by Jenny Kane
Panic flashed in Sophie’s eyes. ‘It wasn’t like that. I was trying to help. To find out if…’ She let out a frustrated groan. ‘Oh what’s the point? You’ll all be gone soon. It’s all been for nothing.’
Thea was no longer listening. Her eyes were fixed on the phone’s screensaver. It showed Shaun and Sophie, standing very close together, silly smiles on their faces.
Without a word, Thea walked away, leaving Sophie behind her.
*
Sat alone on nearby Bodmin Moor, it was ten minutes before Thea dared look at the rest of the phone’s photographs.
They could have been worse. As far as Thea could tell, they’d all been taken in the pub with the AA in attendance. This is the selfie session Shaun told me about then.
Feeling like she was breaking a trust, and hating herself for doing it, she scrolled through Shaun’s texts, exhaling slowly. There was nothing incriminating.
He told you about the photos. He was blind to Sophie’s advances. You can trust him.
Vowing to give Shaun a lecture about the importance of having his mobile password-protected, Thea rescrolled until she found the photograph that was acting as his screensaver. It was dated from the night before he’d lost his phone.
It was Sophie who made it the screensaver – not Shaun.
Thea clambered to her feet. ‘Lady Hammett, I think you’re off the hook.’
*
Helen was already regretting her offer to take Tom to Sybil’s for lunch. The invitation had been rashly given in one of many painful silences that had hung between them since they’d started work that morning.
They hadn’t even got to the edge of the village, and Helen was already wondering if she’d made a huge mistake. Surely it would be worse to be sat across a café table in silence than over the site at Mill Grange?
Maybe he’d have preferred the pub instead.
Her supply of small talk almost down to zero, Helen found herself pointing out facts about the village as they went.
‘The mill is more or less a shell now. I expect Sam told you about the fire.’
‘He did. Sounds like Tina and Thea were lucky to get out alive.’ Tom glanced at the charred structure as they passed. ‘I wonder what he’ll do with it.’
‘Sell it to developers I expect.’
‘Makes sense.’ Tom scanned the view of the Upwich as they walked down the slope into its heart. ‘I haven’t known Sam long, but I suspect he’d only sell it to someone who’d rebuild it in keeping with the village.’
Agreeing, Helen pointed towards Sybil’s. ‘If you’d prefer the pub, I’d understand.’
‘Actually, the tea rooms would be good. I’d like to see if it’s got anything suitable for Dylan to eat.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ Helen felt as if she’d been told off, even though she knew that was paranoia on her part. ‘Sybil’s lovely. If there isn’t anything Dylan would want on the menu, she’d sort something out for you.’
‘He’s not a bad eater to be honest. It’s more that he’s into everything. I’d hate him to disturb other customers. I usually carry colouring and story books with me, but some places can get a bit funny about potential crayon marks on the tablecloths, or the customers don’t like hearing the same picture book read over and over.’
Having assumed Dylan would be sat in a corner with a phone or tablet, Helen felt chastened by her own preconceptions. ‘I used to be like that with stories when I was five. My poor parents would read the same book again and again. I was obsessed with one about a rooster called Run, Run, Chase the Sun. I can’t remember how many hundreds of times I got that book out of the library.’
‘I don’ know that one, but I’m sure Gertrude and the gang would approve.’
‘Tony Stark would love it.’ Helen laughed. ‘I’m not surprised you haven’t come across it; it was an old book even thirty-four years ago.’
Not missing the precise mention of thirty-four years, Tom wondered if Helen really was thirty-nine. She certainly didn’t look like a woman approaching forty. Giving himself a shake, Tom opened the door. ‘After you.’
Helen, hoping Sybil would recognise her as a friend of Thea’s, felt self-conscious as she caught sight of her slightly distorted reflection in the window. Her grubby dungarees and windblown hair wouldn’t bother Sybil; it didn’t normally bother her, yet Helen felt tatty against the pristine tablecloths and polished knives and forks.
Sitting at one of only two free tables, Helen picked up the menu. She had a rapidly growing urge to hide. What the hell was she doing here with a man she didn’t know? What if he thought it was a date, and not her just introducing him to Sybil in a desperate attempt to find something to talk about beyond the fortlet?
