“Yes, maybe and no.”
There was a blessed silence as Mrs Wright rewound her words to work out Helena’s answer, and a passing villager took the moment to interrupt, grabbing Helena around the shoulders and hugging her close to him. “Well done, chick, you done all right here, eh?”
“That’s my daughter!” Mrs Wright abandoned the previous conversation. “Isn’t she wonderful?”
“She’s a star, I’m telling you. You must be well chuffed.”
“I am so proud,” Mrs Wright said once more. “I really am.”
There was no more time for maternal praise as the photographer and the reporters wanted to shuffle people around for photos and sound-bites and inane questions. Then the mayor wanted to say a few words, which were very long words and not always the right ones. Vicky spoke about the project and the community, and then Helena was pressed forward to talk about the future direction of things.
“I don’t know what to say about the future,” she said, her palms slippery with sweat as the sea of faces gazed at her, expectantly. “Because this isn’t my project or Vicky’s project or anything. It’s not for us to say where we go next. We have the super-fast internet here, and free wi-fi throughout the pub now, and hopefully we can look at extending it to the houses now. The Local Exchange Trading Scheme is beginning to take off, too, and I’m really excited about that. But we don’t have a master plan or a check list or a great final aim. It’s all down to what Arkthwaite wants, and what Arkthwaite needs.”
“More beer!” cried one already-merry villager, and he was applauded and hushed at the same time.
“Allotments,” someone else shouted, and a murmur spread as people looked at each other with new ideas forming. “Allotments?” and “organic produce” and “my aunt Madge makes awesome jam” were some of the things that Helena heard, and she grinned.
“You see?” she said, loudly over the growing hubbub. “It’s up to you now. And we’re so grateful to Ray and Spenser here for the use of this room as a community hub.”
“It was never going to work, was it, having the headquarters for all this project up there, at the manor.” That was Tom, being his usual sour streak of piss and misery.
“That’s true.” Richard had been lingering in a corner, trying his best to avoid the photos and the reporters. “It needs to be central, and the pub is perfect. Plus, I hope it brings added custom to their business.”
The swell of agreement and smiles forced Tom to retreat with a mutter. Now that Richard had revealed himself, the regional newspaper insisted on getting him into the official cutting-the-ribbon photo. It became an awkward affair with the mayor holding the scissors, Richard holding up the red ribbon, with Vicky and Helena to each side looking like slightly shabby formula-one girls. There followed ten minutes of fixed smiles and slight angle changes as everyone wanted to snap away at the stiff tableau.
Then there were more drinks, and plates of nibbles, and general chit chat as those who had read books about networking attempted to put it into practise and so the room became a crowd of smiling people all trying to be fakely interested in each other, and the genuine locals escaped to the main bar to gossip about who was doing what to whom, and how did their husband(s) not know about it.
“Save me from this.” Richard sidled up. She thought she’d hidden herself pretty well in a corner behind a jukebox, with Vicky in front of her, where they could talk, almost unseen. Richard pressed in beside Vicky, looking ragged. “People keep wanting to talk to me.”
“Funny that,” Vicky said. “What with this being a social occasion and all.”
“I don’t see you two being social butterflies, either.”
“We’ve done our bit.” Vicky relented, and gave Richard a surprise hug, causing him to nearly drop his drink. “Although there are a few more people I need to speak to. I’ll leave you guys to it, all right?”
“Uh, thanks.”
“And don’t do anything I would do.”
“Don’t you mean, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do?”
“Nope.” Vicky grinned and swept off into through the main bar and into the saloon area again.
Richard raised his eyebrows at Helena. “She approves of us, then?”
“It’s not up to her.”
“Friends are important. She’s a clever woman and I think she talks sense. I’ve got a lot of respect for what she does in this community.”
“Friends are important. Richard… you seem pretty alone up there in that house. You must have had friends, though.”
“Yeah, and I lost touch with them through petty ignorance, laziness and stubbornness. I’ve been lucky that some of them haven’t given up on me, though. They still phone me, and I need to start phoning them back.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
“What about you?”
“Vicky has been great to me since I moved here. We’ve become really close.” Helena sighed. The more she thought about it, the less she knew of Vicky and her inner life. But she was going to stick by her, and get to know her properly. “And I think I’d count the guys at work as friends, too.”
“And this paganism thing? I loved the sound of that moot you went to.”
“I don’t know. I might go back but I don’t know if I really believe all that stuff.”
“But isn’t that the point? If you were already certain about everything - life, the universe, what’s out there - you wouldn’t need to keep looking and thinking and exploring, would you?”
“That is a surprise, coming from you.”
“I know.” He shrugged and drew in close to her, screening her from the crowd in the pub behind. With the jukebox to her right and the end of the bar to her left, she was boxed in by his body. She couldn’t help but reach out to lay her hands on either side of his waist.
“I might go back to them. They were a nice, friendly bunch. Also, one of them gave me something that I’ve got to return.”
