by Jenny Kane
Wiping the back of his arm over his mouth, Sam stared across the garden and beyond to the woods connecting Mill Grange with the body of Exmoor, which in turn led on to the prehistoric clapper bridge at Tarr Steps. Angry with himself at his failed attempt to go inside, and angrier still at not having been able to enter the manor like a normal person so he could hide his mother’s letters properly in the first place, Sam cleared his throat.
‘I was going to tell you, but I wanted to think about how to deal with these first.’ He held the letters out to Tina, but she shuffled away from the offending articles.
‘I haven’t been cheating on you, Tina.’ Sam gave a bitter laugh. ‘As you may have noticed, I’m unable to sneak off into hidden places. So exactly where and when do you think I could have been unfaithful to you?’
‘Sam!’ Tina felt guilty. She’d been trying hard not to think about him doing just that. ‘I didn’t, I just wondered… someone from before perhaps? Someone you left behind prior to all this.’
Resting his head in his hands, Sam’s eyes focused on his boots. ‘No, Tina. You’re the first one who’s ever made me want to stay in one place. Ever.’
Feeling bad for doubting him, Tina rested a hand in his. ‘So then, tell me, who wrote the letters?’
‘You can read them if you like. I wanted to show you, but I was afraid you’d think I was silly or weak. Like him.’
‘Him?’ Tina was confused – she’d been sure the writing was feminine.
‘They’re from my mother.’
Tina’s eyes brightened. ‘But that’s lovely. I’d love to have a mum I could write to.’
Sam picked the letters off his lap, holding them in mid-air, not sure if he really did want Tina to see them or not. ‘I know I’m lucky to still have my parents but, my father…’
‘You’ve said before that he can be difficult.’
‘Difficult!?’ The shouted word rebounded around the garden, making Tina jump. ‘Sorry. Father thinks me worthless. I told you. He hasn’t said a word to me since I left the—’
‘Sam.’ Gently lifting his chin, Tina held his gaze with her own. ‘I know you can’t tell me where you were, when you got trapped in that fire. And I know you can’t tell me who you were with, or even which section of the services you were in, but I’m not a fool.’
Reaching out, Sam twirled Tina’s nearest pigtail around his fingers. ‘I can see why you play with these when you’re anxious. Very therapeutic.’
‘You’re sidestepping the issue, Sam.’ Tina pointedly freed her hair from his hand. ‘Can we at least allocate a name to your former life? Even if it’s only roughly true, so army or marines? I’m sure it’s not usual for the RAF or navy to send personnel inland in a manner that would have led you to where the accident happened.’
‘Accident?’
‘It was not your fault. Therefore, it was an accident; even if I’m interpreting accident in the broadest term of the word.’
Taking back the plait, Sam said, ‘I love you, Tina Martin.’
‘And I love you, Sam Philips, but you’re avoiding the point. I’m tired of saying “in the forces”. It’s like being cut out of part of your life.’
An exhalation of breath escaped from Sam’s lips. ‘I can’t say. Official secrets and stuff, but I will eventually.’
‘When?’
‘My agreement runs out in thirty years.’
‘And you’ll tell me then, when we’re in our sixties?’
‘Promise.’
Tina laughed. ‘And you’ll still be putting up with me then will you?’
Putting an arm around his girlfriend, Sam gestured towards the garden and woodland before them. ‘That’s ours, can you believe it? And if you think for one second that I consider it mine and not ours, then you’re wrong. If you can stand it, I’d like you to stay here with me until we’re old and grey.’
Tina turned to Sam; her heart was suddenly beating very fast. ‘Ours? Forever?’
‘If you’ll put up with me.’
‘Always.’ Tina kissed him hard, unsure if he was proposing or reinforcing the fact that he loved her.
The letters slipped to the ground, the light slap they made as they hit the gravel reminding them of how they’d come to be sat on the bench in the first place.
