Digging Deeper Page 3

  Dina tried to look as though she was listening to what Beck said but her mind swirled with thoughts of the redhead in the supermarket. Dina had been furious when she’d seen the Object of her Obsession talking to Competition. One glance had been enough to take it all in. Long legs. Short skirt. Tight top. Weird hair. Beck’s face. Dina hadn’t turned down a month in Italy to have someone cheat her out of Professor Beckett. Eliminate all competition was number three in the list of tips in her book Helpful Hints For Single Girls. The first thing she’d packed. Jane, the only other female in the group, might be cleverer but she was fat, boring and not worth worrying about. What Dina hadn’t anticipated, was that Beck might know someone who lived here. None of the boys from her year group were worth a second glance. After all, they were just boys. Matt was funny but too short, Ross was the right height but only he thought he was funny, and Pravit was a dork. Of course she knew all three of them wanted to sleep with her, but she was already taken, or at least soon would be. Dina had expected a night in watching TV with Beck by her side so she could work on her seduction technique, but once she realized he was going to a dinner party and the redhead would be there too, she decided she might as well go clubbing in Leeds with the others. She put on her best outfit and applied her “you-know-you-want-me”

  makeup. She’d just have to tease Beck with what could be his.

  “Show your man your best assets.” Sleek, silver and very short, her dress left little to the imagination. She stepped in front of the mirror and jutted out her bum, giving a 18

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  little twitch. Perfect. Dina wriggled her painted toes inside her high heels, then turned and checked over her shoulder, giving herself a coy smile. All she wore underneath the dress was a mini thong. Beck would have to be made of stone not to fancy her. The boys would drool. They could each have one dance. They’d make excellent guard dogs in case anyone pestered her.

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  Chapter Three

  Once Flick finished her bath, she wrapped herself in a towel and sat in the kitchen so Kirsten could rescue her hair.

  “Pierce can’t make it to lunch tomorrow, so Mum wondered if you’d like to come instead,” Kirsten said.

  “So I’m the booby prize?” Flick pretended to be annoyed and Kirsten yanked on her hair.

  “You’re not second choice. Mum wanted me to ask you and Josh, but he’s not back until tomorrow night.”

  “Weeelll…”

  “I’ll tell her you can’t come.”

  “That was me wavering,” Flick said. “Keep trying.”

  Kirsten snapped the scissors near Flick’s ear. “Mum said she’ll do lots of parsnips.”

  Flick’s mouth watered. “Mmm.”

  “And roast potatoes,” Kirsten teased.

  “Shall I bring mint sauce?”

  “Mum’ll make some. Though why you want mint sauce with beef, I do not know.”

  “I like mint sauce with everything.”

  Kirsten pulled Flick’s hair through the straighteners. “I know. Even ice cream, you freak.”

  Flick licked her lips. “By the way, Stef rang this morning. She’s back in Cambridge.”

  “Did she have a good time in Aruba with Drew?”

  “Wonderful.”

  How could she not? Her younger sister Stef had just completed the second year of her Land Economy course at Cambridge University. Friends with the polo crowd, although unable to ride herself, she’d accepted an invitation to spend two weeks at the home of an American friend’s parents.

  “So is Drew her boyfriend?” Kirsten asked.

  “No idea.”

  Too many men in her sister’s life to keep track. Stef tended to chew her guys around for a while, eat the tasty bits and spit out what remained. Drew had paid for Stef’s ticket and made it clear she wouldn’t have to bother changing any currency, though that hadn’t stopped her asking Flick to send money just in case and, of course, Flick had. 20

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  Plus she had Stef’s credit card bill to look forward to. Her sister’s idea of being careful with money was like a juggler choosing to play with knives instead of fire.

  “How much money did you give her?” Kirsten asked.

  How did Kirsten know what she’d been thinking? “Three hundred pounds.”

  “And did she run out?” Kirsten picked up the scissors again.

  “Not once she found she could get cash on the credit card.”

  “Eeek. You have to stop her doing that. You can’t afford it.”

  “I know.” Flick sighed.

  “What is it with you two? You let her help herself to your favorite clothes and you’re always sending her money. You put on the martyr robe the moment Stef’s name comes up.”

  “She’s my sister. I’m all she’s got,” Flick snapped and then winced. “Sorry.”

  * * * * *

  Beck drove the minivan down the hill through the centre of Ilkley, on over the river to the other side of the valley and up to Hartington Hall. He still had trouble believing Giles was getting married. Five months ago, all in one breath, Giles announced he planned to move back to West Yorkshire, marry Willow, wanted Beck as his best man and did he know a girl whose name began with X so he could finish the alphabet shagging game? Beck hoped that last part was a joke.

  He and Giles had rooms on the same staircase in college and shared a house in the second year. In their third year, they’d opted again for college accommodation but spent less time together. Beck chose to study while Giles chose to sleep with Harriet, Irina, Kate, Penelope and Zoe, and unearthed a few more drinking societies to join. Beck deserved his First class degree, while Giles did not deserve his Second class one. The summer after finals, they’d ended up going on holiday to Portugal where Giles continued the game. V for Veronica had no boyfriend, fell for Giles and did everything she could to make sure they stayed attached. When Giles dumped V for an elusive E for Eloise, Veronica had slapped Beck on the face as if it were his fault. Beck had no idea how Giles got away with it. Now he was marrying Willow Shadwell and Beck couldn’t help but wonder if Giles had given up on the game when he couldn’t find an X and not because he was marrying a W.

  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.

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  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 widenin
g 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?”

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  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.”

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  “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. 24

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  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.<
br />
  “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.”

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  “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.