Secrets and Sunsets in Azure Bay Page 2
She certainly had the determination, putting me in mind of the past, when I made a similar bright pitch to my old boss in Seattle about taking on a new graduate for the firm's office work, with room to apprentice as a prospective junior event planner. There were differences, sure, but I could see a little of the same fear underneath the bold adrenaline. She was winning me over a little, especially as I felt the kick of number four — officially, number three — underneath my t-shirt.
But what would Kitty say? Just when our business was finally solidly in the black, no more major repairs or slow seasons to worry us, would taking on a third salary make sense?
"Things have changed a little since then," I said. "It's not just me working at the manor, now I have a business partner who has as much say as I do."
"I know," she said. "I asked at the shop around the corner. They told me where to find you."
"Oh." It hadn't occurred to me to wonder how she figured this out. "Then you see that I can't just hire you on the spot," I said, gently. "Not that I wouldn't be tempted..."
"I could be such a help," said Paula, hands clasped with a touch of desperation. "I could tidy. I can file. I could make appointments when you're away. Anything you need. You could teach me to help you with events, maybe." A touch of doubt, squashed by her determination. "I really am a quick study, I promise."
A budding physicist helping pick wedding colors? I had a feeling Kitty would definitely have her doubts about that. Still, it wasn't as if we didn't need some type of help, especially since part of my time was about to be taken up by twenty-four-seven mom duties for several weeks, a fact which I had been pondering lately, on a semi-subconscious level.
"I can talk to my partner, and we'll see," I said. "That's the best I can offer you, I can't guarantee anything, but I'll tell her that I know you're a hard worker and sincere. I'll pitch your cause the best that I can ... and we'll have to look at the books and see."
"Thank you," said Paula, looking relieved. "I'm really glad. Honestly, I'll try anything if you'll only give me a chance." She smiled at me. "You can promise your business partner that I really will give you my absolute best effort."
"Will do," I said. "But no promises. Fair?"
She nodded. "Of course. Um, I'll go — but you can ring me at this number most of the time — here's the one for when I'm at uni, too." She wrote it on the back of one of our business cards. "That's the number for the lab. I'm in there most of the time when I'm not at home."
I didn't find that hard to believe. "I'll talk to Kitty the first chance I have," I said. "We won't leave you in suspense long."
"Of course. Ring whenever you decide. I'll be waiting," she said.
"You might land another job in the meantime," I pointed out.
"I don't think so," said Paula. "No one seemed thrilled to hire me. But thanks." She smiled — not with as much brightness as before. "See you later." She pushed open the door, giving me a shy little wave over her shoulder.
I tacked the business card to the corkboard behind our main desk. I would have to tell Kitty at a later time, since this wasn't something she wanted to hear on her day off. I switched off the shop's back lamp, leaving the box with the wooden dishes on the work table.
Our latest wedding wasn't in Ceffylgwyn, the little village we both called home, but a place further down the coast from us, a quiet little country spot named Goddard's Wake, a name so quintessentially English that I knew a Cornish name must be somewhere in its past self. There wasn't much there, the point of focus being the church where the wedding was taking place, and the local post shop and pub — the basic essentials of village life, in other words.
I was planning to visit the spot again next week, when I was meeting with the happy couple and the vicar, and surveying the site where the reception's marquee would be pitched. The wedding had a slightly unusual theme of animals, since the well-to-do couple who were our newest clients had bonded over their love of nature, especially wildlife rehabilitation, and wanted the wedding to reflect that shared passion. Last year, the bride had volunteered at a facility in Africa, and I had the impression the trip's memories were particularly important to her.
Since Matt and the kids were probably going to be late today, I decided that a few Cornish pasties would make a nice dinner, and a little snack of freshly-fried chips would make number three happier than the carrot sticks and almond butter and honey sandwich I was planning for my lunch.
