Hibbert was theirneighbour, he’d known Hibbert forfifty years, George was justacting out.
Laurel wasn’t having any of that bullshit.
Hibbert looked at her father across the table in disbelief. She held her breath, because her dad could ruin everything with something as simple as a slight huff. If Hibbert could see that he wasn’t on board, then he would push back, hard.
‘And in return, we won’t press charges, we won’t go to court, and I won’t obtain a restraining order on this occasion,’ she added.
Hibbert looked confused.
‘Why would you need a restraining order, Laurel?’ he asked slowly.
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Because George has been harassing me, and last night was another example of George’s escalating behaviour. I don’t want him anywhere near me. Ever.’
‘Harassing you? You’re fucking delusional,’ George hissed, but she kept her eyes fixed on Old Man Hibbert. He closed his eyes in disappointment.
‘How long do I have to think about it?’
‘David’s coming in,’ she glanced at the clock above George’s head, ‘forty-five minutes.’
A look passed between her father and Hibbert.
‘Come on Laurel, let’s leave them to think,’ her father said authoritatively, standing.
She blinked at him and raised an eyebrow.
What. The. Hell?
Leave them in her office when George Hibbert had literallyjustcommitted industrial sabotage.
She looked back to a defeated Hibbert. He nodded sadly. She took it as a show of good faith, an ‘I won’t look at your business shit and try and destroy you’.
Okay. She could give him that.
Nate
Nate had been for a run, packed up his stuff to move into Robin’s house, checked the site and was now sitting on the grass, watching cows meander lazily around the field. He hadn’t heard from Laurel yet today, and he was waiting to see what she needed him to do with the police.
He unfolded the papers that he’d had Sylvie print and looked over them again. Paul’s dig was looking fantastic. The finds were solid and varied, not going to set the archaeological world on fire, but enhancing and adding to the existing knowledge base. The south of France was a beautiful place to spend a few months.
What would his university say? Would he even be allowed? Probably not, and besides, did he even want to? Leave Little Willow Farm, leave this dig?
His smartwatch vibrated, and again, and he shuffled his phone out of his pocket.
‘Paul, just thinking about you,’ Nate said, smiling down the phone at his old friend. ‘How’s Angeline?’
‘She’s perfect, mate, really good. Can’t wait for you to meet her,’ he said.
‘Me too, mate, me too.’ He was genuinely happy for Paul.
‘Have you thought anymore about France?’ Paul asked.
Nate held up the papers as if Paul could see him. The cows mooed in response.
‘Yeah, I have, and it looks perfect, your dig looks amazing.’
‘But?’ Paul could obviously hear the hesitation in his voice.
‘But I can’t,’ Nate said. ‘I can’t leave here. We’ve got an Anglo-Saxon burial, we’ve got gold. It’s going to be big. I can’t leave.’
