‘I thought he came across very well,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice calm.
‘Yes, I’m sure you did. But just remember why you had to leave Weymouth and then think again.’
Harper’s mouth fell open. ‘That was a low blow,’ she said, sudden tears pricking her eyes.
‘Harper, I…’
She recoiled from his touch. He was sorry, she knew that, and he wanted to make up. But he’d gone too far this time. She’d always been honest about just how destructive her previous relationship had been, and he’d always seemed to understand how she’d ended up trapped in it for so long. But now, it seemed, the truth had been revealed. Shay thought she was as stupid as everyone else did, that she had been weak and pathetic to let Ricky walk over her for so many years.
‘Go,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry, that was out of order; I didn’t mean—’
‘Go away!’ she cried. ‘Go!’
Her tears fell hard and fast as she flew back into the café and slammed the door, leaving Shay and his mumbled apologies behind her.
Chapter 12
Allie opened her eyes. The room was painted sea blue, and as the morning sun diffused in through the curtains they rippled like waves in the breeze. Reaching over to the opposite side of the bed, she realised it was empty.
Then she let out a groan as she recalled the events of the previous night. How they’d tried so hard to get along; she’d cooked a meal and they’d made small talk over it, Josh had gone to bed, and Allie had made her move – not stilettos and red underwear this time, just her bare, honest self. She’d told him she loved him, and about how she’d missed his touch. All she wanted was for them to be back to how they’d once been. They’d finished another bottle of wine and he’d succumbed to her advances; they’d torn each other’s clothes off on the stairs, the noise of their clumsy foreplay forgotten in their haste to make love. But then, in bed, something had happened, old doubts and resentments had shown their ugly faces once more and Greg had been unable to perform. He’d rolled away from her, angry and ashamed, and she’d cried herself to sleep.
Why was it so hard for two people who wanted to be together just to be together? Why did her one mistake keep coming back to ruin her life?
The sheet fell away as she sat up, and she realised she was still naked. Far from being comfortable with it, she felt empty and vulnerable, pulling the bedclothes tight around her as she struggled to make sense of the room. The wardrobe was open and a stack of Greg’s clothes were missing; but he wasn’t due back in Germany for another month.
Tearing a gown from the peg at the back of the door, she pulled it around her and raced down the stairs.
‘Greg!’
‘Kitchen,’ came the dull reply.
Allie followed the sound of his voice and found him with a black coffee and a slice of toast, sitting at the table with a sheaf of paperwork spread out in front of him.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, tying her dressing gown up.
‘An emergency meeting in London.’
‘Today?’ Allie shoved her hair away from her face and sat down across from him.
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re supposed to be on leave.’
‘I’m still on call. If they want me, I have to go. You know that.’
‘Oh. How long will you be gone?’
‘I’m staying over tonight; I should be back tomorrow.’
‘I thought you were taking Josh to the water park today,’ she countered. ‘You promised him.’
He looked up at her, his eyes cold. ‘It’s my fault I have to work?’
‘That’s not what I said. He’ll be disappointed, that’s all.’
‘You’ll have to take him.’
‘He doesn’t want me to take him; he wants you. It’s you he hardly sees.’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Allie. I have to go to meetings when I’m called to them, and this one’s too important to miss.’
‘I thought… well, so many of your clothes are gone from the wardrobe…’
‘You thought I was leaving? Would that be easier?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I’m taking extra in case I need to stay longer.’
‘But you said it was just tonight.’
‘I said it should be. You can never tell with these things.’
‘What’s the meeting about?’
He gave her a withering look. ‘Would you understand if I told you?’
‘You could explain it to me,’ she replied, ignoring his tone.
‘I could, but I don’t have all day. The taxi’s due in half an hour.’
Allie pursed her lips as she watched him drain his coffee cup and begin collecting his paperwork. God he could be so hateful, and yet his words still cut her like nothing else. Anybody else would have called time on this marriage long ago, but something kept them chained to each other, no matter how much the binds dug into their wrists.
