Almost Love (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

After Edmund drove her home from their assignation in Scotland Alex did not see him again for almost a week. She did not try to contact him, partly because she had yet to make the first move in their new relationship, but mainly because she was embarrassed about the night that they had spent together. In retrospect, she did not feel that it had been the modest success that she had at first believed and she suspected that Edmund took a similar view. He had not asked when he could see her again as they parted – though admittedly this was probably because he had insisted on walking her to the outside gate of her flat after she had told him of her fright the last time he had dropped her there; as soon as she had inserted her key in the lock, the external light was switched on and Tom had appeared at the top of the stairs. Edmund had given her a chaste kiss on the cheek and departed precipitately.

Tom ran down the steps to take her case. He kissed her briefly on the lips.

“Was that Edmund?” he asked off-handedly. “He didn’t hang about, did he?”

“He wants to get back to his wife. She’s been depressed – it’s something she suffers from every so often, apparently.”

“I’m not surprised. It must be tedious, being married to him. Poor woman.”

Alex didn’t reply. She couldn’t decide whether Tom was behaving strangely or not. Tom didn’t know Edmund very well; he had no reason to dislike him, nor could she recall that he had shown any antipathy for him in the past. She prayed that Tom had not become suspicious of their relationship.

“How’s work?” she asked, as soon as they reached the kitchen. “Has any more happened in that child drugs case that you told me about?”

Tom brightened visibly.

“It’s funny you should mention that, because, as a matter of fact, I have been working on it again today. I think I told you that the police and my colleagues and I failed to get much more sense out of Thobias Padgett. It was decided to take him to a safe place until more evidence could be gathered about the drugs gang. He’s staying at Herrick Old House for a while. Apparently, he’s doing well there. It just demonstrates to me what a bad influence the older brother, LeRoy, has been on him. Marlene Padgett herself says that she has no control over LeRoy. But she may have more in future, because LeRoy was found badly beaten up in the graveyard of St Mary’s church at Surfleet yesterday. He’s been taken to hospital and a police guard put on his ward. If I was spooked by how frightened Thobias was, his reaction was minor compared to how scared LeRoy is. One thing’s for sure, he’s not going to say who hit him. He’s almost out of his mind with fear. He’s been heavily sedated and I’ve been advised that he’ll be prescribed Xanax when he wakes up. But I’ve never seen anyone so disturbed. I think he may be permanently damaged mentally.”

“Poor child,” said Alex automatically, half her mind elsewhere. “Will he come under your care?”

“Probably not. The Padgett family as a whole has been assigned to me, but LeRoy will need specialist care. He’ll probably be put on probation, too. Eventually he may have to stand trial. I don’t know. As I’ve said, he may not be up to it mentally.”

Inwardly, Alex felt a huge surge of relief. Those first few minutes had been dangerous, but she had succeeded in diverting Tom’s attention elsewhere.

“I think I’m ready for bed,” she said. “I seem to have been awake forever.”

“You go up. I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve locked the door.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next few days passed tranquilly enough. Alex spent most of her time beginning to consider exhibits for the series of open days that would be held at the Archaeological Society the following summer. It was the Friday afternoon of the week following the conference in Scotland and she was just thinking of tidying her desk and going home when the outside buzzer rang. She turned on the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Alex, I hoped you’d still be there. Can you let me in? I’ve got some good news.”

Feeling apprehensive about the nature of Edmund’s ‘good news’, Alex pressed the button that released the door-catch. Edmund was with her in a moment. He kissed her hairline quickly, but it was evident that further pursuit of their romance was not uppermost in his thoughts. He sat heavily in the Victorian studded-leather captain’s chair that faced her desk, the twin of the one in which she herself was seated.

“I’ve just come from the trustees’ meeting,” he said.

“Oh,” said Alex. She had forgotten about the trustees’ meeting or, to be more accurate, she had blotted it from her memory. The trustees of the Archaeological Society met three times a year. She attended two of the meetings, but not this one. Ostensibly, one meeting was held without her annually so that matters relating to her salary and performance could be discussed freely, but the fact that the trustees still chose to keep up this tradition after she had been several years in the post made her feel both vulnerable and resentful. She was certain that they used the meetings to criticise, probably at length, and she knew them to be such a crabbed bunch, with such arcane prejudices and priorities, that she would probably want to hand in her notice if she were privy to some of the notions that they chewed over when she was not there to defend herself.

“Was it a useful meeting?” She eyed Edmund warily.

“Very useful.” He chuckled. “You don’t need to look like that. I know you’re paranoid about what we might say behind your back, but all the comments about you were very complimentary. And what was said about me, too, as it happens.” He preened a little. “That’s why I’ve come.”

“Go on. I’m all ears.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t suit you. I told them about your idea – the business idea, I mean. And they agreed to it. For both of us.”