Ceffylgwyn's spring winds were bringing changes of their own, even with winter's toothmarks still in the frost and the morning breeze before sunshine took the chill away. Bright green blades and forced white flowers decorated the windows of some of the shops, bringing color like the view of a red-striped boat sail on the water — Wallace Darnley's latest venture included renting sailboats to tourists with proper operational skills.
The fish and chips shop was packed with customers on a Saturday afternoon, particularly from the harbor and the weekend market, where spring bulbs and seed swaps were on the minds of local gardeners. Charlotte's newest assistant was scooping crisp potatoes and battered cod into newspaper, while her boss was chatting with a few friends at a table. I recognized Rosie's fiery hair — and the telltale clue of one of the many doggies from her animal haven, leash wrapped around the table — and Dovie with her usual cuppa, sitting in the patch of sunshine by the windows.
"Are you allowing dogs in the shop?" I joked to Charlotte.
"Nemo is in here so he won't be howling on the pavement outside," said Rosie. "He's one of those shivery pups with human withdrawal syndrome, thanks to being abandoned." She patted the chair. "Join us and have a natter, love. We were talking of juicy blokes we fancy, but now we've moved on to the latest news from the Boscastle press."
"What about Boscastle?" I asked, taking a seat, and letting Charlotte pour me a cup of tea, reaching for one of the empty ceramic ones on the counter behind her.
"The Scarlet Queen's cave," said Rosie. "That's what they're dubbing it in the press. It's the find of the century, they reckon, maybe even putting the old settlement dig to shame, the one from about a year ago."
The back of my neck prickled. "I hadn't heard about this," I said. "It's an archeological dig?"
"It is now," said Charlotte. "They've sent for a team of proper professionals to oversee it."
"Really?" I said. "Since when?"
"Let's see ... the discovery was made a week ago," said Rosie, glancing ceilingwards as she tried to recall the details. "Some tourists poking around at what they thought was an entrance to one of the old tin mines nearby. They spread the story around, but the police and the bloke from the uni sealed it off and kept mum about exactly what was found until after the team of experts came in."
"I heard there was a fortune in there," said Dovie, in an awed whisper, as if sharing a secret. "A woman's body all dressed up in rubies — that's why they're calling her by that name. Not dead recently, of course. The uni people wouldn't be interested then, obviously."
"That would be SOCO's field of interest, m'dear," chuckled Charlotte.
I'm only hoping they'll put this find in a museum here," said Rosie. "Wouldn't that be exciting, seeing our own Cornish archaeological wing in some Truro museum? It'd be worlds more interesting than seeing the same old Egyptian mummies in the British Museum."
"Who's the expert handling the find?" I asked. Suddenly, I had a very clear idea of why Percy was not visiting friends in Peru, or whichever location he'd passed on to come meet his newest grandson.
"No idea," said Rosie. "Some expert in Cornish archaeology, supposedly." I felt my skin prickle tighter, with a little shiver of psychic energy, although Rosie's words held no actual clues to the person's identity. "I expect that'll be the next announcement. Never a dull moment in these parts, no matter what people say about sleepy villages — it's the only reason I haven't run off by now with the latest band of travelers."
"Did you come in for something in particular, love?" Charlotte asked me.
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Chapter Two
The greengrocer’s print display had copies of the nearest Cornish newspaper's special weekend edition, fresh from the printer's, featuring the press conference from the Cornish Archaeological Society and a professor from the University of London.
As I suspected, the name of the lead archaeologist overseeing the investigation of the burial was announced: Doctor Elaine Pierce-Bishop, best known for her stunning excavation of an ancient tribal fortress and the burial cairns of its warrior ruler and household, dubbed the 'Real-Life Camelot' and 'Arthur and Guinevere' by the mainstream press.
I folded the paper and tucked it under my arm as I counted out my change atop the five quid I laid on the counter. "Anything else, love?" asked Honoria.
"No, thanks," I said. "See you later."
So that's why Percy had returned. Oh, Percy, why put yourself through the heartache again? To my knowledge, he hadn't seen the eminent archaeologist since the day they said farewell — the day that was supposed to be their wedding day, with the doctor and her academic team sailing away on their own instead.
