Wreckers Island (romantic suspense) (17 page)

If the four had anticipated a
restless night of worry, they were mistaken. They slept soundly until the
bright early morning sunshine pouring through the windows finally roused them.

The students gathered in the kitchen
whereupon Louise nervously opened the safe to check nothing had been taken
during the night. It was all there. They felt refreshed and relaxed. Emma got
the kettle on and set about making a decent fry-up as a treat for their hard
work the previous day. They had some excellent local eggs, bacon and sausages
from the butcher in Porthlevnack which smelt delicious as they sizzled in the
pan.

‘You cannot beat a cup of strong tea and a full
English breakfast,’ declared John, wiping a piece of crusty bread round his
plate, ‘with a good puddle of brown sauce. Those fat sausages full of herbs and
onion are unbeatable. I wish we could get them like that at home.’

The others agreed. With that breakfast
inside them, they were ready to face the day. Their first task was to get the
treasure officially reported. John rang Cornwall Council on his mobile for advice.
He was put through to the council’s Finds Liaison Officer and described the
hoard to him and that they thought it was from a Spanish ship which had foundered
in 1780.

‘Oh,’ said John, looking surprised. He
scribbled some information on a piece of paper, thanked the officer and said
goodbye.

‘That was a short phone call,’ said Dan.
‘What has he told you to do?’

‘He said that it sounded remarkable but it’s
not a matter for the council or the coroner because it isn’t treasure but
salvage from a wreck lost at sea, so we have to report it to the Receiver of
Wreck, part of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency. He says that property found
in the sea or seashore from a ship constitutes ‘wreck’ which can’t be treasure
because it wasn’t buried with the intention to recover it.’

Dan shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s
right,’ he said. ‘I hope not because there’ll be a delay of around a year or
more usually to see if legitimate owners can be traced and all we would qualify
for is some sort of token salvors’ award for having scooped it up. Let me ring
that Finds Liaison guy back and have a word, I know a bit about these things.’

‘Look,’ said Dan, firmly, when he got
through, ‘this is not salvage from a wreck because it was not lost at sea when
the ship foundered. It was property retained or retrieved by the ship’s captain
who survived the sinking. He took it ashore and chose, deliberately, to store
these items that we have just found, on a rock ledge in a cave beneath the
seabed, accessible via a tunnel from an island in the bay where we are
currently staying and which is owned by my friend Louise’s parents.

‘He clearly had every intention of
recovering these items because he stored a change of clothing and a cutlass
with them, including a number of other personal effects and also wrote about
having done so in a diary which I myself have partially translated from
Spanish.’

The others looked in admiration at Dan who
was living up to his reputation as a brain box and the most academic among
them.

‘Yes, that’s right, 1780,’ they heard him
say. ‘Yes I know that makes the find under 300 years old but the law of Treasure
Trove still applies I think you’ll find if you look it up.’

‘Right ok, see you later,’ they heard Dan
say after a short pause.

‘He’s coming over by boat later on,’ said
Dan. ‘He wants to talk to us and take a look himself – and yes, he agrees, it
may well be treasure. That’s good news because if it is declared to be officially
treasure it will be bought on behalf of the Crown and we are likely to get the
full market value. He says the decision will be up to the Coroner who will most
likely have to hold an inquest.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Emma, ‘I know you
mentioned inquests the other night in the pub but I always thought coroners only
held inquests into deaths – when people die in strange circumstances.’

‘That’s mainly what they do,’ replied Dan. ‘They
also conduct inquests into finds of antiquities – in England and Wales anyway. I
know about the law on salvage and treasure because a couple of old schoolmates
of mine are mad keen on metal-detecting and a while back they found centuries-old
gold goblets and it was declared treasure at an inquest. A couple of lads at
uni also dive wrecks in the summer holidays. If they find anything, it’s governed
by strict rules to stop the wrecks being plundered. I’m no expert but it’s
better that this is declared treasure and not salvage.’

‘Sounds like you know more than that council
officer,’ said John.

