Disclaimers: as before.

Just after 2 p.m. the next day, found Sydney and Nigel progressing by foot along the south bank of the Thames in the direction of Waterloo Bridge. On the brink of discovering another lost relic, everything appeared to be back to normal.

Nigel, as much as he was grateful that his experiences of the last couple of days were over, was frustrated by Sydney's 'business as usual' attitude. It wasn't that she hadn't been sensitive to whether he was suffering any physical or mental after-effects of the kidnapping. In that department, she was almost over-attentive. However, what had passed between them immediately following his liberation seemed to have completely evaporated from her memory.

Striding along purposefully, she responded to any suggestion that they stop for coffee, or something stronger, by saying there would be time afterwards. Nigel was as keen to find the relic as anyone. Nevertheless, he was also sure that if, in half an hour, his boss had the locket in her hand, half an hour beyond that she would be donating it to the British Museum, or the V&A. Then she would be twitchy to get back to the United States, or onto the next hunt. He desperately wanted her to pause for a moment. There was something he needed to say to her. Moreover, he wanted to say it to her here, in London, before time and life had flown too far on.

Then it started to rain, very hard.

'It's only rain, Nigel!' said Sydney, as he suggested they took shelter.

'I know its only rain; its London rain. Its God's way of telling highly stressed natives to stop running about like headless chickens and sit down for a bit. Of course, this doesn't normally work… as a rule; we just carry on and get wet. Personally, I love being soaking wet…'

'Okay, Nigel. I get the message.' They were passing a small wine bar that overlooked the walkway and the river, where they ducked in quickly. Sydney commandeered a table near the window, while Nigel ordered a large Pimms jug with two glasses.

Sydney looked over at her teaching assistant. He really was very good looking, she mused to herself. Her eyes scanned slowly up his body, pausing in places to appreciate his finer 'qualities'. She'd always enjoyed looking at him, but something had changed about him lately that she couldn't quite identify. It wasn't just the slightly shorter hairstyle, although she was certainly keen on that. What was it?

The bruise on his cheek was still very visible, but it didn't seem to be deterring the girl at the bar, who was flirting outrageously. Nigel was deflecting her advances with his usual stuttering politeness. When he turned to make his way over to the table with the drinks, the girl shot Sydney a curious glance. She wondered if Nigel had told her that they were together. The thought somehow pleased her.

'Well, this is lovely', said Nigel as he arrived with the drinks. He looked anxiously at Sydney, not letting his smile slip.

She beamed back at him.

'Its very nice,' said Sydney.

Nigel poured out of the drinks, retaining his now slightly awkward smile. He still wished that he didn't have to be so 'nice'.

Sydney knew he had to say something, but the best she could come up with was a rather lame, 'Nigel, are you alright?'

'I'm fine, Syd, its just…' Nigel paused and took a large gulp of Pimms. If he was going to say this, he was going to have to go the long way around to it. 'When I was stuck in the castle reading that…book…' Nigel took another large swig. 'Whether it was by Lady Hamilton or not… I couldn't help thinking how wonderful it would be if… I mean, how wonderful it was…. when two people felt so…at one.' Nigel drained his glass and reached for more.

'You mean they had wonderful sex!' Sydney laughed, and then felt strangely guilty at her response.

'No! Well, I mean, yes… but there was more to it than that. There was…' Nigel downed half of the next glass of Pimms. Sydney had never seen him drink at such a rapid pace before. He was obviously incredibly nervous, but she was unsure what to say to appease him. She well knew where he was heading, and that she ought to gently deflect his advances, but she didn't want to upset him. Or was there another reason?

Nigel continued. 'The book conveyed such a sense of… passion, and love… and then the sheer desolation of being apart. I felt that…. ' Nigel lifted his glass for another comforting sip, but was stopped when Sydney gently placed her hand on his, pulling it back down to the table. He released his glass and grasped her slender fingers.

'I felt that I wanted to feel that way about somebody… and for them to feel it in return.' Nigel let out a deep breath and, for the first time since he sat down, looked directly into Sydney's eyes.

Sydney's mind was in flux. Practically for the first time in her life, she didn't know quite what to say to a man making a pass at her. While her brain was searching for a mild brush-off, her heart was telling her something rather shocking. She smiled awkwardly.

' Nigel, I…'

At that moment, mainly to her relief, Sydney's cell phone rang. Nigel released her hand, and slumped back in his chair as the professor reached into her bag.

'Hello? Oh, hi Cate!'

The bright look on Sydney's face faded as she listened to what Cate had to say. The gist of it was that Interpol and the French police had not been able to apprehend Bellimo, either in Venice or elsewhere. There was no trace either of him, or Bately. Cate feared that they had found out that Nigel lied and were instead on his and Sydney's trail, to find the locket, and for revenge.

There was little that they could do about that dilemma but be vigilant. Cate, despite Sydney's reservations, said she would send out an agent to keep an eye on them as soon as possible. However, the second piece of information that Cate conveyed prompted more immediate action. Mrs. Tadman, the murdered academics mother, had just arrived back in London, having made an unhappy trip to France to identify her son's body. She had known little about his recent actions, but had admitted that it was her who gave the historian the book that led him to his sad fate. The bereaved mother had then expressed a desire to see Sydney Fox, and Cate had told her that the professor and her assistant would be heading for Waterloo Bridge this afternoon. Mrs. Tadman had insisted on meeting her there, and was probably waiting at the bridge now, in the rain.

'Come on, Nigel, we've got to go,' said Syd the moment she hung up. The relic hunter was out of the wine bar door before Nigel had drained the last of the Pimms jug, which he had been steadily working on throughout the phonecall.

