Henry smiled. “Neither do I. Sad to say, I have to remove myself from your vicinity. I’m taking the ladies of the house to Leeds, so you’ll be on your own. I think Celia has finally accepted the silverware is safe in your hands.”
“She didn’t miss the spoons then?” Flick asked.
Henry laughed.
As soon as they’d gone, Flick turned on the radio and started work. Without Gertrude she could work at twice the speed, giving her time to wander in the garden in case she met anyone worth talking to. As she reached up to grab the furniture polish, the envelope that had arrived that morning fell out of her pocket. Damn. So it hadn’t miraculously disappeared. She stared at it and wondered if by sheer strength of will it could be turned into a winning lottery ticket. Flick thought very hard for five seconds. Nope, didn’t work. She picked it up and stuffed it back in her pocket. It would spoil her day so she wouldn’t open it.
* * * * *
Dina had rarely felt so miserable. She couldn’t bear to look at her fingernails. Her back ached, and if she dug another hole and found nothing, she’d scream. The weekend 134
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had been a disaster. Beck turned up at the house on Saturday night to take Isobel to a fancy dress party and looked so divine Dina had wanted to eat him, only Eat Your Man wasn’t in her book of helpful hints. He wore a naval officer’s uniform and Dina knew she’d stared for ages with her mouth open. She couldn’t help it. Then Isobel had come downstairs, her hair cascading over her shoulders, wearing nothing but a bed sheet and Matt, Ross and even Pravit had almost imploded. Bloody Jane had done Isobel’s makeup. Jane knew nothing about makeup. Why hadn’t Isobel asked her? Then when Beck kissed Isobel and told her she looked fabulous, Dina thought she might throw up. The boys had gone into Leeds but Dina hadn’t felt like it so she’d stayed with Jane and watched Saturday night TV. Her life was crap.
Sunday was a washout too. They had to go and listen to some old fart who was a local history fanatic bore them for hours with thousands of mind-numbing slides. Beck had only turned up for the last hour and he’d sat next to Jane. Life wasn’t fair. She had another twenty-one days on this bloody dig and then she was off to Ibiza with a couple of mates and she couldn’t wait. She was fed up with moving earth when she wanted someone to make the Earth move for her. Dina angrily jammed her trowel into the ground and yelped when it hit a solid object. She threw off her glove and rubbed her fingers. She should have gone to Italy. She could have found some darkhaired Italian with a Ferrari and a beautiful villa. She might have even settled for Rich Foster.
Dina slipped the glove back on, moved the trowel further along and hit stone again. Ouch. She tried going deeper and found more of the same. Bloody typical. Her patch had to be the one with the massive boulder. She carried on moving soil from around the obstacle, muttering to herself.
“What do you have there, Dina?”
She hadn’t heard Beck come up behind her. She bit back the temptation to say “a rock” and instead muttered, “Not sure.”
“Can I give you a hand?”
She glanced up in surprise and nodded. As they worked side by side Dina wanted to be cross with him but he was too good-looking. She teased out a pottery fragment, expecting it to be another piece of a Wedgwood gravy boat, only it wasn’t. Dina brushed the dirt from the face of the potshard to reveal a distinctive orange color and the hint of a pattern. She felt a rush of excitement.
“Is this Samian ware?”
Beck took the fragment from her fingers and looked at it. “Yes, it is. Brilliant.” He beamed at her. “Well done, Dina. We’ll make an archaeologist of you yet. Over here everyone, look what Dina’s found.”
Beck exchanged glances with Isobel. She’d know how he relieved he felt. The piece of Samian Flick picked up, that had brought the dig to the Hall, could have found its 135
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way there by any number of means, including a manipulative Giles, but now they had another piece, it made it more likely there had been a dwelling on the site.
“Jane, why don’t you help Dina expose more of this stonework,” Beck said. Thirty minutes later, there was silence as Beck and Isobel inspected what they’d uncovered.
