Cesca’s head ached. She looked at her computer monitor again and tried to focus on the numbers scattered over the spreadsheet, but they kept dancing about and her brain refused to process them.

‘I really need to think about a new career,’ she muttered as she pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut, ‘because I seem to be shit at this one.’

Taking deep breaths, she tried to put any thoughts of the drunken please take me back texts she had sent to Paolo the night before out of her mind. They made her face burn with shame every time she opened her phone and reread them, but she couldn’t stop reading them again, no matter how much it hurt.

She was thirty-four, for God’s sake. A smart, mature, professional woman, above such teenage obsessing. Paolo had left her, and she needed to accept his decision and move on. So why did she keep doing this? At least Paolo had the dignity to ignore them entirely instead of entering into an exchange that would only make things worse. If she hated him for everything else he’d done to her, she had to be grateful for that.

As she sat at her desk now and fell into the darkness of her own mind, she made a decision. What she needed was a new start. There was too much of Paolo still in the house they had shared, his friends were her friends and the places they would go together met her at every corner as she drove around the town he’d left but where she remained.

It wasn’t even that she was still madly in love with Paolo. They’d done nothing but argue for the year before the split and, if anything, the end had come as a relief. But lately she had thought of him more and more, despite the months that had passed, and though she wasn’t sure what it meant, she’d started to behave very strangely. It had to stop.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a swift knock at her office door. She turned to see a bald, rosy-cheeked man with the body of a fifty-five-year-old and the face of a seven-year-old. Duncan was always smiling, which served only to accentuate this notable incongruity. If the end of the world had just been announced, she was pretty sure he would still look like a kid who’d just won a big marbles tournament.

‘Ouch!’ he said as their eyes met. ‘You don’t look so good.’

‘Very kind of you to point that out,’ she replied as she cleared a stack of books from a seat and gestured for him to sit down. ‘What have you got for me?’

‘Looks like quite a significant find.’

‘A couple of ring pulls and an old farthing?’ Cesca gave a sceptical raise of her eyebrows, but even that small action hurt her throbbing head. ‘Because that’s pretty much all it’s been for the past six months.’

‘Nope…’ He grinned. ‘Gold. Rubies as big as your fist by all accounts. Well perhaps not your fist, but certainly your knuckle…’

‘You’re not funny, you know. There’s no need to take the piss just because you can see I’m too delicate to defend myself this morning.’

‘I’m being serious. It’s hardly the Staffordshire Hoard but it sounds interesting. From the description, I’d say it’s definitely worth taking a look at.’

She shot up in her chair, tucking a curtain of dark hair behind her ears. ‘It’s here? At the museum?’ she asked, the fog of her brain suddenly blown away. ‘Someone’s brought it in?’

‘It’s still in situ. That’s why I said description, because if it was here, I would have seen it.’

‘Again, not funny. Do you think it’s treasure?’

‘Argh, pieces of eight.’ Duncan grinned.

‘You know what I mean. Our official definition of treasure!’

He straightened his face to one more professional again. ‘That’s the initial feeling, yes, judging by the information the landowner has given.’

Cesca was thoughtful for a moment, but then she slouched back in her chair again. ‘If it’s as obvious as it looks, surely we should just call the coroner in. There’s no need for us to go out.’

‘On any other day I would have told the caller that the coroner’s office deals with antiquities we could officially class as treasure and given them the number. But the coroner’s office doesn’t know about it yet, and there’s no harm in you taking a look in your professional capacity. After all, if there’s any doubt you’ll need to confirm exactly what the find is so the coroner will involve you anyway – and I know how bored you’ve been lately.’

A slow smile spread across her face. ‘You know me so well.’

She reached across the desk for her keys and Duncan grinned. ‘I thought it might wake you up a bit.’

‘I’d almost started to wonder what the point of this job was. If this stuff is as spectacular as you say, I can’t wait to see it. Do you have details?’

‘Silver Hill Farm… that’s the name of the place. A lady named Harper Woods reported it – the owner of the farm, I think. Apparently they were digging foundations for some holiday lets when they unearthed the box.’

Cesca’s brows knit together. ‘Silver Hill Farm…’ she murmured, trying to recall the location of a place she had heard of but knew very little about.

‘Outside Cranbourne, on the outskirts of a village called Cerne Hay. I had to Google it to be certain where it was and I know everywhere around these parts.’ He placed a sheet of paper in front of her. ‘I took the liberty of printing you a route map.’

She pulled the page towards her with a slow smile and scanned it. ‘You are a genius, you know that?’

He shrugged. ‘I knew you’d want to go straight over there – that’s all.’

‘So nobody’s informed the coroner yet?’

‘In all seriousness, I thought you might want to take a look first, decide whether it is anything of value and whether it’s treasure, and then we can let them know if we need to. For all we know it could be fake, some kind of joke, just greatly exaggerated, or lost by some dopey old bean in the sixties who forgot where they buried it and whatever bizarre reason they buried it for.’