‘I’d guess he was young and inexperienced,
replied Dan, modestly, pleased to show off his knowledge. ‘First he said it was
legally ‘wreck’ until I disputed it. Then he said that the new law of treasure
only applied to gold and silver that was 300 years old. I pointed out to him
that the old law of Treasure Trove still applies to precious metals under this
age. Anyway, he sounded eager to help. His eyes will be popping out of his head
when he sees what we’ve got to show him!’

~~~~~

Later that morning, the Finds Liaison Officer
from Cornwall Council duly turned up, chauffeured over in a council motor boat.
Only Louise was around to greet him. John and Dan had disappeared on some
errand in the outbuilding and Emma had a headache and gone for a lie down.

‘Hello,’ said Louise, smiling cheerily and
stretching out her hand as the officer stepped rather clumsily from the boat. ‘I’m
Louise Locksley. Welcome to Wreckers Island. You must be Mr Spencer?’

‘Oh, call me Rupert,’ said Rupert Spencer,
shaking hands and grinning at her. He was a strange, gauche-looking type who
did indeed look young and inexperienced – in more ways than one, surmised Louise.
He was one of those tall, gangly, studious types with round, metal-rimmed
spectacles and slightly goofy teeth which made him look like a horse when he
chuckled, which he did often.

Rupert seemed nervous to find himself alone
in the company of a stunning, Amazonesque young woman like Louise. His eyes,
she noticed, were immediately drawn to her cleavage which was well defined that
day beneath her T-shirt which she’d knotted, exposing her bare olive-brown
midriff. He also seemed very taken with the long, smooth contours of her legs.

Louise waited patiently for him to drink in
the view before saying, ‘right, shall we go inside and you can take a look.’

‘Yes please,’ replied Rupert, chuckling
again, ‘I can’t wait to see what you’ve got.’ He went bright red at this point
and attempted a camouflaging giggle but it came out more like a horse wheezing.

‘Now, now,’ said Louise, smiling, ‘I thought
you were here to look at our treasure.’

Delighted that he hadn’t offended her by
accidentally appearing too forward, Rupert lurched into over-confident mode
and, blushing again, said in a camp tone, ‘well Louise, I’m sure you’ve got a
few hidden treasures yourself.’

What a prat, thought Louise, irritated at
his over familiarity and school-boy attempt at being saucy. I could eat this
chump for breakfast if we hadn’t already had such a good one. How could a man
in his late 20s be all overcome and blushing and giggly just because he was
alone with an attractive woman?

Maybe, she mused, he had never had a woman –
ever. She didn’t fancy him but perhaps it was time he learnt to grow up and find
out that there was more to life than public libraries and archaeology digs.

‘Follow me into the lounge,’ said Louise.
‘Would you like a cup of tea or anything?’

‘Oh yes,’ replied Rupert. ‘Tea would be
splendid, quite milky and no sugar if that’s ok.’

‘Coming up!’ replied Louise breezily. She
went into the kitchen, put the kettle on and slipped upstairs to check on Emma.
She was fast asleep with a cool strip on her forehead. She must be having one
of her migraines, she thought. Louise slipped out of her shorts and into a
flimsy skirt. A glance through the window indicated that the boys were not yet
finished in the outbuilding.

Louise returned downstairs to the kitchen
and made Rupert his ‘quite milky’ cup of tea. He was already seated on the sofa
in the lounge and Louise handed it to him before perching on the arm of the chair
opposite.

‘I’m sorry to be a pain Rupert,’ said
Louise. ‘The lads are not yet back from something they’re attending to outside and
Emma’s got a lousy headache. Do you mind if we hang on for them before looking
at what we’ve found? I think it’s something the others should be part of. I
hate to keep you because I know how busy you must be.’

‘No, I’m fine here,’ he said, giving another
goofy grin. ‘Nice to relax and enjoy the view. Erm, I mean it’s such a lovely
place here isn’t it, surrounded by the sea on all sides.’ He reddened again.

He seemed genuinely embarrassed that time,
maybe he thought it was one double entendre too many. Either way, to her
satisfaction, he certainly seemed to be enjoying the view, and not only the one
out to sea.

She was perfectly poised to give him a flash
of her knickers and he was exactly the sort of sexually frustrated individual
who would love it. She had him sussed, from his ring-free ring finger right up
