other. Badger would show up early whenever they were due to meet, so he could lay claim to ‘their' table, and he made sure a cup of tea was waiting for her when she arrived, so she wouldn't have to join the queue. They'd talk for hours about everything under the sun, and when their cups were empty, Badger would tell Dimity to stay put while he fetched fresh cups of tea for both of them.”

“Sounds like a real gentleman,” said Fish.

“He was a real gentleman,” said Sarah. “Great-Granddad was absolutely convinced that he would see an engagement ring on Dimity's finger before the month was out.” She paused. “But he didn't.”

“What happened?” Fish asked.

“Great-Granddad didn't know,” Sarah answered. “They seemed to be getting along famously, when suddenly and for no apparent reason, Badger fled the café, never to return.”

I detected Nigel Hanover's love of drama in his great-granddaughter's quaint phrasing and smiled inwardly.

“After Badger left,” she went on, “Dimity returned to the Rose Café every day for several weeks. She hoped that he, too, would return, but he never did. She asked my great-grandfather if he knew where she could find Badger, but Badger's whereabouts were as much a mystery to him as they were to her. After a time, she stopped coming to the café, but my great-grandfather never ceased to wonder why such a promising relationship had ended so catastrophically.”

Sarah chose that crucial moment to pop an entire petit four into her mouth with unabashed gusto. I suspected her of employing a touch of theatrical timing to hold our attention, but Chocks seemed to think that she was torturing us unnecessarily.

“Come along, Sarah,” he said peremptorily. “The story can't end there.”

“It doesn't,” she said after a mighty swallow. “Many years later, shortly before Great-Granddad died, he bumped into Badger in Russell Square. Badger seemed to have no problem chatting about old times at the café, so Great-Granddad felt free to ask the question he longed to ask: Why had Badger walked away from Dimity?”

“What did Badger say?” Fish asked when Sarah paused again.

“He said he'd misread Dimity's intentions,” Sarah answered. “He
said she'd given him a gift, a silly gift, which he'd taken much too seriously.”

The image of a badger flashed across my mind as I recalled the stuffed toy Aunt Dimity had purchased for Badger at a street market.

“When he gave her a far more meaningful gift,” Sarah continued, “he realized his mistake. He understood all at once that, no matter what he did, Dimity would never love him, and he felt as if the sky had fallen in on him.”

“Poor chap,” Chocks murmured.

“After that,” said Sarah, “he couldn't bear to see her, couldn't bear to be near her, so he left the café and avoided it from then on.”

“Understandable,” said Ginger. “No future in it.”

“Then he laughed,” said Sarah.

“He laughed?” I said, taken aback.

“He laughed,” Sarah repeated firmly. “Badger told my great-grandfather that if Dimity hadn't broken his heart, he wouldn't have thrown himself into his work. However painful it had been at the time, her rejection had spurred him into becoming one of the foremost men in his field.”

“What is his field?” I asked.

“Before he and my great-grandfather parted,” said Sarah, “Badger introduced himself formally.” She twisted her hands in her lap and regarded us with a barely controlled quiver of excitement. “Badger's real name is . . .
Stephen Waterford
.”

The Battle of Britain boys and I were unmoved by the revelation, but it seemed to galvanize Adam.

“
The
Stephen Waterford?” he asked, sitting bolt upright. “The Egyptologist?”

“That's right,” said Sarah. She looked at him delightedly, as if she were glad that one of us understood the name's significance.

“I've read all his books,” Adam marveled.

“So have I.” Sarah's ponytail danced as she bobbed her head enthusiastically. “He's brilliant, isn't he?”

“Inspiring,” Adam agreed.

The two locked eyes for a moment, then Sarah turned to me, looking a bit flustered.

“Stephen Waterford also gave my great-grandfather his card,” she said. “When Carrie told me that you were searching for him, Lori, I went through Great-Granddad's biscuit tin, and—”

“His what?” Fish interrupted.