‘What am I supposed to tell Josh?’ she asked, taking a deep breath to hold onto her tears.
‘I’ll call him later to explain. He’s a good boy; he’ll understand.’
‘He doesn’t have a lot of choice.’
‘I don’t enjoy letting my son down,’ Greg replied coldly.
But letting your wife down is OK, Allie thought.
Clipping his briefcase shut, he stood from the table, pulling a suit jacket from the back of his chair and shrugging it on. He’d always looked good in a suit, and it was one of the things that had driven Allie wild with desire when they were first together. He looked handsome and powerful, like a man who knew who he was and got what he wanted. She liked that; it turned her on. Now, seeing him button his jacket up and straighten his tie, she only felt sad and lost. He looked distant and unreachable, like someone she no longer knew.
‘I’ll call when I can,’ he repeated, but Allie knew that his promise was for Josh, not her. ‘I’m not sure what time that will be.’
‘Josh will probably be at my mother’s house tonight,’ Allie said.
Greg stopped, his hand poised to pluck his briefcase from the table. ‘You never said you were taking him there.’
‘I didn’t have to before. But he’s going to be disappointed today and I have to make it up to him somehow. He loves being at my mum’s and he’s spoilt rotten there, so it will go some way to making amends for the fact that his dad can’t take him swimming.’
Greg looked as though he might argue, but instead he reached for his case. ‘And what will you be doing while Josh is out of the way?’
There was no mistaking the barbed accusation.
‘I might stay there with him,’ she said. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘Well,’ Greg replied as he left the room, ‘I expect Josh will tell me all about it when I’m back.’
He can tell you what he bloody well likes, Allie thought savagely. I’m getting blind drunk tonight and I don’t care who knows it.
* * *
‘He’s an utter dick,’ Pip said.
Harper blew her nose. ‘Perhaps he has a point. I suppose we should have consulted him before we went to see Will.’
‘Are you kidding? This reaction is precisely why we didn’t consult him. If he wants to be in on discussions then he needs to start acting like a grownup. But as far as I can see, it’s got nothing to do with him anyway.’
‘He did find the box.’
‘On your land! Would you listen to yourself? For once, stop trying to see everything from everyone else’s point of view and think about yourself!’
‘I can’t do that, because this affects so many people. You, for a start. And Will too.’
‘And Shay…?’
‘I suppose, sort of.’
‘Not at all – at least it shouldn’t be his priority, although it seems to be.’
Harper paused. ‘What does that mean?’
‘He’s just very interested in it. Considering it isn’t his.’
&nb
sp; ‘He’s just looking out for me.’ Harper’s reply sounded confident; she only wished she felt as much. ‘He’s got my back. That’s why he’s so hung up on Will, that’s all. He knows what happened with Ricky and he wants to protect me.’
‘Sometimes he sounds a lot like Ricky.’
Harper looked at her sharply. Pip rarely blushed but she did it now.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘It makes me sound like a jealous hag, doesn’t it?’
‘A little,’ Harper admitted.
‘It’s not like that. I’ll admit that I find it hard knowing soon it won’t just be you and me sharing this farm – I would have gone crazy over Esther leaving for New Zealand if I didn’t love it here so much – but I would never stand in the way of you and the right man. You believe that, don’t you?’
Harper looked up at the clock and dabbed a tissue under her eyes. ‘It’s nearly opening time. I’d better get cleaned up before I scare the customers away.’
‘If you need an hour I’ll open up.’
‘And do what?’ Harper stood, hands on her hips as she held Pip in a frank gaze. ‘I’m better working than I am moping in the house.’
‘Maybe you want to go and chat to Terence while I open?’ Pip said with a slight smile. ‘The menagerie needs feeding anyway and he’s a great listener – for a goat.’
