Worthless Remains (16 page)

Cy spotted me and marched over, pointing a rolled-up sheaf of papers at my nose. ‘This is your bloody fault. I asked you to keep him away from Morgan and his bunch. I think he's actually still drunk. He hasn't got a single functioning brain cell this morning.'

I tried to think of the money I owed Jake for the car, of the pool and all that lovely free food, and took a deep breath. I spoke softly. He would just have to imagine the big stick for the moment. ‘If I hear “it's your fault” one more time – from you, from him or anyone else in this TV circus – then I'm walking straight out of here back to civilization.'

‘We won't pay you a penny if you walk out,' he argued. ‘You know that, don't you?'

I shrugged. ‘I'm not that desperate,' I lied.

Cy deflated a little. ‘Just try a bit harder then,' he grumbled and walked back to the shoot.

‘You can't walk out of here,' Stoneking said with a smile. Perhaps he recognized my bluff for what it was. ‘Not until you've got that girl to paint my mural, anyway.'

The auto mechanic was back, this time with a mate, trying to get the digger to work. From time to time the engine roared into life, belching out great clouds of white smoke, then it would subside and the head scratching continued. It was just before lunch when the engine was started again. No smoke this time. It sounded a lot better, too. Dan, the driver, downed his trowel and jogged across. He tested the drive, swing arm and bucket, then turned the engine off. From where I sat on the terrace I couldn't hear what was being said but he seemed to be having a lively discussion with the two mechanics. When they had packed their gear and walked off Dan stood for a while by the side of the digger, staring into space. Then he walked back to the excav-ation just as the VIPs left for the catering van. I decided to wait for the second sitting and to call Annis. My mobile displayed one flickering bar so I asked Stoneking if he had a landline I could use. He had, and led me into a strange little room near the library. The single window above the solid dark wooden desk looked out over the gravelled forecourt with its collection of cars and vans. An assortment of furniture had been crammed into the room and every surface was cluttered with obscure objects to rival anything I'd seen in the library. Three-foot brass Buddhas rubbed shoulders with African masks. A moth-eaten stuffed fox bared its teeth at a Japanese pufferfish which someone had tastefully turned into a lantern. There were enough African spears and Arab daggers to arm a rebellion. ‘It was meant to be a sort of office,' he explained. ‘But I don't really need one so it turned into a kind of junk room / gun locker.'

‘You keep guns?'

He nodded at the gun locker behind the door. ‘With a place this size? You bet. Do you shoot?'

‘Reluctantly.'

‘You don't fancy joining me in a little rabbit cull?'

‘And badly, I should have added. I'd just make more holes in your lawn.'

‘Who cares? We're overrun with rabbits and I'm planning to shoot a dozen or so and feed them to you.'

‘OK, I'll have a go, but I'm much better at cooking rabbits than killing them.'

‘You can cook rabbit? Excellent, you can help with the skinning afterwards.'

When will I learn to keep my mouth shut?

Annis picked up after an interminable time. ‘I was busy shooing sheep out of what used to be our herb garden,' she explained. ‘They snaffled the lot, I'm afraid, all except the mint.'

‘I wonder why.' I explained Stoneking's pool house mural proposition. It didn't need much arm-twisting to bring her round to the idea.

‘At last a decent-sized arena! And I get a free hand? He's not going to say the colours need to match his bath towels? He won't want swirly things that remind him of clouds or galaxies?'

‘He's actually quite a cultured man, I think. He hasn't displayed any rock star foibles at all.'

‘Whatever
they
are. A mural at Mark Stoneking's mansion will look fabulous on my CV. And if he likes it perhaps he'll recommend me to his mates.'

‘He hasn't got any. They all died of drugs or liver failure.'

‘Shame. OK, tell him you talked me into it. Do I get to stay there?'

‘There's a queen-sized bed in my room. I think we'll manage.'

I was just in time to join the end of the foot soldiers' lunch queue and scoop up a generous portion of steak and mushroom pie. I found Adam and Julie, who were eating on a still-damp table on the terrace. ‘What do you make of the latest development then, Mr Detective? I think you ought to spring into action right away.'

‘What development would that be?'

‘You haven't heard?
Sabotage
.' She widened her eyes as she pronounced the word.

‘Really? Where?'

