Digging Deeper (12 page)

“I’m terribly sorry about this, sir. We’ve plenty of towels inside. If your phone is damaged we’ll put in an insurance claim.”

“It was an accident,” Flick said.

“Excuse me a moment, sir.” Roger took Flick by the shoulder and pulled her to one side.

“What a lovely shirt, Roger. Is it new?”

“I’ve had enough. Don’t bother coming back.”

Flick removed his hand from her shoulder. “Look, I didn’t do it delib—”

“I don’t care,” Roger snapped at her. “You can’t just knock people into the pool.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, tired of people blaming her when it wasn’t her fault. Flick glanced to check no one stood in the way and then pushed Roger in. A collective roar of astonishment surged from the crowd and then a trickle of laughter. She waited until he came to the surface and said, “But that wasn’t an accident, Roger. I did it deliberately and for the record, I resign.”

“I sacked you first,” he yelled.

Flick seethed. Trevor had been angling for her job for weeks, ever since he’d gotten fed up with pushing shopping carts at the supermarket. She sloshed through the parking lot, shaking with indignation. Beck could have said something. He surely didn’t think she’d pushed him in on purpose, then thrown herself in too, somehow managing to get underneath him, so she hit the bottom and not him. But he’d just stood there like a stupid lemon.

When she reached her car, Flick stripped to her underwear and dropped her wet clothes into the passenger foot well, turning to glare at the guys in a passing car who sent her two piercing wolf-whistles.

Why did it have to be Beck she’d knocked in? What did life have against her?
Oh look, Flick, here’s the man of your dreams. Now let’s see how many ways you can find to make him hate you. Oh yes, dozens.

Flick drove over to Hartington Hall at Henry’s request. It was Celia’s birthday and she’d made a last minute decision to go to York. Flick was in charge of Gertrude. What joy!

“I hope it’s not too much of an imposition,” Henry said. “Gertrude specifically asked for you.”

“No, it’s fine, Baresches.” Flick smiled, thinking sticking her tongue in a mousetrap held more appeal.

“Ah, the very best procurer of women in hell.” He laughed. “If only it were true.”

“I think you should up the stakes to this game. I’ll never catch you out.”

“Don’t give in. I thought you had staying power. Now, Gertrude will have a nap after lunch so if you want to sunbathe naked in the garden, feel free. Or maybe you’d like to go down to the dig?”

Flick tried not to blush.

“Take the monitor with you so you can hear her.”

“How’s the dig going?”

“Since there have been no screams of excitement or otherwise, I presume they haven’t found a sausage.” He gave Flick a lustful grin. “Speaking of sausages, I seem to have lost mine. Would you like to look for it?”

“Only if you let me fry it for you, Henry.”

“Saucy.”

“I’d let you choose the sauce,” Flick said.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry about the dogs. If they give you any more trouble, play with their balls.”

Flick winced. “I thought they were bitches?”

Henry roared with laughter. “I mean their red and green footballs.”

“Ah.”

“Right, I’m off to work. If you need me, give me a ring and I’ll come like a shot, especially if you go for the naked sunbathing.”

Flick chose not to respond to that.

She found Gertrude sitting in the kitchen.

“I don’t need babysitting,” she said in a gruff voice.

“Mr. and Mrs. Hartington just want to be sure you’re safe.”

Gertrude snorted. “My daughter isn’t worried about me. My blood pressure rocketed this morning and she wouldn’t get out of the bath to recheck it. It might be her birthday, but it was also the day I went through hell giving birth to her. The memory of it still haunts me. The doctor said he’d never had to put in so many stitches. Celia ripped me apart.”

Flick saw why Celia had fled to York.

“I had the most terrible night,” Gertrude whined.

“Are you feeling any better now?” Flick flinched as she asked a question.

“When I gave birth, you idiot, not last night, but since you ask, my rash is worse.” Gertrude looked glum. “It’s spreading. I’ll show you. You can put some cream on for me.”