“What? A goat’s head in a leather bag or something?”
“Hey.” She pinched his flesh. “You were being so nice a moment ago.”
“I know, and it pains me. I have to have balance. So go on, what did they give you?”
“Hang on.” She withdrew her hand and dug about in her pocket. “I’ve been carrying him around with me for a while now.” She opened her fist to show him the tiny figure on her palm.
“What the hell is that? Is that the devil?”
“No, it’s the Horned God. The Lord. The consort of the Lady. He’s the guardian of the land. He ritually dies and is born again to give life to the crops…” she faltered and petered out as the words swirled in her mind. She wanted to clamp her hand closed over it, and shove it away in her pocket, kept in secret and in silence. “Sorry.”
“What for?” Richard peered at the defiant figure, and began to move his hand towards him, but stopped in mid-air. “He’s striking. But yes, I agree, you definitely need to give him back now.”
“Why so urgent?”
He folded her fingers over the tiny man, careful not to touch the figurine himself. “How many Lords do you need?”
She pushed the Horned God back into her pocket and let Richard embrace her again. Just before his lips met hers, she managed to whisper, “just one,” and then her head was spinning again as he kissed her long, and hard.
THE END
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Find out more about Arkthwaite and its characters in the next book, Teaching the Old Duke New Tricks
She only wants his money. So why does her heart ache when he’s near, and why can’t he stay away?
Vicky is smart, successful and planning her n
ext challenge: to renovate a derelict farm in northern England. The pain of events from her own childhood inspires her to build a respite holiday centre for children. All she needs is a rich patron…
Kendall Carr-Jones has large title, an enormous heap of cash, and a truly vast pile of regrets. After his divorce, he expects his future to consist of his gentleman’s club, visits to the races, and falling asleep at shareholders’ meetings. He also has the illusion of being a caddish rake to maintain.
Somehow, Kendall is persuaded to invest in her plan. Then Vicky’s father arrives, bringing heartache and memories. But can Vicky’s choices in the present really change her past?
And how much control do we have over events - and our own desires - anyway?
Contains: romance, dreams, dodgy nobility, British humour, rain. Doesn’t contain: intricate detail about the British aristocracy, any useful information about the class system. This book is a light, quick, clean read with a gentle air and not a lot of conflict.
Author Bio:
Isabella Brooke is a writer in North-West England.
She enjoys creating warm, believable characters that find strength and humour in even the most difficult circumstances. These novels are pure escapism and such fun to write; she hopes they are as much fun to read.
She is on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/isabella.brooke.author
***
Lost in Blue
©2012 Synthia St. Claire
Chapter One
The ancient, corroded iron anchor had been brought up from the cold depths of the Atlantic months ago, but despite the University researchers’ best attempts to restore it to its former glory, a thick layer of concretion still stood in their way. The thing weighed over three thousand pounds and was but one of several anchors used by the ship, which academics and archeologists agreed had belonged to an infamous band of pirates.
Two women wearing lab coats examined the relic under directional lights, adjusting them as needed and using magnifying glasses to identify each piece of the rock-hard outer coating as they slowly picked away at sections that had become loosened by fresh water baths and electrolysis. The laborious process would take months, if not years, but they remained diligent. Once the artifact had been completely restored, the University would have a new trophy for its program or the anchor would be donated to a lucky museum.
Becca, a petite intern with a shock of dyed pink hair, seemed mostly concentrated on the beat coming in through her headphones. The bobbing motion of her head came to a rest each time she found a new shell or piece of debris which she could carefully remove. The older woman sitting across from Becca looked over her glasses, which always found their way to the end of her nose when she was working, and smiled while shaking her head just slightly.
Marie didn’t really mind the intern’s work habits or her wild hair and bizarre taste in music. The girl was young and still learning, and even though Becca was more relaxed about the research end of things, more interns meant more help and more funding. Marie remembered back when she was just a young archeology intern; equally as desperate to get out into the field as she was to avoid lecture halls and boring preservation tasks. Now, she wondered how she had fallen into an admittedly monotonous job picking apart and cleaning artifacts instead of actually discovering them.
She wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. Being thirty-five and still unmarried, she’d dedicated her life mostly to work. It was what she’d decided on, after being let down in love so many times. Most of the men she dated wound up being self-centered jerks with no concept of how to treat a woman, but Marie held no lasting contempt for them. Quite simply, the men, whose primary interest was usually gaining access to the pleasure hiding under her stuffy slacks or conservative dresses, bored her. Marie longed for something more exciting than another monotone history professor or flashy business-man type. She needed a real man, something rare that only came on like the arousing thrill of a new discovery.
Perhaps she held her standards too high and Mother was right. Searching for the perfect man might be like searching for the Holy Grail; a task that was just as impossible as it was foolhardy. Marie sighed inwardly at the thought of it. “But why should I have to settle for anything?” she thought.
