Digging Deeper (4 page)

While Giles chased the money and went into banking, believing beautiful girls would follow, Beck had eschewed the money, though not necessarily the girls, and gone to Oxford to do a PhD, partly because he couldn’t think of anything better to do and partly because he couldn’t face the prospect of having to find a real job. He strung out his research as long as he could and strung out a girlfriend longer than he should. The breakup had been messy. He’d run away to Yorkshire to take up a post as a university lecturer and to his surprise, he liked it.

Archaeology had been his passion since he was a small boy. Armed with a metal detector, a ninth birthday present, he’d dug holes all over the lawn which had led to his father smacking him for the first and only time. Beck had also starred in his own archaeology video, aged twelve, when he persuaded his brother to film him digging up their deceased guinea pig. They’d both thrown up over the maggoty remains.

Beck returned from childhood holidays with his suitcase devoid of clothes, but full of pottery fragments, teeth of unknown origin and pieces of metal he spent the following weeks and months trying to identify. His tolerant parents even forked out for excess baggage until his room was so full of yet-to-be-identified treasures, they feared the floor would give way and send him tumbling into the lounge. Finally, his dad built him a shed next to his at the bottom of the garden.

The obsession with fossils and dinosaurs didn’t fade as Beck grew older, and he still dreamed of discovering an undisturbed treasure. Although he’d never admit it, he’d fallen a little in love with the idea of being mistaken for a real-life Indiana Jones.

Beck didn’t expect every student who enrolled to study archaeology at Yorkshire University to have the same level of interest as him, but there seemed to be a widening gap between what they said on their application form and what they believed. He’d begun to wonder if they’d all downloaded the same sentence.

“I have a passion for the past and a burning desire to make my own individual contribution to the understanding of human development.”

It should have been the truth but Beck suspected the burning desire related to three years of digs in the sun, during which they could consume copious amounts of alcohol, have lots of passionate sex, and if they could be bothered to look, make that unique, once in a lifetime discovery to bring them fame and a vast fortune. Very few would become anything like Indiana Jones, though Beck’s hat and whip still hung in the shed.

Giles opened the front door of Hartington Hall and grinned at Beck. “Workmen round the back.”

“Very funny.”

“Are you on your own? I said you could bring Isobel.”

Beck followed Giles through the paneled hall. “She’s not coming up until later in the week.”

Hartington Hall was stuffed with antiques. Old paintings and clocks lined every wall. As much as Beck loved old things, his home was modern and minimalist—according to his mother—sterile and boring.

“Well, the chief bridesmaid is a K, Kirsten, though she’s not here yet, plus she has a boyfriend.”

“Since when did that stop you?” Beck retorted without thinking. He added quietly, “Are you sure you’re ready to get married?”

Giles pulled up short and turned to glare. “Are you crazy? You’re my best man. You’re supposed to be supporting me, not trying to talk me out of it. Talking of duties, I hope you’ve arranged something spectacular for my stag night. I don’t care where we go but there has to be naked women. Lots of them.”

“There’s a sculpture exhibition on at the art gallery.”

“And because I’m not sure whether or not that was a joke, I insist the naked women are alive,” Giles said. “And if one of them has a name beginning with X, so much the better.” He rubbed his hands together.

“I had hoped you weren’t playing that game anymore.”

Giles winked. He turned to push open the door of the drawing room and Beck caught his arm. “I met Felicity today.” He watched Giles’ face.

“Flick? I’ve already got an F. Do you need one?”

Beck raised his eyebrows.

Giles laughed. “I’m joking.”

“Is she one of the bridesmaids?” Beck asked.

“No, she works a few days a week for my mother. She’s serving the meal tonight.”

That explained her cryptic comment, Beck thought.

Giles pushed open the door and ushered him inside. “Brace yourself.”

“Oh look, here’s Professor Beckett,” Celia called as they walked in.

“She makes me sound old,” Beck muttered under his breath.

“You’re over thirty. You are old,” Giles whispered.

Beck made his way across the room toward Celia’s proffered cheek. She turned the other and then turned again for the third peck. Beck was getting dizzy.

