Solomon's Secrets: Chapter 7

Operation Author: 365 Actions to Becoming a Successful Author 

I'm serializing chapters from Solomon's Secrets.

I recommend that you read the previous few posts to get up to speed with the story so far. 

Enjoy, and please leave comments. Thanks

Harbourside, Bristol

 Her head throbbed, pressing in at her temples. Too much coffee, not enough sleep. But she was close, she could feel it. She needed his viewpoint. So far, ploughing through these scrawled texts was all retch and no vomit – it never got there. But could this be it?

The thumping at the door made her jump. She’d been expecting him, had been the one to call him, but her nerves were on edge. Too many memories, too much sadness. These three little Moleskine books were all she had left of David, and until now, she had kept them locked away. Out of mind.

“Hang on!” She scrabbled to her feet, dancing between the notes, sketches and maps she had carpeted her apartment with.

She wound her unruly, unwashed hair up into a knot and grabbed a couple of hairpins from the bowl by the front door where she always dumped earrings, loose change and hair grips. She jabbed them into her hair, checked the mirror briefly, then flung the door open and waved him in.

“Hi – what’s up?” he said, following her in.

“Hey,” she said without looking, she carved a path back to the floor cushion, an island in a sea of paper, “I think I have something.”

“This place is a mess Sasha, I’m amazed you can find anything in here. Can I sit?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead. Try not to disturb anything.” She folded her legs under her again and flicked through one of the notebooks, chewing on a hairgrip.

Jon picked his way to the settee she’d pushed up to the balcony door.

She spat the hairgrip out, “Ah. Here it is,” she said, then handed him a book, her finger slid between a couple of pages.

He took the book from her with a faint smile she hardly noticed, and scanned through the handwritten text.

“What am I looking for?”

She reached across and grabbed the book, finding the appropriate line, “There.” She passed the book back, willing him to get it. To understand. To see through the fog of David’s disjointed journal entries.

“These are David Thornton’s journals?”

She nodded.

“Rational water? What does that mean – it makes no sense?”

“Of course it does. Water. Phlegm. Rational,” she jabbed the book, glaring at him.

“How much coffee have you drunk, Sasha?”

“Oh come off it, Jon. Don’t patronise me. It’s a ring.”

“What are you talking about?” his face was wrinkling into a frustrated knot now. She sighed.

“Water. One of the elements. The four rings represent each of the elements”

“You mean the four elements; earth, air, fire and water?” he stared at the book page, trying to make sense of the connections.

“The elements and the humours are linked. Balance. The four rings are about balance.”

“Humours?”

“Yeah, you know. The four humours? Ancient medical science, the theory Democritus would have been familiar with, proposed an excess or deficiency of one of four bodily fluids directly influenced people’s temperament and health; Yellow Bile, Black Bile, Phlegm and Blood. A healthy person is in balance between all four. Each humour was linked to one of the four elements. And each of them were indicative of a certain temperaments. The element of water was connected to phlegm and those with an excess of phlegm were said to be unemotional and calm. In Democritus’s time they would have been called phlegmatic but the modern term, used in eastern medicine, identifies the temperament as rational. Rational water.”

“So does he say where the water ring is?” he inched forward on the settee.

“Not exactly.”

“Not exactly? What does that mean?” he sounded deflated.

“He talks about Giza, as in the pyramids, but spells it geezer. He’s referring to an Egyptian man.”

“Really?” Jon’s brow wrinkled. She would have to work harder to convince him.

“Dr David Thornton was a professor of archaeology – I’m pretty sure he could spell!”

“I know who he was,” he puffed air through his lips, “But it seems a bit of a leap.”

“Well, no. Look, here,” she snatched the book from him and flicked forwards a couple of pages, “You see,” she prodded the book and shoved it back at him. He took it and examined the page.

“A newspaper clipping?”

“Read it!”

He read the passage aloud; “Well known Egyptologist, Dr Assim Hadad, is to cut the ribbon to open the new exhibition at The British Museum next week, showcasing the contents of the tomb of Pharaoh Ramesses II’s son.  The tomb was first investigated in 1935 but recent work by an American Egyptologist, Kent Weeks, discovered more of the tomb and its fascinating contents. Artefacts and images from the tomb will be shown outside of Egypt for the first time and will be accompanied at the opening event with a talk from Dr Hadad, who has recently released a book about this tomb.” He looked up at her, his brows knitted, “So?”