to his buck teeth – here was a guy who had never tasted a woman before. It
satisfied a strange predatory instinct in Louise to tantalise someone like
that.

Furthermore, she had been hurt and puzzled
that John had shown no carnal desires for her either the previous night or that
morning. He had been too tired, of course – as had she – but even so, she expected
more from him. At least this twerp was showing an interest.

‘So, tell me about yourself,’ said Louise.
‘Have you been a Finds Liaison Officer long? How did you get into that sort of
work?’

‘Ah,’ said Rupert, straightening himself and
taking a noisy slurp of tea as if about to embark on a long story. ‘I have
always been fascinated by archaeology and the desire to uncover something
special that I’ve never seen before.’

‘You don’t say,’ said Louise slowly,
narrowing her eyes at him.

‘Erm yes, and that’s why from schooldays I
would go out in my holidays on archaeological digs and uncover all sorts of
things, sometimes broken pottery from the Roman era, and occasionally even
pieces of mosaic tiles,’ continued Rupert.

‘Sounds fascinating,’ said Louise, stifling
a yawn.

Rupert’s eyes seemed to be straying from
gazing steadily at her legs to distant, fantasy lands of endless heritage digs
and Roman remains. They misted as he told tales of uncovering long-forgotten fragments
from centuries past.

Louise decided it was time to bring things
back to the present day. She jigged her legs without opening them, to see if
they could compete with ancient pottery. Yes, it looked like they could, Rupert’s
eyes flickered away from the far wall back to Louise’s shins and thighs
disappearing up that very brief skirt.

A little disconcerted, he carried on: ‘So I
found myself dreaming about one day becoming an archaeologist myself. Every
night in my bedroom I would read books on the subject and the do’s and don’ts of
the profession. There’s honour involved – for instance, an archaeologist cannot
usually be declared the finder of treasure for the purposes of being rewarded
its value.

‘We are not treasure hunters but seekers of,
I don’t know, a chance to get our hands on that which has for so long been
hidden from view – to touch and feel something for the first time,’ enthused Rupert,
as his eyes gazed in fascination at Louise’s bare legs, so maddeningly gummed
together in typical female fashion.

Louise decided he had suffered enough and
slowly parted her thighs, giving him a quick flash of white cotton knicker he
was longing for. He stared transfixed, and seemed to lose his thread
altogether, until Louise brought him out of his trance with a jolt.

‘Why are you staring up my skirt, Rupert?’
she asked him, coolly but softly.

He trembled before going violently red and
whispering, ‘oh erm, I wasn’t, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, it was most
improper and ungentlemanly of me.’

‘Is there a hidden treasure up there that you’d
like to uncover?’

‘Erm I erm, I don’t know,’ said Rupert all
of a fluster.

‘Ok, now’s the time for honesty,’ said Louse.
‘Repeat after me, “Louise, I’m desperate to get a nice long flash of your
knickers.”’

He did so, face turning purple, and Louise opened
her legs more widely.

‘There,’ she said. ‘Have a good look. Have
you ever touched a woman down there?’

‘Yes of course, well erm no, actually. I’ve
been on a couple of dates that my parents set up for me, but things never
actually progressed.’

‘Are you frightened of women, Rupert?’ asked
Louise.

‘No, erm, a bit,’ he admitted, before
blurting out with brutal candour, ‘I suppose I feel ashamed that women will work
out that I’m kind of new to this and think I’m a nerd who doesn’t know what to
do. I’m sorry I kept looking up your skirt, I didn’t mean any offence.’

‘It’s ok, none taken.’ Louise got up and sat
alongside him on the sofa. She took his hand in hers and guided it to her
thighs.

‘Go on,’ she coaxed, ‘go and find some hidden
treasure.’

Slowly, he moved his hand up her leg and
along her inner thigh until he reached the outer edge of her knickers. Driven
by a pent-up desire which conquered his shyness, Rupert’s fingers crossed to
the soft fabric which he had been so pleased to get a glimpse of earlier and he
pressed downwards. So this was what it felt like! So firm yet soft at the same
time.

Despite his fumbling clumsiness, or maybe
even because of it, Rupert’s touch was exciting Louise. ‘Come on,’ she said.
‘If you’re going to lose your virginity anywhere, it might as well be with a
beautiful girl like me at the top of a lighthouse.’