The Lost Shrine Page 13

  Clare said, ‘You can’t blame Jo for any of this, David. You put me in charge of Bailsgrove. It was my decision to allow the news crew onto site.’

  Jo chimed in, ‘That’s not fair, Clare. You didn’t have much choice. They invited themselves onto site.’

  ‘I know, but I could have refused and I didn’t.’

  Jo said, ‘You gave it a real good go.’

  Clare said, ‘David’s right, Jo. That’s not the point. I’ve already had Paul Marshall yelling down the phone, threatening to sue us.’

  David looked on in disbelief. It was news to him.

  ‘What were we meant to do? Have Neil and some of the team strong-arm Crabby and the news team off-site? David, what do you think the headlines would have looked like then?’ She shook her head. ‘That guy’s a piece of work.’

  David said, ‘That guy’s paying our wages. And it’s not only Paul Marshall we’ve got to worry about. What about the police? How do you think they’re going to feel about your little announcement to the world that some of the burials could be modern? And why the hell didn’t I know about that?’

  Jo shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, playing with a loose strand of her unruly beach-blonde hair that had escaped from its ponytail. It was a disquieting sight to see Jo Granski anything but entirely grounded and confident. ‘That’s just a little bit of a misunderstanding, David. You know yourself you can never be one hundred per cent confident about dates until we have the radio carbon dates through.’

  He asked, ‘When are they due?’

  Scratching her ear, Jo said confidently, ‘Two days tops.’

  David thought that was remarkably fast. But if Jo Granski was normally anything, it was efficient. And she possessed that rare quality amongst academics of being both well respected and well liked. So he knew that if she pulled a few strings with her colleagues they were normally only too willing to bend over backwards for her. Therefore he didn’t question it. And to be frank it came as something of a relief to hear that the dating side of things was at least under control. He’d had Sally on the phone this morning saying Mark Stone had been bending her ear about the TV interview. Funny how things turned out. At the moment Sally’s friendship with Stone appeared to be the only thing preventing the Gloucestershire police from closing their dig down. An irony which certainly hadn’t escaped Sally, who’d been less than complimentary about Clare’s television debut.

  He nodded. ‘As soon as those dates are in I want to hear about them. And make sure you get them to DCI Stone as a priority. We can’t afford any more fuck-ups.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘And you do realise that filming that burial without any screening was in breach of our Ministry of Justice burial licence, don’t you?’

  Clare and Jo looked at one another.

  He plucked a printout of the burial licence from the top of his printer and threw it at Clare. ‘Read the bloody paperwork! And next time you want to screw something up, try not to broadcast it on the nine o’clock news.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Clare raised the bone china cup to her lips and breathed in the reviving smoky aroma of lapsang. ‘This is lovely, Jo. But we shouldn’t really be here.’

  ‘Why the hell not?’

  ‘With things as they are we should be back on-site.’

  ‘You need to chill out, Clare. It’ll be fine. Neil’s a solid sort of dude. He knows what he’s doing. And after this morning I figured we could both do with a little R and R.’

  Clare smiled. ‘Well, I can’t disagree with you there.’

  After a month’s unremitting slog on the dig and David’s haranguing this morning, the cathedral tearooms seemed like an oasis of calm. Clare looked at her friend. Somehow despite her ripped denim jacket and Grateful Dead T-shirt she still managed to look as if she belonged.

  Clare said, ‘I didn’t even know this place existed.’

  Jo took a sip of her coffee. ‘I found it when I was doing my doctorate. I spent a lot of time in the museum archives over there.’ Jo pointed across the cathedral close. ‘I used to come out to stretch my legs at lunchtime and I tripped over this place.’ She pointed in the direction of her plate. ‘Then I got kind of addicted to their espresso cupcakes.’

  ‘I didn’t know you did your doctorate down here.’

  Jo winked at her friend conspiratorially. ‘There’s a lot folks don’t know about me.’

  Clare laughed. ‘Is that when you first came across David? When you did your doctorate?’

  ‘Yes, but not because I was at the university. I did my doctorate at UCL. But most of my research was in Wessex. David helped me out with the stone tools assemblages from some burials I was looking at.’

