Page 4 of Where We Belong

‘Don’t do that, dear,’ she admonished gently as she reached for the half-drunk cup of coffee on Cam’s desk. ‘You’ll give yourself a headache.’

‘I didn’t get the funding,’ Cam grumbled, knowing he sounded as hard done by as one of his first-year students whining about a poor grade.

‘That’s a shame,’ Mrs Cotteridge said in the same no-nonsense tone. ‘Do buck up, there’s a visitor outside and you’re the only one available.’

Cam tilted his head up to glare at Mrs Cotteridge. ‘I’m not available. I’ve got far too much work to do.’ The look he received would’ve done Medusa proud and he dropped his forehead back on his desk in case she really did have the power to turn him to stone. ‘Where’s Barnie?’ he mumbled, referring to his best friend and former roommate when the two of them had been undergraduates. ‘Can’t he deal with it?’

‘Dr Barnard is busy writing his end-of-term reports, not sulking about like a wet weekend.’

‘Ouch.’ Sitting up, Cam pressed a hand to his heart. ‘Direct hit, Mrs C.’

Mrs Cotteridge clucked her tongue, but her stony gaze softened somewhat. ‘I know you were banking everything on that funding for the summer, but perhaps you didn’t get it for a reason.’ Before Cam could even begin to fathom out her cryptic comment, Mrs Cotteridge raised her voice and called out, ‘Dr Ferguson will see you now, Miss Travers.’ Giving Cameron a wink – a wink! Had she been on the gin? – she turned on her heel and walked the five paces that carried her out of his office.

She’d barely cleared the door when she was replaced by a woman so stunningly pretty that he forgot all about his bitter disappointment over the committee’s funding rejection. With her long dark hair bound up in a thick ponytail and her casual T-shirt and jeans, she looked at first glance as though she might be a student. The instant flash of attraction burned to ash. Cameron had very strict rules when it came to his private life. He’d been on the end of more than one student crush, and had found them excruciatingly awkward to deal with.

One of the reasons Mrs Cotteridge was such a godsend was her instinctive radar for such things. She was always kind and protective towards the students involved while gently repelling any requests for one-to-one tutorials and the like. The crushes never lasted long, and Cam didn’t flatter himself that he was anything particularly special in the looks department. University was a big step up for many young people and they were bound to try to stretch their wings a little bit.

He studied the woman standing before him with the same eye for small details that he used when out on a dig. There was a confidence to her stance, a tilt to her head that said she considered him an equal and he revised her age up by several years.

Realising he’d been silent for longer than could be considered polite, Cam jumped to his feet, almost knocking his chair flying in his haste. ‘Good morning, Miss…’ his mind blanked on the name Mrs Cotteridge had given. Damn, damn, damn! Get a grip, Ferguson.

‘Travers, Hope Travers.’ Holding out a hand, she entered his office. ‘I’m not interrupting anything important, I hope?’ No, whoever she was, she was definitely not a student.

Cam shook her hand and released it, noting in the brief moment of contact how nicely her palm tucked into his own. ‘Cameron. Ferguson. My friends call me Cam.’ Oh, God, why had he said that? Feeling ridiculously flustered, Cam dropped back into his chair and gestured towards her. ‘Please have a seat.’

With a raised eyebrow, he saw Miss Travers take in the cluttered disaster zone that was his office. Books, papers and plaster cast specimens littered every available surface, including, he noticed with a wince, a tottering stack of research books he’d checked out of the library and dumped on the chair he used for visitors. ‘Sorry.’

Bouncing back up, Cam rounded his desk and gathered up the pile. He turned in a circle, hunting in vain for an alternative space to put them. ‘It’s not always this chaotic,’ he lied, not wanting her to believe the worst of him. A human chaos bomb, that’s what Barnie called him. He did try to keep on top of things, but somehow he ended up getting distracted and before he knew it, things were a mess again. The only place he practised ruthless discipline was when he was out on site. So many of their finds were delicate fragments, easily lost or damaged. One act of carelessness could ruin an entire summer’s work. He shot Miss Travers an apologetic smile. ‘End of term and all that. I need a good clear-out.’

