by Jenny Kane
The buzz of his phone in his pocket brought Sam back to the immediate present. It was a text from Thea asking him to turn on his Skype link.
Seconds later, from the comfort of his tent, Sam was talking a virtual stroll through the manor. His palms prickled as he realised Thea was walking down the corridor he’d frozen in the day before.
‘How can I help?’
Thea kept walking, holding her tablet out before her, so he could see the house rather than her. ‘I’m about to reply to Current Archaeology, saying thank you very much, I’d love to write an article about the fortlet and its discovery, providing they don’t mind waiting a few weeks for it. While I was at it, I wondered if you were serious about advertising for an archaeology tutor. If so, I need to run the advert wording past you, and find out how much we can afford to pay.’
‘Blimey, Thea, you’re quick off the mark.’
‘Sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to steamroller you. If you’ve changed your mind, then no problem at all.’
‘To be honest, I haven’t had time to think much beyond our chat last night. I think it’s a good idea, but as to pay, I haven’t talked to Tina about arranging a bridging loan yet. Do you know what to put in the ad?’
‘Not really. Helen might.’
‘Is she still at the Stag, or was yesterday a stop-off on the way to somewhere else?’
‘She’s staying tonight; after that I suppose she’ll go back to work.’ Thea paused. ‘I’ve never known Helen take a holiday before.’
‘Never?’
‘No.’ Thea realised she’d been so tied up in Mill Grange and showing off the dig, that she’d failed to enquire after her friend’s welfare. Was it really just curiosity for a new Roman site that had got Helen out of her business suit and into her dungarees?
‘Why don’t you take Helen to Sybil’s for coffee? Apart from one weekend, you haven’t had a single day off since you got here either. Take a bit of time with your friend today.’
Thea smiled. ‘Thanks, Sam. I’ll certainly take you up on half your offer.’
‘Which half?’
‘I’ll take Helen for coffee, assuming she doesn’t already have plans, but then I’m coming back to work. Hopefully I’ll be armed with all the information we need to get an archaeology tutor, how to arrange a sponsorship deal, as well as a belly full of Sybil’s cheese scones.’
Seventeen
September 9th
‘I consider brunch one of the finest innovations of the modern age.’ Helen scrutinised the menu with unashamed enthusiasm. ‘Thank goodness I only booked the bed part of B&B.’
Thea laughed as she waved to Sybil across the crowded café. ‘You had a good night at Moira’s?’
‘Slept like a log. Must have been the fresh air. I don’t tend to get much of that these days.’ Helen gave the menu a dramatic flourish. ‘I give up. Too much to choose from. What are you having?’
At that moment, Sybil arrived at their table. ‘Unless Thea has had a blow to the head, she will have two crumpets with poached eggs and a black coffee or, if she’s eaten breakfast, she’ll have two cheese scones and coffee, while only admitting to eating one if asked later.’
Thea stuck out her tongue. ‘Sybil, this is Helen, my friend and former boss from Bath. I shall overlook your implication of greed if you make my coffee extra strong.’
‘I’d be delighted. Pleased to meet you, Helen. What would you like to drink? That’s by far the easiest decision in here.’
Helen chuckled. ‘I’ll make it easy and go with the extra strong black coffee as well. As to the food, it all smells delicious. Perhaps I’ll go for the crumpets and poached eggs, but then again… I can’t remember the last time I had freshly cooked scones.’
Sybil laughed. ‘That’s an easily solved dilemma. How about two cheese scones with poached eggs on top?’
‘Perfect.’
‘And for me!’ Thea chipped in. ‘I will overlook that you’ve never offered me such a culinary delight before.’
Sybil laughed again as she headed to the kitchen, hailing new customs and greeting regulars as she went.
‘I can see why you come here.’ Helen brushed her curls from her eyes. ‘Are you happy, Thea? I mean, you come across as being happy; you’re certainly looking great on it. Lost weight, glow to the skin and all that, but… I wondered, umm…’
‘Are you alright, Helen?’
‘Me? I’m always alright.’