“Great-Granddad used a biscuit tin to illustrate his stories,” Sarah explained. “It's filled with all sorts of odds and ends that meant something to him—matchbooks, a handkerchief, a clothes peg, a Royal Automobile Club badge. I went through his biscuit tin, and I found Stephen Waterford's card.”

“The information on it must be out of date by now,” said Ginger.

“It's not,” said Sarah. “I rang Stephen yesterday—”

“Did you call him by his Christian name?” Adam asked in awestruck tones.

“He insisted on it,” Sarah replied, with a disbelieving giggle.

“Yes, yes, we're all very impressed,” Ginger said patiently, “but we'd also like to hear what this Stephen fellow said to you.”

Sarah pulled herself together.

“I told Stephen what Carrie had told me,” she said. “I told him that an American woman who lived in a small village not far from Oxford wished to deliver a deathbed message to him from a village woman he'd met at the Rose Café. I could tell that he was surprised, but he wasn't put off. In fact, he'd very much like to meet you.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to me. “Here's his address. He lives in Wilmington Square.”

I looked to Adam for guidance.

“It's not ten minutes from here,” he said.

“Ten of your minutes or ten of mine?” I asked wryly. “My minutes are slower than yours.”

“Let's say fifteen minutes, then,” he amended, grinning.

“I'm afraid you won't be able to visit him today,” Sarah said hastily. “He was admitted to hospital this morning for some tests.”

Ginger snorted dismissively.

“I never have tests, myself,” he said. “I don't trust them.”

“No more do I,” said Chocks.

“Doctors,” Fish said scornfully. “I'd have been dead fifty years ago if I'd listened to doctors.”

“Yes, well, Stephen
does
listen to doctors,” Sarah said. “He'll be home on Sunday, Lori. He said he'd set aside the whole of Monday for you.”

A scheme began to take shape in my crafty matchmaker's mind. I waved at Adam to get his attention, then asked him if he would be free on Monday.

“Free as a bird,” he said.

“Adam's my navigator,” I explained to Sarah. “He keeps me from getting lost when I'm in London. If you can spare the time, would you consider coming to Wilmington Square with us? I think Badger, er, Stephen, will be more comfortable if you're there.”

“I can spare the time,” said Sarah. “And not just because I admire Stephen's work as an Egyptologist. I'd like to meet the man Great-Granddad knew, the man whose love story had such an unexpected ending.” She looked from me to Adam. “Shall we meet here on Monday at ten o'clock?”

“Ten o'clock it is,” said Adam, sounding as if he'd never heard of a more perfect plan.

“And now, if you'll excuse me, I must go,” Sarah said, standing. “I work part time at the British Museum. My hours are flexible, but if I'll be away on Monday, I should probably put in a few extra hours today.”

“I'll walk you out,” said Adam.

The old gentlemen and I watched the pair thread their way through the tables and out into the half courtyard, where they stood, chatting animatedly.

“Looks like the lad's moving on today after all,” said Fish.

“That one won't give him any trouble,” said Chocks.

“Good luck to them,” said Ginger.

“I'd better be going, too,” I said. “Would you three mind if I stopped by to visit with you again?”

“We'd be hurt if you didn't,” said Ginger. “We're counting on you to tell us what this Stephen chap is like.”

“When the weather's fine, you'll find us here,” said Chocks.

“We creak too much when the weather isn't fine,” said Fish.

“I'll be back with the full story,” I promised. I glanced toward the line of customers at the front counter. “I'd like to say good-bye to Carrie, but it looks as though she has her hands full. Would you say good-bye to her for me and give her my thanks?”

“Leave it with us,” said Ginger.

“Carrie has it right, you know,” I said, as I shook hands with each of them. “You can protest all you want, but you're heroes in my book. Thanks for helping me today, and thanks for doing your bit back then. The world's a better place because of you, and I, for one, won't let you forget it.”

The Battle of Britain boys dismissed my comments vehemently, but when I turned to look at them on my way out of the coffeehouse, they didn't seem in any way displeased.

*   *   *

I took a cab back to Paddington. It was safer than following Adam, whose dazed expression and absentminded remarks indicated that he was happily ensconced on Cloud Nine.