‘Aren’t you pleased to hear from your mum?’ Tina picked the envelopes up and handed them back to Sam.
‘I don’t know.’ Sam ran a finger over the handwriting. ‘She was a good mum to me. None of this ferrying me off to a nanny or governess, even though that’s what Father wanted.’
‘You were sent to boarding school though.’
‘And it broke her heart. I’ll never forget her waving me off, her lips clamped together so she didn’t cry. I admired her self-control and her bravery. I still do.’
‘So why not reply to her, or have you?’
He shrugged. ‘The letters all say the same thing. They’re invites to go home for a visit.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’
‘My father will be there. If I’m on their land, he’ll insist I follow their rules; including going inside to eat and sleep.’
‘But if you went soon, before the weather changed, you could have a family picnic, and if you just stayed the day then…’
Sam was shaking his head, a sad sheen to his eyes. ‘You don’t know him, Tina. Lord Malvern is not someone you say no to. Ever.’
‘Your mother must love him.’
‘Yes.’ Sam sighed. ‘I’ve never understood that.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Another thing I don’t understand is how these got here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tina shifted uncomfortably.
‘I have never told my parents where I am. So how did Mum know to send these here?’ His brow furrowed. ‘Father must have sent his spies out to check up on me.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He’s done it before. Trying to control my life, making sure the Old Boys’ Network keeps watch; checking I haven’t done anything else to bring shame on the family name.’
‘Sam, it wasn’t like that, I’m sure that—’
Sam’s head snapped up. ‘What do you mean, it wasn’t like that?’
Tina felt the temperature between them drop. ‘When you told me about your parents before you bought the house; how your mum was okay, but your dad was difficult, I thought…’
‘You told them?’ Sam’s voice was so quiet it came out in a series of hushed breaths. ‘You told my parents where I live?’
Tina stuttered, ‘It’s n-not like you think, it was more that I…’
Sam was no longer listening. He stood up, incomprehension etched across his face. ‘How could you do that, when you knew…? My father, if it wasn’t for him…?’
‘If it wasn’t for him what?’ Tina sighed. ‘Please, Sam. Tell me. I need to know!’
But Sam didn’t answer. Instead he turned towards the woods; breaking into a run as he disappeared between the trees.
Four
September 2nd
Sophie poked at her plate of scrambled egg and bacon. The smoky aroma would normally have her gobbling down her breakfast as if she was starving, her unladylike manners causing her father to hide a smile behind his newspaper and her mother to tut.
This morning, after a sleepless night torn between remembering how Shaun had patted her bare skin while telling her off, and wondering how to redeem herself with the Landscape Treasures crew, her usually voracious appetite had deserted her.
Aware that her mother was watching her, she concentrated on not making eye contact. If she did that, then Sophie knew the floodgates of disappointment would open, and all hope that she could somehow save the situation would be lost. Cursing the change to her parents’ travelling plans, which had brought them home a month early, she poured herself a coffee she felt too sick to drink.
Cradling the bone china cup, Sophie closed her eyes. An image of Shaun Coulson flashed up beneath her eyelids. She couldn’t believe she�
��d messed this up. It had taken so much work to get him here, so much planning; from tempting her parents with the old-fashioned Grand Tour of Europe, so they’d be away during the Landscape Treasures filming season, to practising her mother’s signature until it was perfect. Not to mention the year of painstaking research she’d done to make sure there was something on their land worth excavating.
Sophie hadn’t been able to believe her luck when she stumbled over the document in the Truro archive, suggesting that somewhere on Bodmin Moor, buried, but not forgotten, was the site of the original St Guron’s church.
Sophie recalled the tingle of excitement as further research suggested that, not only was the church on the moor upon which she lived, but it was within the Guron Estate. Her hands had shaken as she kept hunting for information. Each day she’d returned to the archive office, studying map after map, document after document. Then, by pure fluke, she’d found what she’d been searching for.