‘Yup,' confirmed Adam. ‘Apparently the digger was sabotaged. Someone poured water into the fuel tank, that's what caused the smoke and all that.'

‘Naturally the suspicion will fall on us lot,' Julie said, jabbing her fork into her pie for emphasis. ‘Everyone knows we don't like using the digger. So of course it has to be us.'

‘Has anyone accused you?' I asked.

‘Not yet. But we've been asked to assemble in half an hour for a general meeting. I can hear Cy already. He thinks we're a bunch of dinosaurs. If it was up to him we'd probably be using dynamite as well as a JCB. I think he's far more interested in producing
per se
than he is of producing an archaeology show. For a start he hasn't got the patience for it. Or the vision, or whatever.'

Adam smiled. ‘He's definitely run out of patience with Middleton. They're constantly having rows these days. I mean, no one likes Middleton much, apart from the punters, of course, which is why he's here. Cy always hated having to work with him but they're having blazing rows now. It'll end in fisticuffs, I'm sure.'

‘Let's hope so,' Julie said, dropping her cutlery on to her cleared plate. ‘I hope I'm there to see it.'

‘OK, who's your money on?' Adam asked. ‘Guy or Cy?'

Julie closed one eye as she gave it some thought. ‘It all depends on how drunk Guy is at the time,' she decided. ‘Guy will put up his fists but Cy will already have paid someone to stab him in the back before he can land a punch.'

Adam nodded wisely. ‘Admirably analysed. I concur.'

Soon afterwards Cy assembled his troops on the verandah. It was quite blustery today and after the urn had so nearly – and unfortunately as some would have it – missed the presenter of the show some of the diggers argued that standing around right by the house might not be the safest place. Cy called it a ‘load of nonsense' and could they please get on with things?

I was standing among the group of diggers. Behind me, Adam said,
sotto voce
: ‘I can't see Guy anywhere. If I were Cy I wouldn't feel too safe standing there. If Guy appears on the roof and puts his shoulder to one of those urn things no one's going to mention it to Cy, I'm sure.'

‘Right, listen up!' Cy clapped his hands for attention. ‘I'm sure you've all heard by now – the digger was in fact
sabotaged
. Someone poured water into the fuel tank, that's what put it out of action. Fortunately no lasting damage was done, because while the thing's insured I don't think it's covered for water damage. Now, I know some people disagree with the use of the digger but to them I say: you don't live in the real world. Grow up, guys. This is telly; time is money; schedules are tight. If it wasn't for the digger we wouldn't have a programme. And if it wasn't for the programme, most of you field archaeologists would be signing on, so think again. I take a dim view of anyone trying to interfere with the shoot. If I find out who did that they're off the team for good. Fired without pay. Someone also tried to nobble Guy by locking him in the steam room. Now Mr Middleton really doesn't need any help; he's quite capable of sabotaging himself. If whoever did that meant it as a practical joke then look around, no one's laughing.' Someone called ‘Ha!' but Cy ignored it. ‘The same goes for the re-enactors.' He turned towards the two groups standing at the periphery of the circle. ‘We worked quite well together in the past but yesterday was nothing short of a fiasco. Any repeat of that kind of thing and you won't be asked again. As it is, we'll have to re-shoot some scenes today and then catch up with the weapons demonstration etcetera. We'll do the Roman food cameo tomorrow but I'll talk to you about all that in a minute. OK, everyone, that's all I have to say on the subject apart from this: I have my suspicions as to who's responsible and I'll be keeping an eye on them. That's all. Brian? Morgan? A word.' Cy walked off with the leaders of the re-enactment groups to reveal the schedule for the afternoon. Everyone else went back to work.

So much rain had fallen on to the lawn that no sooner had the pump cleared the water than it seeped back into the trench, collecting in puddles on the bottom. But difficulties made good telly, according to Emms, as long as they didn't interfere with the schedule. The digger went back into action. More and more of the mosaic was being uncovered and the excitement began to rub off on me. It looked nothing short of miraculous. There was discussion now about more trenches being opened and soon it would be time for Guy to sound surprised, delighted or sceptical, depending on what the script required.

Cy called me over. ‘Chris? Find Guy for us? I can't get his mobile. We'll need him in ten minutes. Erm . . . please?' he added.