‘No time for Terence’s counselling sessions,’ Harper said with forced cheer. ‘Though I’m glad you reminded me to feed them – can’t have one of the animals biting a small child through hunger.’
With a smile brighter than she felt and a nod, Harper went to grab a set of overalls from a broom cupboard. It was tough, knowing how Pip really felt about Shay. She’d never stated it directly, of course, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Pip had said she would never stand in the way of the right man, meaning she didn’t think that man was Shay. Tougher still was knowing how much pain it must have been causing Pip to stand by and watch as Harper promised the rest of her life to him. But Pip was wrong; Harper loved Shay, the wedding was set and the day was fast approaching. She would be happy. She only hoped her friendship with Pip would survive it all.
* * *
With the mid-morning sun on her back, Cesca knocked at the cottage door. Duncan had been doubtful about her visiting the home of a man she’d never met before, but as a rule she hated trying to have lengthy discussions over the phone, and during her call to Kristofer Bakke, she’d heard enough from him to pique her interest.
It had been a glorious drive over. If only Cesca hadn’t been so tired and groggy, she might have appreciated the vibrant greens of new foliage that dipped from trees along the roads and tracks into the village, the last of the season’s bluebells that nodded from grass verges and the gossamer wisps of cloud that cobwebbed a cornflower sky. The radio had been playing frothy holiday tracks to celebrate the start of summer, but she’d turned them off with a groan.
Now, however, as she stood at the sage-green front door of the tiny house, an oddly incongruous Norwegian flag hanging from the frame, colourful window boxes on every sill with stone trolls nestled in amongst the flowers, she couldn’t help a smile. If his garden was anything to go by, Kristofer Bakke promised to be quite a character, and something in Cesca had never been able to resist a quirky character.
What she hadn’t been prepared for was to be greeted by a living, breathing Viking when the door was opened. He was perhaps in his late twenties, dressed in a moss-green sweater with holes in the sleeves, a red checked shirt spilling out from underneath, cargo shorts and walking boots. While he wasn’t exactly the height of sartorial elegance, he was incredibly handsome. At least six feet tall, blond waves skimming his shoulders, eyes the colour of a glacier lake. And if he didn’t work out regularly, then the Norse gods had been very kind to him. He rubbed a hand over a hipster beard as his face crinkled into a smile.
‘Francesca, I presume?’ he asked with a trace of a Nordic accent.
‘Mr Bakke?’
‘Kristofer, please,’ he said, grabbing her hand in a hearty shake. ‘Come in – I’ve made tea for you.’
‘Oh…’ Cesca said, crossing the threshold from sun into shadow as he closed the door behind them. She followed him down a cramped hallway, lined with shelves containing rocks, wood, fossils and various random artefacts. She gave them an approving glance, the faint scent of history tingling her senses.
‘It was presumptuous of me to assume you drank tea, but I thought… you are English.’
‘That’s a fair assumption,’ she replied with a smile. ‘We tend to drink tea whether we like it or not; it’s a national compulsion.’
At the end of the hall the sun slanted into a small study through shuttered windows. A desk stood against the wall, piles of books on mythology and history littering its surface, a laptop and a tin of pens jostling for space. There was a swivelling office chair and a faded wooden seat that looked as though it had always belonged to the cottage.
‘Please…’ Kristofer gestured to the seat. ‘Wait here and I will get the tea.’
Cesca sat down, but it wasn’t long before she was up again, her curiosity too great to stay where she was. As she waited, her gaze ran over more bookshelves, filled with books on every conceivable discipline from history to archaeology, anthropology to forensics, politics to psychology, philosophy to literature. If this was Kristofer’s own collection he had a mercurial mind and a thirst for knowledge she rarely encountered, even amongst her peers at the museum. She liked him already, though she wondered vaguely what it was he could do to help solve the mystery of the treasure that she couldn’t do herself.
‘Here…’
Cesca swivelled around at his return, almost losing her balance.
