If this was Beth Kinsella’s idea of how to run a dig, they were going to have an even more difficult job on their hands than she’d thought. And to cap it all she didn’t even have any staff yet to help her sort it out. They’d picked up the job so fast there hadn’t been time to recruit anyone, and given the reason Beth’s dig had come to such an abrupt halt, Clare suspected it wasn’t going to be easy to pull a team together.

She puffed out her cheeks. One thing at a time, Clare. Before she could even begin to contemplate trying to hire anyone she needed to get the site office into some sort of order. Then she might have a better idea of what the real size of the task was. Focusing her attention first on the thick layer of dried mud that carpeted the floor, she searched in vain for a broom. In the end she found a brush and hand shovel in the back of the tool shed, and a floor cloth and bucket from beneath the sink of the euphemistically named ‘comfort unit’. But it took her the best part of an hour – and the application of a not insignificant amount of elbow grease to remove the worst of the muck from the tattered lino. She’d spent the rest of the morning rehousing the record sheets into their respective box files and ring binders, then bagging up all the bits of bone, pot and metalwork and filing them neatly into several trays that now lay on the desk in front of her.

Feeling distinctly pleased with her efforts she settled down to reward herself with lunch in the shape of a somewhat unappetising egg and tomato sandwich purchased from a petrol station on the interminable journey to site from her flat in Salisbury. She’d just taken her first bite when she heard a car pull up outside. Reluctantly shoving her sandwich back into its packet, she stood up. But before she could get as far as the door it flew open, clattering back against the flimsy Portakabin wall. A burly, ruddy-cheeked man in his mid-fifties thrust himself into the Portakabin.

‘Can I help you?’

‘You can if you’re able to tell me where I’ll find Clare Hills.’

She had no idea who he was, but she’d already decided she wasn’t warming to him. ‘You’re speaking to her.’

He looked her up and down, as if weighing up a slightly unsatisfactory purchase. ‘You! Christ, are your lot all cut from the same cloth?’

Clare could feel her face flush. ‘Look, I’m not sure who you are, but maybe you should start by telling me what business you’ve got charging in here like this.’

‘I’m the bloke who’s paying your wages, love.’