Neil blinked behind his spectacles, coming back to himself with an uncomfortable jolt.Where on earth had that notion come from?
Constance was an objectively lovely woman—but she was still the danger gnome, the diminutive monster that had wreaked havoc over his childhood.They were friends—just a couple of mates.
It was one thing to be mates and be aware that one of you happened to be exceptionally attractive.It was something else to vividly imagine sliding your hands up your mate’s skirt while her ample breasts heaved against your chest.
“Drink, Stuffy?”Constance pressed, staring at him with a wary look that made Neil wonder how many times she had already asked.
Blood rushed to the tips of his ears.
“Beer,” he blurted out automatically.
Neil hardly ever drank and had never been any good at it.At least a beer wasn’t particularly strong.
The bartender handed him a glass.Neil jerked up his arm to accept it.
His first sip was appropriately bitter.
Constance grasped Neil’s arm to lead him away—but they were stopped by a voice from behind them.
“Hold on.Is that Neil Fairfax?”
The plummy tones resonated with an uncomfortable familiarity.With a creeping feeling of unease, Neil turned.
A tall, thin man with ruddy hair and freckled skin sat at the bar.He wore a beard, and there were more lines at the corners of his eyes, but Neil still recognized him, memories flashing up from his years at Cambridge.
The man before him had played squash.Studied engineering.His father was a professor.Neil had bonded with him over a passing interest in botany.He’d been a decent bloke, though they’d never been particularly close.They hadn’t had enough in common, besides the ferns.
“Fletcher.”The name popped to Neil’s lips with a vague discomfort.“Rennie Fletcher.”
“It is you!”Fletcher exclaimed, rising from his stool to extend a hand.
Neil took it automatically.The smile he forced onto his face felt like glass, but must have been passable, as Fletcher answered it with a more genuine grin of his own.
Neil’s question was a little more pointed than it ought to have been.“What on earth are you doing here?”
Constance cast Neil a concerned look.
“I’ve been in India for five years now,” Fletcher cheerfully replied.“I’m practically a fixture at this point.They’ve got me on railroads, mostly, with a bit of bridge work here and there.But what are you doing out this way?I thought you were supposed to be in Egypt!”
I was,Neil thought distantly.But then I abandoned my dig, betrayed the trust of my funders, and left the post in disgrace.
His murderous idiot ex-employer had admittedly had a bit to do with it, but that was hardly the sort of thing one brought up in a chat at a bar.
Nor could Neil entirely absolve himself of responsibility for what had followed after.
“You know how these things go,” Neil weakly answered.
“Do I ever!”Fletcher chuckled.“Fair warning—once you put down roots here, it’s damned hard to pull them out.Mine was only supposed to be a two-year posting, and look at me now.”
An uncomfortable silence lingered.
“This is Miss Tyrrell,” Neil blurted out, remembering himself.“I’ve been traveling with her and her grandmother.”
Fletcher gave a neat bow over Constance’s hand.“Charmed.So are you on another dig, then?Something here in Odisha?”
Sweat started to bead on Neil’s forehead.“I’m actually between excavations at the moment.”
“Doing a bit of scouting, eh?Always was a little jealous of your line.Digging up ancient treasures must be a spot more interesting than studying water tables for laying track beds.”
