E-Book, Englisch, 346 Seiten
Young The Running Lie
1. Auflage 2020
ISBN: 978-1-78864-100-5
Verlag: Cinnamon Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
E-Book, Englisch, 346 Seiten
ISBN: 978-1-78864-100-5
Verlag: Cinnamon Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection
Jennifer Young was born in a small textile town in North Carolina, USA, and moved to the UK in 2001. She has since completed a PhD, become the daughter-in-law of a Catholic priest, and gained British citizenship. Her degrees are from the University of North Carolina Chapel Hill, Cardiff University and the University of Southampton. She is Head of Writing and Journalism at the University of Falmouth. Jennifer lives in Cornwall with her daughter.
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CHAPTER ONE
USUALLY ON SUMMER digs, Max had to layer herself heavily. She’d figured out on her first dig that she blistered, rather than tanned. But this dig had long shadows cast across it by the burnt out—yet still standing—walls of St Bride’s Church. She got by with a broad brimmed hat. In her two weeks of volunteering, they’d unearthed multiple bodies. Today they’d found yet another burial, and now she brushed delicately around the skull. They’d already dug out Samuel Richardson’s lead coffin, with its plaque intact. This body had no identifiers. Chatter in the trench mostly centred on the upcoming Olympics in Iceland.
‘Max and I have been to Helsinki, haven’t we?’ Will Firmin said.
‘Only on the way to Þjórsárdalur. Back in ’49.’ It’d been the first dig she’d gone on before starting her PhD. She’d arrived in Iceland on what should have been her wedding day. ‘We worked with Kristján Eldjárn, excavating Viking pit houses. Fascinating work on ordinary families.’
‘The peer’s daughter is interested in ordinary families?’
Max didn’t look up from the eye socket of the skull. She didn’t want to know who had spoken. ‘It formed part of my PhD.’
‘We had quite the special time there together, didn’t we, Max?’ Will’s hand landed on her back, and she shrugged it away.
‘If you mean digging, yes. Otherwise, no.’ The others laughed, and Will’s faced burned red. It clashed with his hair. The flash of anger in his eyes reminded Max far too much of the last night of that dig in Iceland, when he’d grabbed her and tried to kiss her. She’d managed to get free, but she’d never forgotten the pain in her arms or the fan of his beery breath across her face. She’d avoided being alone with him ever since. ‘Do you think the equestrian team’s chances are as good as the papers say?’ she asked. Conversation returned to normal, and Will moved away from her. Max sighed. Why did dig dynamics have to be so tricky? And why was Will trench supervisor here? He liked to remind her his position was over her, and always with a lewd smile.
‘Hey, Max. Somebody to see you,’ called someone.
Max clenched her teeth. If it’d been any bone other than a skull, maybe she could convince her mother it was a bit of a building. Max glanced up, readying an excuse. But John Knox stood under an archway, not her mother. He held his hat, and the sun shone on his dark hair. His blue suit looked immaculate. Max looked down at her filthy trousers and shirt. She dropped her brush and climbed out of the trench. ‘Hello, John.’ The last time she’d seen him, they’d kissed. What could she say now? ‘Want to have a look around?’
‘I’d love to, but I only have a minute.’ His eyes dropped to his hat. ‘How have you been?’
‘In the last three weeks? Fine.’ Why did she say that? Three—and a half—weeks since their first date. Only date.
‘I’m sorry I haven’t called. I had to go on an unexpected work trip, and I only got back today. Would you consider having dinner with me tonight?’
‘How did you know I was here?’
John shrugged his blue suited shoulders. ‘Journalists have sources.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Abroad.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Sorry, I have to get to a meeting. My office is just over that way on Fleet Street. I think some of my colleagues tried to help put out the fire here, when the bomb hit back in 1940. This dig’s been quite a conversation piece.’
But how did he know she was here? ‘Out for lunch?’
John smiled. ‘No. I haven’t been in yet. I’m still on my way from the airport.’
He’d come to see her first. Max meant to smile at him, but instead she found herself kissing him. She had the sense to keep it brief, but she drew away to catcalls from the archaeologists.
‘Is that a yes?’ He didn’t smile, he didn’t react to the noise.
Shadows lurked under his eyes. How long had he been travelling? ‘Yes. Wait, no. I’m supposed to go to Victor’s party tonight.’
‘I forgot about that. He invited me too.’ He turned his hat. His right index finger had a half-healed scrape along the knuckle. ‘Want to...’
‘So, the ice maiden thaws,’ Will said, resting his hand on her shoulder. ‘Or at least warms slightly. Coming back to work anytime soon, Max?’