Hooking a spiral of hair that hung across her right check behind her ear, Helen felt it bounce immediately back to its previous position. Two tries later and she became aware of Tom watching from over his menu.
‘I’d give up if I were you.’
Dropping her hand from her hair, Helen felt the tress ping up faster than before, settling over her right eye this time, forcing her to sweep it to one side and wish she had a hairgrip on her. ‘It has a mind of its own.’
‘It’s gorgeous.’
Helen was taken aback by the matter-of-fact way in which he spoke. It was as if he was stating a certainty rather than paying a compliment. ‘It’s a bit wild.’
‘My favourite colour.’ Tom said nothing else on the subject as he examined the menu.
Saved from contemplation of his comments by the arrival of Sybil, Helen smiled as the café’s owner waved her order pad in their direction. ‘Helen, isn’t it?’
‘How kind of you to remember.’ Helen gestured across the table. ‘This is Tom; he’s just joined the Mill Grange team.’
Tom shook Sybil’s hand. ‘Delighted. I’ve heard a great deal about your delicious scones.’
‘Have you indeed?’ Sybil laughed. ‘What have Sam, Tina and Thea got you doing up there?’
‘I’ll be training the retreat’s guests in archaeological excavation techniques. Give them some transferrable skills for when they leave.’
‘What a fantastic idea.’
‘Helen’s I believe.’ Tom gestured across the small round table with its pale tartan tablecloth and mismatched Spode china.
‘It was just a suggestion. Thea did the thinking and…’
Sybil grinned as she saw Helen blush. ‘Whoever cooked it up, it’s a cracking idea. So, what can I get you?’
*
‘Oh well done, Thea!’ Phil slapped her on the back, delighted Sophie had returned to work in her trench without having made a fuss. ‘I don’t suppose you asked her about her mother?’
‘There was no need.’ Thea, her face set, passed Shaun his phone.
No one spoke for a minute, before realisation dawned.
‘Not Lady Hammett?’ Phil sank into a seat. ‘Thank God we didn’t accuse her. Can you imagine?!’
‘Sophie was the timewaster?’ Shaun stuttered at his phone screen. ‘I didn’t take this photo. Thea, I—’
‘Need a bloody password on your phone? I would say so!’ Twisting round, to talk to Phil, Thea avoided Shaun’s gaze. ‘Sophie knows she has been an idiot. Enough said. You have a full complement of archaeologists and little time. So, shall we get on with it?’
*
Tina thought her stomach might explode. She couldn’t recall ever eating so much, or so well, at lunchtime. She was beginning to see what Lord Malvern had meant by it being a shame Karen wanted to be a physicist. She really would be a fantastic cook or housekeeper.
When the home-made butternut squash soup and crusty bread had arrived, Tina had eaten heartily, believing that would be the entire meal. Now, with half a dozen finger-sized honey roast ham and cucumber sandwiches consumed, and an array of miniature but filling cakes sat on the table in true afternoon tea style, Tina wasn’t sure she could keep going, although she wanted to. There was a tiny scone that kept l
ooking at her temptingly.
Only an hour before she’d been worried that, when they sat down to lunch, the atmosphere would be frosty and she’d have no appetite. Now, however, it was obvious that something had happened between father and son, and although the air between them remained formal, the hostility had faded.
Lady Malvern was glowing with happiness, a shawl around her shoulders, her velvet jacket buttoned tightly. The patio heater was pumping its warmth across her. She tucked into a slice of feather-light Victoria sponge with a gusto that belied her slim figure.
Sam, who’d been indulging heavily in a collection of chocolate éclairs, twisted to face the building behind him. ‘What did you think of the house, Tina?’
‘It’s breath-taking.’ She smiled at Bea. ‘You are so lucky to live here.’
‘We are.’ The countess laid down her cake fork, her voice eager. ‘Did you like the orangery, Sam?’
‘It’s stunning.’ Sam swallowed his mouthful of cream cake. ‘I love the way it matches the style of the house.’
