‘No.’
Laurel started to stand, but Rebecca grabbed her arm and forced her to sit down.
‘Yes,’ she said forcefully. ‘If you’re not going to listen to me, the least you can do is sit here for five minutes.’
‘I hate you,’ Laurel said, not meaning it.
Rebecca shrugged. ‘Whatever, sister-in-law.’
‘Yes, that’s right, Katie. The Anglo-Saxon burial in this field is an exciting and captivating find,’ on-screen-Nate said. His voice was brittle but calm as he talked about the various finds that had been pulled out of the ground.
‘But something else has caused quite a stir in the archaeological world recently, hasn’t it?’ Reporter Katie was serious and Nate nodded gravely.
‘You may remember that Dr Daley was a guest on our show ten years ago, with his ground-breaking interpretation of a Pictish writing implement that could indicate that the Picts were a lot more educated than we gave them credit for.’ Laurel clenched her teeth and rolled her eyes. ‘Can you tell us what’s happened?’
Nate looked at the camera.
‘It’s recently come to light that the paper that was published under mine and someone else’s name plagiarised an undergraduate’s work.’
‘Tell us why this is a big deal, Dr Daley,’ Reporter Katie carried on, drawing the story out of him.
‘This undergraduate had her work stolen and has never received credit for her ideas or work. Actually, I’ve been in touch with the publishers who are issuing a statement and removing the paper from publication. I hope that I will be able to collaborate with her to hone and shape this paper the way she originally envisaged it.’
The publishers were retracting it? Was he saying he didn’t know about it? Surely he wouldn’t be spouting this unless he was one hundred percent sure that it wouldn’t be proved otherwise. He wants to work together on rewriting the paper?
This was a lot of information for Laurel to take in.
Sylvie reached across Rebecca and shoved the paperwork she had been holding into Laurel’s hands. It was the front cover of the extract of the Pictish stylus paper with her name there, in bright, bold letters, just underneath Nate’s.
Not Alex’s. Hers.
A Post-it note scrawled in Nate’s handwriting was stuck haphazardly across the title:
It’s not settled yet, but this is what I’m pushing for. I honestly didn’t know. I would never have let him. N
‘But there’s more, isn’t there, Dr Daley?’
Laurel’s attention snapped back to the TV screen, where reporter Katie’s face was plastered with a smug grin.
‘Yes, Katie, there is.’ Nate took a breath. ‘I’m going away to give the author some space because, understandably, this has been a big shock to her. But when I’m back I hope she forgives me, because…’ He looked straight at the camera, directly at her. ‘I am in love with her, and I can’t live without her.’
Laurel stood and the mocked up paper fluttered to the ground.
The world fell away.
‘Where is he?’
Nate
The taxi had been late because it was hammering down. Yes, the British rain had well and truly found its way to Little Houghton and the back roads were slippery and pot-holed, and half of them were built on peat so they shifted uncertainly every time there was a downpour. He should be at the train station by now, it would be leaving in five minutes. Well, there was always the next one. Jess and Owen wouldn’t mind if he was late.
Giving Laurel some space would be the best thing. Little Willow was her home and he had to let her work through this herself. Nate had thought of going to Paul in the south of France, but what if she wanted him? What if she needed him? It would take a day to get back to her, rather than a couple of hours on the train.
Nate’s eyes were rusty from lack of sleep and his beard was too long.
He checked his phone again. Nothing.
Surely Laurel would have seen it by now? Rebecca and Sylvie had promised. They’d promised.