“That’s wonderful news!” said Alex. She got up and came round the desk to give him a swift embrace. Inwardly, she was already dreading the prospect of telling Tom. “But how soon can we take it on? I’ve started work on planning the summer opening programme now. And you must be planning all the heritage activities for next year yourself. I can’t see that we will be able to resign until next autumn now.”

“That’s all taken care of, too,” said Edmund triumphantly. “They’ve agreed that you can spend up to one day per week of your salaried time on it and as much time as you like during evenings and weekends. I doubt that the council will want to release me in the same way, as there won’t be anything in it for them, but the Archaeological Society is also happy for me to contribute as much as I can at evenings and weekends.”

“I’m not sure that I understand,” said Alex slowly. “The idea was to set up a business that would generate enough profit to pay us. I wanted to use the Archaeological Society as a first customer, perhaps offering them a discount, but not to provide the service free. And what do you mean by ‘there won’t be anything in it’ for the council? What will there be in it for the Archaeological Society – besides getting the benefit of work done in our personal leisure time free of charge?”

She stopped talking until Edmund would meet her eyes and she saw that he finally did so with difficulty. She also saw that he was about to bluster. She sighed.

“Oh, Edmund,” she said. “What have you let us in for?”

“I haven’t ‘let us in’ for anything that you don’t want to do,” he said crossly. “You haven’t given me time to explain properly. As I said, the trustees were very complimentary about you and they made it clear that they don’t wish to lose you. What they’re offering is actually quite generous: they are prepared to pay you for one day a week to pursue this idea of yours. Naturally they expect a bit of a quid pro quo . . .”

“Which is?” Alex interrupted. Edmund cleared his throat.

“They’d like a stake in the business, if it’s successful. In fact, they’d like to become its major shareholder – allowing you and me some shares, as well, of course. Then, if the proposition can be translated to other societies and museums, they’d like you to continue to run it as a business but also to continue your work here, with an assistant secretary to help you.”

“But that isn’t what I meant to happen at all, and certainly not what we agreed!” exclaimed Alex, dismayed. “Effectively speaking, it means I’ll just carry on being an employee, presumably with a bigger salary and also a dividend from the new business, but an employee nevertheless. It isn’t what I want to do!”

“Calm down,” said Edmund. “You need to take a long-term view of this. First of all, they’re not asking you to come to any formal arrangement until the first project – the classification of their own artefacts – is complete; so we won’t be trapped into doing anything prematurely. Secondly, they’re offering you a risk-free opportunity to try out a business idea. Finally, if we accept this offer, it is going to go a long way to helping us to explain it to Krystyna and Tom. Krystyna is likely to be upset about the idea of my giving up my job straight away – as you know, she has virtually no money herself. And I think it would make Tom suspicious about us if we were both to jack in our jobs at the same time to pursue an untried concept together. If we do it by stages, they are both much more likely to accept it.”

“Do you think that Tom is suspicious already?”

“How should I know? I hardly ever see him. He certainly didn’t greet me when I saw you home the other night – he must have seen that I was there, or heard me say goodnight to you, anyway. And if I were him, I’d be suspicious – I’d be convinced that everyone was trying to get into bed with you.”

Alex knew that this was meant as a compliment, but she thought that it made her sound like a tart. Nothing was working out as she had intended. She felt all her energy and enthusiasm for the business idea ebbing away.

“OK, so I accept that some of what you’re saying makes sense. But won’t we be trapped by our own success? Assuming that the project for the Archaeological Society succeeds, won’t we then be committed to sharing the future business with its members?”

Edmund shrugged.

“You’re crossing your bridges before you come to them, Alex. It’s not like you. Where’s your entrepreneurial spirit? They haven’t asked for any paperwork yet, or any formal commitment at all. We can work out what to do about that when the time comes. I really think that we should agree to this. We’ll never get such an opportunity again.”

“I’d like some time to think it over – and to discuss it with Tom.”

“Of course. It’s the weekend now, anyway. Perhaps we can talk again on Monday?”

“I’m not here on Monday. I’ll call you on Tuesday. Will you talk to Krystyna about it, as well?”

“I should like to get it settled on Monday if possible. Where are you going?”

“I’ve got the day off to see a friend. One of my old university friends – she’s based in Ireland and is just here for a few days. I’m going to meet her in London.”

“Are you taking the train?”

“Yes, but from Peterborough. The service back to Spalding is too infrequent – it doesn’t give me enough flexibility.”

“Can I meet you at Peterborough station in the evening? We could go for supper. I could book that Italian restaurant that you like.”

“I can’t make the commitment at the moment. If Carolyn wants me to eat with her, I shall accept. I’ll text you on Monday.”

Alex stood up, and collected her coat and scarf from the hat-stand by her window. She scooped up her handbag from the floor and tucked a box file under her arm.

“I have to go now,” she said. “One of Tom’s colleagues is coming to supper.”