Gertrude ate a huge lunch, and settled down to watch the three millionth rerun of
Diagnosis Murder
. By the time she fell asleep, no doubt dreaming of Dick Van Dyke ministering to her suffering, Flick felt as though she’d been stuck for hours in a lift with a group of hypochondriacs. How could one woman have so much wrong with her? Plus Flick was going to have a word with Lady C about the cream. Having to touch Gertrude’s body lay way outside her job description. Flick didn’t care if it was Celia’s birthday, she could rub her own mother’s sore bits.

Lady C’s cards were displayed on the mantelpiece. Only three. One to “My Wonderful and Amazing Daughter”, another to “My Very Special Loving Wife,” and one from Giles “To The World’s Greatest Mum.” Proof, as far as Flick was concerned, that the family had a sense of humor or maybe they hadn’t read them first. Still, at least they had a mother they could send cards to.

While she stood in the kitchen making herself a cup of tea, Flick saw Beck drive off in the minivan. Much as she wanted to fling herself into his arms, she knew she had to keep well away from him. They were like a lit match and dry grass—an accident waiting to happen. He was too quick to jump to conclusions and Flick was the sort of person who constantly needed second chances. She had to forget about him.

Now he’d gone, it was safe to go down to the dig. Flick hung the monitor around her neck and double-checked Gertrude’s was switched on.

Only two students were working. The stick insect lay under three tiny triangles of material reading a magazine and the other two guys lethargically kicked a football to each other. Flick looked around. There didn’t seem to have been much progress.

“Hi,” she called to the one who’d nearly lost her costume in the pool. “How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

“Found anything?”

“Few potshards and a toy car.”

“Can I look?” Flick asked.

“Yep, come on over.”

Flick picked her way across the taped squares and crouched to watch as they carefully brushed away soil.

“My name’s Jane by the way. That’s Pravit.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Thanks for yesterday. I’m really sorry about you losing your job. If it would help, I could go and tell the man it wasn’t your fault.”

“No, don’t bother. He was looking for an excuse to sack me and I was looking for an excuse to push him in the pool.” Flick hesitated. “Does Beck still think I knocked him in deliberately?”

“I don’t know. He was really pissed off. He had to drive into Leeds to get another phone. When he came back, he was still in a mood.”

No change there then, Flick thought. She peered at the pieces of pottery Jane had placed on the tray.

“Are those all bits of the same thing?”

“I’d like to think so, then there would be chance of sticking them back together.” Jane sighed.

“The devil’s jigsaw. You could spend ages working on it and find the last piece missing,” Flick said.

“It always is.” Jane laughed. “It’s the same law that says the most interesting thing you’ll find on a dig will be under the pile of soil and rocks you’ve dug up.”

“Or in another field altogether,” Pravit added.

“So are archaeologists sad and perpetually disappointed?” Flick thought of Beck’s face.

“Not if you enjoy guessing,” Pravit said. “Anyway, you think we’re digging here to find a few potshards and a toy car? We’re looking for a new bog man clutching an undamaged Ming vase. So we’re actually very cheerful, optimistic sort of people.”

“Or mad,” Flick teased.

“Yeah,” Jane and Pravit chorused.

“So do you both want a career in archaeology?”

“Not that mad,” Pravit said.

“I’m going to do a PhD,” Jane said. “I plan to find something special—the biggest, most complete, most magnificent specimen ever discovered. Preferably a new dinosaur, the first tree climbing carnivore. I’ll write a paper on it and throw in a load of hypothetical twaddle, write a textbook the size of a box of cereal and make sure every student has to buy one so I can retire on the proceeds aged twenty-seven.”

Flick laughed. “Great plan. I studied history but maybe I should have chosen archaeology. Can I have a go?”

“No,” snapped Miss Beautiful who’d snuck up behind her. “This is an official site. We can’t have amateurs wading in and destroying valuable historical evidence.”

“You’d better not touch anything then, Dina,” Jane said. “Oh wait, you haven’t touched anything yet, not unless Beck’s watching. Talking of your beloved, you’d better put on your rubber gloves because he’s back.”

Flick saw Beck striding down the field and fled in the opposite direction. She didn’t need another mouthful from him. With her luck, she’d already trodden on some important find and snapped it into a three-dimensional puzzle.