‘Yes, you are, but you’re also someone who never takes days off; yet here you are.’ Thea paused as Sybil returned with their drinks.
Placing a huge pot of coffee covered in a long slim pot warmer in the centre of the round table, Sybil winked at them. ‘I thought it would be a bit pointless giving you cups and then having to top you up every five minutes.’
The café owner was gone before they could thank her, so Thea carried on. ‘Is there something wrong at work?’
‘It’s the same as when you left it, but with more for me to do.’
‘Surely the board replaced me?’
‘No, the decision was made to split your workload between existing staff.’
‘That’s management speak for telling me you’ve been saddled with it all.’ Thea was horrified. ‘I’m so sorry, Helen. I had no idea that would happen.’
‘Of course you didn’t. It would probably have happened anyway. You could have been “streamlined”. Cost-cutting is the order of the day.’
‘Your job’s safe, isn’t it?’
‘So I’m told.’ Helen lifted the coffee cosy and gave it a hug. ‘I’ve never seen one of these on a coffee pot before; it’s fabulous.’
‘Sybil is unique in many ways!’ Thea made sure the waitress heard her as she deposited two plates of fresh cheese scones and eggs on the table.
‘You’d better believe it.’ Sybil leant down and, in a stage whisper, said to Helen, ‘If the eggs aren’t good you can blame your friend.’
Helen cut into the nearest poached egg, squeaking in delight as rich golden yellow liquid cascaded over the side of her scones. ‘Your eggs?’
‘Yes. I haven’t had time to introduce you to our chickens yet. You’ll love Gertrude and the gang.’
Helen laughed, her mouth full of eggy scone. ‘Great name. Very 1920s.’
Wiping her mouth on a napkin, Thea explained, ‘We’ve got new hens settling in. They’ve been living in the same coop separated by chicken wire, but we ought to let them mix now.’
‘Do you have a lucky rooster?’ Helen laughed.
‘Oh yes! Poor Gertrude, she’s nuts for that cockerel, and has enough trouble with her second in command, Betty, fluttering her eyelashes at him, without competition from newly arrived Mavis.’
Helen chuckled. ‘It sounds like an entire Whitehall farce is going on in your henhouse.’ She put down her knife and fork. ‘I’m so glad I popped by, Thea. I honestly don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages.’
‘I’m glad you did, and not just because I welcome your views on the fortlet.’
‘I shall be sorry to leave, but you know how it is. If I don’t get back to the coalface the paper mountain will be insurmountable.’
Thea regarded her friend with interest. ‘How much holiday are you owed?’
‘Years probably.’ Shrugging, Helen added an illicit lump of butter to her warm scones. ‘At least three weeks for this year, maybe more.’
‘And how much holiday did you take last year?’
‘Well, umm…’ Twisting a napkin between her buttery fingers, Helen sighed. ‘Three days at Christmas and then my birthday.’
‘Four days. You took four days off all year.’
The scone mixture in Helen’s mouth suddenly felt as if it needed extra chewing as her throat constricted. She’d been determined to stay positive; to treat her trip to Exmoor as a short break to herald a new start. Helen hadn’t banked on having to explain herself to anyone. For so long there’d been no one to share with and she’d never established the habit.
‘Ar
e you alright?’ Thea was concerned. ‘I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn. You work so hard. You deserve a break. A proper one.’
‘I’m fine.’ Helen ruffled her hair. The curls framed her face like a copper halo. ‘I wanted to see the site, that’s all.’
‘And I’m glad you did, and I’d love to chat more about the fortlet, but I’m not buying it.’ Thea refilled their cups for the third time. ‘You don’t have to talk about it, but if you want to, then I’m happy to listen.’
Pretending the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes weren’t there, Helen said, ‘I’m fine. Bit stuck in a rut maybe. It’s normal I suppose, turning forty next year and overthinking.’
‘Suddenly the job isn’t enough anymore, however much you love it.’
Helen played with the crumbs on her plate, all that was left of the full-fat concoction she’d happily consumed. ‘I’m not getting any younger, and if I keep eating comfort food I’m not going to fit through my front door.’
