“Calm down,” said Edmund. “You need to take a long-term view of this. First of all, they’re not asking you to come to any formal arrangement until the first project – the classification of their own artefacts – is complete; so we won’t be trapped into doing anything prematurely. Secondly, they’re offering you a risk-free opportunity to try out a business idea. Finally, if we accept this offer, it is going to go a long way to helping us to explain it to Krystyna and Tom. Krystyna is likely to be upset about the idea of my giving up my job straight away – as you know, she has virtually no money herself. And I think it would make Tom suspicious about us if we were both to jack in our jobs at the same time to pursue an untried concept together. If we do it by stages, they are both much more likely to accept it.”
“Do you think that Tom is suspicious already?”
“How should I know? I hardly ever see him. He certainly didn’t greet me when I saw you home the other night – he must have seen that I was there, or heard me say goodnight to you, anyway. And if I were him, I’d be suspicious – I’d be convinced that everyone was trying to get into bed with you.”
Alex knew that this was meant as a compliment, but she thought that it made her sound like a tart. Nothing was working out as she had intended. She felt all her energy and enthusiasm for the business idea ebbing away.
“OK, so I accept that some of what you’re saying makes sense. But won’t we be trapped by our own success? Assuming that the project for the Archaeological Society succeeds, won’t we then be committed to sharing the future business with its members?”
Edmund shrugged.
“You’re crossing your bridges before you come to them, Alex. It’s not like you. Where’s your entrepreneurial spirit? They haven’t asked for any paperwork yet, or any formal commitment at all. We can work out what to do about that when the time comes. I really think that we should agree to this. We’ll never get such an opportunity again.”
“I’d like some time to think it over – and to discuss it with Tom.”
“Of course. It’s the weekend now, anyway. Perhaps we can talk again on Monday?”
“I’m not here on Monday. I’ll call you on Tuesday. Will you talk to Krystyna about it, as well?”
“I should like to get it settled on Monday if possible. Where are you going?”
“I’ve got the day off to see a friend. One of my old university friends – she’s based in Ireland and is just here for a few days. I’m going to meet her in London.”
“Are you taking the train?”
“Yes, but from Peterborough. The service back to Spalding is too infrequent – it doesn’t give me enough flexibility.”
“Can I meet you at Peterborough station in the evening? We could go for supper. I could book that Italian restaurant that you like.”
“I can’t make the commitment at the moment. If Carolyn wants me to eat with her, I shall accept. I’ll text you on Monday.”
Alex stood up, and collected her coat and scarf from the hat-stand by her window. She scooped up her handbag from the floor and tucked a box file under her arm.
“I have to go now,” she said. “One of Tom’s colleagues is coming to supper.”
Edmund gave her a hug and a peck on the lips. He didn’t release her immediately. He might have been encouraging a warmer embrace, but she didn’t respond. She wasn’t in the mood. She pulled away as soon as she could.
“What’s the matter?” he said.
“Nothing. Everything.” said Alex. She was close to tears.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you; I didn’t mean to. I think that you’ve been working too hard. It’s the end of the week, as well. You need to take more time off, relax more. Look at you with that file – taking work home as usual. What is it, anyway?”
“It’s an inventory of all the collections. It’s been very badly done – at some point in the 1950s. It was bashed out on an old pica typewriter. It isn’t comprehensive; it just lists the collections under the names that they were given then. There are details about some of the main pieces – the things that have been individually insured, but there aren’t many of those. Some of the stuff has just been packed up in boxes which haven’t been opened for a hundred years or more. But the catalogue’s moderately useful – for example, it gives the location of each collection.”
“Really? I had no idea that the Society was so well-organised.”
“Well, it is – up to a point. Some of the collections – the ones considered to be most financially valuable – are kept in the cellar here. The rest are in the warehouse that we own in Broad Street; I’m sure you know about it. It’s been the subject of discussion at some of the AGMs. It actually houses most of the stuff that is really difficult to classify – prehistoric flints and arrowheads etc.”
“Are you saying that the collections have been stored in more or less the same locations since the 1950s? That’s amazing!”
“It’s for longer than that. The warehouse in Broad Street was donated by a Victorian benefactor – I believe he was a clergyman with an independent income – and he had a carpenter make special stalls for keeping the collections in. Similar stalls were built in the basement here – but you’ve seen them, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been down to the basement, certainly, but it’s so chocka with stuff, I didn’t realise that there was any order to it. What about new acquisitions, though? How do they fit into this static arrangement?”
“There was space left at the time, in both places. There haven’t been many acquisitions since the 1950s – or rather, not many that have been brought to the Society. That’s probably why the inventory was taken then. As you know, our policy now is to maintain large collections in situ when possible. For example, we paid for some showcases when those Iron Age axeheads were found in Stamford and installed them in the public library there. The rationale is that they belong to the people of Stamford and should be enjoyed by them.”
“You don’t sound very convinced!”
“I’m not, particularly. I don’t think that people take much interest in small isolated collections like that – they’re not spectacular enough, if you like. And really not very exciting, except to archaeologists. On the other hand, societies and museums can’t take on everything – we’re already creaking at the seams here and we have stuff that hasn’t seen the light of day for many years. Though I do try to rotate the displays on open days as much as possible.”
