‘They’re doing charity work,’ she said to Pip’s questioning stare. ‘I can’t ask them for money when they only have a little in the kitty and they’re supposed to be using it to help the needy.’
‘They’ll be helping us then because we’re going to be pretty needy if we keep giving away free breakfasts,’ Pip commented as she carried a tray of dirty teacups through to the kitchen.
Mrs Seacock hugged Pip and Harper warmly as they saw her to the doors.
‘Thank you so much, ladies. You are truly good and kind members of our community.’
‘She’s changed her tune,’ Pip muttered as they watched her climb back into her van. ‘When we first arrived at Silver Hill she wanted us tied to the nearest stake and burned for witchcraft.’
Harper laughed. ‘It wasn’t that bad!’
‘They weren’t exactly supportive when you wanted planning permission though, were they? A bit different when they want a favour, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose they didn’t really know us when we first arrived and they’d got used to the old owners. They were just worried about too many tourists driving through here every day.’
‘Like in The Wicker Man?’ Pip said and Harper nudged her, almost choking on her laughter.
‘Stop it!’
‘Just saying.’
‘We’re one of them now, so what does that say about us?’
‘If I get the sudden strange urge to imprison a visiting police officer I’ll let you know.’
‘Come on,’ Harper said, grinning. ‘We’d better get this place sorted before we get some proper customers in.’
* * *
Sometime around four Shay returned and flopped into a seat at a table in the tearoom.
‘Did you get to Chichester?’ Harper asked.
‘Yeah. Job’s not as big as I thought it would be and they didn’t look too keen on my price. Honestly, I could do without it because it’s a long way to go for what it is. Oh, and I called at the church hall.’
‘Did you sort it?’
‘Yeah, it was a fuse like you said.’
Harper smiled. ‘Maybe I should swap jobs with you.’
‘I don’t think Mrs Seacock would like that. You’re her new best friend now and I have a feeling you might be seeing a lot more of her.’
‘So might you.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘We put your name down for the Christmas talent show at the church.’
Shay’s eyes widened. ‘What? I thought it was weird she kept going on about that. What the hell am I supposed to be doing?’
‘Singing.’
‘But I can’t sing!’
‘I know!’ With that, Harper burst into peals of laughter, nearly dropping the iced bun she was carrying.
‘What the bloody hell did you do that for?’
‘Told you I’d get you back,’ she said sweetly. ‘Cup of tea?’
He scowled, but there was a smile in there somewhere.
Chapter 2
To his credit, Shay had downed a quick cup of tea and crammed a slab of chocolate and hazelnut brownie into his mouth before announcing that he was going to start work on the foundations for the holiday lets again before the light failed. Harper let him go with a fond smile while she and Pip set about closing up and cleaning the tearoom.
The radio was on in the background as Pip took apart the coffee machine and Harper collected up stacks of delicately patterned vintage china that had been left dirty by customers from their afternoon teas. From fluted teapots to embossed teaspoons and chintzy cups, they would all have to be washed by hand to preserve the pretty patterns. None of it matched; every piece had been lovingly sourced and collected from various tabletop sales and antique caves by Harper herself, who’d spent many delightful hours savouring the task. She loved washing them by hand and admiring how unique and beautiful each one was.
Barely ten minutes had passed since Shay’s departure from the café when he was tapping at the glass doors again. Harper set down the dishes and hurried over to unlock it.
‘Look what I found!’ he said, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to show her. He nudged her aside and stepped into the tearoom before Harper was able to see what was in his hand. Marching into the room, he held up a filthy, mud-covered box. Despite it being obscured by layers of soil, Harper could see the lid and sides were heavy with decoration and let out a squeal as she noted a tiny earthworm writhing around on top.
‘You can’t bring that in here – look at the state of it!’
‘Oh,’ Shay said, picking off the worm and flicking it out the door.
‘You still can’t bring it in,’ Harper said.
‘But I wanted you to—’
‘Take it out, Shay! It’ll make a right mess and I have enough to clean – not to mention the hygiene regs!’
‘There’s no more mud on this than there is on customers’ wellies after they’ve traipsed around your petting zoo,’ he said, indignant now. ‘Do you want to look at this thing I’ve found or not?’
Harper let out an impatient sigh. By now Pip had come through from the kitchen to see what all the fuss was about, equipped with a wad of old newspaper from the recycling.
‘Here,’ she said, spreading it over a table and gesturing for Shay to set down his box. ‘Let’s have a look then.’ She answered Harper’s look of vague disapproval with an encouraging smile. ‘It’s only a little thing – how much mess can it make?’
Harper paused, then conceded defeat. ‘OK then.’
Shay set the box down and wiped the mud from its lid. ‘Looks like silver,’ he said. ‘Though I wouldn’t know for sure.’
‘It looks incredibly old,’ Pip said. ‘Though I wouldn’t know that for sure either.’
‘I thought you’d have recognised it from your childhood,’ Shay said, looking up with a grin.
