Their backgrounds could hardly be further apart, their expectations in life more different. And there is nothing in the first meeting between the conference planner and the university lecturer which suggests they should expect or even want to connect again. But they have more in common than they could ever have imagined. Both have unresolved issues from the past which have marked them; both have an archaeological puzzle they want to solve. Their stories intertwine and they discover together that treasure isn’t always what it seems.
Purchase Links
UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07SN5NWJ2
US - https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07SN5NWJ2
Excerpt Two
Buried Treasure is a story told in alternate, dedicated chapters from the point of view of Jane Smith and Dr Theo Tyler.
Jane grew up in the shadow of her sister, Rachel, who is seven years older. Feeling incapable of emulating her sister’s academic success, Jane left school at fifteen.
In this flashback to her first proper job at the head office of ‘Lew Chapman – Roofing Solutions’ in Bedford, she is on a rotation to gain experience in various departments. Jane has developed a crush on the boss but, deeply unselfconfident, she has no illusions that he might ever even notice her.
Referred to in-house as ‘Grumbles Corner’, the Customer Relations Department was in reality a partially screened space where Jane – on the junior training scheme – was currently assisting Rosemary Burton, the department manager. The Chief Executive’s defences were rarely penetrated by complaints, but on that day Lew Chapman’s PA - the final barrier between him and any annoyance - was on holiday, Rosemary Burton was sick and Jane was away from her desk when the post was brought round. A letter of complaint had found its way to his penthouse office.
When Jane returned to her desk, a message was on the computer screen - an instruction from Chapman himself to do ‘the usual’. Attached was a scan of the complainant’s hand-written letter. She’d never been expected to reply to a correspondent without guidance. Wanting to demonstrate initiative, Jane opened the file of complaints. She soon realised that the usual formulaic response would not answer the man’s issues. Eventually she replied to Lew Chapman: “Should I forward the letter to the Installations Manager?”
Time passed and it was only after lunch that another message arrived - “Don’t bother Brian with this.” There was an accompanying rough draft which contained most of the stock disclaimers and regrets.
Bringing up a new headed template Jane typed up Chapman’s draft letter, tidying it up as she was expected to, typing in the recipient’s address, the date, and organising it into paragraphs. But then she could not resist rearranging it, adding and subtracting apostrophes, correcting the spelling and grammar. She sent it back for the boss to approve. Instead of signing-off on the letter, he made further amendments. Again, she could not let it leave the office unedited. The letter ping-ponged between them, then there was a pause.
The background drone - chatter, drawers opening and closing, tapping keys, the rattle of printers - was hardly noticed until it ceased. At the sudden silence Jane looked up.
‘You keep correcting what I’ve written.’ Lew Chapman was standing by the partition, a glint of something - anger, amusement? - in his pale blue eyes. ‘Are you some kind of grammar Nazi?’ He tapped the print-out rhythmically against his palm. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone as nit-picky as you!’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Chapman.’ She tried to control the tremor in her voice. ‘I’m only junior.... If you want your last draft to go out…?’ ‘No, no. I bow to your superior knowledge.’ A good-looking man, Lew Chapman’s dark hair was only just beginning to grey at the temples. His tanned complexion looked moisturised, his hands manicured. ‘Junior? You are on our training programme?’
‘Yes, but I’m on my own here today. Rosemary ... the Customer Relations Manager, is off sick and her deputy is on maternity leave.’
‘How long have you been with us?’
‘About a year.’
His eyebrows lifted a fraction. ‘But.... How old are you?’
‘Nearly eighteen.’
‘And you left school when? At sixteen?’’
‘Nearly. But I did do my GCSEs,’ she added quickly, trying to read his expression, unsure whether he was impressed or horrified to be corrected by her.
‘You’re far more particular than my PA, who’s a graduate. So, why didn’t you go on to further education if you’re so hot on your grammar?’
‘I’m not, not really. It just grates if it doesn’t sound right.’ ‘Grates eh? You know how to put a man in his place.’
‘Sorry, wrong word, but....’
‘You’re unusual. Most would let it go.’
‘Most wouldn’t notice. It’s because I’ve never learnt to touch-type. The other girls are on autopilot. They couldn’t tell you what the letter they’re typing is about, let alone whether it makes sense. When I type, it goes through my brain first...’
‘That’s your theory?’
‘Sorry, yes. That’s how I noticed. And with this letter....’ She paused and blushed, suddenly very aware that if she said what was in her mind, he could make life difficult.
‘Go on?’
‘It doesn’t actually answer the gist of his complaint.’
‘What?’ He looked as if he was either about to laugh or shout. ‘You’re not yet eighteen and you think I’m fobbing off Mr...’ He glances down at the letter. ‘Mr Gray, by telling him to take up his complaint with his builder? People have every right not to use our professional installation services, but it’s a false economy.’ The rhythmic tapping of print-out against palm began again. ‘Most failures of our roofing membrane are due to incorrect installation.’
‘But not all...’ Suddenly very aware of the disparity in their positions, and not just his height, she felt vulnerable. If querying his letter was her only fault, he surely couldn’t sack her? But he could make her life very uncomfortable. His eyes travelled from the top of her head to her feet and back.
‘I think I’d better make a site visit, don’t you?’ Laying his hand on her shoulder, he squeezed. ‘Why don’t you come along with me?’
Author Bio – Gilli Allan began to write in childhood - a hobby pursued throughout her teenage. Writing was only abandoned when she left home, and real life supplanted the fiction.
After a few false starts she worked longest and most happily as a commercial artist, and only began writing again when she became a mother.
Living in Gloucestershire with her husband Geoff, Gilli is still a keen artist. She draws and paints and has now moved into book illustration. Currently published by Accent Press, each of her books, TORN, LIFE CLASS and FLY or FALL has won a ‘Chill with a Book’ award.
Following in the family tradition, her son, historian Thomas Williams, is also a writer. His most recent work, published by William Collins, is ‘Viking Britain’.
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http://gilliallan.blogspot.com
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I must apologise for acknowledging your contribution to my Blog Blitz until now.
ReplyDeleteThank you very much for including an extract from BURIED TREASURE. gx
Not a problem Gilli! My pleasure!
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