A MESSAGE THROUGH TIME
Genevieve watched the shifting layers of cloud and mountain. The muted palette of blue-greys and peaty greens was soothing, but still she was distracted.
‘You OK, love?’ Christopher, her husband, asked as he turned their old Land Rover off the mountain pass. They were leading a convoy of vehicles down a farm track, and with each rut they hit, the usual excitement grew within the party of archaeologists and students.
‘Genevieve?’ Christopher prompted.
‘Mm?’ she answered absently. ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘It will happen when it happens,’ he said. ‘You can’t rush nature. It has to take its own course.’
‘THE HILLS HAVE AN AURA THAT DRAWS YOU IN’
They’d been trying for a baby for almost a year now. If it didn’t happen soon, they’d have to consult a fertility specialist.
She smiled sadly but said nothing, and turned to look out of the window. It was spring, and the fields, littered with primroses, were set against a backdrop of Welsh mountains. This was an ancient, mystical landscape, and she always felt the presence of the past whenever they came to this part of the country. It seemed closer somehow, as if she could reach out and touch history through some unseen, magical void.
The track opened out into a gravel drive, which wrapped around a stone farmhouse. In a matter of seconds, the space was full of cars and trucks belonging to the archaeological team.
Two faces appeared at the window of the farmhouse, which was wreathed in furry catkins. The signs of spring were everywhere, and Genevieve’s mood lifted.
Christopher cut the ignition. ‘Better go and make introductions,’ he said, getting out of the car. As Site Director, it was his responsibility to liaise with the landowner.
Genevieve felt a rush of affection as she watched her husband shake hands with the farmer before the two men disappeared into outbuildings.
She jumped down from the
