heads, they are now quiet. “Yes, we know.” whispers Daniel
TC: “Awkward” are you there? Please say yes.
PF: “I’m here, what’s going on?” That was quick.
TC: “I think Liza might be falling for Daniels older Brother” can you imagine the scene around the table at Xmas?
PF: “Have to say, I’m quite enjoying my own Pearce boy right now too” shameful.
TC: “Wish I was, it’s like Pony Club Camp here without the ponies, and too many grown-ups” can you imagine?
PF: “Can't you get him alone for twenty minutes?” If only, change the subject quickly.
TC: “Where the bloody hell are you anyway?” Answer me.
PF: “Messy subject change, we’ll speak about that later, have no idea where we are, but it’s fun” glad for her.
TC: “Every detail please, when we meet” and I mean every detail.
Back in the room there’s mumbling between the brothers, Daniel finally admits, “are you thinking what I’m thinking?” He asks his Brother.
“I’m trying not to Danny.” He rolls his eyes. Silence, if you could hear brains working there’d be a room of gentle ticking noises and soft whirring, as we decrypt the puzzle. They look around the room we sit in.
“That Dad didn’t perish under that mountain,” he pauses for effect, “he escaped and lived here.” Makes sense.
Stan steps forward clearing his throat for effect, “yes, yes, to keep you all away from the harm” he says. “He knew trouble would rain down on you when you discovered what your tattoos meant.” He looks at the two boys, waiting for a reaction to this news, which Stan knew all along.
“This is unbelievable,” from Liza, emerging from the library clutching a heavily bound leather book, reading to herself. Everyone looks up at her, but it’s not her revelation they are wondering about, she's just the focal point for their thinking. She stops just as she’s about to say something and stays still and quiet.
Stan continues, “he knew you’d come searching, people want that idol,” he looks over at the bodies strung up like a joint of beef ready for roasting, I shudder at the thought. “Your Dad was protecting you.” Stan says as if that’s the end of the story nothing more to say, and goes back to checking his equipment like nothing's happened.
“From Steffi and Emilio?” Daniel looks at me questioningly because maybe I could sense the answer.
“From that family, going back years.” Adds Stan kneeling by his rucksack rummaging about in it, is he really looking for something or is it a distraction?
“It all seems so unbelievable,” adds Nigel following Liza from the neatly stuffed bookcases, he fails to sense any conversation in progress, so blasts away with his own discovery. “Such a complex series of puzzle pieces,” he says to the room in general, not looking up from the hefty volume cradled across his forearm with reverence. “What were the chances anyone would have discovered the gold idol?” He shakes his head at the text, his glasses slip to the end of his nose, pushing them back onto his face he adds “zero chance I’d say.” And finally looking up he notices all eyes on him, wondering what he is rattling about.
Sensing he has everyone’s attention finally, and making a point about good comedy he removes his glasses slowly and cleans them on his handkerchief, we now can't wait to hear what he’s going to say, that’s the art of timing, he should have been in the theatre. “This is an old family thing obviously,” he slips his glasses back on his face, blinking a few times to make sure the lenses are clear. “It all started long ago when the original discoverer of the box.” He looks back down at the book, and gently closes it up with a slight ‘poof’ sound of escaping air between the leaves. “Your ancestor Daniel” he sits down, turning his head, “and Kurt,” and next he's dunking a rich tea in his teacup.
Nigel continues, “Kurt,” he makes a point with his biscuit, “he hid the box containing the golden sacred eagle under this mountain,” he sips from his cup, makes a face because it’s luke warm by now. “But another knew where he hid it, and I expect these here,” pointing his tea at the tied bodies, “are from that family or knew the stories of that family.” He takes a large gulp of cold tea just as I offer the pot to top it up, and reaches for a biscuit, “every family has histories and secrets that are passed