Digging Deeper (32 page)

When the table resembled the results of a Uri Geller extravaganza, she stopped and put the container in the microwave. Drinking ice cream was not as rewarding, but it enabled her to get through more at a faster rate. By the time Henry knocked on the door she felt very ill indeed.

———

When Beck arrived at the dig, the television people bustled around setting up their equipment. Celia was waiting. She’d changed into a formal green suit with a matching hat and handbag. She looked as though she planned to open a summer fete.

“You look lovely, Alexander.” She waited, clearly expecting a compliment in return.

Beck said nothing. He stared in the direction of the dig. Every one of the students and Isobel had changed clothes. They must have raced back to the house as soon as he left. Dina wore a slinky dress and high-heeled shoes. The boys were in clean T-shirts and had combed their hair. Even Jane had put on fresh shorts and a pretty pink top. Isobel had swapped her khaki shorts and shirt for a pale blue linen skirt and a white blouse and was talking to a tall, tanned guy. She stood too close to him. Beck recognized her technique. She gestured for Beck to come over.

“This is Marcus Bowland. Marcus, this is Professor Beckett. Beck’s in charge of the dig.”

Marcus and Beck shook hands.

“Fascinating stuff,” Marcus said. “Isobel has been kind enough to fill me in.” He turned to beam at her and she beamed back at him. Beck gritted his teeth.

“Is it okay if we film what’s happening now?” Marcus asked. “We can stand here and do the interview with the students working in the background.”

There was an immediate scramble for the place in camera shot behind Beck.

“Let’s just have the pretty one. Her.” Marcus pointed to Dina.

Dina smirked and people lined up to strangle her.

“I’ll start with you, Celia. I’ll ask how this all started and then move on to Professor Beckett. We should get it on a first take but if anything goes wrong we can do it again. We’re not broadcasting for another hour.”

The sooner it was over the better as far as Beck was concerned. He didn’t want to do it at all, but the look on Celia’s face told him he had no choice. Isobel bobbed in the background with a tray of artifacts. Beck couldn’t see why she wouldn’t do the interview. She seemed desperate enough to get on camera.

The first questions were for Celia. Once she’d started to speak she wouldn’t shut up. Eventually Marcus managed to interrupt and turned to Beck. Beck tried to sound knowledgeable and enthusiastic. Not easy when he felt confused and miserable. The change in direction almost caught him out.

“I understand one of your finds had a somewhat mind-blowing potential.” Marcus grinned.

“It’s the first time the remains of a stone dwelling of this age and type have been discovered in this particular area. Up until now, the best archaeological evidence of the Roman presence in West Yorkshire has come from Castleford.”

“Ah yes, but I wasn’t talking about that. Do you often have to get the army to check what you’ve dug up?”

Beck knew where this was going.

“It happens sometimes, but the item you’re talking about was not excavated by any of my team, nor found in this field.”

Things slid downhill fast. Beck realized the man knew exactly what had happened.

Marcus turned to camera with a smile. “A local woman, Felicity Knyfe, who unearthed the singing reindeer, is unavailable for comment but she must be thanking her lucky stars that’s not because she’s lying in hospital, injured by a bomb blast. This is Marcus Bowland for News in the North, at Hartington Hall, Ilkley, West Yorkshire.”

He smiled broadly and the moment the camera moved, he reduced the wattage of his grin.

“That was great, folks,” he said. “Don’t forget to watch.”

Beck glared at him. “What was the point in relating the Rudolph incident?”

“Human interest. Bit of humor. Flick’s a good sport. She won’t mind.”

“Do you know Flick?”

“Ex-girlfriend, maybe not so much of the ex.”

Beck bristled. “You’re the one who went to Australia?”

“Has she been talking about me?” Marcus smiled.

“Her sister mentioned you.”

“Stef. Stunner, but even more trouble than Flick.”

Beck doubted that. The fact that Flick had gone out with such a wanker had dropped her even further in his estimation. He left Isobel to supervise the tidying up of the dig and returned to the house to put his bedroom back together.

———

Beck had no intention of watching himself on TV, but Giles and Willow had come home from work early at Celia’s request.

“What happened to the vase of flowers in the hall?” Willow asked.

“A rampaging rhinoceros,” Beck said.

