"If, through some extraordinary series of events, he is alive, and I must say again that I cannot even imagine such a circumstance, don't you think he would have contacted you before now? Surely he would write to you before Arthur Palmer? Think hard on this, Emily. None of it makes sense."
It wouldn't have made sense had I chosen to believe Colin's version of the story; he was truly a clever man. Logically I still was not thoroughly convinced that Philip was alive, but emotionally I desperately wanted him to be. As I was in possession of no definitive evidence to support either view, I decided to hope for the best.
"None of us knows what Philip has been through," I retorted. "To recover from an illness as severe as the one you claim to have witnessed would have left him incapacitated for some time. He may even have lost his memory. We have no idea who took him in, who cared for him. Whoever it was would have no idea of his patient's identity."
"Emily, it has been more than a year and a half. Be reasonable. I know how much you want to believe that he is alive; I share your feelings." He stood again and turned to face me. "But it is not possible. He died in Africa from a terrible, savage fever. I cannot imagine where this letter of Arthur's came from; most likely it was misdirected, mishandled, and delivered extremely late. I wish it had never happened. You should not be forced to face the loss of a loved one more than once."
Now, as I looked into Colin's eyes, I was certain that he was at the heart of this intrigue. He knew all too well that the first time I had faced Philip's death, I had not mourned my husband. Colin's cool demeanor and soothing voice seemed condescending and patronizing; he was trying to manipulate me.
"I would think that, as Philip's best friend, you would insist upon thoroughly investigating this situation," I said.
"Believe me, Emily, if I thought there was even the smallest chance that Ashton is alive, I would already be on my way to Africa."
"I have no interest in arguing with you, Colin," I said, dismissing him. "Please leave me." I shook my head as the door closed behind him. "I thought perhaps he would show some guilt. Obviously I was wrong."
"Do you think there is any truth in what he said?" Ivy asked.
"Yes, up until the part where he claims Philip died. His calm in facing the subject unnerved me."
"I must admit I find it difficult to believe that he could have harmed Philip," Ivy said quietly.
"Think of what a man of Colin's status would suffer if exposed as having orchestrated a series of major thefts from the British Museum. Desperation has driven many a man to do the unthinkable."
"I know you are right, Emily. Our reasons for suspecting Colin's involvement in the matter of the forgeries are sound, yet the question of what really happened in Africa still troubles me."
"Perhaps all of our questions on that subject will shortly be answered by Philip himself," I said, the smile returning to my face. "Colin's story should not fluster us. We were naïve to have thought he might say anything else. Did we really expect that he would admit to abandoning his dying friend as he praised his own good fortune? Of course he would not. He has merely recounted to us the story he has told everyone since his return to Cairo after the hunt. He has had a considerable length of time to rehearse his performance. I do not think we should put too much weight on it. We would have been better to say nothing to him."
"Well, we do know that the letter does not seem to have ruffled Colin's feathers in the least. Clearly he believes that he still controls the game," Ivy said.
"His confidence will prove his undoing."
5 OCTOBER 1887
GRAND HÔTEL D'ANGLETERRE, ATHENS
Vardakas has introduced me to Pavlos Forakis, the dealer from whom he has made his recent spectacular purchases. Forakis assures me he can easily find objects of similar quality for my own collection. Have not yet decided what I shall do.
The ethics of collecting are sometimes ambiguous, particularly in this sort of a case. I have tentatively agreed to a rather large purchase-hope I do not regret it.
22
"I don't think I've ever seen you so distracted!" Margaret exclaimed as we sat together in the library discussing Homer. "You just agreed with me that Achilles is a superior male."
"Did I?" My eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry, Margaret. My mind is not entirely here today."
"Is something wrong?"
"Not at all. I just miss Philip and find myself spending more time than I ought wondering what our life together might have become." I felt more than a bit guilty at not telling my friend what had motivated these thoughts, but I could not bring myself to tell her that I hoped my husband was, in fact, alive. I still did not want anyone to point out the logical implausibility of such a thing's proving to be true.
"There's nothing surprising in that. But focus instead on the reality of the situation, Emily. Take comfort in the fact that no matter how wondrous he seems in death, in life Philip was a typical English nobleman. He may not have reacted well to your having decided to educate yourself."
"Perhaps."
"Don't be offended by this, Emily, but I think that if Philip were still alive, you would be in exactly the same position as Ivy."
"And what is wrong with that?"
"Nothing, for Ivy. She is content with her role. I do not think you would be. Eventually you would have wanted more, and your husband probably would have been shocked, if not horrified, to realize that he had married a woman with an active mind. Was Philip so unlike Mr. Brandon?"
"I cannot say," I said.
"Don't be so melancholy," she admonished me as she took her leave. "Seek solace in Homer. Your plight is far less than Hector's."
Resolved to take her advice, I dove into the Iliad, quickly losing myself in the poetry. I hardly heard Davis enter the room to announce Mr. Attewater, who had come to update me on the progress of my sculpture.
"Mr. Attewater, this looks delightful!" I exclaimed, peering closely at the sketches he held out before me and examining the paper on which they were drawn. "I am so pleased that you have already begun work on my commission."
"I am a busy man, Lady Ashton, but I consider you to be one of my most important patrons. I have chosen Aphrodite as the subject of this sculpture because she, alone among the Olympian gods, approaches your own beauty." He executed a perfect little bow as he spoke.
"There is no need to flatter me, Mr. Attewater; I have already agreed to pay you."
"I assure you, Lady Ashton, that any compliments which spring from my lips are entirely genuine," he said, puffing up his chest. "I am a man of high principles." This comment made me laugh despite myself.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Attewater, I mean no offense."
"It is nothing," he replied. "I realize the contradiction in my person that stems from the nature of my work. But remember, only once have I strayed from my principles. Do not judge me based on the lack of scruples enjoyed by the majority of my patrons."
"Let me assure you I do not, Mr. Attewater," I said, smiling warmly at him. "I am very curious about your other patrons. I believe that I know one of them rather well."
"I would imagine that you know any number of them. My pieces grace the collections of many aristocrats. Not everyone can afford originals, you know."
"Yes, I am quite aware of that and know better than to press you for names."
"I appreciate that, Lady Ashton," he said. "This is a fine library, if I may say so, but shockingly short on art. Where did the viscount keep his collection?"