Celia waited until she had everyone’s attention before she spoke. “This is Giles’ frightfully clever friend from Cambridge. Got a First. Giles just missed his. Alexander is the youngest ever professor of archaeology at Yorkshire University. He’s the best man and he’s still single.”

Not quite what he had on his CV. Plus Giles had not just missed a First. Beck kissed Willow on each cheek and shook hands with her parents, Kitty and Barry, and then with the three identikit bridesmaids whose names he instantly forgot, and finally with Henry Hartington, already red-cheeked and drunk. To Beck’s relief, Giles’ grandmother was asleep. On a previous occasion, Celia had introduced him as Doctor Beckett and Gertrude had latched on like a leech and subjected him to a detailed description of her malfunctioning digestive system. There had been a number of benefits in gaining his professorship.

“Alexander is supervising my dig,” Celia announced.

“Are you having the garden done?” Kitty asked. “Barry and I could do with some advice about our rockery.”

“An archaeological dig,” Celia said, glaring at a laughing Giles. “Apparently we’re sitting on a significant site. Quite possibly the origins of Ilkley’s Roman settlement. We found a very interesting piece of pottery and Alexander believes there could be the remains of an important villa in my garden.”

Beck tried to keep a straight face. In a minute, Julius Caesar would have lived there.

“You’re starting the excavation on Monday with a group of experts, isn’t that right?” She finally drew breath with a pause long enough for someone else to speak.

“Yes, a group from the university.”

Beck didn’t add that they were all undergraduates whose dig experience probably amounted to little more than playing in a sandpit. On second thoughts, he doubted Dina had managed even that. She’d have been too busy marrying Barbie to Ken. A black cloud puffed up in his head. The chances of anything worthwhile coming out of this month were about as high as him winning the lottery, and since he never bought a ticket, he could write the report for his head of department right now.

“Roman villa, eh?” Barry scratched his head. “I thought there were only forts in this area. As I recall the first one was built in the 80s AD, replaced in the 120s and again in 160s. That one burnt down between 196-7 and a stone structure replaced it.”

That shut Celia up and left Beck with an unpleasant sinking feeling in his stomach. A local expert. The cloud in his head started to rain.

“Barry is the president of our little history group,” Kitty said. “No one knows more about West Yorkshire than him.”

Beck forced the smile onto his face. “Fantastic.” He glanced at Giles trying to turn a snigger into a cough.

“I’ll be glad to run you through my extensive files,” Barry said. “And I’ve four thousand three hundred and twenty-seven slides. I’ve written an article or two for some reputable historical publications including
Having Fun in your Back Garden
.”

“I’ll have one of my associates contact you.” Half of Beck’s mind wondering what
Having Fun in your Back Garden
was about and the other half considering a way of persuading Isobel to talk to Barry. “I’m sure your experience and knowledge will be really useful.” Beck registered the disappointed expression on the man’s face. “You’re right about the forts.” The smile returned. “But there’s been no systematic excavation of the civilian settlement so who knows what Celia has in her back garden. Could be a dwelling or maybe a shrine or a mansio.” Or more likely a Victorian pig-pen.

Barry beamed. “Have you visited Manor House Museum? They have—”

“Daddy. Bor—ing.” Willow took Beck’s arm and steered him toward the giggling bridesmaids. Beck took one look at the three eying him as if he was the last chocolate in the world and wanted to go back to Barry. All three women were thin and angular. All had long blonde hair. He tried to remember their names. Airy, Fairy and Mary. Willow introduced them again. Aisling, Genevieve and Marina. Beck turned to the one by his side, opened his mouth and closed it. Nope, he’d forgotten.

Giles came up at his other elbow. “I’d like to remind you of the one huge benefit of marrying an archaeologist.”

“What’s that?” the three chorused.

Beck wanted to kill Giles. He’d heard him use this line so many times.

“The older you get, the more interest he’ll show in you.” Giles sniggered. “Particularly when you’re dead and buried.”

“Christ, Giles, you make it sound like necrophilia,” Beck said.

“Well, you are fascinated by dead things, admit it.”