Max gritted her teeth. People left trenches all the time. She should be trench supervisor, not Will. He didn’t even have a degree. ‘In a moment.’ She shrugged, knocking his hand away.
‘I didn’t think you would ever deign to... Knox? John Knox?’
John didn’t take his eyes from Max’s face. ‘Hello, Firmin.’
‘How do you two know each other?’ Max asked.
‘Same unit in the war,’ Will said. ‘At least for a while. What are you doing now, Knox?’
‘Newspaper manager. Look, Max, I need to go. Shall I collect you? Seven?’
Max nodded. ‘Remember my address?’ John found her on a bloody dig site in London, of course he’d remember her address. And somehow, she didn’t want Will to hear it.
‘Yep. See you tonight.’ John’s smile was bright, but he didn’t say goodbye to Will. John walked towards his car, a black Humber Supersnipe.
‘Come on, back to work.’ Will touched the small of Max’s back. ‘Very intimate with Knox, are you?’
Max dropped her hat simply to crouch and pick it up. And waited, slow, agonising seconds till Will took one step forward. ‘I don’t know him well, no.’
‘Looked like you do.’
‘Mm.’ Max settled her hat on her head. She wouldn’t focus on the sensation of John’s lips against hers. They reached the trench. ‘What ranks were you?’
‘What?’
‘You and John. You said you were in the same unit.’
‘Corporal and Captain. That’s what a damn degree gets you, sugar.’ He smiled. ‘Of course, it matters less than experience in the end.’
Max returned to her brush, sweeping it over the eye socket of the skull. Will kept talking, now to other workers in the trench. She studied Will for a moment. He was as tall as John, but ever since Iceland, she hadn’t quite trusted him. Could she trust John Knox any more than Will? John might not grab her and kiss her, but what did she know about him?
John claimed to be a journalist, specifically a foreign manager at the American newspaper , but she had doubts. Victor had told her once that John had clearly been somebody in the War. But nearly every man she knew had served in the War. And most of them didn’t have the same level of alertness or focus that John had, at least not now, seven years on from the end of the War. But then John had served in Korea as well.
‘Your boyfriend?’ Audrey Williams crouched next to the trench. She worked as Professor Grimes’ assistant, but she was an outstanding archaeologist in her own right.
‘No.’ Max looked back down at the section of her trench. ‘Just a…’ Friend? ‘No.’
Audrey laughed. ‘He’s good-looking. Thinking about it?’
Max smiled. ‘Maybe.’
Max parked her car on Pelham Crescent and went up to the house. She had an hour to get ready, and if she could avoid Mother, it would all be easier. But as she opened the door, Mother came out of the drawing room.
‘Darling, must you go around London covered in grime and God knows what?’
‘Mostly just London dirt,’ Max said. ‘You were the one who wanted me to stay at home.’ Max had planned to find a dig abroad. She knelt to unlace her boots, rather than tromp dirt on the carpets. ‘I’m going straight to the shower anyway.’ At least her mother didn’t seem to realise Max had been digging up human remains all day.
‘You have a party tonight?’
Max nodded.
‘What time do you need to leave?’ Mother asked.
‘I’m, um, being collected. At seven.’
Mother flicked the pages of . ‘A friend or a date?’
‘A date.’
‘Who’s it with?’ a voice called.
Max looked up at her cousin Charlie, who leaned against the banister above them. His crutches rested beside him. It’d been four weeks since he broke his leg in two places. At least he could lurch around the house now, even if he’d missed the last term at school.
‘Charlie, you shouldn’t eavesdrop. And grammar, please,’ Mother said. She smiled. ‘It’s a good question though.’
‘John Knox.’ Max picked up her boots. ‘I should go get ready.’
‘Hasn’t it been ages since you went out with him?’ Charlie asked.
‘He’s been abroad, for work.’ She dashed up the stairs, but stopped five steps up. ‘Mother, did you speak to him? Tell him where I was working?’
‘No. Why?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Maybe Victor had told him. Or his colleagues—but he hadn’t been to work yet. And why would they know she had started volunteering there? It must have been Victor.
As the shower water thrummed against her skull, she remembered that John had forgotten about Victor’s party. Victor would be physically incapable of talking to someone and not reminding them about his own party.
She sat at her vanity and applied makeup swiftly. Drawing eyeliner over her lids, she asked her reflection how her suspicions weighed up against the undeniable attractiveness of John Knox. She slicked on red lipstick and blotted, remembering the easy confidence of his mouth against hers. The Kleenex ricocheted into the bin. What did she want...