‘An orangery?’ Tina resisted the scone as she turned to Sam. ‘I love those.’
‘It was a gift from Charles.’ Bea gave her husband a look of such love that Tina was rendered temporarily speechless. ‘Sam could show you after lunch.’
‘That would be lovely, and to be honest, a walk would be welcome after all this delicious food.’ Tina tapped her belly. ‘We could get some ideas for how to develop our own walled garden.’
Taking a wallet from his inside jacket pocket, Lord Malvern produced a business card. ‘This is the chap who designed and built it. Good man.’
Taking it with a dip of thanks, Sam slipped it in his pocket. ‘I’d be grateful for his advice.’ Wiping his fingers on a napkin, he added, ‘That was lovely, but I don’t think I could eat another mouthful.’
‘Nor me.’ Tina dabbed at the dusting of icing sugar that coated her plate, about to lick it off her fingers, when she remembered where she was, and lowered her hands to her lap.
Lady Malvern made to rise from her chair. ‘Why don’t you young things have that walk, while Charles and I tidy up this lot? Then we can have coffee.’
‘We can help, Mum.’ Sam’s astonishment that his parents were doing their own clearing up was obvious. ‘I could try one more trip inside.’
Bea beamed at her son. ‘We are perfectly capable of stacking the dishwasher. Now off you go. See the gardens before it rains.’
Tina peered upwards, to see grey clouds gathering, and a flicker of panic clutched at her overfull stomach. What if they had to put the roof of the car up on the way home? Would that ruin a successful day?
*
There wasn’t a single crumb left on Tom’s plate. Helen had the impression he’d have licked the remaining butter residue off it if he could.
‘Good scones?’
Tom laughed. ‘How could you tell I liked them?’
‘Hunch really.’ Helen glanced at her own plate, also empty, but somehow not quite so polished off.
‘When I was a kid, my mum made scones. Cheese ones. She was a fabulous cook.’
Noting the past tense, Helen wasn’t sure what to say, and found herself adjusting the conversation as she would have done during a difficult work meeting at the Baths. ‘Does Dylan like them too?’
‘I don’t know.’ Suddenly more closed off, Tom reached for his coffee mug. ‘Perhaps I’ll bring him here on Saturday if—’
The ring of Helen’s mobile cut through Tom’s sentence. Answering fast, ignoring the tuts from other customers not impressed at the interruption, Helen headed into the garden. ‘Thea? How’s it going down there?’
*
Seated on the bench he’d recently shared with his father, Sam slipped his arm around Tina’s shoulders. ‘I knew mother would love you, I think father likes you too, although that’s harder to judge.’
‘I adore your mum. I like your dad too actually. He must love your mum a lot to have built that beautiful orangery for her. Was it a birthday present?’
‘No. It was because she’d always wanted one.’
‘As simple as that.’
‘Yes.’ Sam considered for a moment, before adding, ‘He’s changed. I can’t get over how old he looks. Mother too, but she’s always had an out-of-time air.’
‘When we haven’t seen people in a while, we expect time to have stood still for them, while our lives move on. Humans are weird.’
‘Can’t argue with that.’ Sam adjusted his ponytail. ‘I suspect Mum threatened him into being nice to me.’
‘Maybe, but maybe not.’ Tina decided to take a risk and said, ‘You’re a lot like your father. In appearance, build and stubbornness.’
‘Oh.’ Sam wasn’t sure if he liked the comparison.
‘You just come from a different generation; one where you’re allowed to express yourself. He wasn’t that lucky.’
‘Suppose not.’ Sam glanced at the sky just as his mobile burst into life. ‘It’s Thea.’ He flicked on the speaker. ‘Hi, Thea, I’m in Malvern with Tina. Everything alright?’
Forty-One
September 24th
‘Landscape Treasures?’ Lady Malvern clapped her hands in glee. ‘That is my favourite. I’m always watching it, aren’t I, Charles?’
‘That, QI, or Top Gear. Never off.’
‘Top Gear?’ Tina hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, but she couldn’t help it. Bea wasn’t exactly her idea of a car show fan…
‘I adore that James May. So clever, and rather cute, don’t you think?’
