I let out a sigh of frustration as I hit yet another dead end in my search for Charles' current book conquest. I thought I had finally tracked down the original to a dealer in the USA, but when I had the paper stock checked it turned out to be a twentieth-century forgery. Damn it. At least I didn't have to travel this time and face the dealer's wrath in person when I informed them that the book that they were hoping to sell for five thousand pounds was worthless.
I glance up at the clock on the wall of the sunroom and decide to call it a day. I have been working from home all week while Charles has been abroad for work, which has made a nice change from having to commute across town to his office in London's Docklands. I make my way into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea when I hear
