5

Evan ordered the food at the bar and paid. Then he picked up the drinks and carried them back to the table where Lou sat. The Wolf Pack did decent food for a pub, and unless they were really busy, which hardly ever happened, the meals were always delivered quickly.

Why had he agreed to this? Was he that desperate for company—for female company—that he’d put himself in danger of betraying everything? Or was it a simple desire to spend a little more time in the company of someone who wore her emotions on her sleeve and wasn’t afraid to make her feelings known about her boss, even if that could get her fired?

Whatever his reasons for inviting her to lunch, the woman had calmed down considerably since she’d left the dam and that had to be a good thing.

He set his pint down on the table and then placed Dr. Fitzgerald’s down in front of her. “I’ve never come across a woman who drinks beer before. At least not by the pint.”

“Then you must not get out very often. Or gone to the same university I did. Although, I must admit I have picked up the American habit of drinking it cold.”

He smiled. “Likewise.” He shrugged off his overcoat, laying it carefully on the back of his chair. “So, what can I tell you?”

“I’d like to learn the history behind the village and the dam. Something to tell me why a dig here is so important to my boss that he yanks me off my project and sends me a couple hundred miles north at a moment’s notice.”

She studied him, and he glanced down, wondering if he’d spilled something on his blue suit. Satisfied he hadn’t, he undid the jacket and eased back into the seat. “Can’t the Internet tell you that, Dr. Fitzgerald?” he asked.

“It can, and it will, but only the bare facts, not the emotions or the little details that make a dig like this come alive. For example, the Internet can tell me that Joe Blogs lived at 54 Main Street and protested against the flooding of the village by chaining himself to the railings outside 10 Downing Street, but it won’t tell me what made him do it. Did he simply object because everyone else did, or was there more to it than that?”

She winked. “Was he a mass murderer who hid all the bodies in the church crypt? Or was he a smuggler and stashed all the loot there? Or was he the local graffiti artist and didn’t want all his work lost forever. And yes, he probably kept his paint in the church crypt along with everything else.”

Evan chuckled, despite the way her words needled. “In that case, I suggest you check out the church crypt for bodies, loot, and spray paint as soon as you can. Seriously though, I didn’t live through it. My great-grandparents died before I was born, and my grandfather never really talked about it. They lived in Abernay, about a stone’s throw from the church before they moved to the manor after the flooding.”

“The church is the one we can see?”

He nodded, running his finger along the rim of the glass. “Abernay was this end of the reservoir. Finley the other.”

“Was your great-grandfather the man in charge of the project?” She glanced at the notebook. “David Close?”

Evan nodded. When had she started taking notes? “Yes. Although that was in name only from what I learned. Other men built the dam.” He paused as the plates of food came. “Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “This is one of my favourites, a house specialty.”

Dr. Fitzgerald picked up her knife and fork and freed them from the serviette. “Looks like Lancashire hot pot.”

“Similar, but with a Cumbrian twist.” He added salt and pepper to his before opening his knife and fork. He laid the serviette on his lap. “My great-grandfather got a lot of stick for working on the project.”

“I bet. Why did he do it? If you still own the land, then he can’t have sold it.”

“Only part of the land was sold.” The whole topic made him uncomfortable. Why on earth had he agreed to this conversation? “They force sold the houses in both villages, evicted all the occupants, both tenants and owners alike, before rehousing them all in large towns elsewhere. The villagers even protested in London, but to no avail. My great-grandfather lost just as much when the flood came.”

Dr. Fitzgerald ate hungrily. “This is good. Your great-grandfather didn’t live in the manor house at the time of the flooding then?”

Evan’s stomach pitted. “I’m sorry?” he asked, somehow making his voice remain calm.

“You said he lived by the church, yet your family have owned the manor house for eight generations, and it obviously wasn’t rebuilt or part of the deal to sell off the land.” She held his gaze. “Varian gave me a file with a few briefing notes. Brief being the operative word.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?” He frowned. Personal family history wasn’t part of the deal.

She paused, a forkful of meat part way to her mouth. “As I said, the public records only tell half the story.”

Ain’t that the truth? His great-grandfather’s journal put a whole different slant on the entire affair. “His father was still alive and living there. Great-grandad never saw eye to eye with him.”

He paused. How much should he tell her? Maybe he’d tell her enough to shut her up, to appease her curiosity, and no more. He chewed slowly then spoke. “His parents thought Great-grandma was beneath them. She was, how do I put this, the scullery maid.”