‘Cheeky bastard!’ Pip squeaked, and Shay laughed. ‘Go on then,’ she added. ‘Open it.’
‘It’s probably empty,’ Harper said.
‘The box itself might be worth something,’ Shay replied. ‘If it’s old like Pip says…’
‘No point in opening it then. Just take the box to the museum or something tomorrow.’
‘Museum?’ Shay asked, looking confused. ‘We’d sell it, surely?’
‘Yes, but we don’t even know what it is or what it’s worth. Who would buy it? Someone might have lost it and that wouldn’t be fair.’
‘They lost it beneath your farm? I’ve heard of careless, but that’s taking the biscuit.’
‘I don’t know then,’ Harper said.
Pip shot her a sideways look. ‘Why are you being so weird about this?’
‘Because I don’t like mysterious boxes with unknown contents, that’s why. There could be anything in there. And I don’t like the idea of not knowing where it’s come from and that it might belong to someone and we’re just going to flog it to the nearest junk shop and have a few pints on the proceeds. What if it has real sentimental value to someone?’
‘I doubt it would have been buried under your spare land if it did,’ Shay said. ‘I’m quite partial to my Bournemouth FC scarf but I don’t feel the need to bury it.’
‘Funny,’ Harper said.
‘I like to think so,’ Shay replied.
Harper crossed her arms and all three of them turned back to the box. There was a moment of silence – then Pip broke it.
‘Admit it though – there must be a bit of you wild with curiosity.’
‘Not that wild,’ Harper said. ‘We can take it to the museum or something and let them deal with it.’
‘Sod that,’ Shay said. ‘If there’s something worth having in here then I want to see it first. We don’t want anyone conning us out of something we’re due.’
‘Like what?’
‘A reward or something. You hear about it all the time when people find things.’
Harper let out a sigh as Shay released the catch with a faint ping.
‘Bloody hell!’ Pip whispered.
Shay moved in again to get a closer look. He plucked one of the lockets out and held it up to the light.
‘I’ve got you a present, love!’ he said, grinning at Harper as he held it out to her.
‘Put it back,’ Harper said. ‘Don’t pick any more up. We mustn’t handle it.’
‘Why not?’ Pip asked, looking at her with genuine confusion.
Harper shook her head as she stared at the box. She had no idea if it was real gold and jewels or not, but it was difficult to deny what was in front of their eyes and she had to assume it was.
‘However it got there will not be a story that ended well.’
Shay placed the locket back and wiped his hands down his overalls. ‘Some daft old bird probably buried it there instead of keeping it in a safety-deposit box and died before she could tell anyone where it was.’
‘I don’t think so. It would have been hidden in the house, not buried.’ Harper looked him square in the eye. ‘Someone left that there because they had a bloody good reason to hide it well.’
‘Are you actually serious?’ Shay asked incredulously.
‘I don’t know what to make of it,’ Harper replied, beginning to feel flustered and not sure why. ‘We need time to discuss things.’
Shay scratched his head. ‘I say we keep it.’
‘We have to report it.’
‘And let some other bugger take all that lot? We could be sitting on a fortune! I bet it’s all gold…’
‘Not our fortune,’ Harper replied. She shot a glance at Pip that challenged her to argue, but Pip merely shrugged.
‘I’ve spent my life being broke, so why change things now? If Harper wants to report it then I suppose we have to report it. It looks really old and valuable, and I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to anyway; if we get caught trying to sell it we might be in trouble.’ Shay shot an exasperated glance at Pip, who simply turned her gaze back to the box. ‘God knows who you’re supposed to tell though.’
‘We could Google it,’ Shay said grudgingly. With a longing look at the little mess of gold and jewels scattered across the cloth of the box, he rubbed a hand across his chin.
‘Just imagine this being beneath our home the whole time,’ Harper said.
‘Well it’s put paid to any more work today, that’s for sure,’ Shay replied in a more practical tone. ‘I don’t know much about this stuff but I suppose the rest of the hole I’ve dug will have to be searched. In fact, I might have a quick look anyway to see if there’s anything else I’ve missed. And if we have to report it, God knows how long work will have to stop for.’
‘It can’t be helped. I’ll go and make some enquiries,’ Harper said.
Despite the afternoon sun, in her head the rumble of thunder began.
Chapter 3
Cesca’s head ached. She looked at her computer monitor again and tried to focus on the numbers scattered over the spreadsheet, but they kept dancing about and her brain refused to process them.
‘I really need to think about a new career,’ she muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, ‘because I seem to be shit at this one.’
Taking deep breaths, she tried to put any thoughts of the drunken please take me back texts she had sent to Paolo the night before out of her mind. They made her face burn with shame every time she opened her phone and reread them, but she couldn’t stop reading them again, no matter how much it hurt.
She was thirty-four, for God’s sake. A smart, mature, professional woman, above such teenage obsessing. Paolo had left her, and she needed to accept his decision and move on. So why did she keep doing this? At least Paolo had the dignity to ignore them entirely instead of entering into an exchange that would only make things worse. If she hated him for everything else he’d done to her, she had to be grateful for that.