A photograph had fallen from a stack of maps. Shot from the air, it showed Guron House and its immediate gardens. Taken in the summer of 1976, one of the driest years on record, it formed part of a comprehensive aerial archaeological survey which, due to the weather, revealed parch-marks in the soil, made by buildings long buried beneath the ground. There was no getting away from the fact that there, beneath her parents’ immaculate front lawn, was the outline of a church.
She’d only cursed how close it was to the house for a few seconds. The inconvenience of the location had been overridden by the idea that maybe, just maybe, she’d stumbled across the lost church of St Guron. And, even if she hadn’t, it was enough of a mystery to pique the interest of the Landscape Treasures team. She could meet her hero, and learn how to dig at the same time. The estate was her home, so surely she’d be allowed to help uncover the site she’d found.
He looked at you as if you were a child.
The memory of Shaun’s face, his incomprehension at her actions as she’d hidden behind the van to avoid her mother, sent a prickle of shame crossing Sophie’s face.
It had been a supreme act of rebellion when she’d signed up, in secret, for the distance learning degree in archaeology. Sophie loved it, and had excelled at her work so far. But to pass, she needed to have some practical experience, and that would mean telling her parents what she’d done. Far better, she’d reasoned, to get her experience while they were away; and if that experience happened on the doorstep, then she wouldn’t have to make up lies about going on holiday.
But what’s the point in lying? Even if you get the degree, you can’t use it without them noticing you disappearing off every day, and coming home muddy.
Sophie sighed as the Shaun of her imagination shouted, ‘You’re twenty-five!’
A knock on the door was followed by the arrival of the gardener. He looked suitably apologetic for daring to breathe indoors.
‘What is it, Jenkins?’ Lady Hammett lowered the spoon upon which a segment of grapefruit was precariously balanced.
‘Excuse me your Ladyship, your Lordship, but that archaeologist bloke wishes to speak to you.’
‘It’s eight o’clock in the morning!’
‘They have been working since six-thirty, my Lady.’
Sophie was shocked out of her self-pity. ‘They have?’
‘They are carrying out—’ Jenkins grimaced, as if trying to remember exactly what was said ‘—non-invasive exploration of the site prior to leaving.’
‘Leaving!’ Sophie’s cup clattered into its saucer.
Lord Hammett lowered his paper, giving his wife a sideways glance as she picked her spoon back up with an air of victory. ‘It seems Mr Coulson has more sense than I credited him with. Tell them we expect the turf to be replaced as if it was never touched.’
Jenkins’ eyes widened, but his thoughts on how that might be achieved remained unspoken. ‘I will inform them.’
Chewing her grapefruit with satisfaction, Lady Hammett levelled her gaze on her daughter. ‘Well, what have you got to say for yourself?’
Sophie wondered how much it had cost her not to add ‘young lady’ to the question.
Unsure if she was going to get her words out before her mother interrupted, Sophie was heartened when her father folded his paper and turned to his wife.
‘I’m also interested in Sophie’s explanation. I trust you’ll let her give it properly, Stephanie.’ His wife glared at him as Lord Hammett smiled. ‘Sophie, I’m prepared to overlook the fact you faked your mother’s signature and, if I can, I will stop the television company suing you…’
‘Them suing us! I have every intention of suing them for—’ Lady Hammett’s explosion was cut short by the quiet, firm shake of her husband’s head.
‘As I was saying, I will endeavour to stop them from suing us for providing false documentation, but I need to know why, Sophie. It would not have been difficult to ask us… me… if this excavation could go ahead.’
Guilt at deceiving her father hit Sophie. He was normally such a background figure in their lives that she often forgot how much she loved him, and vice versa.
‘I’m sorry, Father, but you’d have said no, and this was too important not to happen.’
Holding up a hand to silence the outpouring of words he instinctively knew to be lining up on his wife’s lips, Lord Hammett nodded encouragingly. ‘And why is it important?’
