Scaderstone Pit (The Darkeningstone Series Book 3) (17 page)

He looked along the path again and ran his hand through his hair. “No mistakes,” he murmured then shook his head. Had he just said that out loud? He thought so, but it didn’t matter; there was no one to hear him muttering to himself.
What’s got into me?
He took another deep breath. He was tired, that was all. The truth was, he hadn’t been sleeping well—not since he’d run from the pit a couple of nights ago. Whenever he tried to get to sleep, he’d imagine those whispering voices, warning him away. He always managed to doze off eventually, but then he’d wake with a start in the middle of the night, imagining the terrible wails of a baby crying in the darkness.

He recalled the sound now, and without thinking, he patted the jacket pocket where he used to keep his cigarettes. “Damn it!” he muttered. He really needed a smoke today. Perhaps he could call into the newsagent on the way home.

Trevor nodded to himself, and at that moment he heard the murmur of distant male voices. It had to be the workmen, arriving at last. He stood up straight and smoothed down his jacket then he practised his authoritative smile.

It’s time to get to work
, he thought.
Time to get the job done.
And as the men came into view, he raised his hand to greet them.

***

Trevor chose a suitable boulder and sat down with his clipboard to study the figures: his record of the work completed so far. It was late morning and the survey was going well. Just as Grigson had said, the men knew their business and they worked well as a team. At first, Trevor had been surprised at their industrious attitude, but then one of the men had let the cat out of the bag: Grigson had offered them all a generous bonus if they finished the job on time. It also turned out that Grigson had issued them with a comprehensive set of instructions. So while Trevor was supposed to be supervising the men, whenever he told them to do anything, their replies always began with, “But, Mr. Grigson told us…”

I shouldn’t complain
, Trevor thought. The men were working hard and willingly: hacking down the undergrowth, drilling out samples of stone, hammering pegs into the rock and rolling out the tape measures. On the face of it, everything was going well. But it wasn’t right. Trevor tossed the clipboard to the ground and stared into space.
This is
my
project
, he thought.
Mine.
He should be in charge of it. The men should be answering to him directly. But instead, he was reduced to the role of a useless bystander. “Useless,” he murmured. And he didn’t worry that the men might hear him talking to himself; they were making enough noise to drown out a town crier.

Trevor scraped his hand across his face. His skin was gritty, and when he licked his dry lips, he tasted rock dust.
Three days until Christmas
, he thought. It didn’t sound like a long time, on the face of it, but it would be three days of hard slog with little relief. And they couldn’t afford any mistakes or hold-ups, so he’d have to be on site all day and every day in case any problems cropped up.

But what could he do to make the time more bearable? There was no site office, nowhere to make a cup of tea, not even a toilet. There was nothing except for an increasingly barren and desolate pit. What little natural beauty there had been, was being systematically torn apart in front of his eyes. Trevor took out his handkerchief and blew his nose. He could scarcely breathe. Was it just the dust or was he coming down with a cold?
Just my luck to catch a cold over Christmas
, he thought bitterly. Every time he put his best foot forward, someone was ready to trip him up. His aspirations were like the rocks around him—destined to be pulverised into dust.

“Mr. Marley!”

Trevor looked up with a start. One of the workmen was walking toward him looking agitated.

“Mr. Marley, sir, come quick. I was…you see, I…I’ve found something. I can’t…it’s no good. Please—you’ve got to come and see for yourself.”

Trevor eyed the workman up and down. The chap was a dark haired, stocky little fellow who always looked worried. What was his name? Brian, wasn’t it? Or something like that. At any rate, he’d better not be playing a joke. Some of the lads had a peculiar sense of humour. Trevor was still smarting from the time they’d reported the loss of all the left-handed drills. They might well have sent Brian along with some similar nonsense. But when he looked at the man carefully, Trevor had to admit he felt sorry for him. Brian was probably younger than Trevor, but he looked so much older, every line on his face emphasised by dust and sweat. He had a serious, vulnerable look about him, as though he’d had a hard life: certainly harder than Trevor’s. He was probably the butt of jokes rather than the one who made them. Still, it was always best to be on the safe side.

Trevor looked away as though deep in thought—just to keep the man waiting—then he turned his attention back to Brian, studying his expression. The poor man could scarcely stand still. He seemed genuinely worried about something. “All right, Brian,” Trevor said. He stood and straightened his coat. “Lead the way.”

Brian nodded then turned and hurried away.

Trevor smiled. Brian’s boots were at least a size too large for him, and he cut a comical figure as he hurried across the uneven ground.

It’s probably nothing
, Trevor thought.
But at least it’ll help to pass the time
. He followed Brian toward the far end of the site. It would be best to deal with this quickly and without involving anyone else. He didn’t want Grigson thinking that he couldn’t be trusted; that wouldn’t do at all.

Trevor held his head high and strode confidently across the site. Whatever the problem was, he’d deal with it himself.

Chapter 22

2021

CALLY HAD NEVER FELT SO SELF-CONSCIOUS
, but the camera was on her and she did her best to smile warmly, trying desperately to imagine she was talking to just one person like Gerard had told her. It wasn’t easy; the only audience she could imagine was Simon, and he could be a harsh critic. But she had to carry on.

“I’m sure you’ll agree,” she said brightly, “that this is a truly fascinating find, and in my experience, it’s unique. And that wraps it up for us here at Grand-Pressigny. Now, back to Imogen at the dig.” She held her smile, waiting for Gerard to lower his camera. “Everything all right?” she asked Gerard. “Do I need to do any of it again?”

Gerard pursed his lips and focused his attention on the camera. “Non,” he said. “It’s all good.” He hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I need to check. I will send the, erm, the recording to Simon. We might have to do it again.”