Thea was stunned. She’d never considered Helen in terms of appearance and it hadn’t crossed her mind that her friend could be lonely. ‘What are you talking about? You’re beautiful. Look at yourself, woman. Perfect curves, perfect hair. You’re the reincarnation of a Viking goddess! You are Freyja herself!’
‘Hardly! Freyja was the goddess of love, fertility and magic. I’m more of the large capable type.’
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘I know, I was joking.’ Helen reached across the table, fiddling with the mock-Victorian sugar tongs that sat amid a pile of sugar cubes. ‘But I think comparing me to the epitome of Viking womanhood might be going a touch too far.’
‘Well I don’t; although if you start doing magic, then I’d appreciate a wave of your wand over Mill Grange.’
‘You’re worried about it?’
‘Not really, but there’s so much to do and not much budget left to do it with.’
‘And now Sam wants to advertise for a tutor?’ Helen separated the brown and white cubes with the tongs. ‘The sponsorship thing could help.’
‘I emailed Shaun about it this morning. He’s lost his phone, so I won’t get a response until after he’s finished today’s filming.’
‘You’re a lucky girl – you know that, right?’
The wistfulness in Helen’s voice filled in a lot of the blanks in the conversation they weren’t quite having. The name Sophie flittered through Thea’s mind, as she said, ‘I can’t quite believe it sometimes. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t expecting someone to whisk Shaun away from me at any moment.’
‘But that’s just normal insecurity rather than something that’s likely to happen.’
‘I hope so.’ Realising they’d drained the coffee pot, and knowing she had lots to get on with, Thea smiled. ‘Let’s go and see the chickens.’
As they strolled back through Upwich to the manor, the shadow of the old mill loomed before them. Although she was used to seeing it, Thea always felt a shudder at the lingering hint of smoke in the air. At least, she thought it did. Thea never liked to ask if other people smelt the acrid miasma over the old woollen mill in case it was purely psychological.
So she could have hugged Helen when she casually said, ‘How long ago was the fire? Funny how the smell hangs round.’
‘July. Sam’s waiting to see what he’s allowed to do with it, but I suspect it’ll end up being sold for flats or shops.’
‘What did you plan to do with it, before the Trust sold it to Sam?’
‘Shaun and I intended to restore it as far as we could. There’s no mill wheel left, but the sense of the place was still there. We considered dividing it into workshops for local crafts folk.’
‘And that can’t be done now?’
‘Too much structural damage. Sam’ll need the money from the site for other things.’ Thea shrugged. ‘It felt like a big deal at the time, losing the place that gave Mill Grange its name, but now, with the finding of the site, and Sam’s plans for the manor, I think letting it go is for the best.’
Experiencing a lightening of her chest, as she moved further away from the mill, Thea abruptly stopped walking, causing Helen to almost bump into her. ‘It’s so obvious.’
‘What is?’
‘Take some holiday, Helen. Stay here. There’s room in the manor, and I’m planning to crack on with the dig the second I get timings from Sam and Shaun. You could be a proper archaeologist again!’
‘But what about work and…’ Helen studied the view before her. Mill Grange stood in the low midday sun, the granite stones glinting, the gardens rolling down towards a stretch of woodland that went on as far as the eye could see. Of course she wanted to stay here. ‘Won’t I be in the way?’
‘Come on, Freyja, let’s go and ask Gertrude what she thinks. She always gives good advice.’
‘The chicken?’
‘Wisest hen in the world.’
Eighteen
September 9th
Conscious of the camera focusing on his hands, Shaun repeated the procedure of uncovering a stone from a layer of soil for the third time.
‘Cut!’ Phil called out in relief. ‘Got it that time.’
As the cameraman backed away, taking some general panning shots, Phil knelt next to the section of trench they’d opened that morning. ‘Are you alright? Everyone makes mistakes, but I got to say it, Shaun, I don’t feel you’re with us today.’
‘Bad night; and my phone’s gone missing, which is bugging the hell out of me.’
‘Gone missing or been lost?’
‘I’m not sure. I know I had it in the bar last night, and then I didn’t.’