A grown man of seventy-something knew his limitations, I supposed, especially one as sharp as the 'old earl'. But it wouldn't be easy to see someone again with whom you were besotted, and who announced that they loved you, but couldn't see your two lives becoming one.
Then again, maybe Percy was simply eager to try his hand at archaeology again. After all, he had been part of multiple digs in the Middle East, including one before he became friends with Elaine and her team. Maybe this was all an innocent coincidence, as opposed to an impossible coincidence.
Percy is so involved in this somehow. Why kid myself that anything else was true?
At the lending library, I perused the stacks of books on Cornish history and archaeology in the ten minutes before it closed for the librarian's tea break. Just in time, I grabbed a copy of a Miss Pickerell book I hadn't seen around my house in recent memory for my daughter's voracious reading appetite, and some random books on dinosaurs and space travel for all three of my kids, from the neighboring stacks. I curled up at home with a new book on excavations around Tintagel, ancient burials beneath rock cairns and slab tombs, and relic recovery on Scilly Island shores for a few hours, indulging in fond memories of visiting the Cornish Camelot over a year ago. It had been fun to dust off bits of pottery ... less fun to help find bones, even ones draped in ancient jewelry. And the flirtations of her annoying summer intern had been a plague I was glad to be rid of when that boat sailed away, even as I regretted the beautiful — if slightly overblown — wedding that never took place for a good friend.
At four-thirty, I heard the sound of Matt's car outside, as I poured myself a cup of tea, and, with regret, closed my binge session of Amazing Wedding Cakes. The front door opened and my herd of children stampeded in — well, two of them did. Sylvia, her dark curls in braids as thick as Paula's, if less frizzy, face red from too much excitement, Heath grungy from digging in the dirt, so one might assume his natural hair color was actually browner than mine.
"Mummy, you have to see our windows —" Sylvia began.
"Mummy, I fell in the compost heap!" announced my son, as if his overly-earthy stench and stained clothing wasn't clue enough.
"Yes, you did. When was this?" My question was for Heath, but my eye was on 'daddy', who had just closed the front door behind our third and quietest child. Matt's eye already held an apology.
"We put up vinyl tulips and daffodils over the parlor windows, then we put up pennant flags with vegetables all around the doorway," said Sylvia, continuing with her story regardless of her brother's. "It looks so nice, Mummy, and all the other kids are going to come see it in a few weeks."
"Yes, I know," I said.
"Guess what, Mummy? There was mud from the farm in the compost pile," said Heath, who didn't see this as a bad thing, I could tell.
"Oh, books! Look — there's one on planets — that's for Joel — and one on horses, and one on dinosaurs —" Sylvia was digging through the stack from the library. "What's this one about warrior queens?"
"Out of the books until after your baths, you two," I said, rescuing them from muddy hands. "Go, scurry — Heath, you're first, into the tub pronto, okay? Tea is in an hour."
"I didn't mean to fall in," said Heath, who narrowly missed brushing against our newly-reupholstered chair as he retreated. Matt dropped down in the plain wooden one for the desk — not the bird-and-vine one our son narrowly missed smudging.
"How did our son come to be covered in dirt and muck?" I asked.
"He wanted to stand on the open gate of Giles's truck to watch the local farmer offload the dirt with his tractor," said Matt. "I tried to help him down afterwards, but he was far too excited, slipped, and landed in the outskirts of the pile instead. If it's any consolation, he was having a glorious time."
"And my glorious time will be the presoaking period on those jeans?" I arched one eyebrow. Matt's smile was sheepish.
"I'll wash them," he said. "It's my turn to do laundry."
"I'm kidding, I'll do it," I said. "But don't drop any of our kids in the dirt next time, please?"
"Heath is the only real danger at present," said Matt. "Sylvia was practically born with wellies and gardening gloves on — she knows all the proper precautions mummy has about working in the garden."