“Look at the date.”

“April 1998?”

“It’s just before David went out to the Varna Necropolis. Where I first met him.”

“And?”

“He would have gone to the exhibition – he was working with The British Museum then. In fact they helped fund the Varna dig. What if he spent time with Hadad? Hadad must have one of the rings.”

“Why him? It’s a bit tenuous.”

“But David knew Hadad. And tenuous is better than nothing.”

“That proves nothing. You’re assuming David had some prior knowledge of the rings?”

Her body pulsed with the burden of her thoughts. She knew David’s connection to rings because he’d left one for her. But could she trust Jon with such information? If he knew she had two of the four rings she would have to explain how she got it. Then he’d know about the box.

She took a long breath, thought about what she could trust him with.

“Jon, there is something I need to tell you.”

His face changed. Something flickered across his eyes. Anger? Disappointment? Concern? She couldn’t say. That inexplicable shadow again.

This could be interesting?

“Go on,” he said.

“I never told you how I came to acquire the photocopy of the manuscript.”

“I had assumed it had come to you through the university?”

She shook her head, turned her eyes away. The guilt was a nail to the chest.

“David Thornton gave it to me.”

“Gave it to you? Why?” his voice changed, an edge of resentment in it.

“Well, left it to me, actually, along with these books,” she looked at him, trying to judge his reaction, they both paused, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. But it didn’t seem important.”

“Didn’t seem important,” his voice dropped to a low hiss, “Is there anything else you have kept from me, Sasha? I’m paying you for your work on this. I expect to be able to trust you.”

“Of course you can trust me, Jon.”

She smiled weakly.

“Look, it’s not important,” she continued, trying to brush his doubts aside, “All that is important is we know David was aware of the rings and had acquired the photocopy from somewhere. And he has left us clues in these books. Clues we need to follow. What else do we have?”

Jon sighed and ran his fingers through his thick blonde curls. He rubbed his eyes, as if he way erasing that shadow.

“OK,” he sat back on the settee and smiled at her, his mood seeming to lift, “I’m sorry I doubted you. I find it hard to trust people, you know?”

“I hear you,” she smiled.

“A man with my money and influence. I’ve been burned before.”

Something flashed across his eyes. Some creeping malevolence. She was wary of him for a moment but quickly dismissed it. She imagined someone had stolen from him and he was still bitter about it. She could understand.

“Well rest assured, Jon. I trust you, and that’s not something I find easy either. I’m used to being self-reliant. It’s tough having a partner to work with. I’ve done it before and it was all a bit messy. Forgive me if I keep things back. It’s not deliberate, I’m just not used to sharing. That’s all.”

He offered her a warm smile. His eyes melting into it. He looked genuine, vulnerable somehow.

“Well,” he rested his hands on his knees and pulled himself upright, “good work, Sasha. I mean it. But you look like you need a break. Come on,” he held a hand out to her, “I’m taking you out.”

“But I’m a mess!”

“You always look good to me.”

She flashed a sarcastic smile, “Yeah right. You bloody charmer. And here am I, claiming to trust you!”  she laughed. “Come on, let’s get you some fresh air.”

He smiled and she took his hands, clambering to her feet. She was glad of the diversion. He was right. She needed to get out. It had been two days since she’d left the flat and had surely contributed to the headache.

“Let me just nip to the loo,” she said, slipping his grasp. She had the urge to kiss him. She brushed his arm, gave him a quick peck on the cheek then escaped to the bathroom, leaving him stood in a snowdrift of paperwork, looking bewildered.

*

Sasha Blake loves solving puzzles, it's why she became an archaeologist. She's stubborn, bordering on obsessive and is caught up in a mystery that started with her having an affair with her professor at University, Dr David Thornton. Fifteen years on, she is still trying to find out what he was hiding and why he died for it. She's getting closer but needs help.

Tom Hiddleston as Jon Solomon (image from: http://www.gannett-cdn.com)

 

Jude Law as Dr David Thornton (image from: http://www.listal.com)

 

 

Kate Winslet as Sasha Blake (image from: http://specialkatewinslet.blogspot.co.uk)

Bristol Harbourside apartments (image from: http://www.bristol-business.net)

 Tune in tomorrow for the next chapter...

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