Cally exhaled noisily. “Seriously?”

“We can’t go until Simon is happy,” Gerard said. He looked up from his camera to give Cally a smug grin.

“All right, you talk to Simon,” she said. “I’m going to take a break.” She looked at Jake. “That was the longest two minutes of my life. Honestly, it’s much harder than it looks.”

Jake nodded unhappily. He still looked pale, and his brow was furrowed.

“Still, it seems like I’m free for a little while,” Cally said. “We should get you some air, and maybe a glass of water or a cup of coffee or something.”

Audrey stepped forward. “Yes. I’ll show you to the staff room and get you a drink. And I’d very much like to talk to you about the other artefact that you have seen.”

Cally looked doubtful. “There’s not much I can tell you, but I’ll try.”

Audrey looked at Jake. “And you? You have seen something like this yourself?”

Jake shook his head then looked away from her. “No. I’m sorry. I…I made a mistake. Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a fuss.”

Audrey’s expression hardened. “If you know something about this artefact then surely you must share it.” She turned sharply to Cally. “I was assured that your visit was approved by the Ministry of Culture. I would expect a certain level of professional courtesy. We do not have time for this…” she waved her hands in the air, “sensationalism.”

“Of course,” Cally said, keeping her voice light and her tone sympathetic. “Let’s sit down and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

***

In the museum’s bright and modern staff room, Cally downed the last of her coffee then examined the empty cup. Audrey had been very kind in making the coffee to their taste, but since she’d been in France Cally had yet to find someone who would provide her with a decent sized mug.

Jake was sitting quietly, sipping a strong black coffee. The drink seemed to have brought the colour back to his cheeks, but he was still very quiet: his shoulders hunched, his expression pinched.

Audrey cast an anxious glance in Jake’s direction then leaned in closer to Cally. “Your assistant—he is feeling better?”

“He’ll be fine,” Cally said. “He’s just a little overwhelmed with everything.” She looked at Jake. His eyes had glazed over, and he was staring into the distance, as though seeing something that she could not.
Cover for him
, she thought.
Change the subject
. “So, how did you find these wonderful pieces, Audrey? You must tell me the whole story.”

Audrey’s green eyes flashed with pride. “It’s an interesting story,” she began.

Cally tilted her head on one side and tried to focus on Audrey’s rambling explanation, but as she watched Audrey’s lips move, she found herself tuning out. Cally suppressed a yawn.
I need a hot bath and eight hours sleep
, she thought.
Maybe it’s time I went back home—back to England
.

Audrey was saying something about an ancient river bed, and Cally was doing her best to look interested, when the shrill ringtone of a mobile phone snapped her out of her daze.

Cally sat up straight. “Oh! Sorry that’s me.” She pulled her phone from her pocket and checked the screen. The number was Simon’s. “Sorry. I’ve got to take this.”

Audrey smiled politely. “Bien sûr.”

Cally stood and walked toward the staff room door, answering the call as she went. “Hello, Simon,” she said. “Give me a second.” She let herself out into the corridor and closed the door behind her. “Is everything all right? Have you seen the recording? I thought it went OK.”

Simon didn’t reply.

“Hello?” Cally said. “Can you hear me?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line and then a theatrical sigh. “Darling, the film was fine—first rate. It can go out this afternoon. But, Cally, we need to talk.”

Cally leaned back against the wall. “Why? What’s the matter?”

“It’s complicated,” Simon said. “But it looks like we’ll have to manage without you from now on.”

Cally froze. She stared at the blank wall opposite, and she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“I’m sorry, Cally, but there’s nothing I can do about it. The production company don’t want you back on the dig.”

“What are you saying? Are you giving me the sack?”

“No, not at all. You’re still on the books and you’ll still be paid, so there’s no need to worry about that.”

Cally shook her head slowly. “But…I don’t understand. Was it the recording we just did? Because we can do it again if—”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Simon interrupted. “It’s more to do with the break-in at your room. The insurance company are being awkward about paying up, and my boss says that the company won’t pay for another hotel room.”

“All right,” Cally said. “That’s fine. I’ll use Imogen’s room again, or I’ll just sleep on someone’s sofa until the end of the series.”

Simon muttered something under his breath.

“What did you say?” Cally demanded. “I didn’t catch it.”

“I’m afraid that won’t do,” Simon said. “It seems like you’ve been ruffling a few feathers among the local officials, Cally. The company wants you off the site, and quite frankly, they are your employers and they’re within their rights. They hold the purse strings and if they want to send you home then that’s the end of the matter.”

“No,” Cally muttered. “No. This is ridiculous.” She tilted her head back and took a deep breath. When she spoke again, there was an edge of determination in her voice. “This is wrong, Simon. You can’t just railroad me like this. You need me on the site. Without me, your program has no credibility whatsoever.”

“It’s no use venting your frustration on me, Cally. It’s done. The arrangements have all been made. Gerard will bring you back here. You can use Imogen’s room for one more night then I’ll send a driver to take you to the station first thing tomorrow morning.”

Cally closed her eyes. She needed to think straight. She needed to find the loophole in Simon’s logic. But all she could think of was Simon’s bland, expressionless face, and the hearty slap she’d like to give him right at that moment.

“I’m sorry, Cally,” Simon went on, “but to be honest, you don’t do yourself any favours. You’re not the easiest person to work with. You need to develop a bit more professional detachment if you’re going to survive in this game.”

Cally’s eyes flew open. “How dare you?” She demanded. “How dare you talk to me like that, when you’re having an affair with Imogen? Is that your idea of professional detachment?”