‘You like my books?’ he asked with a broad grin as he cleared a space on his desk and deposited the tray. As Cesca sat down she caught his scent. He might have looked as if he’d wandered into an exploding jumble sale but he smelled fantastic – woody and fresh – almost as if he’d brought the scents of his homeland forests with him. There was something intoxicating about it, and coupled with the sight of his toned arms as he rolled up his sleeves to pour the tea, it was all she could do not to let out a sigh of longing.
She shook herself – first Will Frampton, and now this? Her hormones weren’t doing her any favours these days and she was beginning to wonder if she needed to get a functional shag somewhere just so she could be in a room with a vaguely attractive man and not feel like jumping on him. It was hardly helping her to concentrate on her work either, which was, after all, the reason she was here.
‘You have a fair collection,’ she said in answer to his question as she accepted a strangely dainty cup and saucer from him – which looked tiny in his huge hands. As he sat back on the office chair with his own, he looked like he was a genial uncle pretending to play tea party with a toy tea set. A really hot genial uncle. Which wasn’t an image Cesca wanted to have right now, though at least it was taking her mind off Paolo. ‘Do you mind if I ask what you do for a living?’
‘Not at all. I write.’
‘Novels?’
‘Sometimes. Sometimes non-fiction books. Whatever comes into my head.’
‘And you’re published?’
‘Sometimes.’ He grinned. ‘Sometimes my agent throws her hands in the air because she does not know what to do with the book I have given her. But she is good, and she often sells it.’
‘So you’re famous?’
‘No. Perhaps a little well known in Norway, but I doubt anyone in England knows me.’
Cesca reached for a sugar bowl from the tray and plopped a cube into her tea. She hadn’t seen anyone use sugar cubes at home since her great-grandmother died. Where did people even buy them these days? It was just another bizarre contradiction and the more she saw of Kristofer Bakke the more fascinated she was.
‘What are you doing in England? Are you here to wr
ite another book?’
‘I have been in England for two years. Here in Cerne Hay for only three months. My mother is English and I wanted to spend some time in the country she came from. I thought, I can write books anywhere, so here I am.’
‘I bet you miss Norway.’ Cesca took a sip of her tea.
‘It hasn’t gone anywhere,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I can see it any time I want to. England is interesting and there is plenty of Viking history here.’
‘History is a passion of yours, then? When you spoke to my colleague, Duncan, you told him you wanted to do some detective work on the Silver Hill find.’
He nodded. ‘I was hoping you could share what you know and I could find out more, and together we could create the story.’
‘So you want to write about it?’
‘If I may. That is why I would like to help. I understand that there may be rules to follow, but I would follow them and I would wait to publish if necessary.’
Cesca smiled. ‘It’s not exactly a matter of national security. I’m sure we can work around it somehow. Will it be a work of fiction or a straight-up record of the events?’
‘Perhaps I will make it an adventure story. Who knows?’
‘Historical?’
‘Perhaps. When I know all there is to know, I can decide what book the facts best suit.’
‘I’ll be honest, there’s not a lot to go on at the moment.’
‘I have plenty of time to help and historical research is one of my passions. We will uncover the tale together.’
Did he know how sexy he sounded when he talked to people like that? Maybe it was just her, but whispers of radiocarbon dating and geophysical surveys were aphrodisiacs more potent than any slimy oyster. He was handsome, strong and intelligent – the holy trinity of hotness.
‘OK,’ she said, trying to focus her mind. ‘How about you come to see me at the museum and I fill you in on some of the facts? I can’t show you the find as it’s in the possession of the coroner right now, but I can take you to the discovery site over at Silver Hill Farm. The farm’s owner doesn’t know a great deal about the history of the building but there are parish documents I’ve been meaning to get hold of that might shed some more light on it. There should be plenty of land-registry papers and so on at the libraries hereabout too, although Cerne Hay only has scant bits held by the church so we might have to travel out to look at those. Do you have transport?’
The Summer of Secrets Page 10