Beck was more fascinated by the redhead he’d met that afternoon, but he wanted to know about the relationship between her and Giles. He really hoped they weren’t sleeping together.

“So tell me, Alexander, how are your parents?”

Beck jumped. Celia had snuck up behind him.

“Er…er,” he stammered. He couldn’t remember her ever having met his parents.

“I hope they’re both well.” Celia smiled and nodded, encouraging him to answer.

Beck’s mother drove his father insane. She was addicted to eBay, buying and selling. The contents of the house changed so much that every time his father came home from work, he double checked he was at the right address. In addition, his dad was going deaf and wouldn’t admit it, so everyone around him had to shout. His mother had a permanently sore throat.

Beck realized Celia was still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

“They’re absolutely fine, thanks,” he said.

“I expect your mother is looking forward to you trotting down the aisle,” she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Not really.” Yes, desperately.

“No one in mind, then?” Celia pressed on.

“No.” Not for marriage though he had a vision of that redhead in his bed.

“So do you think this will be like a mini Pompeii?” Celia changed the subject.

“Well…” Beck blustered and this time he was relieved to be pounced on by the brides-trolls who wanted to discuss Indiana Jones. After Beck realized one of them thought the Temple of Doom was an actual place, he briefly lost the power of speech. He pleaded a need for the bathroom and escaped.

He found Giles in the dining room with his tongue down Willow’s throat.

“Still got your tonsils, Willow?” Beck asked and the two sprang apart.

“You’re supposed to be entertaining the bridesmaids,” Giles said. “That’s what the best man does. It’s a perk of the job.”

“Can’t I talk to you for a bit?”

“Willow and I are busy.”

“You’re going to have the rest of your lives to examine each other’s organs. I need rescuing now.”

“I’ll go and get you both a drink.” Willow smiled, and planted another kiss on her fiancé’s lips, before sashaying out of the room. They both watched her go.

“I can’t believe I’m so lucky.” Giles drooled.

“Me neither,” Beck said, staring at his friend.

“The W-for-Willow is as good as it gets.” Giles grinned. “It was exhausting taking a different girl to bed all the time. If it hadn’t been for the game, I’d have forgotten their names by the time I woke up.”

“As I recall, you still didn’t always remember their names.”

“Well, I don’t have to bother about that now. Life is great. I like coming home without having to pick up my dinner on the way. If I’d known how good it was to have a resident angel who fills the fridge with food and alcohol and is happy to iron my shirts on the front and back, I’d have settled down long ago.”

Beck doubted that and knew Giles saw the disbelief in his face.

“Willow is fun and she really cares about me. She’s almost tamed me. She even earns a decent salary.”

“What do you mean, ‘almost’?”

Giles shrugged. Beck wanted to ask him about Flick, but couldn’t push the words out of his mouth. He didn’t want to hear she was one of Giles’ alphabet shags.

“So what is my mother spouting off about now?”

“She’s told the entire room she has Pompeii in the back garden.”

“You mean we don’t?” Giles flashed Beck a look of mock surprise.

“One piece of pottery does not mean we’re going to find the whole dinner set and the shop that sold it.”

“I know for a fact there’s a septic tank.”

That was one thing Beck didn’t want to find. He took out his Dictaphone and made a note.

“Flick! Hurry up. We’re going to be late,” Kirsten yelled through the bathroom door.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.”

Flick put the final touches to her makeup and stepped back to judge the overall effect. She grinned at her reflection in the mirror and opened the door.

Kirsten’s jaw dropped, and then she laughed. “Lady C will have a heart attack.”

“Henry might,” Flick said. “But it will be her fault. She was the one who insisted I had to dress as a maid.”

Lady C was a pretentious prig, but a rich pretentious prig, and Flick was desperate enough to do almost anything for cash. She would have waited on tables dressed as an elephant if they paid her for it.

The two of them hurried out to the car. Flick was driving Kirsten over to Hartington Hall and Pierce would pick her up. Pierce was probably delighted by that arrangement—no financial outlay on the evening apart from fuel and he still got to take Kirsten to bed. Little wonder Flick didn’t like him. He had far too much in common with Marcus.

“Where’s your apron?” Kirsten asked.