The Tomb of Zeus by Barbara Cleverly Read Free Book Online

both of these men squirm a little.
    “My father often speaks of you; Mr. Gunning. He'll be thrilled when I tell him of this chance meeting,” she said brightly, getting to her feet. She crossed the room and reached up on tiptoe to peck at his cheeks in the Continental fashion. She might as well have been kissing a statue for all the response he made, she thought. Her tone became a few degrees warmer. “I'm sure my father would congratulate you, Mr. Russell, on having secured the services of such a brilliant man. I know we all set great store by Mr. Gunning. And Sir Edwin—oh, come now, William, don't blush!—praised
extravagantly
his plans for the new faux-Gothic wing to our manor house near Cambridge. Those plans are merely
shelved,
William, awaiting your return. Father will use no other architect to see the scheme through to fruition. Ah! I begin to see the connexion! It was Sir Edwin who recommended you to Mr. Russell. And you defected to pastures new and warmer climes. Curse you!”
    Phoebe and the younger men were staring at Gunning with evident astonishment.
    It was Theodore who threw a conversational lifeline. “Lutyens? Why, no…William was referred to me by your mentor, Andrew Merriman…Did you not know this, Laetitia? Joint protégés of the great man—I'd have thought you'd have compared notes. How odd! I'm sorry to have deprived your father of his architect…quite unwitting! Forgive me! It was last summer. Digging season well over and I was losing a struggle to draw up the year's finds, trench profiles, drawings speculative as to original elevations—you know the sort of thing—I've got a book coming out next year which I'm hoping will rival Arthur Evans's and, in a defeated mood—”
    “Not something Pa suffers from ordinarily, you understand,” interrupted George. “But in this case it was a godsend.”
    “…I telegraphed Merriman in London begging his help. Andrew knows everyone. He replied saying he had the very man right there at his side—an accurate draughtsman with knowledge and experience of archaeology
and
an architect by profession. A gentleman scholar, with a deep appreciation of classical and preclassical culture.”
    William Gunning stared straight ahead with a grim face, listening to this account of his talents. He might have been hearing the delivery of a death sentence.
    “And William came out to us at once, before the weather closed in. He won't tell you himself, so I must say it for him—he's been spectacularly successful. He's learned modern Greek and—as you see—puts in hours of overtime in the field,” George informed Letty.
    “My book, I have decided,” announced Theodore, “—and I haven't told him this yet—is to be dedicated to William. The last little flourish. All is ready now for the publisher; the text and the illustrations are complete. William's drawings and his photographs are a vital part of the lavish production we envisage. As well as historical accuracy, they have that arresting quality the modern reader seeks out. A fresh style, very much his own. We're planning many pages in
colour,
Laetitia. Every drawing room table in the land will display one!”
    “I'll place my order at Hatchards directly,” said Letty. “How thrilling! Whatever next, William? An exhibition of your sketches at Burlington House?”
    “Not quite ready for that,” he growled. “Though the Royal Society has proposed a lecture engagement. I'll send you an invitation when they've hired the hall.”
    “Come and sit down, man!” said Theodore. “Dimitri is about to send in the fish course. We're to have red mullet, I understand, then there's a stew of some kind, which will be helped on its way by a bottle of the excellent red wine of Arkhanais, just south of here. Oh, and to accompany the French cheeses I've had sent out, I've opened a bottle of the Clos de Vougeot. A particular favourite of George's. So good to have him home again, sure you'll agree.”
    Gunning and George