Beck sat back on his haunches. “Anyone like to hazard a guess?”
Jane bounced at the edge of the group. “Looks like a hearth.”
“That’s what I was going to say,” said Dina.
“Well done. That’s exactly what it is.” Beck smiled at Jane and then looked at the others. “Jane just saved the rest of you from the embarrassment of admitting you haven’t got a clue.”
For the first time since the bomb incident, the site buzzed with excitement. The grid was reallocated and within minutes Matt found part of a Roman ladle. As Beck watched, the atmosphere changed. They believed now and they hadn’t before. There was a sense of purpose in the way they worked. They talked about something other than what they intended to eat for dinner or what was on TV. They shared the tasks of washing, numbering, drawing and bagging the finds. Although they all used excavation notebooks to record the exact position of every object, the data had to be entered directly on to the computer. They took it in turns, without arguing. Beck began to relax.
When Matt screamed that afternoon Beck thought it was another worm attack, but Dina rushed into the tent to drag him to the edge of the area in which they’d concentrated their efforts. Beck stared down in disbelief, hardly able to accept he was looking at the remains of a hypocaust system, the series of channels used to heat rooms underneath Roman floors. He took several photographs with his digital camera and then took another with his mobile phone and sent it to Stanley Hunter at the university. Beck hoped Stanley would drive to Ilkley to take a look but instead he told Beck to drive to York and bring details of what they’d found so far. Typical of the lazy bastard, Beck thought.
* * * * *
Flick polished the mahogany banister until it gleamed in the sunlight. She liked the entrance of Hartington Hall, a brightly lit circular foyer with the stairs curling off in a loop. The marble floor had an inlaid pattern so beautiful she always felt guilty walking on it. Overhead arched a hand-painted sky filled with angels and fat cherubs. Flick was surprised Henry hadn’t requested the addition of a few demons. A large glass chandelier hung from the central point. Celia had never asked Flick to clean it before but it was on the list. Clean chandelier. BE CAREFUL. Lower using switch located in cupboard under stairs. BE CAREFUL. Use washing up liquid and 136
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water sparingly. BE CAREFUL. Flick was relieved nothing went wrong. By the time she’d finished the glass sparkled.
She’d just moved it back into position when the doorbell rang. She hoped it might be Beck but it was Jared, George Clooney’s brother.
“Oh, hi.” He gave a shy smile.
Flick was glad to see he looked sheepish. “Hi, yourself.”
“Are you okay?”
“Do you mean did I survive the terrible blast when the bomb exploded? Barely. Lost both legs and an eye.”
“Joking again, right? Thanks for not telling the press what happened.”
“About you running away and leaving me to blow up,” Flick teased.
“No, well, yes. I feel terrible about that. You were really brave.” He looked at her through his long eyelashes and Flick felt nothing. He was tall, dark and handsome, flirting and she didn’t feel a thing.
“So what do you want this time?” she asked.
“We’ve brought the marquee. I wanted to check we’re okay to put it up.”
“I suppose so. Make sure it’s in the right field.”
He smiled. “Maybe see you later?”
Or not, Flick thought as she closed the door. It seemed a bit early for the marquee. But what did she know? It probably took two weeks to put the thing up. She sat on the stairs and took the letter from her pocket. She couldn’t put it off any longer.
* * * * *
By the
time the Hartingtons returned, the marquee was up. Flick watched through the window as Celia pointed at the huge white mushroom that had sprung up in their absence. Henry walked toward it and Celia helped Gertrude into the house.
“Felicity,” Celia shouted.
Flick emerged from the kitchen.
“Why did you allow them to erect the marquee?”
“They threatened to pull out my fingernails one by one if I didn’t.”
“I beg your pardon.” Celia’s gaze sharpened.
Oops, not funny. “I thought you’d ordered one.”
“For next week. The Furry Friends Protection League summer garden party is due to take place in that field on Saturday.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Yet again Felicity, you have let me down. I’m going to have to arrange for them to remove the marquee and bring it back next week. I expect I will have to pay so I will not be giving you any wages today or in fact ever again. I no longer require your services.”