'It cost me a week's wages. I might as well get my moneys worth,' he grumbled as he rose to follow her. He promptly collided with the flirtatious waitress, who had come to clear the table, two other punters and another table as he headed for the exit. Nigel was still apologising profusely, and slightly drunkenly, as the door slammed behind him.

………….

The rain had eased. Sydney Fox, with her assistant trailing her at a sporadic distance, headed straight to Waterloo Bridge, a swift 10 minutes walk away. When she arrived, amidst the usual traffic and pedestrians she saw an elderly woman dressed in a green raincoat with a purple floral headscarf. The woman's eyes were slightly red and damp, and Sydney guessed that this was the woman who wanted to see her, still in an emotional state after the murder of her son.

'Mrs. Tadman? I'm so sorry about your loss,' said Sydney, instantly sympathetic and ingratiating.

'Professor Fox?'

Sydney smiled, and proffered two hands, which the elderly woman took. 'Thank you so much, Professor', said the elderly lady. 'He was a silly boy in the end, but I loved him.'

'The men who did that terrible thing will be caught, I promise,' said Sydney.

'That's a small comfort, dear, but it won't bring him back,' the woman paused, dabbing her eyes with a hanky. 'Its not what I wanted to see you about, though,' she continued, in a slightly shaky voice. 'In a way, I feel responsible for his death. I was entrusted with that book, on the condition that I promised that it never left the female line of our family. By giving it to my son, and breaching my vow, I think I must have brought a curse upon him.'

At this point, Nigel finally caught up and Sydney introduced her assistant.

'Nice to meet you, and… condolences. I'm sure your son was a great historian.' He hastily offered a hand, which the old woman civilly took, looking slightly sheepish.

'I'm terribly sorry, young man,' she said, 'but would you mind if I spoke to the professor in private. This is a matter that I would like to keep between us women.'

'Fine!' said Nigel, and then worried he'd sounded too abrupt. Backing away, he gave an explanatory monologue: ' I mean, of course, there are some things which are, err, women's issues…. rather not hear them, anyway…. not that they're bad, of course… just going!' Nigel turned away, and gazed embarrassedly off down the river in the direction of St Paul's.

Mrs. Tadman continued: 'the book, as I said, was entrusted to me by my mother, who was given it by her mother before her. It originally belonged to my great, great grandmother. This forebear of mine was a very beautiful woman, but she was also a foolish one. She fell madly in love with a man who had loved, although not with his heart, many women. This bad man was also a master thief. He apparently stole many valuable artifacts - jewellery mainly - from all over Europe.'

'She broke her heart?' asked Sydney.

'Not in the way you think.' The elderly woman continued. 'She also enchanted him. He adored her in a way that he had never thought was possible with the many other women he had known. Under each other's spell, they both made mistakes.'

'What kind of mistakes?'

'She became a thief as well. She loved him so much that she could not see that that way of life was wrong. The deluded woman wanted to steal him an ultimate prize, as a token of her undying affection. They were hiding in Calais at the time and, in a godforsaken drinking spot, she came across a wretched, wasted woman, who she was told, by whisperers, was the notorious Lady Hamilton. She wiled her way into her trust and was invited back to poor Emma's pathetic lodgings. She waited until her prey succumbed to the inevitable effect of alcohol, and then robbed the deserted soul of the most precious jewels she had left. She then returned and presented her love with her prize: the locket.'

Sydney was utterly absorbed. 'Please, go on,' she requested.

'The villain, it seems, was impressed. To return her gesture of affection, he undertook the most daring robbery he had ever attempted. It was too daring, even for he. He was caught, tried and executed. Heartbroken, and in fear, my great-great-grandmother hid the locket. Then years later, after her daughter, my ancestor and the child of the thief, was old enough to fare for herself, she threw herself to her death from this very bridge, a broken woman. Her story, and this mysterious book which was somehow connected to it, remained her tragic legacy to our female line. Then when I realised my son had fallen upon hard times, I gave it to him. I thought the book might save his career, especially if he traced the locket through it.'

'Did you know that your great-great-grandmother, not Lady Hamilton, probably wrote the book?'

'I suspected so…but being a silly, superstitious fool, I did not dare to tell him the whole story about the family connection. Charles, my son, was so convinced it was Lady Hamilton's that I didn't have the heart to tell him my doubts. Then it was too late.' Mrs. Tadman wiped away some more tears. ' So, I'm here to make amends. I thought I might be able to help you find the locket, and place it in a museum.'

'Any help would be appreciated, Mrs. Tadman. Have you any idea where your ancestor hid the locket?'

'Well, the young woman at Interpol told me your suspicions about the code and the bridge, which triggered a memory. My mother once showed me an engraving on an arch under the bridge, which she said were made by my great, great grandmother. It was some carved initials, but not those of any one of our family. It made little sense then…'

'But now?'

'The initials were E.H. but I can't quite remember where they were…'

At that moment, the two women heard an excited shout.

'Sydney!' It was Nigel's voice, not far off, but Sydney couldn't see him. She leaned over the bridge.

Nigel was standing below the bridge on the muddy bank of the Thames, his feet among the flotsam and jetsam, waving his arms frantically.

'Sydney, I found something. Down here!'

'Coming, Nigel!' She turned to Mrs. Tadman, ' I think my assistant's discovered a clue, maybe the initials. I need to go down and help.'

'Sydney!' Nigel's voice came again, this time marked with panic, rather than excitement. Sydney ran to the edge of the bridge. Nigel was gone, and was replaced by the smiling and charmless figure of Bellimo.

'You better come down here quietly, my sweet,' he cooed. 'Otherwise, all you're going to find is your friends dead body.'

Thanks for reading, and thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far.

The final installment will be up this weekend.