I don't respond for fear I say something even morepersonal.
Finally, he turns to the envelope and opens it methodically, removing the manuscript with extreme care. He takes in a deep breath when he sees it in itsentirety.
"Oh, it's very old." He runs his fingers over the extremely fine vellum on which the text is written. "Beautiful," he says in a soft voice. He turns the pages, his index finger tracing the lines as if he's greedy to translate it already and on his finger is a thick gold signet ring. I try to make out the initials, but can't from thisdistance.
"I should have gloves on to even touch this." He looks up at me. "Where did you getit?"
I look at his nose, at the space between his dark brows, and an imaginary point in the distance – anywhere but in hiseyes.
I swallow. "Mymother?"
"Is she a collector? How did she come by this? It'spriceless."
"She was a researcher," I say and glanceaway.
"Do you have any idea where she gotthis?"
"I don't have a clue." When I look back at him, he's staring at me expectantly as if he wants more of an explanation – or doesn't believe the one I've given. "I didn't steal it or anything, if that's what you mean." I'm a bit insulted by his expression, as if he doubts my story – which, of course, he should, since I'm beingdeceptive.
"I mean no offense," he says quickly, his voice still soft. "I'm just curious how this manuscript came into your hands. It should be behind glass in an archive somewhere in a temperature and humidity-controlledenvironment."
"That's all I can tellyou."
Of course, I could tell him that it belonged to the vampire who wrote it eight hundred years earlier, and that he gave it to my mother a week before she died so she could use it to understand vampires so she could better kill them, but that's not going tohappen.
"So, any idea how long it will take to translate?" I say, hoping to move on from personal questions. "I'm really interested in reading it. I think it was important to my mother'sresearch."
"What was sheresearching?"
I hesitate. More lies. I truly hate telling them, because I don't have a pokerface.
I swallow again, my throat dry. "Medievalliterature?"
"Of course." He closes the manuscript and replaces it in the envelope. "It won't take long to translate. I can dictate it and have it printed out quickly using new software. But I'm afraid there's a bit of a problem," he says and pats the manuscript. "I have to investigate this a bit more. This document is extremely rare and valuable. I want to authenticate it, just in case it was stolen and given to your mother illegally." He looks at me pointedly. "You mustunderstand."
"No, actually. I don't." I don't want him to take it and start digging into it. For all I know, no one's ever even documented its existence. "I happen to know that the original owner gave it to mymother."
"The original owner?" His voice sounds amused, that grin that could be a smirk startingagain.
"I mean," I say, fumbling to recover. "The legitimateowner."
"And how do you know the owner is," he says and pauses, tilting his head to the side. "'Legitimate?'"
"There was a note enclosed with it from the owner. He gave it to my mother to use in herresearch."
"Yes, but how do you know that this – person – was the legitimateowner?"
I sit silent, my mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping forbreath.
"Well…" I stand, reaching for the manuscript. "Maybe I'll just take it back and find someoneelse."
He shakes his head and grabs the manuscript, holding it in hisarms.
"My apologies, Eve, but I really can't give this back to you until I'mcertain."
"Listen, Professor, this was my mother's property." I'm starting to get angry. "When she died, it became mine. Give it back to me or I'll have to call theauthorities."
He's smirking now but it's not a rude smirk, more of a knowing smirk. Like he knows he's gotme.