‘It’s fine, I’m the one who should be apologising for turning up unannounced.’ Miss Travers swept a hand behind her as though she was more used to wearing a skirt or a dress that needed smoothing down rather than jeans and a T-shirt, and sat down, crossing her legs at the ankles. The action drew attention to the heavy work boots on her feet. They looked new, for all the treads on the soles had some mud embedded in them. Miss Travers was a whole lot of contradictions.

Realising he was still standing, Cam hurried back behind his desk, dumping the reference books on the floor for want of anywhere else to put them. Folding his arms atop his desk, he leaned forward and tried to remember he was a professional, even if he’d given Miss Travers no sign of it so far. ‘So, how can I help you today?’

Miss Travers rocked over onto one hip, leaning back at the same time to give herself enough room to reach a hand into her pocket. The action pushed her breasts forward against the dark navy cotton of her T-shirt and Cam averted his gaze. What was wrong with him? He’d been alone in his tiny cubbyhole of an office with dozens of women and never once been as aware of them as he was of Miss Travers. Something clicked softly on the surface of his desk and Cam turned back. One glance at the small, dark object Miss Travers had placed on his desk had Cam fumbling in the top drawer of his desk for his glasses. He shoved them on and reached for the object, his fingers freezing inches from the dark, dirt-encrusted treasure. ‘Where did you find this?’

He heard rather than saw her sit forward, his eyes still glued on what she’d brought to him. ‘Do you know what it is?’

‘Possibly.’ Spinning around in his chair, he started pulling the kit he needed from the cabinet behind him. A soft toothbrush, a finds tray, a wooden toothpick and a cloth. Setting them before him on the desk, he reached for the object, froze again and looked at Miss Travers. ‘May I?’

She gave a little shrug. ‘Of course.’

Cam placed the item in the finds tray and studied it for a long moment before he rummaged through the cluttered contents of his desk drawer and retrieved a jeweller’s loupe. Using the handheld magnifier, he examined the find once more, flipping it over to check both sides. It was in remarkably good condition, even covered in dirt as it was. Using the toothbrush, Cam began to gently brush the item, the soft bristles following the grooves on the convex side of the find. Swapping the toothbrush for the toothpick, he scraped the underside, loosening the worst of the lump of dirt that had filled the little hollow. It would need a proper clean in the conservation lab, but he’d done enough for now to confirm his first impression. He placed it on the cloth then held it out to show Miss Travers.

‘It’s a seashell,’ she said, voice filled with wonder.

‘A scallop shell,’ he clarified. ‘It’s a pilgrim badge, a symbol of St James the Apostle.’

‘A badge?’

Cam nodded. ‘See the little loop at the top? It would be pinned to a cap or threaded onto a piece of leather and worn around the neck.’ He looked up at Miss Travers once more. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘At home. On a construction site.’ She reached for the badge. ‘Can I have another look now it’s clean?’

He wanted to say no, but he didn’t want to risk putting her back up before he knew more about where she’d found it. ‘Sure, but probably best to keep it on the cloth. It’s made of lead, so you should wash your hands before you eat or drink anything to be on the safe side. I’ll also need to pack it properly before it starts to corrode.’ When she opened her palm, Cam extended his to meet it, sliding the cloth across until the badge rested in the centre of her hand. The tips of their fingers grazed in the process and Cam found himself curling his hand closed as though he could somehow trap the sensation.

‘You said you found it at home, Miss Travers?’ he prompted, watching as she turned her hand this way and that, her gaze transfixed on the little shell.

‘Please, call me Hope, and yes, I found it on the grounds. I live at Juniper Meadows.’ She said it like he was supposed to recognise the name. When he didn’t respond, she lifted her eyes to meet his, her lips curled into a smile. ‘I suppose someone in your field might recognise its more formal name – Stourton Hall.’

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