When Beck realized Flick had left the moment she saw him, his heart sank. He’d wrecked his chances with her and she was the most intriguing if most annoying woman he’d met in ages, maybe more than ages. She was still not too far away for him to apologize, yet again, but as he moved after her, Dina appeared at his side.

“Can you come and look at this? I really think I’ve found something interesting.”

Beck forced his reluctant feet to follow her. Dina bent over her square and he tried to ignore her nicely toned buttocks.

“I didn’t want to go any further until you seen it,” she said.

“You’ve already broken it,” Beck commented.

“I haven’t.”

Beck pulled the piece of pottery from the ground and picked up a matching piece from the riddle, then married the two clean edges together. Dina looked mortified.

“Don’t worry. It’s a piece of Wedgwood,” he said. “Not sure of the design. Green leaves, I think.”

“Can I look it up?”

He bit back his groan. “Circa 1970, Dina. Forget it.”

They only needed the milk jug and they’d have a full set. He wandered over to check on Matt and Ross. Ross had exposed half a grey disk and energetically brushed away the surrounding soil.

“This is awesome. First thing I’ve found,” Ross said. “It looks pretty complete. I never knew the Romans used Frisbees.”

“I think they called it a discus,” Beck said in a dry tone.

“You mean I’ve found a discus?” he asked in excitement.

“No, it’s a piece of clay pigeon. They’re fired up in the air for guns to shoot at,” Beck explained.

“So I’ve found a Roman shooting target.”

Beck stared at him in horror and Ross laughed.

“It’s okay. I know they didn’t invent guns until the First World War.”

Beck groaned in disbelief and then rolled his eyes when he caught the look on Ross’ face.

Flick had vanished so Beck retreated to the tent to work on his plot. Was introducing a bear’s penis too tacky? He couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was Flick. Disaster seemed to follow her around, but she was so sexy. He imagined himself kissing those cupid lips and then it wasn’t a bear’s penis he was thinking of at all. Shit.

———

When the doorbell rang, Flick got to her feet.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Gertrude said.

Flick bit back the obvious and hurried to the door. When she opened it, George Clooney stood in front of her. Well, not exactly George Clooney but his younger brother—even better.

“Mrs. Hartington?”

An American. Flick had to fight really hard not to ask if he was George’s brother.

“No, I’m the granny-sitter. They’re out.”

“Jared Collins. I did ring to say I was coming.”

“Don’t you like to be spontaneous?” Flick grinned.

He gazed at her and Flick thought what beautiful eyes he had.

“I’m with ‘Big Erections’.”

Her eyes widened.

“Marquees. I didn’t pick the name,” he added.

“Right.”

“Mr. Hartington seemed to think there might be some shallow pipe work in the field where he wants the wedding marquee, so I arranged to come and check with a metal detector.”

“Who is it?” Gertrude demanded, having reached the door using her walking frame.

“This gentleman has come to look at the field that’s going to be used for the wedding,” Flick shouted.

“What bedding?”

“Wedding,” Flick yelled. “He’s come about the marquee.”

“Go and help him find it then.” Gertrude turned to go.

“She’s a deaf old bat,” Flick muttered.

“I heard that,” the deaf old bat called from the other side of the hall.

Flick picked up the monitor and hung it round her neck.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to put your big erection.” Flick was rewarded with furious blushing. This guy was definitely in the wrong job.

“I’ll get my equipment out of the van.”

He emerged with a canvas bag and a huge metal detector.

“Whereabouts are you from?” Flick asked.

“London.”

“And before that?”

“Boulder, Colorado. Have you ever been to the States?”

“I’ve never been to London.”

Jared laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

Actually, she wasn’t. Flick walked him down to the field. “This is it. Can I watch?”

“You can help if you like. Follow with the bag of markers and when I tell you, stick a yellow flag in the grass.”

Flick tagged behind him as he swung the head of the detector over the ground. He had a lovely bum. She was so busy admiring him from behind that she walked straight into his back when he stopped.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No problem. Stick a flag in by my left foot.”

Flick bent at his feet. “Anything else you want me to do while I’m down here?”

He went bright red. Really, it was too easy.

Eventually Jared switched off the machine. Flick looked around the field at the dozen or so yellow flags fluttering in the breeze.

“What now?” she asked.