I could now add production team runner to my CV but
please
made all the difference. ‘And tell him to bloody well turn his mobile on, for God's sake!'

Double rates, keep thinking double rates
, I told myself as I jogged back to the house. Ten minutes? The place was so big I would have to hurry to get Guy to the shoot on time. No luck in drawing or dining room. I took the stairs up from the central gallery and knocked on Guy's door. When I got no answer I went in, looked in the bathroom – nothing. I clattered back down the stairs. Had he gone swimming? The pool house was deserted, echoing emptily as I called Guy's name. Five minutes gone. Back through the gallery and into the hall. I was beginning to feel uneasy when I called his name again in the huge hall, the sound reverberating unanswered in the cavernous space. Perhaps I should have kept a closer eye on him. I stepped into the library; it was empty apart from the stuffed, spiked and bottled residents. The little glass-topped display case near the window had its lid raised. Despite being in a hurry, curiosity got the better of me and I went over to look inside. Every object I remembered appeared to be there and the display of knives and beetles had no obvious gaps. Then I saw it. The ghost bottle resting on the prayer book was empty, the stopper with the broken seal lying next to it. That's all I needed, something else to scare Middleton. I stoppered the bottle and lowered the lid of the case.

By now I had become so tense that I actually breathed a sigh of relief when I looked up and through the window saw Guy standing by his Land Rover, his shoulder bag by his feet. He whisked a small sheet of paper from under the windscreen wipers, unfolded the note and stared down at it. I rapped on the window pane and he started, frowned in my direction and hastily crumpled the note into his jacket pocket. I went and opened the front door to let him in but he had got into his car. I jogged across, waving. He had started the engine and wound down the window. ‘What?'

‘Where are you going? You're wanted on the set.'

‘Already? I thought the pumping would take much longer. I was going to, you know, buy a few things. I asked the housekeeper if she could do it but the bloody woman refused point blank.' He swung out of the car, slammed the door and shouldered his bag. When he opened his mouth to speak I cut him off.

‘Before you ask – the answer is no. I'm here to make sure you get safely through this week so buying supplies of whisky really isn't in the job description. I'm not letting you out of my sight.' Did I really say that? I hoped with some fervency that Guy wouldn't hold me to it. I ushered him through the house and out the other side. ‘What was that I saw you read earlier? Just before you got into the car?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Sure? It wasn't another threatening note?'

‘Look, erm, now isn't the time, OK? I'll tell you later but I'll do it when I'm ready. I have enough on my plate without you getting on my case. When I need your help I'll ask for it, OK?'

‘Just make sure you don't ask when it's too late.' I gestured to Cy: one slightly rattling TV star duly delivered.

Guy dropped his bag on the grass and walked straight into the waiting arms of the make-up artist. There was a lot of script to get through. The thunderstorm was discussed in front of the camera, as was Guy's narrow escape from the fallen urn. Ceaselessly mentioned was the significance and importance of the site, the high prestige of what was undoubtedly a late Roman villa of astonishing proportions. Everything, I noticed, was astounding, unprecedented, previously unheard of and never before encountered. All of them were consummate actors: on screen Guy would come across sober and interested and the archaeologists delighted to have Guy around. If one of them had murderous intentions towards him, no jury would convict them on this evidence.

Throughout the afternoon the re-enactors were kept busy too. When not filming the archaeology Emms was busy re-shooting some of the fighting scenes, though she had the good sense not to let them loose on each other in large groups again. Sequences were kept short and many were in close up, involving no more than four actors at a time. She was even-handed in who won which bout, too. An equal number of Britons and Romans went down and the ham acting continued on and off for hours. The most sophisticated weapon of the Britons appeared to have been the bow. Brian the centurion was quick to point out that it had been around since the Neolithic and hence suited Morgan's bunch of cavemen. The Romans however had weapons never before encountered on the battlefields of Britain, one of which was the
ballista.
And Cohort Italica had brought their own working reconstruction of it. It was five foot high and looked a bit like a giant crossbow on a stand. It was made from wood, in places braced with metal plates, and used six-inch metal darts with wooden flights. Morgan the Briton had taunted Brian about it all day with announcements like: ‘Gluteus Maximus and Caius Fatuous will now display their awesome weapon, made from two short planks and rubber bands from Brian's own extensive collection.'