The black cat was now sitting on the patio by the pink tall-stemmed anemones, washing its white paws with studied concentration. Lucy could see Johnny out at the front of the barn, carrying a ruler and some string, presumably getting ready to measure out a test pit for the next stage of the dig. He and Finn must be planning to get a couple of hours of work in before they went out.

Lucy read for a bit, had a long soak in the frankly sumptuous wooden bath that Verity had had installed upstairs, chose her clothes with care—a belted green and cream floral poplin dress and her favorite sandals—and put on a dusting of blusher and a bit of lipstick. By then it was almost ten fifteen so she walked slowly up to Gunpowder Cottage, admiring the Queen Anne’s lace and the poppies entangled on the grassy banks at the side of the path. The morning felt hot now, the early dew banished by the blaze of the sun.

She found Finn, Johnny and Geoffrey in the courtyard, where Geoffrey was reluctantly being buckled into a dog harness and secured in the notional back seat of a sleek, fast convertible that already had the top down.

“This is not a practical car,” Lucy said. “Are you sure there’s room for us all?”

Finn laughed. “I don’t know your aunt as well as you do,” he said, “but from what I’ve heard it’s in character for her to have a sports car.” He finished fastening a disgruntled Geoffrey in, and straightened up. “I’m sure we’ll all fit. I do have a Land Rover to transport all my gear but I thought this would be more comfortable today.”

“I don’t know where you got that idea from.” Johnny was looking critically at the miniscule space next to Geoffrey. “I doubt I can fit my legs in there, never mind the rest of me.”

“I’ll go in the back—” Lucy started to say, but Johnny had already folded himself into the space in contradiction of his words.

“Does Geoffrey like the wind in his ears?” Lucy asked as she got into the passenger seat. She whipped a scarf out of her bag—she didn’t want to arrive looking completely disheveled. Unlike Cleo, it wasn’t a look she could carry off.

“He seems to enjoy it,” Finn said, sliding in beside her. Immediately the car felt a lot smaller. Lucy was glad that the top was down; it would be almost unbearably intimate to be so close to Finn otherwise. She was ridiculously aware of him, which felt even less appropriate with both Johnny and Geoffrey breathing down her neck like dual chaperones.

“You’re right, of course,” she said, stroking the soft-as-butter leather seat. “This is vintage Verity. She’s very cool.”

“She must have been a great auntie to have as a kid,” Finn said.

“She was.” Lucy smiled reminiscently. “She spoke to me and Cleo as though we were adults right from the start. She was such a role model too, a real high achiever. I think I got my drive and ambition from her...” She stopped. She still had drive and ambition but she didn’t know what she was aiming for anymore. Soon she was going to have to decide. Her small savings were only going to last a short while longer.