‘Right, let’s dig it up,’ said Rhys, and he and Jessie set to work with their trowels. Lottie folded her arms and hoped it was something a little more interesting than the rusty nail they’d found yesterday.
Jessie was an enthusiastic digger, if somewhat haphazard. Rhys had to guide her back to the hole a few times or she’d have tunnelled to Dumbleford. Finally, her trowel made a sound like she had stabbed it into a plate – it put Lottie’s teeth on edge. Rhys put down his own trowel and dug his fingers into the ground to clear the earth away from whatever was there.
A few moments later, Rhys sat back on his haunches and stared into the hole they’d dug. ‘It’s definitely not a horseshoe,’ he said, his face full of confusion.
Joe was at the kitchen table studying his accounts on his laptop when he heard the bedroom door open, and Megan appeared. He glanced in her direction. He’d heard her padding about between the bedroom and bathroom earlier, but this was the first time he’d seen her since last night. She was fully dressed in a striking red-and-white striped dress and matching heels. She’d had her driver drop off a ridiculous amount of luggage late the previous evening.
‘Good morning, Joey,’ she said, in her seductive drawl. He saw her look out of the window. ‘An English village in the snow. Is there anything prettier?’
She was likely fishing for a compliment. ‘No, there’s nothing prettier,’ he agreed.
‘Where can I get a decent coffee around here?’ asked Megan, leaning against the kitchen doorway and eyeing Joe.
‘There’s some instant by the kettle.’ He didn’t look up.
‘A kettle? How British is that?’ She sidled over and studied the ordinary-looking kettle. ‘Fascinating.’ Joe liked having a kettle again. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d missed not having it in America, but he had. ‘There must be somewhere I can buy a coffee and perhaps brunch?’ She came up behind him and leaned against the back of his chair.
‘There’s the tearooms on the village green. You might want to try there. Or the pub.’ When he was a kid, the tearooms had been a very traditional set-up with bone china teacups, saucers and flowery cake stands. It had been one where they went as a treat and wore their Sunday best. He had been looking forward to checking it out and seeing how it had changed – but not today.
‘I don’t know if I can be fussed to walk all that way.’ She sighed into his hair making him freeze.
Petra had called by earlier to let him know they were doing food at the pub. He checked his watch. ‘If you can wait a bit I think the pub is our best option.’
‘What’s this you’re working on?’ asked Megan, her manicured nail whizzing past his right ear and pointing at the laptop screen.
Joe shut the laptop lid. ‘It’s just my accounts.’
‘Your accounts or our accounts?’ She turned to perchon the table next to him and watched his response carefully. ‘Is there something I should know?’
‘Megan, we talked this through last night.’ His voice was weary. They’d not gone to bed until two that morning, and he was fed up of talking. Why did she always insist on going over and over the same thing? ‘The practice here will be in my name and funded by me. It’s what I want.’
She pouted. ‘My Mr Independent.’ She ran a finger under his chin.
‘I need to sort out Dave,’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Who’s Dave?’ She tilted her head in a way that reminded him of the little dog. The comparison, which would have so deeply offended her, made him smile.
‘He’s the dog that ravaged your coat.’ He was still smiling at the memory.
‘Eurgh.’ She gave a shudder. ‘I hope you’re going to euthanise the horrid thing.’
His smile slid away. ‘No, I’m going to make a couple of calls to local rescue centres and vets and see if he’s been reported as missing over the holidays.’ There was a good reason he’d kept Megan away from the caring side of his job – the two most definitely didn’t mix.
‘So where are you taking me for lunch?’ she asked.
‘The pub.’
She mouthed the word pub as if it was completely alien to her.
‘Once I’ve made these calls we can brave the walk down the hill. You might want to swap your heels for some wellington boots.’
He tried not to take too much pleasure in the disgusted look on her face.
Lottie had grabbed a crate from the log store and Rhys and Jessie had carefully dug out their find, which was now on the middle of the kitchen table with the whole family staring at it, mesmerised.
‘Is that all of it?’ asked Daniel, his eyes fixed on the mud-covered artefact in the crate.
‘I had a quick sweep round with the detector and it didn’t register anything else,’ said Rhys.
