though I had offered him maggots. âWe had a working lunch there and then we all went on to our destinations. Some of the archaeology guys are already camping at the location.â He tapped the side of his nose. âStill a secret. So anyone could have got at my bag. I had it with me at the table.â
âNot just Cy then.â
âNo, but heâs the one going on about my drinking. I had one drink of that last night and felt myself slipping away.â
âPerhaps sleeping tablets then. How are you feeling now?â
âA bit slow but not too bad. Splitting headache but I took some painkillers. If I can keep the coffee down Iâll get through it. How do I look? Thatâs much more important.â
Actors. âNothing five minutes in make-up wonât cure,â I said truthfully. âYou said two thoughts occurred to you last night, what was the other one?â
âThe other one,â Middleton said as he slipped on his jacket, âwas that since it was a thirty-six-year-old Glenfiddich and Iâd paid nearly a grand for it ten years ago when I could still afford such things, I was going to try it sooner or later anyway.â
âWhoever is doing this has a fine sense of humour. Because they probably knew you would try it anyway.â
âWhat they wanted was to make me feel stupid. Which they succeeded in doing.â
âAnd they wanted you to miss a morningâs filming.â
âWhich they failed to do. Iâm ready. Letâs go.â Middleton strode from his suite, head held high. I poured the biscuits into my jacket pocket and followed him.
I drove towards the Roman Baths as fast as traffic would allow. âWhat would Cy have to gain by spiking your drink? Surely it would ruin his day as well.â
âHe wants to find a good enough reason to get rid of me. Heâs not exactly coy about wanting me gone; he thinks the show needs a younger presenter and preferably one with better tits. This stuff goes out in the States and the network over there put that particular flea in his ear. Heâs got a few fleas of his own, naturally, like all those kids brought up on computer games.â
âCanât he get rid of you in a legitimate way?â
âMy contract is watertight. As long as I continue to deliver thereâs no way they can replace me.â
âAnyone else who might like to see you gone?â
âNo idea. Finding out is
your
job.â
Was it? I was beginning to wish I had read through the contract before I signed it.
The same monosyllabic guard let us in and I led the way downstairs. âHave you been here before?â I asked Guy.
âOnly as a very small kid. I barely remember it. Iâve seen it on telly though. Warm in here, isnât it?â The projected Romans still spooked wordlessly on walls and in niches.
It happened just as we approached the spotlit golden head of Sulis Minerva in its narrow glass vitrine. Out went the lights with a distant bang, plunging us into total darkness. Behind me Guy sounded panicked. âShit, whatâs happened? Oh shit, shit, shit. Honeysett, where are you?â He suddenly sounded very small. His groping hand found me and grabbed my leg.
âIâm here, hang on.â I dug around in my leather jacket and laid my hands on my tiny Maglite. I pointed the feeble beam behind me. Middleton was crouching on the floor against the Plexiglas edging of the walkway. He looked genuinely scared. âYou all right?â
He stood up now, letting out a long breath. âYes. Yes, Iâm fine now, just donât go anywhere with that torch. Terrified of dark places, is all. Always have been. Not always easy in this job. Dark outside â fine. Dark inside â panic.â
âYes, I can see that could be a bit tricky.â
âThey shoehorned me into some dark and evil Roman sewers up in York once so I could talk about Roman poo. I had nightmares for
Bret Witter, Luis Carlos Montalván