by Leo McNeir
“What’s going on over there?” she said.
Donovan turned to follow her gaze. All attention inside the compound seemed to be centred on a cluster of people standing between the builders’ huts and the deep excavation. Some others were rushing over to join them, while a few were detaching themselves from the group and heading for the ladders leading down into the ground.
“Another discovery?” Anne said. “Perhaps they’ve found another skeleton down there.”
“I don’t think so,” said Donovan.
Anne was surprised by his reaction. “Why not?”
“You can see for yourself.”
Donovan pointed at the group by the huts, where an intense discussion was in full swing. At the centre of the scrum, a head of golden blonde hair was clearly visible. One of the participants had removed her hard hat.
“Zoë?” said Anne.
Donovan nodded. “I don’t think the Golden Girl gets excited by Anglo-Saxons. Only the Romans are good enough for her.”
By now, Anne was already reaching into her shoulder-bag for the security pass, as they started walking towards the site entrance.
“I think we’d better take a look,” she murmured, and they quickened their pace.
They flashed their passes at the security guard, and were admitted into the site. The hubbub from the group was now separating into a number of distinct voices. Neither of them was surprised to hear the only female voice loud and clear as they drew nearer.
“… so you’ll just have to shift operations for the time being to another part of the site. You’ve surely got plenty to do.”
Male voices clamoured together in protest, each one drowning out the other. In the midst of the whirlwind, Zoë Tipton raised a hand.
“You’re not listening to me. This is important. It’s in the contract that this part of the work has automatic priority. You know that perfectly well. I’ll get an architect’s instruction or a variation order, or whatever you call it, straight away.”
More protests rained down on her, but Zoë was resolute. She would not be moved. One of the builders spoke up in a firm voice.
“Without a formal instruction, we’re carrying on as set out in the programme. Have you any idea of the penalty clauses on this contract if we fail to meet the target deadlines?”
Everyone turned to look at Zoë, who momentarily fell silent.
“But you’ll act accordingly if you have an instruction from the architects?”
“That’s right,” said the builder, “but only then.”
“Verbal or written?” Zoë was staring him in the face. “From any member of the architect’s team?”
“It’s all the same to us … makes no difference.”
Suddenly, Zoë turned and stared directly at Anne. “You’re with Everett Parker, aren’t you?”
Anne felt a red tide spreading across her face. “We’re the interior –”
“I know that,” Zoë interrupted. “But you are part of the team, right?”
“Er … well, I suppose …”
“Careful,” Donovan said quietly. “This could be trouble.”
Zoë persisted. “If you’re not part of the team, why are you here?”
“I am –”
“Right, then.” Zoë’s voice was hard as rock. “I want you to issue an instruction to –”
“Just hold it there,” said Donovan. “The interior design team can’t issue that kind of instruction to the main contractor. Think about it.”
Zoë’s eyes blazed. “So you’re saying there’s nothing you can do to stop this blatant vandalism taking place.”
“No, I’m not.” Donovan stood firm. “I’m saying you’re probably both in the right, but neither of you is talking sense.”
Zoë glared, while the contractors regarded Donovan with suspicion. He continued.
“We can resolve this here and now … with a little goodwill on either side.” He turned to Anne. “Got your mobile?” She nodded and produced it from her pocket. “Can you ring Philip Everett at the architect’s?”
Anne pressed buttons and, when it was ringing, Donovan held out his hand to take the phone. He pressed it to his ear.
“Hallo. Is Philip Everett available? … I have to speak to him, please. It’s Donovan Smith, calling from the Horselydown site. There’s a problem. It’s urgent.”
After a pause, Donovan handed the mobile to Zoë. “You can explain,” he said.
The conversation that followed was brief and to the point. It appeared that something significant had been identified at the lowest level of the dig. The builders needed an instruction to stop them excavating further. Zoë handed the phone to the contractor who confirmed what had been said and agreed to act on a verbal instruction pending the issue of an order in writing.
With honour satisfied on both sides, the builders withdrew. Zoë handed the phone back to Anne without a word before turning to Donovan. For some seconds she looked at him appraisingly.
“I suppose I should thank you for that,” she said in a flat tone.
“No need,” said Donovan. “It was obvious what had to be done.”
Zoë turned to Anne. “I, er … look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in an awkward position like that.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay,” said Zoë. “But I was feeling desperate. You’ve no idea what’s at stake here.”
“Suppose you show us,” said Donovan. “Can you do that?”
Zoë’s expression changed instantly. Her eyes lit up.
*
Equipped with hard hats and yellow jackets, they descended the ladders and continued on past the area where the skeleton was lying, now covered in a thick white plastic sheet. Zoë did not even glance in its direction as she led Anne and Donovan to a new ladder plunging further below ground. This deeper hole was protected on the side by panels of new shuttering supported by a framework of scaffolding.
The lower level was in shadow, and all three were using torches. Zoë indicated that they should stop, and she stepped cautiously forward, placing each footstep with care. When she was several feet away, she knelt down and swept the torch beam over the wet surface. Without looking back, she raised a hand and signalled to Anne and Donovan to advance. They squatted down beside her as she pointed at the ground before them.