  Jo washed a bite of her cupcake down with a sip of coffee. ‘You and David never talk much about being students down here.’

  Clare could feel herself blush. ‘I guess it doesn’t come up much.’

  ‘But you were friends when you were here, right?’

  Clare studiously avoided Jo’s gaze, instead letting it roam over the Gothic magnificence of the cathedral. She sipped at her tea and nodded.

  Jo asked. ‘This was where you met Stephen, too, wasn’t it?’

  Clare stuttered, ‘Yes. Yes, it was.’

  ‘So did David know Stephen as well?’

  ‘No, not really. At least not very well. Can we talk about something else please, Jo? I don’t really feel up to this right now.’

  To Clare’s relief Jo mistook the cause of her discomfort. ‘I’m sorry, Clare. It must be difficult sometimes being round places that bring back old memories. I didn’t mean to open up old wounds.’

  Clare waved her concern away. ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s just sometimes the past doesn’t seem very long ago.’

  And yet sometimes it seemed like a lifetime. The David back then was a very different David to the one they’d encountered this morning. But then time changed everything, didn’t it?

  Jo said, ‘You know David asked us to tell him as soon as the radio carbon dates come through.’ Clare nodded. ‘I was wondering, do you think maybe we should tell him about what happened when you and Margaret met up with the antiquities guy in the parking lot? What do you say?’

  Clare nearly choked on her carrot cake. ‘Are you mad? David’s livid with us already. If I tell him about that too he’ll go ballistic.’

  Jo said, ‘But what if he finds out anyway? Won’t that make it twice as bad?’

  ‘How’s he going to find out? Margaret won’t tell him. And I’m certainly not going to. So unless you’re planning to say something, there’s no one else who knows.’ She shook her head. ‘No, David’s mad as hell right now. The last thing we need to do is pour fuel on the fire. Let’s just let him calm down and keep quiet until we’ve got a better idea of what’s been going on.’

  Jo didn’t look convinced, but she acquiesced readily enough. ‘OK. If you say so, Clare. What is it you English say? Mum’s the word.’

  The weather had finally broken and for the last few days Bailsgrove had resembled a disaster zone. They’d tried baling out the pits, but to no avail. As fast as they scooped and poured, the water seemed to rise again. They’d eventually abandoned all hope of digging in favour of finds washing. But twenty diggers into two Portakabins was a less than ideal equation. And as a consequence the office and the welfare unit now both looked even more of a shambles than when they’d taken the site over. To top it all they’d had Paul Marshall stomping round site muttering darkly about penalty clauses and threatening to withhold payment on their contract.

  So it was to Clare’s intense relief that she pulled back the curtains on her bedroom at the King’s Arms to see the thick cloud being chased across the horizon by a stiff south-westerly. By the time they’d got to site the sun was starting to break through. This was more like it. Now that the university exams season was over, Jo was on-site practically full-time. And between the two of them and Neil they should be able to make decent progress. By morning break, and not without
a good deal of mopping, baling and backache, everyone was digging on-site again.

  Clare was standing alongside Neil, surveying the site from the top of the hill. ‘It really is an extraordinary spot. We’re only a couple of hundred metres from the edge of the Cotswold scarp, but you’d never know it. The lie of the land on this side of the hill makes it feel totally cut off.’ She turned to Neil. ‘Funny, isn’t it? We always seem to think nowadays that if you’re on the edge of something it’s less important. But I remember David telling me once that in prehistory, places on the edge were often revered – treated as the meeting point between two worlds.’

  Neil nodded. ‘Beth used to have a word for it—’

  Clare cut in, ‘Liminal.’

  ‘That’s it. I remember now.’

  As they ambled downslope Clare stopped and pointed. ‘You know, Neil, I’ve never noticed before, but our site sits on its own little plateau. It looks as if it’s been deliberately cut into the slope.’

  ‘Or it could be they just selected a natural terrace.’