Then again, she never really considered herself all that sexy. She wasn’t like those runway models or movie stars on the big screen, but Marie definitely had a sort of nerdy appeal. Her wavy blonde hair usually wound up tied into a ponytail to keep it out of the way and makeup was something reserved for fundraising dinners and archeology conferences. Her lab coat hid the appealing lines and curves of her body almost too well. Underneath it all, she was far more beautiful than she gave herself credit for.
Becca glanced down at her vibrating phone and said, “That’s Josh. I gotta go, Miss Brisbee.”
“Ok, see you tomorrow,” Marie replied and returned to her work.
The young girl packed her things in a hurry and rushed out of the lab. Marie wondered if she’d ever been that excited to go meet a young man back when she was just a teenager. She remembered always being much more interested in the handsome, rough men in the films that did whatever it took to bring the bad guys to justice and had a soft heart for the women they wanted.
“Too bad men like that don’t actually exist,” she thought.
Her eyes felt tired under the strain of the light, so Marie rubbed the bridge of her nose and pushed her eyeglasses back up for the hundredth time. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told her that it was nearly time to get out of there herself. As her closing-hour custom, Marie always checked her University email to see if there was any news from the senior field researcher, and her very best friend and former professor, Carol Blanch.
Marie pulled up her email and was excited to find something from Carol. It wasn’t often that she was able to send an email from São Tomè, a remote island nation that resided several hundred miles off the Western coast of Africa. When she did, it was usually of some importance.
“Marie –
I’m going to need an assistant here in São Tomè, ASAP. I think I’ve finally found what I’ve been looking for. Can you believe it, after all these years? I’ll keep you updated as much as I can. If you can come, I’ll meet you at São Tomè International Airport on July 30th.
- Carol”
Marie paused for a moment, contemplating the message with disbelief. “Could she have actually found it?” It was almost too much to imagine. “The Blue Star!”
It was also called La Azul Estrella, by the Spanish that had originally named it, and was a long-lost gemstone of sapphire that originally belonged to a wealthy and powerful royal family. The jewel was worth millions based on its size alone and had been sought after by archeologists and treasure hunters alike for nearly three centuries. Final sightings of the ship that carried it placed the wreck somewhere between the horn of Africa and Dakar, which made the tiny island of São Tomè just as likely a location as any other.
Marie began making plans to leave immediately.
A few days later the on-campus delivery service sent over a flat package bundled in thick brown paper and covered in foreign stamps. Marie tore into it, finding a piece of tarnished silver with the lost ship’s stamp “Princesa Espanol, 1710,” and a rather plain journal with a ragged, worn leather cover and yellowing sheets of paper. There was also a hastily scribbled note, written in Carol’s hand:
“Marie-
An armed group of men confronted me yesterday, but I got away from them. They want the map. I won’t be able to meet you at the airport. Come to the village of Santa Catarina. Ask for Gloriana, she’s the one renting this place out. We’ll talk again soon. Be safe.
- Carol”
Concern struck her for her friend, but Marie had spent enough time with Carol to know that she wouldn’t let a little opposition stand in her way. She’d tackled greater threats than a few rebels with machine guns in her outstanding adventures, after all. Carol was the tough one. Marie was jus
t a lab rat.
After thinking about it and deciding that compared to her friend’s wild career, her job was not much more than being a glorified artifact cleaner, her mind was settled. The emptiness of such a hum-drum daily runaround would no longer hold her back. Maybe, finally, with this note and package, she would be off the beaten trail and able to satiate her deepest needs for excitement. Marie eagerly opened the journal and began to read.
All of the pages of the journal hadn’t been used and most of the first dozen of them simply detailed Carol’s thoughts and observations about the island of São Tomè. Once Marie got into the meat of it though, she found a startling revelation.
“The ship carrying the jewel crashed into the reef around São Tomè?” she said aloud. Marie looked around to make sure no one else in the lab heard her and continued reading silently.
The journal went on to describe many of the villagers’ knowledge about such a thing from stories that had been passed down through families for generations. The details were fuzzy at best, speaking of a great wooden ship with no survivors, but it was clear that at some point after the wreck, the jewel and several artifacts had been recovered and moved by the natives somewhere onto the island.
Marie turned the journal over in her hands and flipped to the end. Tucked and folded between the back cover and the last page was a crudely-drawn map of the southwestern region of São Tomè. It was so old that the paper had curled around the edges and was pock-marked with holes. Parts had even been torn completely off, but the map was still legible.
The coastline was clearly visible in the drawing and depicted a wrecked vessel in the ocean. Canyon and river markers seemed to provide some idea about where certain landmarks were that hadn’t been a part of the original map, and symbols shaped like little houses pointed out the villages. By the coastline, someone had added, even more recently and in heavier ink, a large dot and some writing which read, “No final da ponta dos dedos de Deus, o sol meio-dia.”
Bad Boys and Billionaires (The Naughty List Bundles) Page 61