“Is that why you’re taking that file home? To plan the open days?”
“Yes. I’ve started working on them, but I don’t have a theme yet. The problem is that last year’s theme was the Vikings. It’s just about the sexiest topic in archaeology and a hard act to follow – especially as they were dominant in this area, so there was plenty to exhibit. And I was able to borrow that helmet from the British Museum. We raised a lot of money with the Viking Exhibition. I don’t see how I’m going to be able to match it this year.”
“How about ‘Gentlemen Archaeologists’? After all, it was those eighteenth and nineteenth century dilettantes who made the Society great.”
Alex burst out laughing.
“Really, Edmund, you mustn’t get carried away by your own interests. Do you honestly think that groups of schoolchildren will be grabbed by an exhibition with a title like that? It could be based on a celebrated individual – people are always curious about the famous. I’d thought about focusing on Isaac Newton, who was a founder member. We have quite a few of his personal possessions, which would make it interesting. But apparently my predecessor mounted a display called ‘Four Great Men of Lincolnshire’ the year before I came, and of course Newton featured in that. I had wondered about doing something on the occult – that’s always a popular subject and we’ve got a surprising amount of stuff on it. There are some relics from the cult of Mithras that were found at the Roman Villa at Fosdyke and, as you probably k
now, in the eighteenth century, Lincolnshire had its own version of the Hellfire Club. Your gentleman clerics weren’t averse to dabbling in a little bit of magic, either – especially towards the end of the nineteenth century, when it almost became respectable. Madame Blavatsky and all that. And there were some weird political ideas associated with some of them. What’s wrong?” she said, suddenly catching sight of a change in Edmund’s expression.
Edmund’s face had flushed to an unattractive brick colour. It seemed to have frozen into a mask.
“I certainly wouldn’t choose that,” he said. His voice was disapproving, but it also trembled. “As you said, the exhibitions have to attract school parties. I think you might get a lot of flak if you start introducing kids to Satan.”
Alex laughed again, genuinely amused this time.
“How extremely old-fashioned of you! I’m sure that we don’t have anything here as disturbing as some of the online games that they play. But you’re looking so prim about it that it almost tempts me to do it.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Come on, Edmund, we’re both tired out and this is a pointless conversation. Go home and talk to Krystyna about the business idea. And I’ll talk to Tom. We’ll both sleep on it, and I promise to reach my decision by Monday.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alex did not broach to Tom the subject of going into a business partnership with Edmund. When she had had time to think about it, she wasn’t sure that embarking upon a new business venture was actually what Edmund said he had negotiated with the trustees; what they seemed to be proposing was just a dressed-up extension to her job. There might therefore be no need to talk to Tom about it at all. Besides, she and Tom were enjoying an unexpectedly pleasant weekend together. She reflected wistfully that it had been more like the weekends and holidays of their early married years; she was not about to cast a shadow over it by mentioning Edmund.
Marie Krakoswka and her partner, Max, dined with them on the evening after her visit from Edmund. Despite Alex’s reservations about Marie, she had to admit that she and Max had been extremely good company. Tom had relaxed visibly and, unusually for him, had then decided not to work over the next two days. On Saturday, he had taken Alex for a pub lunch followed by a long walk on the marshes. While holding Tom’s hand, she had watched a heron flapping slowly over the reed-beds and felt a sudden access of pure happiness. She told herself that she would remember the moment for the rest of her life. On Sunday they had lingered over breakfast and then set out on a ‘grave-grubbing’ expedition, as Tom good-naturedly put it, to read the inscriptions on the graves in the older part of Spalding cemetery. It was the first time in years that he had spared the time to share her interests. Alex herself was discovering a talent for living her life in compartments. While she was with Tom, she hardly gave Edmund a thought. She and Tom went to bed early on Sunday evening and made love lazily and slowly.
She awoke after Tom had left for work on Monday morning and enjoyed the luxury of getting up gently, of taking a long leisurely bath instead of her usual hurried shower and of dressing in serviceable but pretty clothes for her day in London. She was quite excited by the prospect of a day of freedom in ‘town’ and looked forward to seeing Carolyn again.
Predictably, Carolyn was late. Alex had suggested that they meet for an early lunch in a tapas restaurant near to Euston station and had sent Carolyn the URL for directions. The restaurant was one of her favourites. Its unpretentious plain wooden tables and chairs were offset by the wonderfully kitsch pseudo art-deco bar, which was shaped like the hull of a boat and studded with pieces of enamelled broken mirror in flamboyant shades of turquoise. The food was delicious, based mainly on authentic Spanish seafood and vegetable dishes, with a range of starters made from fine Iberian hams and delicate shavings of pungent cheese. Alex had always come here alone or to meet her girlfriends and this in itself contributed to her current exhilarating sense of liberation. Her mood was light-headed and frivolous. These feelings were overlaid by the even more seductive sensation that today she could forget all of her worries and responsibilities.
She was telling herself this, and debating whether to enhance the holiday mood by ordering a glass of the strong white Rioja that was one of the house specialities, when Carolyn suddenly burst through the door, carrying a collection of up-market carrier bags and dragging her suitcase behind her.