Never having considered Top Gear as anything other than an amusing show about three friends and their vehicles, Tina laughed. ‘He’s certainly clever.’
Lord Malvern gave a dry grunt. ‘Don’t see the attraction myself. Bloody man has long hair.’
Tina felt Sam stiffen, but Bea was ahead of him. ‘Don’t be so stuffy, Charles. I think it is wonderful news that Sam’s excavation may be filmed. And this Thea, she’s really going out with Shaun Coulson?’
‘She is.’ Relieved that they’d sidestepped the ‘ponytail’ conversation, Tina kept talking. ‘Thea’s my best friend. We’ve known each other since university. She met Shaun after coming to work with me at Mill Grange during its restoration, before Sam bought it.’
‘How romantic!’ Bea was clapping her hands again. ‘And the filming, how likely is that?’
‘Just a possibility at the moment, as the Cornish dig they’re working on has got behind schedule.’ Tina decided not to go into all the reasons for that. ‘But if they get back on track, they’ll be with us on the 1st of October.’
‘Let’s have a coffee while you tell us all about it.’ Lady Malvern gestured back to the marquee as Sam anxiously peered at the cloudy sky.
‘I’d love to, Mum, but we’re going to have to go if we aren’t to drown on the way home.’
Not wanting the day to end by disappointing Lady Malvern, Tina hooked her arm in his. ‘Ten minutes more won’t hurt. Quick coffee, first?’
*
Sybil took the plates away and waggled an eyebrow towards the empty coffee mugs. ‘A top-up, or are you off to dig holes in the rain?’
Helen and Tom had been so deep in discussion about the site that the gathering rainclouds had passed by unnoticed. ‘Oh rats, I hadn’t noticed it was wet out,’ said Helen. ‘Do you want more coffee here or would you rather head to the house?’
‘Let’s stay here.’ Tom smiled at Sybil. ‘The coffee’s better, but don’t tell Mabel.’
‘My lips are sealed.’
‘And would you think me awfully cheeky if I asked to borrow pen and paper?’
‘Dreadfully.’
As Sybil zipped to the kitchen to sort out their order, Helen asked, ‘What’s the paper for?’
‘I’ve had some ideas about certificates and sponsorship that may or may not be helpful. We could make this a real working lunch. It would be good to have some ideas on paper to show Sam when he gets back.’
> Helen made a space on the table so they could work once Sybil got back. ‘I’m so glad Thea called. I’ve not known how far to go with the site. It’s all been so uncertain.’
‘What did she say exactly, about the television coverage I mean?’
‘That they are only two days behind now, and catching up fast. The chances of them making it to Mill Grange are getting better, but nothing is guaranteed.’
‘That’s great.’ Tom didn’t sound convinced.
‘You wouldn’t want to appear on screen?’
‘No, but it’s a good idea for Sam. Get the place on the map. Anyway, the show will be about the excavation, not the likes of me.’
Biting the inside of her cheeks, Helen decided against sharing the knowledge that one of the reasons the money men had relented to the extra show was that it would promote them backing the rehabilitation of soldiers through archaeology.
Tom sat back so Sybil could refill their mugs and deposit an A4 pad and pen on the table. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ Sybil bowed before heading to her next customer.
Tom picked up his mug. ‘Why do you think the fortlet was built there in the first place?’
Helen, who’d been considering the question ever since she set eyes on the geophysics results, dropped a sugar cube into her coffee. ‘It has to be the elevated position. I haven’t had the chance to study the oldest geological surveys as much as I’d like to, but I doubt there was as much woodland back then. The view across the moor and down to the rivers was probably clear, making Upwich the perfect spot to build a defensive outpost. I suspect that Upwich village was either a direct result of the fortlet being here, or that there was a small pre-Roman dwelling that grew as a result of trade with the fortlet.’
‘Makes sense.’ Tom drew a makeshift circle on the paper and labelled it ‘Fortlet’, before adding a squiggly line. ‘Would you say the River Barle was roughly there?’
‘Yes, and then, about three centimetres away on this rough scale would be the Tarr Steps, which would have been in place across the Barle.’
