Sarah Rayne - What Lies Beneath

‘Well, um, archaeology and anthropology.’

‘Good subjects. Why are you so defensive about them?’

‘Was I? I suppose it’s because when you say archaeology and anthropology, people mostly say, “But what will you actually do with it?” Or they think you’re going to disinter Egyptian mummies and fall victim to a curse.’

‘But there are masses of interesting possibilities, surely? Even without field work and digs, there’s museum curatorships, research of all sorts, even TV – all those Time Team -type programmes. They’d need advisers and researchers on board for those. And the two subjects go hand in hand, don’t they? The history and the study of buildings and the human race.’

‘I love buildings,’ said Amy, gratefully. ‘Is St Anselm’s really seventh century?’

‘Supposed to be. Built around 650, if you can believe the chronicles.’

‘Wow. The Romans had gone by then, hadn’t they?’ said Amy, delving into her memory. ‘They’d long since conquered the blue and green misty island of all their legends.’ She glanced at him and saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. ‘Listen, it is poetic and it’s far enough back to be really romantic.’

‘I didn’t say it wasn’t romantic or poetic.’

‘If you were lucky, there might be traces of the original structure of St Anselm’s,’ said Amy, thoughtfully. ‘The timbers might be a bit crumbly, but the stonework ought to be still intact.’

Jan said, ‘I’m going out to Priors Bramley tomorrow to take a look. To see if I can find any traces of… well, of anything that links St Anselm’s to the Ambrosian tradition. Or that links Priors Bramley to Goldsmith’s Auburn.’ He paused, then said, ‘Would you like to come with me?’

Amy stared at him. ‘Is it safe to go in there now?’ she said. ‘Because if it is I’d absolutely love to. D’you mean it?’

‘Yes. I’ve talked to the local council and they’ve disinfected everywhere until it squeaks, so anyone can go in. Oh, and in case you’re wondering about me, I’m a relatively respectable senior member of Oriel College,’ said Jan. ‘And I don’t normally issue invitations to people I meet in pubs. But you’re studying archaeology and I’m chasing legends so it might be a useful exercise for both of us.’

‘What about the body? The sad historian or whoever he was? Aren’t the police still yomping around looking for clues?’

‘They’re still working there, but I’ve talked to them and explained I’m only here for a short while and I just want to look inside the church. They’re fine with that. The body was in the old lodge house, anyway, which is quite a way from the church. They’ve got the whole of Cadence Manor and the grounds roped off so it’s out of bounds to the public, but the rest of the village is open. I could pick you up somewhere, or meet you out there, if that’s easier.’

Amy did not have a car and although she had open permission to use Gran’s whenever she wanted, she didn’t really want to do so for this. She thought Jan was probably giving her a tactful escape route, but she said, ‘It’d be easier if you gave me a lift. I’m at the library until twelve tomorrow.’

‘I’ll pick you up there at twelve,’ he said. ‘Could I see the photos of the church at the same time? Thanks. And then you can prowl around the ancient stones of St Anselm’s and tell me if they’re Saxon. I dare say you can take photos or sketches as well, which will be useful for your thesis when you take your doctorate.’

‘I wasn’t going to take a doctorate—’

‘Weren’t you? Why not?’

Amy tried to think of an answer to this and could not. She tried not to think Gran would go up in smoke if she heard Amy was going out to Priors Bramley with a tramp she had picked up in a pub. Except that Jan was not a tramp, of course.

Gran did go up in smoke. She had to be told about the Priors Bramley excursion because she expected Amy home for lunch each day after her library session. She was shocked to her toes to hear Amy was going off with a man she had met in the Red Lion.

‘Who is he? What do you know about him? He sounds foreign. You can’t be too careful these days, Amy. There was a girl in the paper only last week—’

‘He’s a quarter Polish. He’s an Oxford don and he lectures at Oriel College. He’s researching St Anselm’s music for a paper,’ said Amy, correctly guessing the mention of Oxford would go a long way to calming Gran’s anxiety.

‘Oh. Oh, well, perhaps… But what’s he doing picking up a girl half his age?’

‘I’m not half his age,’ said Amy indignantly. ‘He’s only about, um, thirty-five.’

‘Then he’s quite possibly married,’ said Gran, pouncing on this with triumph.

‘It doesn’t matter if he is,’ said Amy. ‘It’s not a date, for pity’s sake. We’re only going out to Priors Bramley to look at the church.’

‘Is it safe? Are they letting people in?’

‘Jan says so.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought there’d be much to see. It’ll probably be drenched in the disinfectant stuff they’ve been spraying everywhere.’

‘Yes, but it’ll be good field experience for me,’ said Amy. ‘I might even get an essay out of it for next term. I thought I’d ask Gramps if I could borrow his camera.’

‘I don’t suppose he’ll mind. You’d better borrow my rubber boots, though. I wouldn’t trust that stuff they’ve been using. And as well as that you’d better— Is that your grandfather coming in now? My goodness, Derek, you’re late tonight.’

‘Blame the Lord High Executioner,’ said Gramps, dropping his jacket on a chair, and heading for the drinks cabinet. ‘He can’t, for the life of him, remember the words of “I’ve Got a Little List”, at least not in the correct sequence. If we rehearsed it once we rehearsed it six times. Still, it’s a whopping long song, and— Oh, are you going to bed, Ella? I’ll just have a drink. And I might catch the end of Newsnight .’

It was a shame for Gramps, who always came in bright-eyed and happy from his rehearsals, to be greeted by Gran’s indifference. He wanted to talk about his evening, telling little stories about people having tantrums, or the row between the stage manager and the prompter and who had said what to whom, but Gran hardly ever listened. She picked up a magazine, or went out to the kitchen to get tomorrow’s meat out of the freezer or write a note for the milkman, and Gramps was left to watch Newsnight or read the evening paper.

Amy thought it was really sad when married people stopped being interested in each other’s lives. Tonight Gran did not even give an excuse; she simply went up to bed, so, to balance things out, Amy asked about the rehearsal. Gramps brightened up at once – dear old Gramps; it did not take much to cheer him up – and switched off Newsnight to hunt out an old vinyl recording of the D’Oyly Carte company performing The Mikado , with somebody called Leicester Tunks singing the title role. Amy would find it very interesting, he said eagerly. He looked quite young and nice when he got enthusiastic like this, and Amy was pleased for him and managed not to giggle at Mr Tunks’s name. She thought she might tell Gramps about The Deserted Village opera later. He would be interested in that.

They listened to the disc, and Gramps happily explained the plot of The Mikado to Amy, until Gran came down in a dressing gown to ask him to turn the music down because she had a headache and caterwauling opera singers did not help it.

As Jan went up to his room at the Red Lion, he thought no matter how well you knew yourself, you still received a few surprises.