She nodded shortly. ‘I’m happy with that. It’ll do me good to have a drive and clear the cobwebs.’

‘It’s a nice day for it,’ Duncan said, angling his head at a window that was partially obscured by a teetering pile of books, folders and boxes containing bits of pots, pipes, combs made of shell, coins and a myriad of items yet to be identified. ‘I’d come out with you but I have a ton of stuff to do here, including a school visit.’

Cesca screwed her nose. ‘Poor thing. High school?’

He nodded grimly. ‘Year Seven.’

‘In that case, you have my deepest sympathy.’

‘Enough sympathy to swap with me? I go out and look at the treasure and you talk to the kids of St Mark’s about the Romans in Britain?’

‘Not bloody likely,’ she said with a grin. She glanced at her watch. ‘If I go now I can be there by lunchtime.’

Duncan swivelled around in his chair to watch as she headed out the door. ‘Bring me a cake back,’ he called.

‘I’ll bring you two!’

---

An hour later (including rather a lot of frustrating time spent lost), Cesca pulled up outside the Silver Hill Tearoom. Yanking the handbrake on, she took a moment to assess the situation. The farmhouse itself looked old, though lovingly refurbished. Clematis garlanded the front door and beyond that was a wildflower garden dappled with poppies and cornflowers. To the side stood a Victorian-style glass garden room, filled with white lacquered tables and chairs to make up the tearoom. Her gaze slid across the building and settled on what was quite a crowd of chattering locals. Cesca gave a wry smile; it constantly amazed her how news travelled in these parts, and how a discovery always turned into a social event.

As she climbed out of her car and walked towards the entrance, an old lady turned to her.

‘The local paper, I’ll bet!’ she cried, waddling over and looking quite excited about the possibility. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to get here.’

‘Are you the owner of the farm?’

‘Oh no!’ the woman chuckled. She stuck her hand out. ‘Mrs Seacock. Church warden. Will you need to interview me?’

‘Not just now,’ Cesca replied with a courteous smile. ‘Do you know the owner of the farm?’

The old lady gave an enthusiastic nod. ‘I’ll say… that’s Harper you’re after.’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, she’s lovely is Harper. She helps at the church soup kitchen from time to time. Mind you, it’s probably so everyone in the village would stop complaining about her wanting to build holiday homes, but still, help is help and you can’t turn it down where it’s offered…’

‘Right… So is she inside?’

‘Oh yes. All this attention has made them very busy today. Folks get thirsty standing around all day in the sun.’

Cesca wondered how the farm owners felt about the attention. It was all very well having the extra business, but if the find was anything like as impressive as she’d been led to believe, they had some serious security issues on their hands.

---

The old lady hadn’t been kidding when she said the tearoom was busy; there was barely a chair left unoccupied. A woman, perhaps in her mid-thirties, striking with her spiked red hair and ice-blue eyes, hurried between the tables taking orders and depositing snacks while another woman – shorter, curvier, with cinnamon hair pinned in a messy bun – tended to a beast of a coffee machine behind the counter. Cesca breathed in and allowed the warmth of sweet spices and syrups mingled with the brisk bitterness of strong coffee to bewitch her senses. Along half the length of the counter ran a glass case displaying pastel-coloured cakes and glistening savouries that made her stomach ache with longing. She would have to remember to take something back for Duncan. If they tasted as good as they looked he would be her friend for life.

She made her way to the counter where the woman she suspected to be Harper was busily serving customers. When she turned Cesca could see that she looked perhaps thirty, maybe a little more, messy tendrils of hair escaping her clip and framing a heart-shaped face, her chocolate eyes full of humour. Cesca immediately liked her.

‘Hello! What can I get you?’

‘I haven’t come to get a coffee, I’m afraid, although everything does look very nice…’

‘Oh. Well I’d love to talk to you about it all but I’m rushed off my feet right now,’ the woman replied apologetically. ‘If you come back after closing time I’d be happy to tell you all about it with the other two reporters I just sent away.’

Cesca smiled. ‘Oh dear… it’s been that sort of a day, has it? Are you Harper?’

‘Yes, but—’

Cesca stuck out her hand. ‘I’m Francesca Logan – Finds Liaison Officer, based at Salisbury museum. I’ve come to have a look at the items you found.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry…’ Harper blushed furiously as she wiped her hands on her apron and shook Cesca’s. ‘I had no idea you were coming and I’ve had no end of people I’ve never seen before coming in and asking. We tried to keep things quiet, so I’ve no idea how all these people have found out. Although my fiancé did go to the pub last night…’ she added thoughtfully. She gave Cesca a brisk smile. ‘I’ve hardly had a wink of sleep since we found it yesterday and we just didn’t know what to do with it.’

‘That’s OK. I came out as soon as I was told about it. Hopefully I’ll be able to help you out there.’

Harper nodded gratefully.

‘I expect you’ll want to see my ID,’ Cesca continued, pulling a card from her purse and handing it to Harper, who gave it a quick once-over before handing it back.