Dr. Fitzgerald grinned and then chuckled. “Your great-grandfather married the scullery maid? It sounds like something from a book or a TV show.”

He bristled, hackles rising and defences going up. “It’s no laughing matter, Dr. Fitzgerald. Things were different back in the nineteen twenties and thirties. Class mattered. There were certain lines you didn’t cross. Just like today, in some respects, but not quite so much. Anyway, going back to the subject of the dam, the protest failed. The dam was finished, everyone moved out, and the villages were flooded. Great-grandad oversaw the work and building of the new village. None of the original residents moved in. People didn’t stay long at first, but after the war, things were different. People needed housing, so they stayed. It’s taken a long time to build the place up to what it is today.”

She nodded. “What about the church fire?”

Evan choked. He grabbed his glass, swallowing quickly. “Church fire?”

“The stones visible on the spire are blackened. The only thing that could cause that is a fire. And a pretty big one.”

“Oh, right. Again, I wouldn’t know for sure, but local folklore says bomb damage.”

Dr. Fitzgerald shook her head. “As far as I know, the flooding occurred in 1934 or ‘35. Well before the war.”

“September 1935. It’s the anniversary next week. And I said bomb not blitz.”

“Terrorists in the middle of Cumbria?”

Evan shrugged. “It could have been a case of you’re not taking this from us, we’ll destroy it. Or it could have easily been a lit candle catching an altar cloth. Or something.”

“I imagine it’s documented in the library.”

“Probably.” He reached for his glass again, taking several long swallows.

Dr. Fitzgerald finished her meal. “That was delicious. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

She wiped her lips on the serviette. The simple movement captivated him. What was it about her that distracted him? He was instinctively drawn to her like a moth to a candle flame, and that never ended well. She folded the paper napkin and laid it on her plate.

“Mr. Close, really I can’t accept that.”

Evan came within a hair’s breadth of asking her to call him by his given name. Then common sense prevailed if only for an instant. “You can pay next time.” The impulsive words were out before he realised, but there was no taking them back. They hung between them like an insurmountable cliff face.

“Next time?” Her eyes twinkled. “That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” he said, covering quickly. “I’ve told you my story. It’s only fair that you tell me yours. How about dinner tomorrow?”

“Your story? You’ve hardly told me anything. A little about your great-grandparents, but nothing about you.”

“All the more reason for dinner tomorrow night.” Why was he pushing this? He should let her go, back away, keep his distance, and things might be OK.

“Thank you for lunch, but I need to go. I have a lot of work to do in a very short time frame.” Dr. Fitzgerald slid into her jacket and grabbed her bag as she stood.

Ever the gentleman, Evan rose. “A word of warning, Dr. Fitzgerald. Whether you believe the ghost stories or not, it isn’t safe by the lake after dark.” He seized her hand and ran his thumb over the back of it before kissing it. Just as before, sparks zipped through him. “I mean it.”

“OK.”

“You never did say whether you’ll have dinner with me tomorrow. And yes, that is the fourth time I’m asking. Please don’t make me ask a fifth.”

She caught her breath, colour flaming in her cheeks again. She left her hand in his, as if she enjoyed his touch, or perhaps she could feel it, too. The instant attraction, the spark that flowed through him, was setting each nerve ending aflame with…

Passion? Was that what he was feeling? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that at this precise moment, his entire being was off kilter, and he didn’t like it. He had to be in control, all the time.

The pretty archaeologist inclined her head. “OK. Dinner tomorrow.”

He smiled. “Then I’ll pick you up at seven and we’ll eat at the manor. I can show you around the place, tell you more of the history. Show you the family portraits and so on.”

A slight frown crossed her face. “I thought the agreement was you paid for this, and I will be paying for dinner tomorrow.”

“You can owe me one.” He finally let go of her hand. “Good afternoon, Dr. Fitzgerald.”

The frown vanished, replaced by a faint smile. “Have a good day.”

He lingered as she left, his gaze following her across the pub to the door. The way she walked and moved was mesmerizing, to put it mildly. Shaking his head, he sat down and picked up his glass to finish his beer slowly.

Ira Miles slid into the seat Dr. Fitzgerald had vacated. “Keeping your enemies close?”

“Something like that. It’s a case of having to do so. Just make sure the library is kept locked at all times and that CCTV is on in all the rooms in the manor. Dr. Fitzgerald is joining me for dinner tomorrow. I don’t want her going off and exploring on her own.”