Digging Deeper (9 page)

“Thank you for the tea,” she said in a simpering voice. “Mrs. Hartington is lucky to have good staff. My mother finds domestic help very hard to come by. Have you worked here since you left school?”

“Dina!” Beck snapped.

“Promise to say nothing,” Flick said, in an accent she hoped sounded East-European. “I taken from home in Transylvania when I eleven and sold to that woman and husband. I am slave. She treat me so cruel but her husband he love me, you know what I mean?”

Dina looked alarmed.

“Perhaps I come work for your mother? Your father rich?”

Dina backed away and Beck turned red in a struggle not to laugh.

“What a lovely girl,” Flick said to him, back in her usual accent. “More tea?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.”

“You’re very honored, you know,” Flick whispered. “These are the second-best cups.”

“Not the best?”

“Those never leave the house. They’re reserved for paid-up members of the Conservative Party or for Prince Charles if he should ever drop in. Though probably not if he’s accompanied by Camilla.”

“Didn’t you get a drink?” Beck asked.

“I only allowed chipped mug,” Flick said back in her odd accent.

Beck laughed.

“So tell me, why is Princess Dina glaring at me?” Flick asked.

He looked toward the blonde who smiled a little too late.

“She appears to have a crush on me.”

“It must be wonderful to have such a beautiful stick insect as a pet.”

Flick looked at Dina and tried to imagine her and Beck together. Then shook the image from her head. She glanced at the field behind her. Ribbons of tape stretched in all directions and the tent lay in a crumbled heap.

“So how’s it going?” Flick tried to appear interested and intelligent, instead of incandescent with lust.

“Awful, not a straight line in sight, but it’s no worse than I expected,” Beck said.

“It might help if they all started from the same point. They’re never going to meet in the middle.”

“I know. They think they measured so accurately that they will.”

Flick smiled. “So you’re going to let them carry on and then make them do it all over again?”

“Yep.”

“Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

He shrugged. “It’s the only way they’ll learn.”

“You’re into S&M then?”

“I could be.”

His response was so quick, Flick’s face went hot.

“Felicity, stop bothering Professor Beckett and take everything back to the house,” Celia said. “He has important work to do and I’m not paying you to chat.”

“Yes, I have a prancing horse to dust,” Flick said. “Can I stop by later and see how you’re getting on?”

“Please do and bring more biscuits.” He gave her a warm smile and Flick fell deeper.

Flick didn’t get a chance to go back to the dig. Lady C kept her working with a never-ending list of jobs because the Hall had to be perfect for the wedding. Celia breezed in as she finished cleaning the windows in the conservatory.

“Did your radar detect I was about to exhale?” Flick muttered.

“Felicity, I need you to take the dogs for a walk before you leave. Henry called to say he’s gone to a meeting in Leeds and won’t be back until late.”

“Okay.”

It wasn’t really okay. Flick struggled with all animals, not just sheep. It was as though they took one look and were determined to demonstrate their superior position in the evolutionary scale. She never reached out to pat puppies or tickle cats because any such action resulted in her next having to reach for the antiseptic. She’d always looked on dogs in particular as sets of sharp teeth mounted on four legs. Or three legs in the case of Butch, the dog who’d stood patiently on the stand at Otley show, wagging his stubby tail as a long line of youngsters queued to stroke him, only to bite seven-year-old Flick the moment she came within reach.

The Hartington dogs were two young and willful Irish Wolfhounds called Paris and Hilton—named by Giles without either of his parents realizing where he’d had the inspiration. They were the size of small horses and had tails that raised bruises when they wagged in her vicinity. Flick walked the other way whenever she saw them bounding toward her.

“Keep them on their leads and don’t interfere with the dig,” Celia said as Flick tiptoed into their yard.

Flick had no intention of letting them run free because she knew full well they wouldn’t come back when she called, but even attaching their leads proved a challenge. She was afraid of them despite Henry’s constant reassurance that they were as soft as him. The dogs had been lying quietly in the yard but transformed to hyperactive maniacs the moment they saw the familiar strips of leather. As Flick tussled with Paris’ collar, Hilton pushed her head up her skirt. Flick clamped her knees together and tried to ignore the snuffling nose pressing between her thighs. What was it with these creatures?

