Chapter 50

Dr Giovanelli lifted the teapot lid and inspected the contents. “I think it has steeped long enough.” She poured two cups of tea and handed me one, with a slice of lemon impaled on the lip.

“Cheers,” she said, taking a sip.

“Cheers,” I reciprocated, taking a sip from my cup and instantly regretting it. It tasted like washing-up liquid.

“What do you think?” Dr Giovanelli asked. “It is something of an acquired taste.”

“It’s okay,” I lied, thankful it was only a cupful rather than a mugful.

I hurriedly changed the subject. “How much trouble will the loss of the coin cause for you?” I asked.

“Not much, I believe. Nobody checks who enters or leaves the laboratory: the metal detector is considered adequate security. I cannot recall hearing of any previous cases of metal artefacts going missing from the laboratory. Although I am the lead researcher for the coin, anyone with a keycard for the Antiquities Research Centre would have had access to the coin. Naturally they will suspect me but they will never be able to prove anything. If I am the one to report the coin missing, that should alleviate suspicion even more.”

“Has the Antiquities Research Centre insured the coin against theft?” I asked, thinking it would be just deserts if the insurers used small print to wriggle out of any liability like they were able to when the Italian government stole the coin from me.

“Insurance should be covered by Ministry of Cultural Heritage,” replied Dr Giovanelli. “Although, given my estimate of the value of the coin, that could be a problem.”

“The museum where Dr Wells works would like to buy the coin from me at market price, if it can afford it. How much do you estimate the coin is worth?”

“The coin is almost pure gold. The discoloration is due to slight impurities unique to a source close to Rome. The imperfect production quality reflects hasty manufacture due to the troubled state of the empire at that time. However, because of the uniqueness of the coin, it would probably be worth around ten million. If the coin were put up for auction, a dedicated collector would perhaps pay double that because the coin is the only evidence of the reign of a previously unknown emperor. So say twenty million Euros, dollars or pounds. They are close enough not to matter which.”

I resolved not to tell my mum that until we got home: she’d have a cow if she knew. She’d been uncomfortable transporting the coin when we thought it was only worth a few thousand. “That’s a problem. The museum can’t buy or insure anything worth more than a quarter of a million pounds.”

Dr Giovanelli laughed. “Then you will just have to find some more. Every identical coin you find will reduce the value by around a third.”

“Whenever I found a coin, I always scanned the surrounding area with my metal detector in case it was part of a cache, but that was the only coin I found at that location.” I took a gulp of my tea. Still horrible, but slightly more bearable. “I was unaware of the coin’s significance so I didn’t record the exact location where I found it.” Just as I hadn’t recorded the exact location of the headband when I found it, something I now deeply regretted.

“You will just have to go back time and time again,” said Dr Giovanelli. “The harder you try, the luckier you will be.”

I couldn’t imagine my dad approving me visiting the moors every weekend, and it would alienate me from Dex and Phil. And I could see it might quickly become tiresome, a chore rather than a passion.

We finished our teas, me gulping mine down quickly to taste it as little as possible, then Dr Giovanelli called a taxi. After a fraught twenty minute journey through Rome’s busy roads, populated by suicidal drivers, we pulled up outside the hotel. I offered to pay my share of the fare but Dr Giovanelli wouldn’t let me.

“Stay in touch, Jon Snow,” she bade me. “If I ever come to your country, I should like to hold the coin in my hand again, if possible.”