Unlike previous meetings with Pen, this new American was early; they found her sitting on one of the sofas in the library engrossed in a copy of Country Life. She had a round face, almost cherubic and introduced herself with hearty hand pumping and eye twinkling. In her late thirties, she could have passed for younger and she spoke with the twang of the Deep South.
‘Real good to meet you,’ Charlene said. ‘Call me Charlie, everybody else does. Helluva place this,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘There’s so much history everywhere.’
Eli was on his guard. This level of bonhomie and wide-eyed wonderment was not to be trusted. There was no way that Charlie would have got a job at this level without both experience and a superior education.
‘It’s very good to meet you,’ Eli said. ‘But if you have
