Swearing quietly under her breath Tanya tried to avoid hurling any more of Arthur’s coffee at the track-turned mud and shimmied between the two Land Rovers to where her fiancée sat on the bonnet over his father’s old Defender. She passed him the coffee and followed the scowl to where a gaggle of cameramen pressed themselves into what was left of an twelfth century archway and towards someone else stood in scrub land beyond.

“Emanuel?” she asked, cupping her hand around the styrofoam rim of her own cup and blowing the steam into her palm.

“Who else would it be?” Arthur asked. “It’s not as if it’s the first time he’s taken the credit for someone else’s research.”