Page 79 of Handle with Care
With another sigh, I lean back in my wooden chair. The pub’s grand, with bare plank walls, plush furnishings and banquet seating, and vintage-inspired wallpaper of shorebirds like old lithographs. This would be a fun place to be with Will. Decidedly less fun alone.
“Go home.”
“’Kay. Talk tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.”
We say our goodbyes, and then I finish my pint. I make one more futile trip to Will’s. Still dark. Still no answer when I call his phone. And with reluctance, I head home, feeling heavy.
The next morning, I don’t have any more answers. Or any messages back from Will despite the number of texts and missed calls. Obviously, he would know I’m trying to reach him. Just as obviously, he doesn’t want to talk.
Instead, I throw myself into work at the museum. Exhibits are steadily put in place under Lily’s and my watchful gaze. Finally, I ask to talk to her, and we agree to catch up after we’ve eaten lunch.
Except I don’t eat, pacing the path along the Thames for an hour. When I’m seated opposite her in the office, today she looks weary and resigned. She gazes at me.
“I don’t understand why I’m not fired too,” I say unhappily. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“This is a matter for HR.”
Except HR is pretty much the director and his executive assistant, as far as I can tell. “Please help me understand the difference. We’ve done everything together, like you wanted usto. We picked up the collection and brought it here. It has to be on-site somewhere.”
“Dylan,” she says not unkindly, “we’ve searched. It’s not here.”
I hold her gaze, unconvinced. “It’s got to be here. Please believe me.”
She sighs. “Unless you’re a conjurer, I don’t think it is.”
“I wish. But… Will’s so careful. He’s probably even more careful than me. Dots every i and crosses every t. You want super attention to detail, he’s your man. There’s no way?—”
“Dylan.” The way she says my name gets my attention. Her voice is low, her gaze fixed on mine.
I stop talking.
“His name is on the chain-of-custody receipt. He signed for the collection.”
“Right, but we were both there?—”
“—and he took full responsibility.”
I blink. I sit back abruptly in my chair. “He… what?”
“I’ll deny this if you tell anyone,” she warns me, relenting slightly. “I don’t like this any more than you do. But he was clear this wasn’t in any way your fault.”
But that’s not true.
I don’t expect my eyes to well up. Or my throat to tighten. The room spins, even though I haven’t moved. Then Lily’s passing me a tissue, and I’m mortified to have lost it in front of her. “I’m sorry…”
“I’m sorry too.” Lily puts the tissue box back on her desk. “I can’t explain this either. And I desperately wish I could, for all our sakes. You were a wonderful team till this happened.”
I don’t trust myself to talk then. Because I thought the same thing too—mostly for different reasons. When I excuse myself, I find the stairwell that leads to the roof. I can’t get outside withmy security card, but I sit on the top step, hollow, and let hot tears slide down my face.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The gossip explodes at the museum.
Word’s out that Will’s been let go. I can’t even think the wordfiredin good conscience. Because this disaster is equally our fault. Except he’s taking the brunt of the blame. It could have been my name as easily on the receipt rather than Will’s tidy signature.
Walking past the tearoom, I overhear snippets. “Obviously, it’s Will. He could sell the collection no problem on the black market.”