‘Stolen?’ Phil immediately scanned the site, as if expecting to see Shaun’s ageing iPhone lying in the soil.
‘I can’t see how. We haven’t been around anyone but our colleagues.’
Phil pulled a face. ‘You’d had a bit to drink last night – are you sure you didn’t drop your phone down the loo or leave it behind the bar or something?’
Shaun massaged his forehead. ‘I had one extra pint last night. That’s it, and I ate loads, so why do I feel as if I’ve been run over by an elephant this morning?’
Phil dropped his tone to a whisper, aware of the danger of his voice carrying across the open ground. ‘Are you implying that someone spiked your drink?’
Shaun, who hadn’t considered that possibility, dismissed the idea. ‘Of course not, I’m just saying I’m out of practice with the beer! Although…’ he sighed ‘…I hope nothing else goes wrong, or there’ll be no chance of filming Mill Grange.’
‘We’ve only had a few misplaced items and a JCB break down. And, as it turned out, uncovering a trench by hand will make good telly.’ Phil scraped his hair back from his face. ‘It did set us back a day, mind you. Your phone’s disappearance, on the other hand, won’t delay us.’
‘It will, if I have to take time out to report it missing and go and fetch a new one.’
‘Granted.’ Phil’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the team of archaeologists working busily before him. He could see Lady Hammett watching her daughter work. Her forehead was lined with disapproval and her arms were folded. ‘You know, for someone who was dead set against us, her Ladyship spends a lot of time watching us work.’
‘Probably making sure we don’t damage her house as well as her lawn.’ Shaun trailed a hand over the stonework he’d been uncovering. It was an almost perfect example of a late Anglo Saxon or early Norman ecclesiastical wall. Large, relatively smooth outer slabs covered both the inner and outer edges, and sandwiched between these two facing edges was a mishmash of stone and rubble, providing the weight and support required to hold the building together.
Dragging his thoughts from the church, Shaun turned back to Phil. ‘Honestly, what do you think the chances are of us getting to Mill Grange by October? I’d hate Treasure Hunters to film it. They’re good folk, but I’ve invested so much in Mill Grange myself time-wise…’
‘I’m with you on t
hat. It would be a PR disaster for Landscape Treasures if the press got hold of the fact we didn’t film an excavation in the grounds of the place where our presenter lives!’
‘And word would get out.’
‘Treasure Hunters would make sure it did.’ Phil grunted. ‘They do a good job with their show, but there’s no escaping that they’d benefit from any negative publicity we get.’
Relieved to know that Phil was on his side with this, Shaun asked, ‘So, whatever it takes, we’ll aim for Mill Grange on October 1st, yes?’
‘All I can promise is that is my intention, yes.’ Phil crawled a few paces to his left so he was crouched closer to the newly located wall. ‘That aside for a moment, do you think this really is the church of St Guron?’
Switching back into professional archaeologist and historian mode, Shaun slid his trowel across the consolidated ground at his feet. ‘I was hoping to talk to you about that. How about a piece for the camera with me and the AA looking through the archives? There’s a church in Bradford-on-Avon, Wiltshire – St Laurence’s – which dates from roughly 1000. I suspect that’s roughly the same time as this one, although somewhat smaller. If we did a comparison of plans and so on, it would make up for the lack of finds we have to talk about.’
‘Excellent idea. Sophie should be in on that.’
‘Sophie?’
‘You don’t like her?’ Phil’s smile didn’t meet his eyes. ‘Threatened by her natural screen talent?’
‘Of course I like her. I suppose I assumed now she’d done her piece to camera, we’d met her mother’s filming requirements, that’s all.’
‘We have, but the fact is, Shaun, she knows this place inside out.’ Phil looked in the student archaeologist’s direction. ‘She’s staying on camera. The viewers will love her.’
*
Tina stood in her bedroom in Mill Grange’s attic and attempted to smooth out the creases in the white blouse she wore when visiting the Trust’s properties as part of her accounting and administrative job. She should have hung all her clothes up weeks ago, but there were always more interesting things to do.
