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By the time he had reached his second cup of coffee, Nigel had both won his battle, and started to lose it again.

His knowledge of the San Josef diamond was based on Nelson's dispatches, which he had studied at length in his spare time. He hoped to publish a paper on them some day. After the Battle of the Nile, Nelson had asked George III expressly for a fine diamond, then considered one of the most beautiful in the world, which he himself had captured for the Crown in an earlier skirmish in which he had taken the French ship San Josef. Only rumour remained beyond that, but the diarists and letter writers of the age had spoken of a beautiful locket, worn by Nelson's illicit love Lady Hamilton, which was said to sparkle like starlight itself. The San Josef locket was said to contain several strands of Nelson's hair, intertwined with her own.

Most of poor Emma Hamilton's possessions were sold when she fell deep into debt, an outcast to society, after Nelson's death. The lovers had both been married to other people, and while the whole nation revered the sea captain as their hero, his one true love, and his relationship with her, were shunned and forgotten. The locket never came to light, even though its value was so great it could have solved many of her problems. It was said that it vanished, with her, into a pauper's grave in northern France.

This story could not have failed to ignite Sydney's passion. However, she baulked at Nigel's suggestion that they meet with the alleged 'Dr Tadman' again. Indeed, she was rather angry to find out that Nigel had not entirely 'burned his bridges' in that department. After she had unceremoniously left Nigel had, albeit briefly, been congenial and apologetic. He had even taken a contact phone number from Tadman, promising to get in touch.

'If we do this, Nigel, we do it without that conman.'

'But he had the Calais letter! And he hinted he might have more. He's our only real lead.'

'Well, there is the letter from Bellimo. That's a name I know - and hate! Besides, he tends to skulk in France. We could try tracking him down, see what he and his goons have to say. If the locket itself is real - and this isn't just a mere diamond scam - he might still have it. We do it without Tadman. And that's the end of it. '

Nigel sighed, but said no more. Jetlag was starting to wear them both down. Sydney stretched her arms back behind her head, yawning, letting her loose hair tumble in silky bundles down her back.

'We'll head to France tomorrow, then. I'll book us into a hotel, and call Karen to see if any of our contacts know anything about the locket. Can you head back to the library and see what you can find?'

No time to pop home, then, thought Nigel, ruefully. Sydney smiled at him, as she put on her jacket. God, she was beautiful. He felt better already. Maybe there would be time for one of those romantic moonlit walks along the Thames, he thought. If only it stopped bloody raining!

……….

Nigel found nothing at the library. He ordered several manuscripts up from Special Collections, which took over an hour to arrive, but all was in vain. At 7 p.m., he was heading back to his locker to check his phone for messages from Sydney or Karen, when he felt a tentative tap on his shoulder. Turning round, he saw the man who purported to be Dr Tadman.

'Dr. Bailey. I'm so glad to have found you again.'

Nigel was flustered, and avoided the obvious topic of what had happened earlier when he gave his immediate reply. 'Um…well, I'm afraid it's not Dr…yet. It will be soon! If I ever find time to write-up my thesis in between all these relic hunts.'

'Dr. or not, you saw through the fake... and spotted the real letter. That's more than your boss did. Nobody can have a reputation like hers and not be overrated, I suppose. '

This ignited Nigel's ire. Who did this man think he was? Nobody denigrated Sydney in front of him and got away with it.

'Now, see here! I don't know who you are, but you certainly aren't who you claim to be. Both of us knew the Von Ferson letter was a fake the moment we saw it in real life. And if Sydney didn't instantly know the story of the San Josef locket, it was not because she isn't the best, but because even the best can't remember absolutely everything in an instant. Besides, European history isn't her specialist topic, and all historians have specialisations. Sydney has more than most. If you were a real academic you'd know that!'

'I'm sorry, Mr Bailey. It's just that Professor Sydney didn't hear me out earlier, and I was a little upset. I was going to explain everything.'

Nigel paused. He didn't trust this man, but he also was desperate to know what else he knew about the locket. Anyway, the other man couldn't do anything too rash here in the library locker room. One or two late readers were still about, collecting their belongings.

'Okay. I'm listening.'

'I am an academic, a historian. My name is Dr Wildey? Does that mean anything to you?'

Nigel shook his head.

