For several seconds Clare just stood and looked at him. With his white sheet, staff of twisted hazel and biker boots, at first glance most people would assume he was, as David had so quaintly put it, ‘away with the fairies’. But there was a quiet certainty and calm about him that Clare found impossible to refuse. And though she didn’t have a religious bone in her body, there was no denying that if anywhere could benefit from a blessing right now, it was Bailsgrove.

‘OK, Crabby. Jo will show you where it’s safe to stand.’

Without warning, Crabby stepped forward and enfolded Clare in a bear hug. As he did so he whispered into her ear, ‘Thank you. You’re a good woman, Clare Hills.’

She couldn’t have explained why if you’d asked her, but as Jo helped Crabby down into the trench Clare felt tears welling up in her eyes. She turned to wipe them away with the back of her hand and as she did so she found herself looking directly at Ben Jackson.

He pointed towards Crabby. ‘Honestly, it won’t take a minute. Then we can be on our way.’

What harm could it do? And if she said no to them filming on-site they were bound to do a piece with Crabby afterwards anyway. She could see the headlines now: ‘Archaeologists refuse access to death site. More bodies found.’ It would run and run. At least this way it would be a positive story.

Finally, she conceded. ‘Fine. But you can’t go into the trench. You’ll have to film from up here.’

Ben Jackson was nodding furiously and waving Sophie towards him. ‘Of course. Fabulous. Sophie, have you got that thing set up yet?’

Clare walked away, leaving Jo to invigilate the proceedings. She might as well go and get the recording sheets from the Portakabin. At least then they’d be able to get on with lifting the skeleton as soon as the news crew had gone. In the event, it took her a while to find out where Jo had put them. And when she left the office to make her way back up to the cutting she could see Ben Jackson hurrying towards her.

She asked, ‘Have you got what you needed, Mr Jackson?’

‘Yes, yes. Crabby was fabulous. Just fabulous. There’s only one more tiny thing that would make it perfect. And then we really will get out of your hair.’

Clare was thinking they’d been in her hair for quite long enough and she wished they’d do as they’d promised and leave. But better not to rile them. She pinned on a smile. ‘And what would that be, Mr Jackson?’

‘Ben, please.’ There was that mile-wide smile again. ‘It’s just that you’ve been so kind letting us film here. It would be great to get your views. A real expert – the person in charge of all this.’