“Do I need to contact animal welfare or is there another explanation?”

“Flick scaled the back of the house and climbed in through the bathroom window looking for a letter she’d written she didn’t want me to read. She emptied my drawers, soaked my book, tossed around my clothes, generally managed to wreck my room and apparently your vase got in her way.”

Giles and Willow stared at him like a pair of frozen cod.

“She’s not capable of that,” Giles choked out.

“It’s Flick. She’s capable of anything,” said Beck.

“Oh look, Giles. It’s your mother.” Willow turned up the volume on the TV.

When Marcus got to the part about Flick and Rudolph, Beck groaned.

The moment the segment had finished the phone rang. Willow answered it. “Yes, you were great, Celia.” She winked at Giles. “Yes, Giles thought you were wonderful. He’s just said you have a natural presence.”

Giles started to laugh and Willow retreated into the kitchen.

“Isn’t she great? She’s even beginning to handle my mother. It’s amazing.”

“Giles, how would you feel if you’d seen Willow dancing in that club?” Beck asked.

“Not so long ago I’d have given my right arm to go out with someone who danced like that,” Giles whispered.

“So what’s different now?”

“Most of the women I’ve been out with might have looked good by my side, but they weren’t sweet and kind. In exchange for their bodies they expected meals in expensive restaurants and unlimited access to my credit cards. I thought it wasn’t a bad deal until I realized they didn’t care about the one thing I wanted to give them—my heart. Willow is different. She listens to me. She laughs at my jokes even when I’m not that funny and kindness is a quality I’m not used to. She loves me for who I am, not what I do or how much I earn and you know what? She loves me more than my mother.”

Giles had changed. He’d grown up.

“How would you feel if Willow danced in guys’ faces while she had practically nothing on? What if Willow ground her hips into my lap? Simulated having sex with me? Let me lick her breasts? What would you have thought then?”

Giles didn’t need to say anything. Beck could read it in his face.

“I thought I knew Flick but I don’t.” Beck leaned back and closed his eyes. “When I finally got her into bed the sex was fantastic. I suppose she’s had a lot of practice. I should have got her to do a lap dance for me. Have you fucked her?”

The question hung in the air like a big bluebottle waiting for a fly swat.

“No, I haven’t. I haven’t even kissed her. Flick didn’t do the lap dance.”

Beck’s jaw twitched. “Are you telling me I was hallucinating? She wasn’t cat woman and then snake woman?”

“She was those, all right. I mean she didn’t do the lap dance. It was someone else.”

Beck stared at him.

“It’s the truth. I’m not lying.”

“You asked for Flick. We paid for Flick.”

“Then you didn’t get what you paid for. Go and complain to Trading Standards.”

“Forget it, Giles. You’re not going to make things right by lying now.”

Giles’ face hardened. “I’m not lying. Okay, I was wrong about Flick and my father and we both know it was me who tried to kiss her at the Hall and not the other way round but I didn’t even know Flick was in Polecats until she kneed me in the balls. I’m sure she didn’t do the lap dance. She couldn’t have got changed that quickly and her eyes were all red.”

“You were so drunk you wouldn’t have noticed if Flick had two black eyes.”

“It wasn’t Flick. I thought you were angry Flick was dancing in the club. I didn’t realize you thought she’d done the lap dance, too.”

Beck sat up. “So what about the nipples bit?”

“Shut up,” Giles hissed. He glanced toward the kitchen door. “Look, the girl that did that dance on my lap had piercings. I caught my bloody tongue. Does Flick have bolts through her breasts?”

“No.”

“Then there’s your proof,” Giles said.

“Fuck,” Beck muttered. “I wish I’d never met her.”

“You’ve got it bad.”

“Don’t talk crap. It’s over.”

“You think you can walk away? This is a woman who’s so desperate for you not to see something she’s written, she’s risked her neck to get it back. I mean how on earth did she get through the bathroom window? And what the hell was in the letter? You did read it?”

Beck didn’t answer.

“Does she know?”

“No. Yes. I’m not sure.”

Giles shook his head. “She so wants you, you lucky bastard. She’s completely crazy, and apart from my beloved she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

He groaned and Giles laughed. “What’s the problem? She’s mad about you.”