Carolyn was the sort of woman Alex would have loved to have been bold enough to be. She did not watch her weight, she had never stayed with a man for more than a few years, had no intention of ever ‘settling down’ with one and, although she made quite a lot of money as a freelance recruitment consultant, was in no way wedded to her job. She divested herself of her fake fur coat, also leaving the suitcase by the coat-rack, and hauled the carrier bags across the room to the table where Alex was sitting and dropped them on the floor; she flung her arms around Alex and said: “It’s lovely to see you. I’m so sorry I’m late. One thing and another happened and then I couldn’t get a taxi in Oxford Street.” She stood before Alex, plump, glamorously made-up, heavily perfumed and slightly dishevelled, her thick hair dyed raven black and arranged in a slickly-shaped, feathery bob. She was wearing a short, gauzy red dress and four-inch black patent stilettos. Only Carolyn could consider this apparel to be suitable for a shopping expedition in London on a fiercely bitter winter’s day.
Alex returned the embrace, and gestured towards the carrier bags.
“You look as if you’ve been having a good time.”
“Absolutely out of necessity,” said Carolyn. “I’ve got no clothes that fit. I’ve gone up a dress size – one of the hazards of getting old. It will creep up on you, you’ll see.”
Alex laughed. Carolyn did a good line in irresponsible, fluffy female. It did not fool Alex for a minute.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” she said. “I’m only six months younger than you – remember? I just don’t have such a sweet tooth, that’s all.”
“Very kind,” said Carolyn, “but I think that what you really mean is that you have more willpower. Or perhaps that I have zilch willpower.” She shrugged happily. “It probably amounts to the same thing.”
“Whatever the truth of that,” said Alex, “and I suspect it’s more down to genes, I don’t intend to exercise any willpower at all today. First we are going to have a wonderful lunch. Then we are going to go to a gallery, or to the shops, or just please ourselves all afternoon. Then we shall have dinner, if you wish. And then, if you haven’t got anything that you have to do tomorrow, I suggest that you might like to come home with me and stay the night.”
Carolyn pouted.
“I’d love to do all of that, Alex,” she said. “And I can’t wait to catch up with your news. But the fact is, this trip isn’t just for pleasure. I’m here because I’m recruiting on behalf of a client for a new appointment and unfortunately I’ve arranged to do some early evening interviews with him later on. So I’ve got until about five o’clock. I suggest that we have quite a long boozy lunch here and tell each other all we know. I’ll come to stay another time,” she added. “It would be heaven to get away for a few days.”
Alex’s heady mood was punctured immediately. She saw her grand plan for the day melting away and snatched somewhat desperately at what remained.
“OK,” she said levelly. She smiled at Carolyn in a fixed way which did not convince her friend. Carolyn had always been a sharp observer.
“There’s no need to look like that!” she said, touching Alex tenderly on the arm. “I’m doing my best by you. I can’t help it if I need to work or manage the eccentricities of clients like Vernon Matthews any better than I do.”
“Sorry!” said Alex, suddenly realising that it was not disappointment that she was experiencing, but fear: fear that she would have to see Edmund again this evening now that Carolyn would not be able to furnish her with an excuse not to. “I’m being ridiculous,” she muttered, half to
herself. Of course she did not have to see Edmund if she didn’t want to.
Carolyn was scrutinising her.
“Are you OK?” she said.
“Yes, of course. Sit down and I’ll order some wine. They do a very nice white Rioja here.”
“Sounds good,” said Carolyn, taking the chair opposite Alex’s. She shoved some of her parcels under the table and piled the rest of them on to the free seat beside her. “But that last comment wasn’t meant for me, was it? Why are you being ‘ridiculous’, Alex, my love? You’re the most sensible person that I know!”
“Not any more, I’m not. Tom sends his love, by the way.”
“Ah, yes, Tom. Your sensible husband. I take back what I said – he’s the most sensible person I know, by several miles.” She leaned in to the table, her beautiful flecked golden eyes searching Alex’s. “You’re not having an affair, are you?”
“Really, Carolyn, your sixth sense is outrageous,” said Alex, laughing uneasily.
“So you are having an affair? Well, congratulations. It should shake Tom up enough to appreciate you, if nothing else can. But I’m surprised in one way: I’d always thought of you as Mrs Married Fidelity personified. Who is it, by the way? I’m amazed you’ve had the opportunity to meet anyone, the sort of life you lead, poking about among holes and ruins. I suppose he must be a farmer. Did you find a hoard of something ancient on his land and exchange his priceless treasure for your own?”
Alex threw back her head and laughed without restraint, simultaneously knocking the order pad from the hand of the waiter who had silently materialised at her side.
“Oops!” she said, retrieving the pad and handing it to him, her face flushing red with the effort. “I didn’t mean to do that.” She gave a little giggle by way of apology. “Could you bring us a bottle of the white Rioja? And a jug of tap water?”
The waiter nodded gravely. She pushed aside her laughter and regarded Carolyn more soberly as he retreated to the turquoise bar.
Almost Love Page 22
