Wickham Hall, Part 2 Read Online Free PDF

Look.’ He tapped a picture of a dark-haired boy beaming at the camera in front of the coconut shy.
    My eyes scanned the caption. ‘Benedict Fortescue enjoys the fun and games at— that’s you,’ I squealed. ‘Oh, how cute were you in those little shorts!’
    He pulled an injured face. ‘Do you mean I’m not cute in shorts any more?’
    I opted to ignore that question on the grounds that I could either fan his ego by admitting that he did look cute. Or lie.
    â€˜The photographer is Steve Selby,’ I read from the copyright notice underneath Ben’s picture. ‘So all you need to do now is to see if he covered all the earlier years of the show that you want too.’
    Ben grinned. ‘He did, I’ve already checked. I just wanted you to see that picture of me and go weak-kneed at my cuteness.’
    I rolled my eyes and went back to my laptop. ‘Let’s see if Mr Selby appears on a Google search. And then I really must send out some press releases and check on the printers to see if the new calendar is ready and then try to source some giant pearls for your new and improved treasure hunt. Ben?’
    But he was already sprinting down the corridor.
    My ‘Steve Selby’ search threw up thousands of results but the most likely candidate was a lecturer at Hathaway Arts College in Stratford. Where Esme used to study. I reached for my mobile and tapped out a text message.
    You heard of Steve Selby?
    Her reply came back immediately.
    Yeah, my old photography lecturer. Used to be press photographer, covered all local stuff. Nice bloke, about Mum’s age.
    Result! I sent her a thank-you message and by the time Ben came back, lugging his easel and paints, I’d put a sticky note with Steve’s mobile number on his desk.
    â€˜Excellent work, Sherlock,’ said Ben, peeling the note off the desk.
    He called the number immediately and after a very short conversation ended the call, stood up and rubbed his hands together.
    â€˜He can see us in an hour. Are you coming?’
    I blinked at him. ‘What, now? But . . .’ I glanced down at my diary; there was still so much to do for the festival and I had planned to start a Facebook competition this afternoon to win a VIP package including tickets for four, a garden tour and lunch from Jenny’s newly devised thirty-pound menu.
    â€˜Yes, of course now,’ said Ben impatiently. ‘If I’m going to mount this photographic retrospective, I need to get a move on or it’ll be a disaster.’
    It crossed my mind that if he didn’t let me get any work done, the whole festival would be a disaster. But . . .
    Admit it, Holly, you want to go. Forget your plan. For once
.
    He punched my arm playfully. ‘Come on, Swifty, I’ll even let you feed the swans on the river after we’ve been to the college.’
    â€˜I’m not eight, you know,’ I said, trying to keep a straight face.
    He stopped suddenly and slapped his forehead with his palm. ‘You have to be eight years old to feed swans? Why didn’t anyone tell me?’
    I was giggling so much that he had to put an arm round my waist to propel me through the door, down the stairs and back out into the sunshine.

Chapter 4
    Hathaway Arts College was a brightly coloured modern building only a short hop from Stratford-upon-Avon’s famous Swan Theatre and was in a stunning location right on the River Avon.
    â€˜Lucky students,’ Ben commented, striding ahead. ‘My school was as isolated as Hogwarts and twice as ancient.’
    He pushed his way too fast through the revolving doors, leaving me to play Russian roulette with a spinning plate-glass door.
    â€˜But despite such hardships, look how well you turned out,’ I retorted sweetly, when I finally joined him on the other side of the doors. ‘Such a gentleman.’
    Water off a duck’s back
, I thought, eyeing up the swans pecking at the