  ‘Maybe. And then adapted it a little.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Look! Do you see that dark streak running across the cutting? It seems to stretch right into the centre of the trench and then it turns at a right angle.’ She started jumping up and down. ‘Oh my God, Neil! It looks like a ditch. All this wet weather we’ve been cursing. It’s found us our ditch.’

  Somewhere in the distance behind her she could hear Neil saying, ‘Are you sure?’

  But she was halfway down slope by then. ‘Jo! Jo! You’ve got to come and see this! We’ve found the ditch.’

  Much to the amusement of Malcolm and the rest of the dig team, Clare came to an abrupt halt, tripping over a bucket and landing squarely at Jo’s feet.

  Jo helped her up. ‘Are you OK? You came down there at a heck of a lick.’

  Clare brushed herself down impatiently. ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘What’s all the hullabaloo about?’

  Clare dragged Jo upslope to get the best vantage point. She pointed. ‘Do you see down there, that dark line?’

  Jo stared at the cutting, at first struggling to make it out. Then suddenly she clapped her hand across her mouth. ‘You’re right, Clare. It’s a ditch. It’s got to be. And it goes right round our pits.’ She placed both hands on her friend’s shoulders and shook her. ‘You know what this means, don’t you? We’ve found ourselves an Iron Age shrine. Do you know how rare they are, Clare? I can’t believe it. This is epic.’

  Clare couldn’t help smiling at her friend’s unbridled joy. But she knew she was going to have to prick the bubble. ‘Well, to be strictly accurate we’ve got a ditch and some pits. We won’t know if the complex is Iron Age until those radio carbon dates come back from the infants’ skeletons.’

  As they’d hoped, by mid-afternoon they had their answer when an email from Florida popped into Jo’s inbox.

  Jo hurried over to Clare, who was filling in context sheets by the side of the cutting. ‘See, I told you. First half of the first century AD.’

  ‘Oh, thank God for that. Whatever happened to those poor little mites, it happened two thousand years ago. Have you—’

  Jo interrupted her. ‘Oh yes. Don’t worry. First thing I did was email David. And then Mark Stone.’

  ‘We’d better let Margaret know too. I can’t wait to see her face when we tell her.’ Clare tucked the ring binder she was holding under her arm and got to her feet. ‘Come on, I think this deserves a cup of warm brown sludge.’

  The two women strolled contentedly downhill, chatting about their discovery.

  As they approached the welfare unit, Clare saw Crabby coming through the gate at the bottom of the field. ‘What does he want?’

  Jo sounded considerably happier about the Druid’s appearance than Clare felt. ‘He probably just wants to see how things are coming along.’

  Clare turned away from him, trying to usher Jo into the welfare unit. ‘They would’ve been going a damned sight better if he hadn’t dragged the press into it.’ Jo gave her a reproving look. ‘Well, I’m just saying. Come on, I’m thirsty.’

  But it was too late. There was a tap on her shoulder.

  As she turned, Crabby’s deep baritone intoned, ‘Blessed be!’

  In as cold a tone as she could muster, Clare said, ‘Hi, Crabby, what can I do for you?’

  Jo dug her in the ribs, and Clare returned the favour, trying to keep a straight face.

  He looked first at Clare, then at Jo. ‘I wanted to apologise. For what happened the other day with the TV people. If I’d known they were going to come here and cause trouble I’d never ’ave invited them here. After the kindness you showed to the old souls. Well, I’d not blame you if you didn’t want to see me again.’

  Clare hesitated, but Jo stepped into the breach. ‘It’s the TV guys who should be ashamed of themselves, not you, Crabby. We know you were only trying to help them out. Isn’t that so, Clare?’

  Sensing Clare’s reluctance, Crabby turned to her and, placing his hand gently on her arm, looked straight into her eyes. ‘Can you forgive me, Clare?’

  Clare held his gaze for a few seconds then crumbled. She reached out to give him a hug. ‘Oh, Crabby, there’s nothing to forgive.’ Stepping back, she said, ‘Come on, let’s get a mug of tea and then I’m going to take you up to the trench and show you what we’ve found.’

  Twenty minutes later the three of them were sitting together cross-legged, slurping the last of their tea by the side of the cutting.