'I thought not,' said Wildey, grimly. 'Good job, I suppose. You've been out of the country. If you had been here, you would know that I'm a disgrace. I was on the verge of publishing a wonderful book, the most revealing history book ever. It was an expose of the inner and emotional life of Nelson and Lady Hamilton, based upon her own, her very own account, written in her unschooled and honest prose. I was already dreaming of selling the movie rights!'

'What happened?' inquired Nigel, glancing over his shoulder to check that there were still other people around. He didn't trust this shifty fellow yet.

'My source, it vanished. Or rather, my access to it ceased, and I had no way of proving that it ever existed. Unfortunately, I had already told so many people about it, showing them drafts, even publishing papers, that they all thought I was, at best, a clown, at worst a liar.'

'Bad luck,' said Nigel bluntly. He was very unsure about where this story was going.

'Here's the thing. The text belongs to a nice little old man, friend of my mums, who lived in Rouen, Normandy. He wanted to keep it until his death, but he bequeathed it to me in his will. I go out to France last year, looking to check on my references, get to his house, and - lo and behold - the poor old bugger's dead. No sign of book or will.'

'The death wasn't from natural causes, then?'

'Made to look like it! I have my doubts. Then this Bellimo guy gets in touch with me, claiming the text is a code which reveals the whereabouts of this blasted diamond. He says I can have it back, and thus my career and reputation, if I crack it. Well I'm no good with codes. So, he says, get someone who it is! Get Sydney Fox! So here I am.'

'If what you say is true, why didn't you just come clean to us?'

'Nobody else believed me. Why should you? Besides, I knew that the Marie Antoinette letter might get me so far, and then…' Wildey paused suddenly, and then continued. 'Anyway, I didn't find the genuine letter until after I'd sent for you both. I pulled it out only yesterday in a library in Calais. I was going to apologise for the fake and explain, but your boss never gave me a chance.'

The story was so far-fetched, and had so many holes in it, that Nigel barely knew how to begin to respond. He gaped at Wildey for a moment, then turned round and started to pull his things out of the locker. There was nobody about anymore, and he wanted to get out of there.

'Look,' said Nigel, furtively glancing up at Wildey, '…you should have come clean earlier. You lied and lied. I'll tell Professor Fox your story – for what it's worth - but I can't promise we'll help beyond that.' He pulled his rucksack onto his shoulders, and was halfway to the door when Wildey ran in front of him and blocked the exit, standing over him with a half impish, half leering grin on his roguish face.

'Excuse me, Dr Wildey!'

'Look, let me show you my research. I know I don't have the evidence anymore, but when you read it, you'll want to help me, you really will!'

'I don't think I will.'

'But if my source is real – and it is - aren't you just a little curious about the passionate life of one of England's greatest heroes! Believe me, Nelson was a great lover as well as a great hero. Reading Emma's text taught me one or two things that have worked with the ladies.'

Nigel was surprised himself by his firmness of will. 'If you think you can convince me to read your own sordid fantasies… well, I'm not that kind of person…' Nevertheless, he was curious. What if it was real? And what would it be like, finding and reading this wonderful treasure, with his own Professor Fox? It would be embarrassing, yes, but maybe also…something else. He tried to suppress the lurch of excitement he felt in the pit of his stomach.

'The text is in my bag… it's in the cloakroom on the other side of the building. Go on, you won't regret it, and it might help you more than me if you decide to go after the diamond…or the ladies!'

By now, Nigel had pushed his way past and was heading towards the escalator. His curiosity, however, was getting the better of him. Not committing himself to anything, he let Wildey overtake him, and followed him across the forecourt, out of the front door and around the side of the complex. The street was dark here, but he barely noticed. His mind was now entirely caught up with the immortal love of Nelson and his Emma, which was strangely intertwining itself with visions of himself and his attractive boss. The notion that he never knew there was a cloakroom around here before didn't drift into his mind until just before the large black Mercedes pulled up beside him. By then, it was too late.

'Sorry, mate,' said Wildey, as Nigel was seized bodily and bundled into the car, by a burley chap in a suit, before he could even protest. 'You played right into my hands. But, then, I hoped you would. It pays to be a good researcher.'

Wildey gestured at the car as it drove off, and then trudged off into the London night.