Several minutes later, soaked with perspiration and dog slobber, Flick had both animals in harness, raring to go. She took a lead in each hand and hoped they both wanted to go in the same direction otherwise she wasn’t going to stay in one piece for long.

Flick had not intended to go toward the dig but the dogs had other ideas. She tried digging her heels into the ground but only succeeded in performing a few yards of grass skiing as each dog tried to race ahead of the other. She shouted and they took it for encouragement so she shut up. It was definitely a case of them taking her for the walk and not the other way round.

As she came within sight of the large green tent, Flick felt a moment of concern. She didn’t want Beck to think she was desperately interested in him, even though she was both desperate and interested. She tugged hard to pull the dogs back, but one leash slipped from her grasp. Hilton sprang free with Paris doubling her efforts to follow. Flick yelled at Hilton and the dog clearly translated her shouts into, “go faster toward that interesting maze”, sending Paris the same message. Flick found herself heading straight toward the lines of yellow tape.

Beck emerged from the tent as Hilton tore through the site. Paris broke free to follow her but not before dragging Flick first to her knees, then her stomach as the lead slithered through her fingers. Flick lay prone on the ground watching as Beck grabbed Paris and someone else grabbed Hilton. The dogs had tape wrapped all over them and looked as though they’d crossed several finishing lines.

Both hooligans sat wagging their tails while they were unwrapped and meekly walked to heel as they were led away from the dig. Then a shadow fell over her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Beck stood with his arms crossed, a glare on his face.

“Sorry.” Flick sat up and unwrapped a piece of tape from her ankle. Blood trickled from a cut on her knee and she clamped her hand over it. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold them. They—”

“We’ve lost almost an entire day’s work.”

Beck looked magnificent when he was angry. He seemed taller and darker, but maybe that was because she sat on the ground and he loomed over her like the Grim Reaper. Since her knees went weak whenever she was near him, perhaps sitting down was a good thing. God, if she fancied someone who shouted at her, she must have it bad.

“Sorry,” she repeated. “I couldn’t help it.”

“Just get those damn dogs out of here.”

Flick stood up and walked over to a girl holding both leads in one hand. Making it look easy. Aarrrgh. Once Flick had the leads she pulled but the dogs refused to move. She pleaded, shouted, tried to bribe them with promises of forbidden treats like peeing on Lady C’s lawn or a whole packet of doggy chocolate buttons, but they ignored her. She could feel several pairs of eyes watching, not least from inside the house, where no doubt Gertrude had viewed the entire proceedings through her binoculars. Finally, to Flick’s intense relief, Paris decided to move and Hilton followed.

“I wonder if she cut herself on something interesting,” Jane said. “Can I start in that square?”

“Cut?” Beck watched Flick’s retreating back.

“She cut her knee. You didn’t notice the blood?”

No, he hadn’t. He’d been too angry. Shit.

“What sort of dogs were they?” Dina emerged from behind the tent. “They were huge. You’re so brave, Beck.”

As Beck watched, the dogs abruptly changed direction and dragged Flick away from the house toward the woods. He’d been too hasty. Again. She hadn’t deliberately wrecked the site.

“Can we redo it tomorrow?” Dina asked.

“It ought to be finished today.” Beck thought it was a good thing Isobel hadn’t arrived. She’d hardly be impressed they’d only managed to erect the tent. But when he heard the murmurings of discontent from the troops, Beck capitulated.

“Sod it, get all the equipment locked up and we’ll go to the pub.”

Beck left them to it and went after Flick. As he neared the bottom end of the wood where she’d entered, he saw her running out of the top, both dogs chasing her. At least they were heading for the house and not the dig, though there was nothing left to wreck except the tent. Beck turned back and went to get the last of his gear.

———

“Down, Paris. Down, Hilton,” Giles commanded as the dogs bounded toward him across the gravel.

Both dogs dropped as if they’d been shot. Flick wanted to shoot them. Then Giles. She bent over gasping, trying to get her breath back.

He grinned. “Been for a run?”

“Sod off, Giles,” Flick panted.

“What happened to your leg?”