"So I can trust that you emptied your trouser cuffs and dusted off your jacket, right?" I tried not to smile. I could see that Matt was guilty of forgetting this time, like many in the past — my husband might be bright, brainy, and extremely good-looking in the manner of Poldark, but tidiness was not one of his virtues. Only slightly less so than occasional snoring and playing very unfunny jokes on me without cracking a smile.
"What about Joel? Do I need to tidy his clothes, too?" I asked.
"I think he was busy with his homework," said Matt, ruefully, albeit trying to smile. Neither of us found this particular joke funny, however, because getting Joel to connect with us was ... well ... one of life's trickier challenges.
Our foster son was glued to a pocket video game at present, exactly the kind of distraction he gravitated to in order to avoid human contact. We progressed as far as getting answers to basic questions — yes, he liked books on astronomy, no, he didn't like lima beans, yes, the teacher at school was nice — but the shell around that little boy was still almost as thick as the night I found him hiding in the old cottage's attic stair.
How long would it take for him to get past the trauma? A lifetime? Never? Finding a chink of light in those thick walls was a daily process. Rare smiles and laughter were not as nonexistent as we once feared, but we still had a long ways to go.
Matt and I exchanged glances. "Did you have a good time?" I asked, receiving a shrug. "Did you help decorate the windows?"
"No. Sylvia did." Three whole words. Some days, that was a record.
"Maybe next time," I said. "Go and wash up in the kitchen for tea. You can save your bath until after dinner."
He looked up, then nodded. He went into the kitchen, and I heard the sound of tap water running. I didn't ask if he wanted to help and my daughter missed all the signals, because Joel tended to shut down when presented directly with activities. Number one complaint from Joel's teacher at present — finding anything he would do that wasn't a one-person activity.
"Not a team player today," I guessed.
"Christine from the school was there. I thought he liked her," said Matt. "I thought she would have an easy time coaxing him into participating. I think he spent the whole time looking at a schoolbook about how engines work instead."
"At least he'll be well read," I said. But Joel's grades were slipping, because information and interest traveled only one way in his world.
Matt noticed the books on the table, the topmost one on Cornish dig sites, and I reached for the paper underneath the sofa pillow, which I had been dying to show him for the past few hours. "Read the headline," I said.
 
; He took it from me, and perused the front page. I watched him scan the lines below the big announcement. "Doctor Pierce-Bishop is heading another exploration in Cornwall?" he said.
"That's not all," I said. "We had a visitor today. Guess who dropped by?"
"Tell me it wasn't a flippant young student by the name of Dexter," said Matt, who was only half kidding.
"No," I said. "It was none other than the earl of Cliffs House himself."
"Percy?" said Matt. "Are you making a joke?"
"I'm serious. He brought the kids toys, you and me some spices that smell like smoked paprika, and says he's in town to see baby Charles for the first time. But in light of this headline, I kind of have my doubts about that story being totally truthful."
Matt folded the paper. "They parted amicably, didn't they?" he said. "But I had the impression that the doctor was rather steadfast in her decision."
I nodded. "She was," I said. "So I'm not sure exactly why Percy is turning up here. Unless he wants to be part of the excitement again." It was irresistible to someone like him, probably, so maybe he couldn't keep away from the prospect of helping uncover history in his own backyard yet again.
"Do you know the spot where the dig is taking place?" I asked.
"Pilmarro is more of a farming community than a village," he said. "There are dunes, but the sea has been reclaiming them the past few decades. I explored a few sea caves there once, with a friend who used to spelunk, and had found an entrance into one of the old tin mine's passages through one. It wasn't unheard-of to find cairns sometimes, and there's an ancient rock circle known colloquially as the 'Seven Angels' which is believed to be a druid worship site, although no one is certain of its origin."
"So you know a lot about it," I teased.
He smiled. "No. I visited it a handful of times — everyone who lives in Cornwall ends up exploring the north country at some point, if they like nature, or hiking. The rocks afford a good view, and the sea views are better than from the cliffs you love so much here."