Larue saw the look on the Spaniard’s face and removed the cigar from his mouth. “Martin, the American author Richard Evans once wrote that ‘it is in the darkest skies that stars are best seen’. I think that you will agree that the skies have rarely been darker than most recently. Stars that I had previously never noticed have become visible. You have to pick them out while the skies are still dark, lest the opportunity pass you by.”
Jacqueline looked sideways at her partner, but he said nothing to counter his boss.
Instead, he passed Larue the book he had been holding. “I also have this, Monsieur. It’s my own personal copy. I think that you will find it quite interesting.”
Larue took the book and after a quick glance at the cover, opened it. Inside was a dedication. ‘Martín – Good Luck – Dr Turner.” He closed the book and examined the cover again.
“What is this?” he asked.
Martín leant forward and started to explain.
Chapter 33
With a kiss goodbye and a cheery smile, Dr Gail Turner left the house, leaving George sitting at the dining room table with his newspaper.
If there was one thing that had changed over the years, it was her punctuality.
He cleared breakfast away and placed the dirty things in the dishwasher. He selected the Quick Wash option and pushed the door closed.
Picking up his mug of tea he wandered into the living room. The video wall came to life as he picked up the remote control, automatically tuned in to his favourite comedy series. Sitting down on the sofa, he put his legs up on the coffee table and placed his mug on his belly.
There really wasn’t much else for him to do on his day off; the house pretty much took care of itself, not that they made it very messy between the two of them anyway. Gail wouldn’t be home until late that evening after work and it was Monday, so he didn’t need to cook. Monday was always Fish and Chips day.
The traditional British takeaway had almost disappeared at the start of the century, mainly due to dwindling fish stocks in the surrounding seas. But a European-wide restriction on fishing zones had been sufficient to allow the populations of cod in particular to thrive once more. By 2020, whilst fish consumption had fallen drastically, particularly in the Mediterranean states, fish stocks had grown beyond the most optimistic of estimates.
By the time fishing restrictions were relaxed in the mid 2030’s, however, fish had mostly been replaced on Europe’s menus by organic substitutes. The market leader’s product range had been comprised entirely of fish substitutes for over ten years, and they had no plans to change it. This was partly because substitute products were virtually indistinguishable from real fish in terms of taste and texture. Of course, shape didn’t matter because most fish products sold were processed anyway. Their landmark advertising campaign twenty years previously had challenged celebrities to tell the difference between a real fish cake and a fish-substitute one. Not only had they been unable to correctly identify the real fish, but most had preferred the substitute. Once consumers knew this, their products were an instant success. The substitute was nutritious, tasty, and ethical.
Rocketing profits sealed the fate of the fishing industry, the final nail in the coffin for an already crippled sector. Processed fish never returned to the supermarkets again.
But there were some things that technology couldn’t replace, no matter how hard they tried, the traditional Fish and Chips meal being one of them. With fish stocks higher than ever, most expected the price of Cod to reach all-time lows. Unchallenged, you could literally fish them out of the sea with a bucket. But economics never worked as consumers would like, and the drop in competition allowed the few fishing vessels remaining to inflate the asking price as much as they wanted.
Gail and George always had real Fish and Chips on a Monday; it was one of the many luxuries their lifestyle afforded them.
Gail entered her office and turned her computer on. She glanced at the clock: eight-thirty; perfect. Removing her phone from her pocket and placing it on the desk, she pulled the keyboard towards her and opened her email program.
The first email was from George from the previous night. A silly joke as usual, which made her smile and shake her head.
This was followed by half a dozen questions from her students, two of which she answered, the remaining four she flagged to look at later.
Ellie had sent her some pictures the previous day, which she had not had the opportunity to look at yet. She opened the email and scrolled through a series of photos of Ellie, her husband and their two children on holiday in China. The final photo, of her with her grinning youngest son, had the caption ‘Come on, don’t tell me you don’t want one just like this?!’ She hit the reply button and fired off a few short lines, saying how wonderful China looked, how great they looked as a family, and how no, she didn’t want one because she knew all too well what they were like the remaining ninety per cent of the time.
She had time for one more email. It was from David Hunt.
Ever since her discovery in Amarna ten years earlier, the now Professor David Hunt had been the closest colleague of Gail’s at the University. Despite her best assurances to the contrary, he felt that her discovery gave credence to his alternate histories theory, blowing wide open all of the dating that had previously been thought to be true about ancient Egypt. In general, Gail disagreed; she saw no reason why Amarna shouldn’t fit in the context of ancient Egypt without disrupting known dates, a belief that was gladly shared by the Egyptologist community.
David had always been more radical than most, a position that had caused him problems before. Gail was more than aware of the dangers involved, particularly in Egyptology, if she were to try to oppose established facts as he regularly did: in Cairo, it was the first thing that Professor al-Misri had warned her of as the magnitude of their discovery had unfolded.
She scanned through David’s email and grinned. He had something to show her that might change her mind. David always said that, about everything. She switched her display off and stood up, grabbed a pile of notes and books, and left her office.
A few minutes after the door closed her mobile phone, still on the desk, began to ring. Several moments later it stopped, and her office phone rang instead. Then it stopped too.
Seconds later, both of her phones started ringing together.
Chapter 34
The main lecture theatre of the Faculty of Arts had hardly changed in ten years. She looked around the empty seats and thought of all the lectures and study groups she had stumbled into, late. It had all been different on her return from Egypt.
Her thesis had been a breeze, and her findings then fuelled several published articles and a permanent position within the Department of Archaeology. For the University, she had been one of those most rare accomplishments: a home-grown talent that other Faculties would pay handsomely to attract.
Her crowning achievement to date had been the publication of her book, aided by her friend Professor al-Misri, which had cemented her place on the international lecture circuit.
A new batch of first-year students, now into their third month at university, was about to pile through the double doors to her left, followed some time later by the ones that were enjoying student life a little too much, she imagined. For most, it would hopefully be the first of six optional lectures on Egyptology, spread across the first year of their degrees. An all too significant proportion, however, were likely to drop out of university after the Christmas holidays.