Free Yesterday's Sun by Amanda Brooke Page B

wholeheartedly with Sam; they’d had similar conversations before. But now, with Libby’s face appearing like a watermark over everything she saw, Holly didn’t want to hear it.
    Sam laughed and hugged her to him. “Maybe you’re right, and I hope you are. Just promise me one thing …”
    “What’s that?” Holly asked suspiciously as she unraveled herself from his embrace.
    “For goodness’ sake, don’t bring it with you when you come visit. What’s made in the country, stays in the country.”
    “I promise!” laughed Holly. “Now enough of this, let’s get down to business. How am I going to replenish your stock?”
    Although she loved the idea that her work was becoming sought-after, she wasn’t prepared to simply churn out sculptures on a conveyor belt to meet demand. Taking on Mrs. Bronson’s commission had been bad enough. Sam was persuasive, however, so she went through some ideas with him and promised to get to work on them if time allowed, once her studio was up and running in the next week or so. In truth, a heavy workload was going to be a welcome distraction during Tom’s absence.
    Sam did his best to persuade Holly to stay longer, but she was on a mission. She had one more job to do before she left for home. Holly said her good-byes and then weaved her way back across London, heading for the British Library, where she hoped to get some inspiration for the type of stone she would use in Mrs. Bronson’s sculpture. At least that was the reason she kept giving herself.
    The library was vast and Holly would have felt lost if she hadn’t already spent countless hours, if not days, searching through its obsessively stacked and indexed treasures. She wasted no time in tracking down the reference books she needed and even less time on deciding which type of stone to use. Holly closed the last book she had been leafing through and stacked it up with the rest on the reading desk she was occupying. She tapped her fingers distractedly on the stack of books. She hadn’t fooled herself. She already knew she would choose black marble for the base of her sculpture; it was the obvious choice, and the upper section would be formed from clay.
    A man at the next table cleared his throat and stared meaningfully at Holly. Her hand froze midtap. She didn’t realize she had been tapping so loudly. “Sorry,” she mouthed.
    Holly returned her books and asked a library assistant for help looking up any records of Hardmonton Hall. It wasn’t the Hall that interested her as much as it was the origins of the moondial. Her desire to find out more about the dial had nothing to do with her hallucination, she told herself. She was simply doing research on what was a very interesting, if not mysterious, centerpiece in her garden. It took Holly quite a while, with the occasional direction from one very patient and helpful assistant, to gather all of two books on the subject.
    Sitting back at her reading desk, Holly opened the first book. It was a collected history of English architecture, specializing in Tudor manor houses, and Hardmonton Hall was listed in its index. Holly flicked through until she came to the relevant section. There were only a handful of pages devoted to the Hall, most of which were illustrations and plans of the buildings and grounds. It was in a plan of the ornate gardens that flowed from the back of the Hall that Holly eventually found evidence of the moondial. It was, or had been, located in what appeared to be a large stone circle. The circle was divided into four segments with an inner circle where the moondial would have been situated. From this centerpiece, four wide stone paths led outward, separated by flower beds of some sort.
    The second book was a wild-card and Holly held out little hope that it would uncover any more of the dial’s history. It was a book on great archaeological expeditions in the nineteenth century and although there was no reference to the Hall itself, there was a