Read Online The Brontë Plot by Katherine Reay - Free Book Online

that’s telling, right there. I sold the Louis XV wedding armoire today. Fifteen minutes and . . .” Lucy briefly searched her screen. “A Lila Jenson plopped down twenty-two grand. The guys will deliver it tomorrow.”
    She watched Sid rub his eyes, noting the circles beneath.
    â€œI’m glad that piece found a home. Good job.” Sid stretched his back. “Spring is always like this. I love it, but I’m getting older too. And you? Go home, call your friends. You should be out. Antiques, by definition, cannot be urgent. The air is soft tonight, highly unusual, and it won’t last. Go have fun.” He waved his hands toward the door. “Go. Go. Call James.”
    â€œIt’s the last week before the partners meet. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t been home all week. I’ve barely heard from him.”
    â€œYou’re no better. Are you sharing in the crazy?”
    â€œI’m catching up. We’ve got our own crazy.”
    â€œWell, I give up.” Sid palmed his car keys and waved. “See you tomorrow, mon coeur .”
    Lucy finished the billing then strolled through the gallery, making sure everything was in place for the next day. A few items had to be tilted this way or that and the work was done within minutes. She ran her finger over the chests and tables and recalled her parched nineteenth-century American one at home. Must remember the furniture oil.
    She lit a gardenia candle and it reminded her of the day James first asked her out. She breathed deep, waiting for the scent to give her a lift before she grasped the linen cloth from her desk drawer and headed to the books.
    Sid’s warning about one faulty sale had stung for two weeks. And like a child, fearful of fire, she’d stayed away from the sellers she knew posed a risk. The books she’d already purchased from them gently condemned her and pricked her conscience every time she dusted, sold, or even touched one. Sid trusted her judgment and had even handed over the gallery’s small but growing antique book business completely to her care. She knew she had violated that trust, but was unsure how to fix it.
    Lucy reached up and pulled down an early edition of Wuthering Heights and carefully spanned the pages to see the portrait of Cathy emerge from the edge, with Heathcliff standing guard behind her. She sighed and let the pages rustle into place as she settled behind a small writing desk. “Just a moment, then home.” She gently opened the book and started to read. A perfect misanthropist’s Heaven—and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable pair to divide the desolation between us . . .
    The door grated as someone pushed it open. Lucy jumped up, realizing she’d forgotten to lock it.
    James walked in.
    â€œI didn’t think I’d see you tonight.” She laid the book down and reached out her arms. She pulled away as she absorbed his expression. “What’s wrong?”
    James approached her, pulling his bag strap from his shoulder. “Remember how you told me inscriptions, the provenance, increase the value of a book? Tell the story behind the story?”
    â€œYes . . .”
    â€œI was at Grams’s last night and she thanked me again for that Jane Eyre .” James reached into his bag and pulled it out. “This Jane Eyre . And I looked at it, really looked at it, and I noticed something. Then I went and got Kidnapped .” He reached back in and pulled out Kidnapped . He laid both books on her desk and crossed to her bookshelves. He pulled out several volumes and slapped them down on the ledge.
    â€œJames, I . . .” Lucy’s voice died as he opened one, two, three . . .
    â€œAll different names, I’ll give you that. But the same handwriting. Lucy? Why?” He turned back to her.
    â€œI . . . I wanted them to be valued.”
    â€œThey’re stories, Lucy. They aren’t people. They aren’t