“Do you see that?” Her beam swung in a slow arc across the slime. “There … and there?”
“Is it wood?” said Anne. She spoke quietly, suspecting they were in the presence of coffins, relics in an ancient burial ground.
“Yes,” said Zoë, “… timbers. Do you know what they are?”
“Roman.” Donovan spoke less quietly, his tone firm and definite.
“Yes.” There was surprise in Zoë’s voice. “How could you tell?”
“It was easy … by the tone of your voice. Nothing else would turn you on like that.”
Anne chuckled. Zoë paused for thought. A few feet away, the timbers lay in strips protruding from the muddy ground, standing on edge like the border of a flower bed.
“Coming back to your question,” said Donovan, “what are they?”
“I thought you’d be able to tell me.” There was a challenging tone in Zoë’s voice. “Well?”
Donovan hesitated. “You said timbers, so I’m guessing they must be parts of a building or a vessel.”
“Take a leap into the unknown.” This time Zoë added a hint of mockery. “It’s really rather obvious.”
Anne realised that Zoë was playing Donovan at his own game and she wondered how he would take it.
Without answering, Donovan crawled forward, reaching into his rucksack and pulling out a video camera. He aimed it at the timbers. A soft humming could be heard as the tape began running. After a few shots, Donovan turned to look back.
“A vessel. That would be my guess.”
“How did you know?” Zoë sounded incredulous.
“Surely it’s obvious,” he said.
/> *
Returning to the surface, Anne and Donovan stood together, while Zoë walked a few steps away and began speaking on her mobile. They heard her ask for Dr Fennimore and guessed she was reporting that morning’s find. Anne wondered if she should call Marnie and bring her up to speed, but Donovan thought otherwise.
“Does she really need an intrusion into her holiday when it’s only just begun?” he asked.
Anne agreed it would be unfair, though she asked herself if Marnie might take the opposite view. Donovan suggested they wait and see how the situation developed before taking any action. In the background they noticed Zoë was raising her voice again. It seemed to be her default setting.
“No, I can’t call back later.” Zoë was gesturing with her free hand to emphasise the point. “I need to speak to him … now. Please interrupt his meeting. Tell him it’s very urgent.”
Anne pulled a face at Donovan. “What do you think it is down there?” she whispered.
Donovan shrugged. “Whatever it is, it’s certainly got her excited.”
“It wasn’t very big,” said Anne. “I wonder …”
It looked as if Zoë had got her way, as she turned and began pacing up and down, waiting for the project director to come on the line.
“I think perhaps I’d better stay here a while to see what happens,” Anne said, “at least until Philip arrives.”
“Yes. You are after all representing the architect’s department.” Donovan gave Anne a wry smile. “I suppose that means technically you’re in charge.”
Anne stared back at Donovan. “Blimey,” she muttered.
“Ah, there you are, Miles.” Zoë was back in contact. “Listen up. I’ve made a find … yes, this morning … absolutely … well perhaps the departmental estimates can wait for a bit … whatever, this is big, potentially massive …”
She began pacing again, her head turned away. Anne and Donovan could no longer make out what she was saying. Whatever it was, she was leaving Dr Fennimore in no doubt about her views.
“Is this Fennimore guy her boss?” Donovan asked quietly.
“He’s director of the archaeology project,” Anne said.
“She makes it sound like it’s the other way round,” said Donovan.
Zoë was on the move again, this time walking back towards Anne and Donovan. She stopped within a few feet of them, smiling and confident. Removing the hard hat, she shook her hair free. The smile broadened as she rounded off the call. Everything was as she wanted it. Zoë Tipton had got her way again.
“Good,” she declared. “Fennimore’s on his way.” She turned to Donovan. “In the meantime you can film me by the find, as if I’m making the discovery. Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll need a power supply for lighting. Can we arrange that?”
“Yes,” said Zoë. “What about sound? I want to give an in situ commentary as I work.”
Donovan frowned. “With the equipment I have, that could be tricky –”
“Could I help?” Anne said.
“What about your plans for the day?” said Donovan.
“No probs. I can go later … or tomorrow, even.”
*
Donovan positioned the lights around the timbers while Anne unpacked the sound equipment. They had agreed to meet Zoë up at surface level when everything was in place for a briefing on how she wanted the shoot to be organised. In the meantime, Zoë had absented herself for a few minutes on the grounds that she had things to attend to. Anne suspected that meant going to the loo, but Donovan thought she had other things on her mind. He was proved right.
They arrived at the top of the ladder just as Zoë was coming out of the staff hut. She smiled as she approached them and immediately began explaining the order of the shoot. Donovan scribbled notes on a pad while she spoke. She told him what angles she wanted and what was unacceptable.
“Absolutely no shots of me from behind bending over. I don’t want viewers peering at my backside, okay?”
Donovan grinned and nodded. Zoë continued.