Beck sighed. “I think it’s too late.”

The house turned out to be worth more than Flick thought, but after she’d deducted what she owed, little would remain. It pissed her off that she needed a lawyer to help her fight a charge of theft when she’d done nothing wrong. She wondered about representing herself. She’d have plenty of time on her hands now she was losing jobs at the speed of light. She could go to the library and get one of those “Fake it” books. Fake your way as a barrister. Flick could foresee a little problem in court if the other side found out she’d worked as a pole dancer, unless of course she recognized the judge from the club.

Flick left the house before Kirsten and Josh got back from work. Their friendship had been damaged and she wasn’t sure if it was permanent. Part of her wanted to pretend nothing had happened and carry on as normal but she couldn’t. She grabbed an apple and five slices of dry bread for dinner and went to work.

———

The hotel gym had started a new initiative since she’d last been on duty. “Row the Atlantic.” Someone had added “or run” after row. Flick presumed they’d realized that with only two rowing machines, people would lose interest before they got out of the English Channel. A chart had been pinned up for members to record their contribution. The one who ran, rowed or walked the furthest would win twenty-four bottles of lager. She wondered who’d thought that one up.

Flick smiled throughout the evening, even at people who didn’t deserve it, especially the elderly lady who harangued her about the towels—too thin, too short and according to the statistics in the papers, potentially germ ridden. She didn’t smile when five people had come in and whistled “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” on their way to the changing rooms. When her manager asked for volunteers to test the new tanning machine, Flick forgot all she’d been taught by her dad and stepped forward.

She read the instructions as she stripped off. Put on shower hat. Turn this way, that way, hold arms this way, that way. Close your eyes. Don’t breathe in. She rubbed lotion on her palms, put sticky pads on the soles of her feet, stood on the spots inside the booth and pressed the button.

At first Flick found it to be the relaxing experience she’d hoped for as the jets sprayed up to her waist and then down again. When they moved higher up her body, she took a deep breath to find the jets seemed to have slowed to the speed of a sloth. Although Flick could hold her breath for a whole length of the pool, she now needed air and as the spray hit her face, the desperation to breathe in overwhelmed her. The jets descended and she filled her lungs. The stuff smelled awful. By the time she’d changed the position of her arms and gone through the whole thing again, Flick felt anxious, not relaxed. She turned so that the treatment could continue on her back and waited. Waited and waited. Nothing happened.

She stood, arms akimbo, brown liquid dripping down the front of her body as though it had rained black coffee. When the machine powered down, Flick accepted something had gone wrong. She pressed every button in sight but resuscitation proved impossible. The machine was supposed to blast you dry afterwards but it hadn’t got around to that. Now she had to get the stuff off before it did dry because otherwise she’d look like a piece of streaky bacon, well cooked on one side.

The showers were in the ladies changing rooms, fifteen yards away down a communal corridor. Flick had no towel, not even a short, thin, germ-ridden one. If she put her clothes on, they’d get covered in brown sludge and she’d have to put them back on again afterwards which would reapply the dye to her body. She had to do something and quickly. There was a roll of paper toweling on the floor so she wiped off some of the liquid with that, then wrapped the green paper round and round her body until she resembled a moldy Egyptian mummy.

Flick expected to bump into someone on the corridor and with her luck, fully expected it to be Beck. So when she unlocked the door, she opened it with considerable care. No one. Three steps toward safety when Marcus walked out of the men’s toilet. Flick was so shocked, she dropped her clothes. When she bent to pick them up she heard the paper rip at the back. Bollocks.

She kept her head and body down and keeping her back to the wall, edged sideways along the carpet like an alien caterpillar. Maybe he hadn’t recognized her.

“Flick, is that you?” Marcus followed her down the corridor.

Of course he’d recognized her. She was bent over like an old woman, striped like a suntanned zebra, wrapped in pieces of torn green paper and wearing a very fetching shower hat spattered with brown gunk. It was obviously her. As she wondered how things could get any worse, the paper began to disintegrate. The pieces she’d wrapped around her legs already drooped onto the floor. She made a futile attempt to slap a few pieces back in place in the manner of applying papier mache. They didn’t stick so Flick gave in, stood up and pulled off the shower cap. She had some dignity.