Betrayal of Trust. J. A. Jance

the three South Kensington landmarks: the Natural History Museum, the Science Museum and the Victoria and Albert.

      In fact, as the leaflet she was now reading explained, the British Museum was actually pre-Victorian, although much of its present-day architecture was aggressively modern. At two acres, the Great Court in which Tracy now stood was the largest covered public space in Europe. But it led into numerous older wings within a vast Bloomsbury complex. Founded in 1753, the British Museum was the first national public museum in the world. Sir Hans Sloane, the famous naturalist and collector, bequeathed over seventy-one thousand objects, including books, manuscripts and antiquities such as coins, medals and prints, to King George II for the nation, providing the basis of the museum’s collection. Today it housed eclectic collections of treasures from around the globe, from Chinese ceramics to ancient Egyptian tomb relics to medieval manuscripts and Anglo-Saxon jewellery. Tracy thought, No wonder Jeff fell in love with this place. Talk about a kid in a candy store.

      ‘Baby! What a wonderful surprise.’

      Jeff sneaked up on her from behind. Tracy closed her eyes as his arms encircled her waist, pulling her into his body. He smelled of Penhaligon’s cologne, his signature scent and one that Tracy had always adored. I’m so lucky, so very lucky to have him.

      ‘What brings you here?’

      ‘Nothing, really,’ Tracy lied. ‘I guess I was just curious to see the place.’

      ‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ Jeff sounded as proud as if he’d built the museum himself.

      ‘It is. It’s beautiful,’ said Tracy. ‘So’s that girl you work with,’ she added archly.

      ‘Rebecca? Is she? I hadn’t really noticed.’

      Tracy laughed loudly. ‘This is me you’re talking to, honey. We’ve met before, remember?’

      ‘I’m serious,’ said Jeff. ‘You know I only have eyes for you. Although I must say I’m touched that you’re jealous.’

      ‘I am not jealous!’

      ‘Come with me.’ Jeff took her hand. ‘I wanna show you what we’re working on.’ His fingers felt warm and strong around Tracy’s. Maybe I am a bit jealous.

      He led her into a small anteroom. The girl Tracy had met earlier, Rebecca, was inside, along with a group of about twelve women and a smattering of men, all in their sixties and seventies. Three rows of chairs had been arranged in front of an old-fashioned slide projector, which was beaming images of what looked like gold weaponry and utensils onto screen at the far end of the room.

      ‘We’re about to open a brand-new exhibition of Saxon burial treasure,’ Jeff whispered in Tracy’s ear. ‘This stuff was all found under a parking lot somewhere in Norfolk last year. It’s the most complete royal gravesite from the period that’s ever been found. Absolutely unique.’

      ‘Is that vase solid gold?’ Tracy stared at the latest image on the screen, a gleaming, two-handled vase almost a foot tall.

      Jeff nodded.

      ‘Jesus Christ. How much must that be worth?’

      ‘It’s priceless,’ said Jeff.

      Tracy frowned. ‘Nothing’s priceless. I mean it, I’m curious. How much would a private collector pay for something like that?’

      ‘I don’t know. A helluva lot. There’s more than a million pounds’ worth of gold there, even if you melted the thing down. But as an irreplaceable piece of history?’ He shrugged. ‘Two or three million? I’m guessing.’

      Tracy whistled. ‘Wow’. She glanced around as the old biddies finished their plastic cups of tea and began to sit down. ‘Who are the granny brigade?’ she whispered in Jeff’s ear.

      ‘They’re the volunteers. They’re going to run the exhibition. They help catalogue the treasures, man the admissions desk and give guided tours. I’m about to give them an introductory lecture.’

      ‘Are you kidding me?’ Tracy looked shocked. ‘You leave amateurs in charge of millions of dollars’ worth of gold?’

      ‘They’re well-informed amateurs,’ said Jeff. ‘Hell, I’m an amateur.’

      ‘Yeah, but if someone grabs that vase and makes a run for it, at least you can run after them. What are this bunch gonna do? Throw their walkers?’

      Jeff laughed. ‘No one’s gonna steal anything.’

      Rebecca Mortimer wandered over. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said. Tracy noticed that her accent was cut-glass Oxbridge, and that she didn’t look particularly sorry. ‘But we really ought to get started in a minute. Jeff?’

      She touched his arm, only for a second. It was a tiny gesture, almost unnoticeable, but it implied a certain intimacy between her and Jeff that Tracy didn’t like. At all.

      ‘He’ll be with you in a moment,’ she said coldly.

      Rebecca took the hint and walked away.

      ‘My, my,’ murmured Jeff, sotto voce, an amused look on his face. ‘You really are jealous.’

      ‘It must be my hormones.’ Tracy beamed back at him. ‘We pregnant women can get terribly over-emotional, you know.’

      It took a few seconds for the impact of her words to sink in. When they did, Jeff swept her up into his arms with a whoop of delight and kissed her on the lips for a very long time. The assembled volunteers all turned to gawp at them.

      ‘Really?’ said Jeff, finally coming up for air. ‘You’re sure?’

      ‘I’m sure,’ said Tracy. ‘Four tests can’t all be wrong.’

      ‘That’s wonderful. The most wonderful news ever. I’ll take you out to dinner tonight to celebrate.’

      Tracy felt a warm wave of elation flow over her.

      Jeff walked over to begin his lecture and she turned to go.

      Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn she saw the young intern, Rebecca, shoot her a resentful look.

      DINNER WAS WONDERFUL. JEFF TOOK HER to Como Lario in Belgravia, one of their favourites. Tracy ate the carciofi con radicchio followed by a perfectly tender scaloppine al limone. Jeff wolfed down his fillet steak, despite barely being able to chew thanks to the smile plastered across his face. Tracy wasn’t drinking, but Jeff insisted on two flutes of champagne for a toast.

      ‘To our future. Our family. To Jeff Stevens Junior!’

      Tracy laughed. ‘Sexist pig. Who says it’s a boy?’

      ‘It’s a boy.’

      ‘Well, if it is, over my dead body are we calling him Jeff Junior. No offence, darling, but I’m not sure the world could cope with two Jeff Stevenses.’

      Later, in bed, Tracy slipped into her sexiest Rigby & Peller negligee, a tiny silk slip in buttermilk with white lace trim. ‘Enjoy it while you can.’ She snuggled up to Jeff, running her fingers languidly through the tangle of hair on his chest. ‘Soon I’ll be the size of a house. You’ll need to use a forklift to move me.’

      ‘Nonsense. You’ll be the most beautiful pregnant woman on earth,’ said Jeff, kissing her gently on the mouth.

      ‘Do you ever miss the old days?’ Tracy asked him suddenly. ‘The adrenaline? The challenge? You, me and Gunther against the world?’

      ‘Never.’

      He said it with such sincerity and finality that Tracy felt silly for asking.

      ‘Besides, as I remember it, half of “the old days” was you against me, or me against you. As for dearest Gunther, he was always out for himself, playing each of us off against the other.’

      ‘That’s true,’