Good Deed Bad Deed, Marcia Morgan [summer beach reads TXT] 📗

desk. Her expression was blank, but Hugh could see intensity in her eyes.

“It’s a sunken treasure worth millions—over 50,000 gold and silver coins … and artifacts. They were recovered from a Spanish warship that sunk off the south coast of Portugal—over two centuries ago—in 1804.” She looked down at what was written and continued, paraphrasing. “The coins had been minted in Peru and were en route as cargo on a Spanish warship, the Nuestra Senora de las Mercedes. The whole fleet was attacked by the British just a day’s sail from Spain and they sunk the ship carrying the treasure.”

Hugh interrupted, anxious to add what he had to say. “Now I remember. Quite a while back I read a newspaper article about the ongoing legal battle for ownership between the Spanish government and the owners of the company who discovered and salvaged the ship.”

“Seems that Spain was victorious. I wonder if the company got anything at all for their trouble. The expenses must have been monumental. Think of how much the coins alone weigh.”

“So…what’s the upshot? How’s the museum involved?”

“Well…portions of the treasure are going to be traveling exhibits—I guess there will be more than one—and this museum is next in line. Surely it’s not just one exhibit. I may have thought logistics were a nightmare, but the security involved in hosting this exhibit will be horrendously complicated. From what it says here, it won’t be our responsibility until it lands on English soil. If it comes by air, the transport from Heathrow will be all on us.” She paused for a moment then continued. “Surely they won’t send it by ship. That didn’t work out so well last time.”

“Can you imagine any company being willing to insure something like that?” Hugh got up and began to pace around the room, his arms still crossed over his chest. “As far as I know, Lloyd’s has always been at the top of that list. I think I’ll make a couple of calls, just out of curiosity, and see if one of my colleagues knows about it.”

“In my opinion, it’s uninsurable—and that’s because it’s completely irreplaceable.”

“Possibly insurable, but not replaceable,” Hugh added. Paris returned to the documents, scanning the sections visually and with her fingers until she removed her hand abruptly and looked up at Hugh. “I finally came to the part where it tells which department will be responsible for making transit arrangements for the exhibit.” Hugh’s body language asked the question for him, and the room was silent for a moment before she answered, “Acquisitions and Transport.”

“That’s you, sweetheart—if you decide to take the position. You’ll be working full time for a while. I admit I’m selfish about our time together, but if this is something you want, I’ll support you. I can pick up the slack in other areas—not as well as you, but I’ll do it.”

“If I work the job for over a year, given I’m chosen as a permanent replacement, I could either go back to part time, or retire at a higher level. I’ve accumulated at least ten full time years—before you retired and I cut my time in half.” They looked at each other, obviously having their own private thoughts on the matter. Finally Paris said, “A little extra money would be nice, right? Who knows—there may be grandchildren in our future, and we don’t want to skimp on spoiling them.”

Hugh laughed, approached her, and drew her in close, kissing the top of her head. She leaned back, looked up at him and said, “But how could I with this other issue hanging over our heads?” Hugh cocked his head and looked at her, eyebrows raised. She received the tacit message in his expression. “Then shall I call now, instead of in the morning?”

“As you wish, dear girl,” Hugh said, handing her the receiver.

She placed the call, but had to leave a voicemail message accepting the temporary position. She rang off and sat down in her office chair. Hugh sat down in the chair opposite her. A smile crossed Paris’ face and she said, “It may be that the best part of this change will be that I don’t have to start every day with Lyle Brett.” They shared a laugh and decided to end the workday a bit early. There were treats to pick up before fighting the traffic back to their idyllic country life. There would be a quick stop at the cheese shop, and then Patisserie Luc for a tarte tatin to compliment the pork loin roast and gratin Dauphinois promised by Edith as they had dashed out the door that morning.

An hour later they were headed for the country. Traffic moved in spurts and stops, but as was their habit, a ‘book on tape’—now a book on disk—filled the car with the mellifluous voice of a man reading from Thoreau. They enjoyed sharing the words, and would often discuss what they’d heard over a cocktail. But on this evening Paris reached forward and turned the unit off. With all that had crowded her mind during the day, she was now focused on Ben and his guest, Ana. Of course she had concern for their safety, first and foremost, but she sensed something else going on. She had observed them for only a few hours, but either she was intuitive, or just a mother who was well tuned in to her children. There was a certain presence when the two were in the same room. She could only describe it as some kind of energy—a charged environment—a sense that they were on the brink of something, and that something needed to happen between them. Ana was genial, this much she knew immediately, but she was also beautiful—different—sultry—and those dark eyes? If Ben wasn’t drawn into them, he was blind to what was right in front of him. She longed to see her son settled in a good partnership, and if she had her way, there would be little people to love. She