Chapter 36
Phyllida had booked a private room at The Anchor for their next meeting and their first talk by a guest speaker.
She’d wanted a venue that was rich in history and The Anchor was famed for being the sole remaining river tavern from Shakespeare’s time.
The room had the air of a tired old stately home, with its wood panelling, long table and high-backed red damask chairs.
Despite its faded grandeur, having the room to themselves made Gemma feel a little bit special – and even more so when Phyllida asked if she could make a toast to her post-divorce future.
It was a little embarrassing but Gemma appreciated her friend’s support.
After that, they had an hour to talk about all things mudlarking (like the popularity of Nick’s gold-painted trowel by other foreshore searchers), and other things that weren’t (like how Phyllida’s husband had started counselling).
Then it was time to greet the guest speaker.
‘Professor Simpson!’ Phyllida said with glee.
‘We’re so pleased you can join us in this quaint pub, with ghosts of the past. I believe we’re in good company: Samuel Pepys, Dr Samuel Johnson, Shakespeare, and most likely a bunch of pirates.
Ha!’ Phyllida’s nerves and excitement were getting the better of her.
‘Thank you, Phyllida. But please call me Rosie.’ The professor was a forty-something woman in an elegant navy suit. For the first time, Gemma wished that she was sometimes required to attend suit-wearing occasions.
‘Of course. Rosie it is. Now let me introduce you to everyone …’
After Phyllida had done the introductions, she sat back down next to Nick and let Rosie take over. Nick slid Phyllida’s wine towards her. She smiled appreciatively.
For forty minutes, Rosie talked to them about the history of glass in Britain and London in particular, sprinkling her lecture with humorous and quirky stories to keep them interested.
Or, in Laila’s case, to prevent her from falling asleep.
Gemma wondered if she’d had a late night.
Nick, by contrast, appeared enamoured. He was leaning on the table, with his head resting in a hand, not taking his eyes off the professor.
Perhaps he’d acquired a new interest in glass.
‘… And that, I hope, will give you a little more insight into the wonderful world of glass in this country,’ Rosie concluded.
‘Now, when you’re out in the field, you’ll be able to recognise different shards of glass and better understand their origins.
If you like, you can follow me at “profrosie” on Instagram and Bluesky.
And I’m soon to launch a YouTube channel. ’
Phyllida burst into a round of clapping. Nick came in a close second, with Gemma and Laila following.
‘Do you have any questions?’ Rosie asked.
Naturally, Phyllida did. She produced a small black iridescent bottle that had lost its bottom. ‘I’d love to know what this may have contained.’
Rosie turned the object over in her hands. ‘Nice. Shame it’s broken. It looks like an apothecary bottle from the seventeenth century. It’s likely to have contained “plague water”, herbs steeped in wine. It did nothing, of course, to stop you getting the plague or to cure you of it.’
‘What I’d like to know is, why was glass, as opposed to other materials, always used for bottles of medicine?’ Nick asked.
‘Good question. It’s Nick, isn’t it?’
He nodded enthusiastically.
‘Basically, glass was found to be less reactive than ceramic, and coloured glass helped protect medicine from light.’
‘Can you find bottles that still have stuff in them?’ Laila had woken up.
‘It’s very rare. It’s not common to find a whole bottle either, most are broken, and it would have to have its stopper, of course.’
Phyllida was then reminded of someone she’d read about who’d found an old perfume bottle with a dribble of fragrance still inside.
Except it smelt so rank, they wished they hadn’t been able to take the top off.
This segued the conversation on to the bad smells sometimes encountered when mudlarking.
Even though it wasn’t Rosie’s expertise, she generously gave them twenty minutes more of her time, and Gemma found herself daydreaming about a new career as an archaeological scientist.
Nick, on the other hand, looked as if he was imagining something else entirely.
Gemma swallowed, as if her throat had suddenly become dry.
Right then, Gemma doubted that his admiration of the professor was solely based on his appreciation of history.
She wasn’t jealous of the professor, was she?
It was ridiculous. Nick was free to admire whomever he wanted, just as she was.
Gemma excused herself to go to the bathroom.
She splashed her face with water, dried it with a paper towel, then took a moment to compose herself.
When she left the bathroom and spotted the professor and Nick talking near the pub entrance, the feeling came back again.
Rosie was standing close to Nick, talking, and he was typing into his phone.
Rosie laughed and touched his arm. Gemma was sure professional speakers didn’t usually do that to members of their audience – or was she reading too much into it?
She turned and hurried back to the private room.
Phyllida was studying Laila’s found luggage tag and giving her tips on how to research it.
Gemma poured herself the last of the water from the carafe and drank.
She told herself to pull it together. Next, she went to find her wine glass.
There was still a puddle of alcohol left.
She threw her head back and drank it down, wishing that the bitter taste in her mouth wasn’t caused by envy.
Where had that suddenly come from? Did she really like Nick?
The thought made her pause for a moment, unsure what to make of it. Or, perhaps she did.
But no! What was she thinking? Having already told herself that she wasn’t ready to get back on the dating scene, the last thing she should do is go to battle for Nick’s attention.
As she poured herself another glass of wine, prudence came to the fore.
Nick would stay a mudlarking friend and that was all.
She was definitely not going to get involved with him. Or with anybody. Absolutely not.