Bristol House Read Free Page A

Particularly the Ashkenazim of northern Europe in the fifteen hundreds. Someone known as the Jew of Holborn.”
    The archivist raised a well-shaped eyebrow. “I’m sorry, that’s highly unlikely. If you’d asked, I would have told you that no one would be publicly identified as a Jew in Tudor times.”
    Annie was startled by the other woman’s assumption she didn’t know that English Jews were massacred in the twelfth century and officially expelled in the thirteenth. “Unlikely, not impossible,” she said. “A few Jewish merchants found their way back into London over the years.”
    “I suppose,” Jennifer agreed. “But using that name, announcing himself as it were—I think you’ve got your work cut out for you. I’ve never seen an official reference to any Jews in Holborn in Tudor times.”
    “Nor have I,” Annie admitted. Then, carefully considering her words: “But there is some material that’s recently come to light.”
    It was impossible to miss the way Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “Truly? New material from the Tudor period? How fascinating. I’ve seen nothing in any of the journals.”
    “Nothing’s been published yet,” Annie said.
    The archivist turned away, busying herself with putting some of the books they’d been consulting back on the shelves. “I take it you’re planning to fill that void.” Her voice betrayed nothing of the calculation that had momentarily shown in her face. When she turned back, she was smiling. What Annie took to be unguarded professional jealousy no longer showed. “How about lunch? There’s a quite good restaurant here in the museum. Too good, perhaps. We may not be able to get a table. But there’s a café as backup. Unless you’d prefer the more casual option to begin with.”
    Annie glanced at her watch. Two o’clock. Already past checkout time at the Two Princes. If she hurried, maybe she could get them to bend the rule. She put her hand in her pocket and fingered the key to number eight Bristol House.
    What the hell. An extra night at a hotel without a ghost wasn’t such a bad thing. Lunch. “Let’s try the restaurant first,” Annie said.
    ***
    It was late enough that there were a number of empty tables, and the remaining diners were mostly settling up and getting ready to leave. Jennifer and her guest were shown to a choice spot by the glass wall overlooking what for a couple of centuries had been the famous round reading room and was now once more a central courtyard beneath a soaring glass dome. “I get a ten percent staff discount,” Jennifer said. “Shall we treat ourselves to a bottle of something decent?”
    “Sorry, I don’t drink,” Annie said. “You go ahead, however.”
    “I’ll do just a glass, then.” And after the waiter had come and gone: “You mentioned you’re here on your own. Maybe you’d like to come out with my husband and me sometime. See a bit of—oh, hello! What are you doing here?”
    A man had come up behind Jennifer and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “I should say I was hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Truth is, I’m showing some visitors the glories of London.”
    Annie knew her jaw had dropped and that she was staring. If Jennifer noticed, she didn’t let on. “Annie, this is the famous Geoffrey Harris, who chews up politicians and spits them out on prime-time TV. Geoff, this is Dr. Annie Kendall. She’s an architectural historian from New York. Over here for a bit doing research for the Shalom Foundation. Definitely much too clever for you.”
    Annie mumbled something, all the while continuing to stare.
    Geoffrey Harris was quite good-looking: dark hair, high cheekbones, and a strong chin with a pronounced cleft. He didn’t have a tonsure, not even a bald spot; otherwise he looked exactly like the monk she’d seen in the back bedroom of number eight Bristol House.

3
    Wednesday morning Annie wrestled her luggage into the flat, closed the door behind her, and stood for a moment in the long