Flick looked down. A trail of blood ran from her knee to her ankle. “Nothing.”

“Come inside and let me rub you down with a wet towel.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Can’t I persuade you to come for that drink?”

“No. You’d have a better time with these two bitches.”

Flick handed Giles the leads and walked off.

Flick poked her head out of the kitchen when she heard the door slam and saw Kirsten stamp upstairs.

“Bad day?” Flick whispered to Josh.

“Yes,” Kirsten screamed. “And it’s your bloody fault.”

“What have I done now?” Flick kept her voice low.

“You shrank my shirt,” Kirsten yelled from her room.

Josh pushed Flick into the kitchen.

“Has she suddenly developed batlike hearing?” Flick asked.

“She’s just excellent at anticipating.”

Kirsten stormed in, a shirt clasped in her hand. “Right. Look at the shirt I’m wearing. See how it reveals a line of flesh at my midriff?”

“Very sexy, isn’t it Josh?” Flick said.

He bit his lip.

“I’m a lawyer. I’m not supposed to look sexy. I got hauled into HR today because a partner complained I was showing my stomach. And it’s the same flipping guy who addresses all his comments directly to a woman’s breasts, the hypocrite.”

Kirsten unfastened the shirt she wore. “Hold this.” She thrust it toward Josh then yanked on the other shirt. “Now look,” she demanded, fastening the buttons. “Same make, same size. One borrowed and washed by Flick last week. The other never touched by Flick.”

“Ooops,” Flick said. “Sorry.”

“How do you manage it? Everything you touch, you shrink.”

“Not quite everything,” Flick said. “I’ll have you know some things get much bigger.”

Josh guffawed. Kirsten glared at him and he put his cross face back on again. Then Kirsten laughed.

“You’re hopeless, Flick.”

“I’m sorry. God, you have no idea how many times I’ve said that today.”

“What else have you done?” Josh asked.

“How long have you got?”

“I’ll cook. You talk,” Kirsten said.

As she told them what had happened, Flick felt the chance of anything positive growing between her and Beck, shrink back to nothing. She picked listlessly at her burger.

“Okay, I accept you’ve blown it with Beck,” Kirsten said, “but we have to get you out of this funk. Find you a man.”

“That’s so the pair of you don’t feel guilty when you go out with Pierce and Sadie and leave me on my own.” Flick stabbed her burger.

“No,” said Kirsten at the same time that Josh said, “Yes.”

Kirsten helped herself to more salad. “You need to get out more.”

“I’m never here as it is.”

“You know what I mean. Not work. You need to go on dates. Doesn’t she, Josh.”

Flick glanced at Josh whose lips were pressed even more tightly together. He knew when to keep quiet.

“You could try enrolling for a college class again,” Kirsten said. “I brought the booklet home. It’s around somewhere. They start next month.”

Flick groaned. Last year, she and Kirsten had signed up for every taster evening class at Ilkley College with the idea that they could check out the talent before paying. They’d come to the conclusion the only men they were likely to meet had signed up to get away from their wives for the night. Even “The Art of Drystone Walling” was full of women.

“There are no suitable men left in the entire world,” Flick said. “They’re all taken.”

She began to clear the kitchen table and load the dishwasher.

Kirsten tsked. “You’re too lazy to look. You want some hunk to appear out of thin air and sweep you off to his chateau in France.”

“A penthouse in Leeds would do,” Flick said. “But you’re right. I want to be picked, not do the picking. I never make the right choice.”

Even before Marcus there had been a succession of disappointments, guys who had started out with such promise and they’d all let her down, every one of them shallow as a puddle.

“I mean, think about the guys I’ve dated.” Flick chewed her nail. “Ben took me to that swingers’ party and dumped me when I refused to go in. Mike was thirty-three years old, still living with his parents and had to ring them to tell them he was going to be late, and Julian made up some lie about it not being me it was him. Although when I found the leather gear in the wardrobe I knew he was right. People who hide whips in secret places need to be avoided, unless they’re called Indiana Jones. And we all know Marcus had to go to the other side of the world to get away from me. Apart from the fact that they were all tall, dark and handsome bastards, the only common factor is me. So clearly I must be doing something wrong.”