As she sat at her desk now and fell into the darkness of her own mind, she made a decision. What she needed was a new start. There was too much of Paolo still in the house they had shared, his friends were her friends and the places they would go together met her at every corner as she drove around the town he’d left but where she remained.
It wasn’t even that she was still madly in love with Paolo. They’d done nothing but argue for the year before the split and, if anything, the end had come as a relief. But lately she had thought of him more and more, despite the months that had passed, and though she wasn’t sure what it meant, she’d started to behave very strangely. It had to stop.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a swift knock at her office door. She turned to see a bald, rosy-cheeked man with the body of a fifty-five-year-old and the face of a seven-year-old. Duncan was always smiling, which served only to accentuate this notable incongruity. If the end of the world had just been announced, she was pretty sure he would still look like a kid who’d just won a big marbles tournament.
‘Ouch!’ he said as their eyes met. ‘You don’t look so good.’
‘Very kind of you to point that out,’ she replied as she cleared a stack of books from a seat and gestured for him to sit down. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘Looks like quite a significant find.’
‘A couple of ring pulls and an old farthing?’ Cesca gave a sceptical raise of her eyebrows, but even that small action hurt her throbbing head. ‘Because that’s pretty much all it’s been for the past six months.’
‘Nope…’ He grinned. ‘Gold. Rubies as big as your fist by all accounts. Well perhaps not your fist, but certainly your knuckle…’
‘You’re not funny, you know. There’s no need to take the piss just because you can see I’m too delicate to defend myself this morning.’
‘I’m being serious. It’s hardly the Staffordshire Hoard but it sounds interesting. From the description, I’d say it’s definitely worth taking a look at.’
She shot up in her chair, tucking a curtain of dark hair behind her ears. ‘It’s here? At the museum?’ she asked, the fog of her brain suddenly blown away. ‘Someone’s brought it in?’
‘It’s still in situ. That’s why I said description, because if it was here, I would have seen it.’
‘Again, not funny. Do you think it’s treasure?’
‘Argh, pieces of eight.’ Duncan grinned.
‘You know what I mean. Our official definition of treasure!’
He straightened his face to one more professional again. ‘That’s the initial feeling, yes, judging by the information the landowner has given.’
Cesca was thoughtful for a moment, but then she slouched back in her chair again. ‘If it’s as obvious as it looks, surely we should just call the coroner in. There’s no need for us to go out.’
‘On any other day I would have told the caller that the coroner’s office deals with antiquities we could officially class as treasure and given them the number. But the coroner’s office doesn’t know about it yet, and there’s no harm in you taking a look in your professional capacity. After all, if there’s any doubt you’ll need to confirm exactly what the find is so the coroner will involve you anyway – and I know how bored you’ve been lately.’
A slow smile spread across her face. ‘You know me so well.’
She reached across the desk for her keys and Duncan grinned. ‘I thought it might wake you up a bit.’
‘I’d almost started to wonder what the point of this job was. If this stuff is as spectacular as you say, I can’t wait to see it. Do you have details?’
‘Silver Hill Farm… that’s the name of the place. A lady named Harper Woods reported it – the owner of the farm, I think. Apparently they were digging foundations for some holiday lets when they unearthe
d the box.’
Cesca’s brows knit together. ‘Silver Hill Farm…’ she murmured, trying to recall the location of a place she had heard of but knew very little about.
‘Outside Cranbourne, on the outskirts of a village called Cerne Hay. I had to Google it to be certain where it was and I know everywhere around these parts.’ He placed a sheet of paper in front of her. ‘I took the liberty of printing you a route map.’
She pulled the page towards her with a slow smile and scanned it. ‘You are a genius, you know that?’
He shrugged. ‘I knew you’d want to go straight over there – that’s all.’
‘So nobody’s informed the coroner yet?’
‘In all seriousness, I thought you might want to take a look first, decide whether it is anything of value and whether it’s treasure, and then we can let them know if we need to. For all we know it could be fake, some kind of joke, just greatly exaggerated, or lost by some dopey old bean in the sixties who forgot where they buried it and whatever bizarre reason they buried it for.’
She nodded shortly. ‘I’m happy with that. It’ll do me good to have a drive and clear the cobwebs.’
‘It’s a nice day for it,’ Duncan said, angling his head at a window that was partially obscured by a teetering pile of books, folders and boxes containing bits of pots, pipes, combs made of shell, coins and a myriad of items yet to be identified. ‘I’d come out with you but I have a ton of stuff to do here, including a school visit.’
Cesca screwed her nose. ‘Poor thing. High school?’
He nodded grimly. ‘Year Seven.’
‘In that case, you have my deepest sympathy.’
‘Enough sympathy to swap with me? I go out and look at the treasure and you talk to the kids of St Mark’s about the Romans in Britain?’
‘Not bloody likely,’ she said with a grin. She glanced at her watch. ‘If I go now I can be there by lunchtime.’
The Summer of Secrets Page 2