‘The church, the one I’m sure is hidden beneath the lawn, there’s a high chance it is the church of St Guron.’
‘The chap who founded Bodmin?’
Sophie was surprised. ‘You’ve heard of him, Father?’
‘My family has lived on Bodmin Moor forever, Sophie – of course I have. People have searched for it before. What makes you think that it’s here?’
Sophie took a sip of her cold coffee before explaining about the archives and finding the photograph, and how everything felt like it fitted together. Then she told him about how the researchers she’d contacted at Landscape Treasures had done more work, and they were in agreement that it was worth exploring. It really could be the church built in 1010.
Unable to hold her peace any longer, Lady Hammett dripped disbelief. ‘You said that the photograph you found dates from 1976?’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘Well that proves this church, if it is a church, is not that special.’
‘Why?’
‘What archaeologist would leave such an important site un-dug for over thirty years? It was dismissed as unworthy then, and so should be now. The sooner they leave us in peace the better.’
Sophie couldn’t think of what to say. What if her mother was right? There had been so many important archaeological sites discovered in 1976, and only a tiny number had been investigated. Funds simply weren’t there to examine all of them.
‘They did.’ Lord Hammett crossed his arms. ‘My father was approached. He was ill at the time. Mother wasn’t against the idea, but with his cancer being so advanced… well, the Cornish Heritage Trust understood our situation and used their funding elsewhere. Mother always said she’d let them excavate one day, but after Father died, she faded fast, and in all honesty, Sophie, I forgot about it.’
‘You mean my grandparents wanted it investigated?’
‘Your grandfather loved local history. You two would have got on like a house on fire.’
‘I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell me before, I—’
‘Sophie!’ Her mother glared at her with such weighted disappointment, that a passer-by would think she’d been accused of serious assault at the very least. ‘Your grandparents are not the issue here. I agreed for you to have a survey done to satisfy your peculiar need to look backwards, rather than forwards to a good life here.’
‘A life you want for me. Not the life I want.’
As if her daughter had never spoken, Lady Hammett continued, using the ultra-patient tone she adopted when she believed she was right and everyone else was wrong. ‘I did not agree for my garden to be destroyed
, and for a lot of strangers and machinery to ruin my lawn, the view, and the peace and quiet.’
Sophie directed her defence to her father. ‘I know I went about it the wrong way, and I’m sorry. This isn’t just important to me, but to the area as a whole.’ Fiddling her cup in her fingers, she fixed her eyes on the crisp white linen tablecloth. No one had been so reckless as to drop so much as a crumb on it. ‘I imagined that, if they came and went while you were away, the household wouldn’t be disturbed, and I could have got the practical experience I needed.’
‘Needed for what?’ Her father’s glasses slipped down his nose as he leant towards his daughter.
‘My degree.’
‘Your what!?’ Lady Hammett upped her stare level from assault to murder.
‘Distance learning?’ Her father put down his newspaper. ‘Good for you, my girl. That shows guts. You’d have done well at university.’
Not bothering to remind him how much she’d wanted to go to Bristol to study, but that her mother had insisted that finishing school was more suitable for someone of her class, Sophie dared to allow herself a tiny bit of hope as her father went on.
‘And now you need practical experience, am I right?’
Sophie nodded, not wanting to speak in case she was dreaming and woke up.
‘Then, a compromise is required.’ He brushed his hands together as if the decision was made. ‘Why don’t you get yourself outside and apologise? It isn’t just your mother and I that are owed an apology. Then, if they’re willing to stay, we’ll get some boundaries established. Alright, Sophie?’
Lady Hammett’s mouth was opening and closing so fast that it was comical. Sophie, however, was too stunned to laugh. Getting up, kissing her father’s cheek, she ran out of the room.
She had a second chance, and she was going to take it. It was time to eat humble pie, apologise to the team, and show Shaun Coulson that she was an adult.