CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“It doesn’t have a stamp on it.” He peered at the first envelope Rachel held up in her gloved hand.
She was silent for a second, considering his statement and working out how best to answer. “I don’t think they had stamps in 1816. No, no, they didn’t, at least not here in Switzerland.”
He took a sip of cola, leaning against the side of his chair to see the envelope more clearly. After walking up through the muddy fields and vineyards to Châtelard, they’d both removed soggy shoes and socks and now reclined in the late afternoon sunshine on Rachel’s terrace. Timeworn flagstones were warm beneath their feet, a woody breeze lulled their senses, and amethyst clouds skidded across the sky.
The trunk sat prominently on a table between their chairs. Its keys had been turned,