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Familiar words to Flick, though Celia seemed more furious than usual.
“How was I supposed to know about the garden party? Or that they weren’t due to put the tent up until next week? You’re being unreasonable.”
“How dare you? You should have used your common sense. Why would we need the marquee now?”
“You might be glad if it rains on Saturday.”
“It isn’t going to rain.”
“No, it bloody wouldn’t dare, would it, if you told it not to?” Flick snapped.
“Really, Felicity, it’s no wonder you can’t find a proper job. It was at Henry’s insistence I found a little something for you to do here but this has gone on long enough. You’re lazy, arrogant and rude.”
“I’m not lazy or arrogant. If I’m rude it’s only because you drive me bloody insane.”
“And you swear,” Celia said.
“You’re enough to make a saint swear.”
“You dress like a whore.”
That came like a slap to the face. Flick took a deep breath. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“You show no respect.”
“Nor you to me,” Flick said.
She walked out as Celia still talked. Her heart ached. The job gone. Why hadn’t she just groveled? She knew why. She had enough of being criticized. Flick crossed the lawn and headed for Beck’s dig. She really needed that kiss he’d promised but when she got there she could see they’d left. She’d hoped he’d come to see her. Flick retreated to the side of the marquee, sat down on a pile of planks behind the catering tent and burst into tears. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. She never let herself cry.
“Flick?”
She glanced up to see Henry walking toward her. He sat down and put his arm around her. “What’s the matter?”
Flick couldn’t speak. A dam had burst inside her. It wasn’t just Celia, but everything—her parents, Stef, the issue with Grinstead’s, Beck. Henry pulled her head against his shoulder and patted her on the back.
“There, there,” he said. “It’s okay, Flick. Everything will be all right.”
When Flick was calm again she told Henry what had happened.
“That doesn’t sound any worse than normal. So I’m guessing this isn’t only about Celia?” he asked.
Flick shook her head.
“Then tell me what’s wrong.”
She handed him the letter and Henry read it.
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* * * * *
The first time Henry had seen Flick was when she’d appeared one day at his estate agent’s in Ilkley looking for a job. Henry happened to be downstairs out of his office and heard the exchange. As soon as Flick explained she’d been dismissed from her previous position and the matter was still in dispute, his manager refused her an interview. On her way out, Flick knocked over a potted plant and then a display of leaflets and managed to save both before they hit the floor. Henry retrieved her CV
from the waste bin, read it and went after her. He asked her to have a coffee with him in Betty’s Tea Rooms.
Once they were sitting with coffee and buttered tea cakes, Henry asked why she’d told the truth about Grinstead’s. Flick told him she was innocent. She hadn’t lied then and she wouldn’t lie now. He’d been impressed. Henry couldn’t offer her a job in his company until the Grinstead’s business sorted itself out but he could give her work at Hartington Hall. Celia had been complaining about the general reluctance of her cleaner to hand wash her crystal, polish the silver and dust her porcelain. Henry thought Flick would suit very well, particularly if she managed to drop Celia’s horrible Royal Doulton.
As she sat by the marquee crying in his arms, Henry knew he’d made the right decision not to give her a job in his company. Her hair was soft and warm against his cheek and she smelt wonderful. He was an old fool and she was too tempting. He’d have made an idiot of himself long ago if he’d been confronted by Flick every day.
“They’re going to prosecute because I won’t tell them how I infiltrated their systems. If I was clever enough to come up with a way to defraud them that they still can’t figure out, how come I was stupid enough to put the money in my bank account where it could be easily traced? It doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right.” Henry handed back her letter. “You should speak to a lawyer, Flick. This is too much for you to handle.” He squeezed her shoulder and gave her a kiss on her head. “I’ll have a word with Celia. Get you working again. I don’t think she can manage without you.”