Edmund gave her a hug and a peck on the lips. He didn’t release her immediately. He might have been encouraging a warmer embrace, but she didn’t respond. She wasn’t in the mood. She pulled away as soon as she could.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

“Nothing. Everything.” said Alex. She was close to tears.

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you; I didn’t mean to. I think that you’ve been working too hard. It’s the end of the week, as well. You need to take more time off, relax more. Look at you with that file – taking work home as usual. What is it, anyway?”

“It’s an inventory of all the collections. It’s been very badly done – at some point in the 1950s. It was bashed out on an old pica typewriter. It isn’t comprehensive; it just lists the collections under the names that they were given then. There are details about some of the main pieces – the things that have been individually insured, but there aren’t many of those. Some of the stuff has just been packed up in boxes which haven’t been opened for a hundred years or more. But the catalogue’s moderately useful – for example, it gives the location of each collection.”

“Really? I had no idea that the Society was so well-organised.”

“Well, it is – up to a point. Some of the collections – the ones considered to be most financially valuable – are kept in the cellar here. The rest are in the warehouse that we own in Broad Street; I’m sure you know about it. It’s been the subject of discussion at some of the AGMs. It actually houses most of the stuff that is really difficult to classify – prehistoric flints and arrowheads etc.”

“Are you saying that the collections have been stored in more or less the same locations since the 1950s? That’s amazing!”

“It’s for longer than that. The warehouse in Broad Street was donated by a Victorian benefactor – I believe he was a clergyman with an independent income – and he had a carpenter make special stalls for keeping the collections in. Similar stalls were built in the basement here – but you’ve seen them, haven’t you?”

“I’ve been down to the basement, certainly, but it’s so chocka with stuff, I didn’t realise that there was any order to it. What about new acquisitions, though? How do they fit into this static arrangement?”

“There was space left at the time, in both places. There haven’t been many acquisitions since the 1950s – or rather, not many that have been brought to the Society. That’s probably why the inventory was taken then. As you know, our policy now is to maintain large collections in situ when possible. For example, we paid for some showcases when those Iron Age axeheads were found in Stamford and installed them in the public library there. The rationale is that they belong to the people of Stamford and should be enjoyed by them.”

“You don’t sound very convinced!”

“I’m not, particularly. I don’t think that people take much interest in small isolated collections like that – they’re not spectacular enough, if you like. And really not very exciting, except to archaeologists. On the other hand, societies and museums can’t take on everything – we’re already creaking at the seams here and we have stuff that hasn’t seen the light of day for many years. Though I do try to rotate the displays on open days as much as possible.”

“Is that why you’re taking that file home? To plan the open days?”

“Yes. I’ve started working on them, but I don’t have a theme yet. The problem is that last year’s theme was the Vikings. It’s just about the sexiest topic in archaeology and a hard act to follow – especially as they were dominant in this area, so there was plenty to exhibit. And I was able to borrow that helmet from the British Museum. We raised a lot of money with the Viking Exhibition. I don’t see how I’m going to be able to match it this year.”

“How about ‘Gentlemen Archaeologists’? After all, it was those eighteenth and nineteenth century dilettantes who made the Society great.”

Alex burst out laughing.

“Really, Edmund, you mustn’t get carried away by your own interests. Do you honestly think that groups of schoolchildren will be grabbed by an exhibition with a title like that? It could be based on a celebrated individual – people are always curious about the famous. I’d thought about focusing on Isaac Newton, who was a founder member. We have quite a few of his personal possessions, which would make it interesting. But apparently my predecessor mounted a display called ‘Four Great Men of Lincolnshire’ the year before I came, and of course Newton featured in that. I had wondered about doing something on the occult – that’s always a popular subject and we’ve got a surprising amount of stuff on it. There are some relics from the cult of Mithras that were found at the Roman Villa at Fosdyke and, as you probably know, in the eighteenth century, Lincolnshire had its own version of the Hellfire Club. Your gentleman clerics weren’t averse to dabbling in a little bit of magic, either – especially towards the end of the nineteenth century, when it almost became respectable. Madame Blavatsky and all that. And there were some weird political ideas associated with some of them. What’s wrong?” she said, suddenly catching sight of a change in Edmund’s expression.

Edmund’s face had flushed to an unattractive brick colour. It seemed to have frozen into a mask.

“I certainly wouldn’t choose that,” he said. His voice was disapproving, but it also trembled. “As you said, the exhibitions have to attract school parties. I think you might get a lot of flak if you start introducing kids to Satan.”

Alex laughed again, genuinely amused this time.

“How extremely old-fashioned of you! I’m sure that we don’t have anything here as disturbing as some of the online games that they play. But you’re looking so prim about it that it almost tempts me to do it.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Come on, Edmund, we’re both tired out and this is a pointless conversation. Go home and talk to Krystyna about the business idea. And I’ll talk to Tom. We’ll both sleep on it, and I promise to reach my decision by Monday.”