“Also, no shots of me talking from below the face, with the camera pointing up towards my chin. Got that?”
“Of course.”
Anne looked puzzled. “Why’s that?”
Donovan explained. “Zoë has a slightly crooked tooth. An upshot would emphasise and exaggerate it.”
Zoë flushed momentarily and blinked several times. Donovan handed her his notebook.
“Would this be a running order?” he asked.
Zoë studied the list of shots, concentrating hard. There were about ten points on the list, and she seemed to be working each one through in her mind. It was while Zoë was reading that Anne noticed the change in her. Donovan had been right; she had had other things on her mind when she had left them to set up the shoot below ground.
Anne observed that Zoë was wearing subtle make-up, a delicate shading of lavender around her hazel eyes, a faint touch of mascara to emphasise the lashes, a hint of pink on the lips. Each of these combined to complement the lightly-tanned skin and complete the ensemble. Zoë Tipton was ready to face the camera … on her terms.
They were halfway through Donovan’s shooting schedule when a sound from higher up announced the arrival of Dr Miles Fennimore. They broke off filming while Zoë revealed the find that was so important she had insisted the project director abandon his finance meeting to join her at once.
The two archaeologists went into a huddle, crouching over the timbers while a few steps behind them Anne and Donovan reviewed the filmed material on a small portable monitor.
“She’ll love this,” Anne murmured quietly. They were watching a series of close-ups: Zoë in profile; Zoë’s eyes concentrating hard; Zoë turning to face the camera. “You’ll presumably be cutting these in between shots of the boat, or whatever it is?”
“That’s the idea,” said Donovan. “Cutaways to add variety, pace and visual interest.”
“She’s very attractive,” Anne said.
Donovan agreed. “Telegenic. Not necessarily the same thing, but in her case …”
“You’ve obviously studied her very closely.”
“The crooked tooth thing, you mean?” said Donovan.
“Exactly,” Anne said. “I hadn’t noticed it at all.”
“When you’re filming something or someone you’ve got to be aware of all the little details that can spoil the results.”
Anne gestured over Donovan’s shoulder. The archaeologists were coming over.
“Okay,” said Zoë briskly. “Let’s get back to the filming. We’ll do that last scene again, the one that Dr Fennimore interrupted.” Beside her, Fennimore pulled a guilty face. Zoë smiled forgiveness at him. “Then we’ll bring Miles in and I’ll explain the find to him.”
“Just Dr Fennimore?” said Donovan. “You’re not involving the other site director?”
Zoë stiffened. “Why do you ask?”
“Just a thought. It would be a shame to have to do that part of the shoot again if you decided you wanted anyone else included.”
“Fair point,” Zoë agreed. “But no, we’re not including anyone else at this stage.”
“He’s away today working on his own research,” Fennimore said.
“Medieval stuff,” Zoë added in a tone that Anne thought rather dismissive.
*
By lunchtime they had completed the shooting schedule for the day. Zoë had called up a group of archaeologists and wanted to spend the afternoon excavating the boat timbers. Dr Fennimore was allowed to go back to finalising his estimates at the university. Before he left, Zoë swore him to silence.
“Even to Dick Blackwood?” Fennimore had protested.
“Especially to Dick Blackwood.” Zoë laughed. “Otherwise he’ll be claiming this was his find.”
“It’s a matter of professional courtesy, Zoë. Dick is the joint site director, after all.”
Zoë stood her ground. “Look, Miles, he’ll be here tomorrow. I can bring him up to speed
when he arrives. In any case, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with by then.”
Fennimore was mollified. “I suppose that’s fair enough.”
“Frankly, Miles, if Dick can’t spare the time to be on site …” She left him to draw his own conclusions.
“That’s a bit unfair, Zoë. He does have his own research to do. No-one can accuse Dick of being unconscientious.”
“Whatever.” Zoë smiled and walked away.
Dr Miles Fennimore, senior research fellow and project director, realised he had been dismissed.
*
Anne and Donovan found a pub in a side street for a sandwich lunch. It had a small sunny terrace at the rear, and they sat out under a parasol advertising Carlsberg beer. Anne said she had found it interesting to watch Donovan filming while she handled the rifle microphone and kept an eye on sound levels. She had also been impressed with Zoë’s approach to the shoot.
Instead of complaining or throwing a wobbly, as she put it, when Donovan asked her to repeat a scene that needed improvement, Zoë had born every demand with patience. She complied with every request without demur and followed all Donovan’s advice closely, obeying every instruction.
“Why does that surprise you?” Donovan asked.
“It isn’t Zoë’s usual style to follow someone else’s orders. She likes to be in charge. You know that.”
“She was in charge,” said Donovan. “Everything we did this morning was about her. I was working for Zoë, not the other way round. She did what I said because it was in her best interests.”
“Even though it was only a bit of filming by a student working on a college assignment that –” Anne put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, sorry. Donovan, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
Donovan grinned. “That’s fine. I know what you meant. It is just a college project that hardly anyone will ever see.”