“You think? I have a feeling Celia finds me as useful as a piece of chewing gum stuck to her shoe.”
“I know I can’t manage without you,” Henry said. “Things have never been so lively. We’re going to dine out for years on that business with Rudolph. You’re a breath of fresh air. I wish Giles had found someone like you.”
“Willow’s lovely,” Flick said.
“She is, but thou art lovelier, Lilith.”
“Thanks, Agares.”
“You see me as an old man astride a crocodile with a goshawk on his arm?”
“That’s exactly how I see you. Celia is the crocodile and Giles the goshawk.”
“Crocodile Dundee—I like it.”
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Flick chuckled.
“That’s better. I don’t like to see you sad.” Henry stood up. He took out his wallet and handed her five twenty-pound notes. “I’ll give you a ring when I’ve spoken to Celia.”
“This is too much,” Flick said.
“Nonsense. You’re worth every penny. I look forward to our little game. But for the moment, if you want to come over to check out the dig, make sure Celia doesn’t see you.”
“Thanks, Henry.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re a good girl, Flick.” Henry sighed. “It’s such a pity.”
Flick gave a little smile. “And you’re married.”
“That’s a pity too.”
Giles saw his father kiss Flick on the head. He saw his father wrap his arms around Flick’s body. He saw her arms clutch his father. He knew his father was fond of Flick but this was more than fond. A secret meeting? His father had handed Flick money. Shit. And what about Beck? His closest friend. The way he’d talked about Flick last night told Giles his best man hadn’t fallen for a bridesmaid. Now he had to decide whether to tell him what he’d seen or not. And what about his mother? Should he tell her or confront his father first?
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Chapter Twenty-One
Flick had already eaten dinner by the time Kirsten and Josh arrived back from work. Two slices of Marmite on toast. Her housemates kept touching one another, laughing and kissing, commenting on conversations she hadn’t been part of and Flick felt like an intruder. She didn’t begrudge Kirsten and Josh their happiness, but life had changed. She was going to be lonely.
She hadn’t heard from Beck after he’d helped her paint and couldn’t understand why he hadn’t called, particularly as their last meeting hadn’t ended in a near-death experience.
When Kirsten and Josh sat down to eat, Flick slipped up to her room. She sat on her bed with her latest bank statement, several unpaid bills, the contents of her purse and went through her current financial situation. Not good. Her rainy-day porcelain hippo fell apart when she picked it up. It held a note from her sister. “Sorry. Needed cash.”
Flick knew she’d never see that fifty pounds again.
When Kirsten came up to ask if she wanted to go to the pub quiz, Flick shook her head.
“You’re depressed,” Kirsten said. “Trying to sort out your finances will make you feel worse. If you don’t want to come out with us, why don’t you clear this lot away and finish off all those jobs around the house you’ve been meaning to do? It will make you feel better.”
“Such as?”
“Sorting your books, cleaning out the hamster, defrosting the freezer.”
Flick wondered why Kirsten didn’t add poking her eyes out and cutting off her fingers with blunt scissors.
“Good idea. Right. See you later.” Flick picked up the papers on the bed and made it look as though she intended to tidy them away. The moment Kirsten left, she threw them on the carpet. Once she was sure they’d gone, she went downstairs. Finishing off things was a good idea. She started with the Cointreau, moved on to the Drambuie and followed that by emptying three tubes of crisps and half a packet of biscuits. She shaved the moldy bits off a lonely, dried-out chunk of cheese, microwaved it for fifteen seconds and swallowed the resultant gooey mess. She finished the Parma ham—one slice; the last of the peanut butter—two large spoonfuls; and although this couldn’t strictly be defined as part of the hoovering up binge, she also ate the two bars of chocolate Kirsten had hidden on the bookshelf. After she’d consumed a cup of margarine, sugar, flour and milk whisked together with a fork—the nearest she could get to raw cake mixture, Flick slumped on her bed feeling ill and felt worse when she remembered she’d not fed Hannibal. 141
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