But forty minutes later… good grief, I didn’t know what to think. Was it feasible? I couldn’t wrap my mind around the possibility. I rolled my shoulders and combed my hair back with my fingers. It couldn’t be true. Could it? I popped another Butterfinger ball in my mouth and grabbed my magnifying glass.
“What’s going on?” Derek said.
I jolted slightly. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ve been standing here watching you for the last five minutes.”
“You have? I didn’t see you.”
“I know. You’re so wound up, you’re shaking the table. What I can’t figure out is whether you’re trembling with happiness or anger. Or perhaps it’s excitement. Have you been peeking at the pictures without me, love?”
I looked at the book, then smiled at him. “Never.”
“Good,” he said, prowling toward me. “But something’s captured your attention. What is it?”
I hadn’t realized my left knee was shaking like crazy. I pressed my palm down against my leg to make it stop.
“Tell me what’s got you so tickled,” he said, as he dragged another stool over and sat next to me.
“Okay.” Where to begin? I wondered. “At first I thought this book was a nineteenth-century work, but now I think that’s wrong.”
Derek focused in on me. “Are you saying it’s a forgery?”
“No,” I said quickly. “Well, yes, actually. At least insofar as the information goes that I received from Rajiv. But if my theories are correct, he’s wrong. I can’t say whether he deliberately told me something different or if he’s simply unaware of what he has. I guess I can ask when we meet him.”
“Of course you can.”
“Right. But my point is, I believe this book is almost a century older and infinitely more valuable than I originally thought. Look at this.”
He scooted his chair closer. I placed the back cover in front of him and handed him the magnifying glass. “See these tooled and gilded designs on the leather here? Near the edge of the endpaper?”
“Here?” He pointed, then glanced at me. “Where it’s been ripped apart?”
“Oh.” I frowned at him. “I did that the other day when we were looking for the flash drive. But don’t worry. I’ll fix it when I put the book back together.”
Derek chuckled. “I’m not worried. You know what you’re doing.”
“Yes, I do.” Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. I was nervous, I realized, and there went my knee, shaking again. I shifted in my chair and rolled my shoulders to realign my energies. “Anyway, this mark on the leather is called a dentelle, and it-”
“What’s a dentelle?”
I rewarded him with a beaming smile, as though he were my star pupil. “Good question. It’s a specific pattern made in the leather by a gilding tool. Here, it gives the effect of a lacy border along the inside cover. Can you see?”
“Yes.” He bent closer and focused the magnifying glass. “Looks a bit like a snowflake.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Sometimes they’re simple, sometimes more elaborate. I think of it as the crown molding on a book. It softens the border and distracts the eye from the hard edges where leather and paper meet.”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
“Here’s what I’m excited about. It’s common for different binderies to create their own signature dentelles. Sometimes the pattern is simply repeated by the hand of the binder, and sometimes they design a pattern in metal and form a plate. That plate is placed over the leather and the design is etched into it; then gold sheets are rolled or worked into the indentations.”
“Fascinating.”
“I know-it’s complicated. Anyway, some experts can open a book and state unequivocally that the book was created at a certain bindery, based wholly on the dentelles. I’m not a true expert, but I know enough to have given a few lectures on the subject.”
He patted my knee. “And I know they were riveting.”
I laughed. “Of course they were. Anyway, call me cuckoo, but I’m almost certain that the particular pattern of this dentelle is identical to the pattern used by the bindery of Jean-Pierre de Garme.”
Derek leaned over with the magnifying glass and stared at the gold tooling for another moment, then sat back in his chair. “Well, that’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Lovely?” Laughing again, I took the magnifying glass back. “You bet your sweet ass it’s lovely. But I don’t think you grok the true significance of what I’m saying.”
It was his turn to laugh. “Apparently not, so why don’t you explain it in simple English. Speak slowly. I’m still a little weak from your complimenting of my ass.”
“Sorry. That was rude.” I clutched his arm. “But this is an emotional moment for me.”
“Clearly,” he murmured, and pushed a strand of hair away from my cheek. I think it was his way of calming me down with his touch. “Tell me.”
I took another breath and let it escape slowly. “Jean-Pierre de Garme was one of the royal bookbinders to Louis the Sixteenth of France.”
“Ah. Well, that is monumental.”
“Yes!” I choked on a sudden laugh. “Yes!” Unable to sit still another moment, I jumped up and paced a few steps in either direction, then shrieked and raised my arms in victory.
“It’s incredible,” I cried. “If it’s true, this book was made sometime in the late seventeen hundreds, which makes it well over two hundred years old. Which also explains why this translation doesn’t follow the Burton text, of course.”
He stood as well and pushed his chair in. “Because Burton didn’t begin his translation of the Kama Sutra until the late eighteen hundreds.”
“Yes.” Tapping my fingers on the back of the chair, I calculated. “And that brings up an entirely different issue. This translation could very well be the first evidence that someone else in the Western world discovered the Kama Sutra almost a century before Burton.”
“A stunning possibility,” Derek said.
“But I can’t even think about that right now. Not until I’ve done more research.”
“I have every confidence in your ability to find the truth.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.” I kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Just think, Derek. This book might’ve been commissioned by the king of France.” I grinned at him, then frowned. “Was Louis the Sixteenth known for his wild sexual pursuits? Do you know if he and Marie Antoinette were, you know, players?”
Derek laughed. “I doubt it. They were too busy evading the guillotine.”
I laughed with him. “Right. It doesn’t matter. Jean-Pierre is the key.”
“Good point.” He whirled me around and planted a hot, hard kiss on my lips.
“Wow,” I whispered. “What was that for?”
“You,” he said, and bent to kiss my neck, causing shivers to zip up and down my spine. “I’m very proud of you and your discovery. But, darling, if we’re not going to look at the naughty pictures, I’ve got to get back to my phone calls.”
I smiled and touched my cheek to his. “Okay, I’ll be working here a while longer. Oh, I should call Ian at the Covington. He’s going to die when he hears this.”
“Do send him my regards.”
A day later, Robin and Shiva arrived back in the city around noon. Robin called me first thing to let me know that the flowers were beautiful, the cupcakes were delectable, and the bed was spectacular. I couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief that I’d nailed it. You just never knew about such things.
“It’s like it never happened, Brooklyn,” she said.
I recognized her tone, so I dropped my scalpel and moved to my desk chair to sit and talk. “You almost sound sad about that.”
“It is a little sad, don’t you think? All trace of him is gone. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad they cleaned everything up. But they cleaned it up so well that there’s not even a vibe of Alex left.”