Give her a break. That wasn’t why people got married.
Then again, marrying for love hadn’t exactly worked for her, had it? Her marriage hadn’t survived its final crisis.
‘Why do you need to get married anyway?’ she asked.
‘Because I need to get a job.’
‘This is beginning to feel like Alice Through the Looking Glass. The harder I try to understand this, the weirder it seems.’ She shook her head. ‘Apart from the fact that you don’t need to get married to get a job, why do you even need a job in the first place? You’re loaded.’
Alex waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s got nothing to do with money.’
‘So what, then?’
‘It’s complicated,’ he hedged.
She leaned back against the sofa. ‘You’re not getting out of it that easily, Alex. Explain. Why do you need to get married?’
‘Because of this job. It’s perfect, Bel—Chief Archaeological Consultant for a firm that works with all the big property developers. When the developers plan to build on a site and discover remains of some structure they hadn’t even known existed, or we already know there are remains in the area that need to be conserved or recorded before any development work can start, I’d be in charge of a team of archaeologists who’d excavate the site.’
‘A desk job, you mean?’ She shook her head, scoffing. ‘No way. You’d last five minutes before you came down with a case of terminal boredom.’
‘It’s not a desk job. I’ll be doing the initial site visits and setting up the exploration, liaising with planning officers and talking people into giving us more time than they really want to for excavation work. Plus I’d be talking to the press, explaining the significance of the find.’
Put that way, it sounded just the sort of thing he’d enjoy doing. Alex would love the chance to be the first one in maybe hundreds of years to discover something. And the time pressure to excavate the site as thoroughly but as quickly as possible, so the builders could finish their job on schedule, would just add to the thrill for him. He thrived on being too busy.
‘I still don’t understand why you need a job. Aren’t you going to do the Hunter stuff any more?’
‘Of course I am.’ He shrugged. ‘But it’s only for a few weeks a year.’
She understood where he was coming from. Alex was a workaholic—it was the only way to explain how he managed to pack more into two days than the average person did in a working week—and he liked it that way. ‘In other words, not enough to keep you busy and out of mischief.’
He laughed. ‘Exactly. I could do more TV work, I suppose, but I’ve talked to my agent and I agree with him that overexposure would be a mistake. It’s better to keep the series the length it is and leave people wanting more, rather than them seeing my face and thinking, Oh, no, not him again, and switching off. So I need something else to keep me occupied.’
‘What about your articles?’
He shrugged. ‘As you say, a desk job would drive me crazy. I need something with a lot of variety.’
‘Lecturing, then? If you had tutorial groups as well, that’d give you the variety because your students would all be different.’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘I’ve had offers, but to be honest I don’t really want to teach.’
Isobel frowned. ‘What’s wrong with what you do now?’
‘Nothing. I love freelancing. But I’m thirty-five, Bel. I need to be realistic about the future. In ten or twenty years I’m not going to want to spend hours at a time on my knees in a trench in the pouring rain. So I want to make the right career move now, while all my options are still wide open.’
It was a fair point, although Isobel thought Alex had enough strength of personality to make his own opportunities. She had a feeling there was a bit more to it than what he was telling her, but she couldn’t work out what. A relationship that had gone wrong? Surely not, because Alex kept his relationships light and very casual and in all the years she’d known him she couldn’t remember a girlfriend lasting more than half a dozen dates.
Maybe she was asking the wrong questions.
‘I still don’t understand where the married bit comes in.’
‘Apparently, the guy who owns the company wants a married man for the job.’
She snorted. ‘No way. That’s discrimination. It’s against the law, Alex.’
‘They’re not going to be able to ask me outright about my marital status,’ he agreed. ‘But it seems the last two guys they hired lasted all of six weeks before they got an offer they couldn’t refuse for—I quote—a really glamorous dig abroad.’
They both laughed, knowing that real archaeology wasn’t glamorous in the slightest. The stuff Alex did on TV accounted for a tiny fraction of the hard graft behind the scenes, and certainly didn’t take account of being on your knees in a muddy trench for hour after hour, or the long gaps between finds.
‘So third time around they want someone settled,’ he continued. ‘The word is they’re looking for someone who’ll commit to the project for at least two years. And, you know as well as I do, a married man’s seen as more dependable than a single guy because he’s already made a commitment.’
She flinched. ‘Marriage doesn’t always mean commitment.’
He winced. ‘Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to rip open old wounds.’
‘I know you didn’t.’ Alex didn’t always think. Mainly because he did things at a hundred miles an hour and his head was stuffed full of the past—just like her own. Which was one of the reasons why she’d always got on so well with him.
He took her hand and squeezed it briefly. ‘But you know what I mean. My reputation’s going to count against me. The Hunter, a gypsy vagabond.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re hardly a vagabond, Alex.’ Even though he did have itchy feet and didn’t tend to stay long in one place.
‘But I’m part gypsy. My mother says I’m a throwback to her grandfather—’
‘Who met your great-grandmother when she accompanied your great-great-grandfather to a dig in Egypt in the nineteen twenties, and your great-grandfather fell in love with her,’ Isobel finished. She knew the story, and she’d always privately thought it really romantic.
Archaeology was in Alex’s blood. And so too was the gypsy heritage. Which was why ‘The Hunter’ was his perfect screen persona: dressed in jeans with a white shirt, and a battered Akubra hat worn at a rakish angle, Alex Richardson made women swoon. That and his dark curls, his hair worn slightly too long, his exotic olive skin, and those piercing light grey eyes, completely unexpected with the rest of his colouring.
‘Look, I’ve spent the last few years travelling the world. On digs or for the show, admittedly, but still travelling.’