‘I must admit, it’s making me nervous,’ Harper said. ‘Will you take it away with you?’

‘It’s just the one box you reported?’

‘We had another look and we didn’t see anything else buried on the site but I suppose we could have missed it.’

‘I expect we can have a look ourselves if needs be,’ Cesca said cheerfully. ‘I’ll have a look to ascertain exactly what we’re dealing with and I’d like to ask you some questions too. If it’s something of value then I’ll make a call to the coroner’s office and they’ll take it from there.’

‘What do we need to do then?’

‘There are lots of processes in place for this sort of thing and you can read all about it on the Government’s antiquities website. But rest assured, if it is declared treasure there will be a reward for the finder.’

‘Oh,’ Harper said, blushing again, ‘I didn’t mean that. Can we tell people about it, or do we have to keep it all a secret? Will we get lots more reporters?’

‘I would imagine that if it is a find of significance there will be publicity. But we can do our best to keep you away from it if you prefer. The problem is that you found the items on your property and it will possibly mean more people coming to dig to see if there’s any more – that in itself will draw attention to you and the farm I’m afraid.’

Harper nodded. ‘I suppose it can’t be helped now,’ she said. Cesca felt a bit sorry for her – she really didn’t seem happy with the situation, despite obviously trying to be cheerful and polite. ‘Can I get you anything, Francesca?’ she added. ‘You’ve come all this way to see us, the least I can do is offer you refreshments… on the house, of course.’

‘Call me Cesca… Francesca is all very well but it can be a mouthful. And a cappuccino would be lovely,’ she added. ‘Your cakes look divine too – do you make them yourself?’

‘Oh God, no!’ Harper laughed. ‘I buy them in from a wonderful little place in a nearby village. Can’t bake to save my life, which is ironic when you consider that I run a tearoom. But I’d never let a small thing like a lack of baking ability stop me from running what is essentially a social club for me.’

‘You enjoy working here then? I imagine it’s long hours.’

‘Love it. And I make a mean cup of tea so that’s half the battle, isn’t it?’

‘Do you get a lot of custom out here?’

‘Oh yes. We have the petting zoo out back – not huge, mainly just rabbits, our pygmy goats and sheep, a couple of frisky chinchillas. But the kids like it and it brings their parents to the tearoom. There’s a caravan park beyond the hills too, then there’s Silver Hill adventure playground… the pottery and arts centre towards Cranbourne… a lot of walking and hiking trails hereabouts so people stop as they pass, Cerne Hay village, of course, near the caravan park… We get a surprising amount of trade actually. We’d get a ton more if Silver Hill House would open to the public, but the owner is very private and doesn’t seem keen. It’s a shame; it could be a little goldmine if he did. To be fair though, there’s only enough trade in the summer, which is why we want to expand and open holiday lets. The more we can make in the summer, the more we have to see us through the winter months.’

‘Like a squirrel storing nuts.’

‘You could say that. As long as I don’t forget where they are like squirrels do we’ll be just fine hibernating in front of our fire.’ She grabbed a mug from a shelf behind her. ‘How about I get you that drink?’

‘That does sound great, but I’m supposed to be working. Perhaps first you could show me round to the place where you made your find? I could be working while I drink and then I wouldn’t feel quite so guilty.’

‘Of course.’ Harper smiled. ‘If it’s OK, Shay can take you to the spot. We’re absolutely rushed off our feet here and I don’t want to leave poor Pip on her own.’

‘I imagine this is all a bit stressful for you?’

‘A little. I don’t suppose I can complain about the extra business though.’

‘Try not to worry. You’ve done all the right things and informed all the right people. With a bit of luck, it should be resolved quickly and you can get on with your extension.’ She paused. ‘Shay? That’s your fiancé, I presume?’

‘Yes. He’s poking around in the hole as we speak. I’ll take you round and then I’d better help Pip before she collapses from overwork.’

---

Harper led the way to the newly dug foundations at the back of the farmhouse, where a good-looking man in his early thirties with dark hair and some seriously fantastic bone structure was leaning against a wall looking pensive. Hearing Harper’s voice as they approached, he turned to them with a broad smile that lit up his face. Cesca tried to ignore the pang of envy that gnawed at her. Had Paolo ever looked at her like that? She couldn’t remember, but it didn’t seem likely.

‘Shay – this is the lady from the museum – Cesca Logan.’

He offered a hand for Cesca to shake. ‘Thanks for coming over so quickly.’

Cesca gave a brisk smile, and then her attention turned to the site.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Harper said. She looked at Shay. ‘You’ll be able to tell Cesca what she needs to know?’

‘Of course.’

Harper nodded and then left them. Cesca was just about to open her mouth when Shay produced a tangle of cloth from his pocket and opened it out to her to reveal the little box that all this fuss had been about. Her stomach flipped, gripped by a sense of excitement and purpose. Moments like this were the reason she had studied archaeology in the first place. It was time to get to work.