  Crabby said, ‘So Beth was right all along. This place was a temple. I knew it. She’d have been so pleased at what you’ve done here.’

  Neither Clare nor Jo knew quite what to say.

  Crabby gestured in the direction of Neil, who was deftly wielding a pickaxe in the top of the newly discovered ditch. ‘And she’d have been pleased you kept young Neil on too. It was Beth who gave him a second chance, you know. She told me she could always see he had something about him.’

  Clare turned towards Crabby, puzzled. ‘A second chance?’

  He nodded. ‘He was a bit of a bad lad in his younger days by all accounts. Beth told me he’d had a few problems with drugs and such when he was at college. From what I could make out, she sort of took him under her wing. That’s why she took him on when she started digging and he pitched up here.’

  Clare said, ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘Neil’s a good lad now, though. He’s sorted himself out. I didn’t take much to schooling and I know some of the youngsters reckon I’m a bit lacking up ’ere.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘But Neil’s never been like that. He’s always had time for me. We’ve had one or two good nights round the fire talking about the old ways over a pint of cider. He’s not one to poke fun at folks just cos they’re different. And he works damned ’ard too. Even if that missus of his is always giving him grief.’

  Clare said, ‘Is she? Neil’s never mentioned anything.’

  ‘He wouldn’t, would he? Man’s got his pride. She’s always on at him to pack this lark in. Don’t reckon there’s a future in it.’ Crabby shook his head. ‘That’s the trouble with young folk these days, it’s all about the money. But Neil, he’s different. Suppose that’s why Beth took to him.’

  Was that what had sparked Stuart Craig’s apparent jealousy? Had Craig resented the time Beth had taken straightening the young Neil Fuller out? Maybe Craig’s version of Beth had as much to do with the lack of attention he’d felt she’d paid him, and the time she’d invested in helping Neil as an undergrad, as it did with her obsession with the long-dead. It was beginning to seem as if everyone had known a different Beth Kinsella.

  ‘That was a proper treat. Thank you.’ Crabby sat back contentedly, his bowl now with only the faintest traces of treacle tart and vanilla ice cream clinging to its sides in front of him.

  ‘My pleasure, Crabby. Glad you enjoyed it.’

  Clare was still feeling more than a tinge of guilt over the way she’d treated
Crabby when he’d turned up on-site to apologise to them earlier in the day. So by way of a peace offering, but in truth to salve her conscience, she’d asked him to join her and Jo for dinner in the King’s Arms. The restaurant had been packed so the landlord had asked them if they’d mind eating in the bar. Clare had her suspicions that the request might have had more to do with Crabby’s biker’s leathers than a sudden run on tables. But as Crabby seemed relieved by the suggestion she didn’t argue the point. And she and Jo had passed a surprisingly enjoyable evening with him.

  Jo stood up. ‘Can I get you a beer?’

  Crabby said, ‘A pint of cider would go down a treat.’

  As Jo made her way to the bar, Crabby leant towards Clare and whispered conspiratorially, ‘You know, I had my doubts about young Jo when she first came here. We get a lot of Yanks ’ereabouts, and I can’t always say I care for ’em much. But she’s not like most of ’em, is she? She’s alright.’

  Clare laughed. ‘There’s no denying she’s a one-off. But you know she really is an expert’ – Clare hesitated, choosing her words carefully – ‘in what she does.’

  Crabby nodded furiously. ‘Oh aye. I could see that right enough. The way she handled those little ’uns. To tell you the truth, Clare, it wasn’t at all what I thought it’d be like. I’ve never been too sure about your lot digging folks up before.’

  She asked, ‘But you’ve changed your mind now?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say I’m open to persuasion. It was what you said to that pillock yesterday. You know, when you said about giving the children voices.’

  ‘I meant it, Crabby. It’s why I love this job so much. It’s not about the stuff we dig up; it’s all about the people.’

  He nodded. ‘Was that why you got so mad about those holes the metal detectorists dug?’

  Clare looked up, surprised. She hadn’t realised the metal detectorists’ pits were common knowledge. She certainly hadn’t said anything to Crabby about it.