Drawing the Line (21 page)

There was no way Marcus was going to come with me to the Grand. Hoping that after all the booze he’d put away it would take a great deal more to wake him than my travel alarm, I set it for five and put it on the pillow right next to Tim Bear. Griff had trusted me with setting up before: I wouldn’t let him down this time. I selected stock carefully – a quite different range from the stuff we’d taken to Oxford, for instance. The grey generation were much more silver in my book: they were happy to spend well on good quality items. Just to make sure I checked Griff’s database for regular customers building interesting collections. As a result, I added a couple of Mason’s ironware jugs, and a pretty Rockingham cup and saucer. Pity the jugs were a little larger than I’d have liked, the Ka’s space being limited, but I got them in the foot-space behind the passenger seat.

The house, garage and gate all locked and checked at least twice, I set off down the motorway to Folkestone. No, there was no sign that I might be followed. I’d hired the basic model, perhaps a bit underpowered, but even so compared with the van it was driving heaven.

I was so early there was plenty of parking. Since the Grand’s on a cliff-top area known as the Leas, where there’s a good breeze even on a quiet day like this, I made several journeys to and from the car, not risking balancing boxes of fragile goods one on top of another. Setting up was a doddle, with good power access for the lights. I was beginning to enjoy myself.

‘What, no Griff?’ It was Josie, nose almost on a level with the tables making up the stall.

We’d agreed a story yesterday. ‘He had a bit of a fall. He’s a bit shaken so I’m flying solo today.’

‘The booze, I suppose?’

Heart sinking, I still shook my head firmly. ‘He’s cutting down. No, some idiot jostled him on a pavement. But he’s fine.’

‘That’s a relief. Now, any more nice little restorations for me today?’

I produced some of the stuff I’d rescued from the house sale.

‘Very nice. Anyone but you’d try to pass them off as mint condition. And anyone but me, that is. That Majolica plate you wouldn’t sell me – I see that guy from Devon’s marked it very high for a restoration job. Yes – over in that corner. Opposite me.’

‘Arthur something – with a twee trading name.’

‘That’s him. He was asking about you. A lot of questions. Was I sure that Griff was your grandfather, that sort of thing.’

‘Why should he think he was? I’ve never –’

‘No, but some people think you must be – there was talk of father and daughter, but they did the maths.’

‘They might consider Griff’s preferences too,’ I laughed. ‘But why was he asking after me, this Twee Cottage man?’

She shook her head. ‘Damned paedophile, maybe.’

‘But he’s old! And I’m twenty!’

‘You may be twenty, but you only look about fourteen. There are a lot of nasty men around, Lina. Any trouble, you talk to old Josie. Right?’

‘Right. I mean, thanks. Josie – if you hear of him asking any more questions, you’ll try and find out why,
won’t you?’

This was weird stuff. I’d thought he was a bit flirtatious when we’d done the deal involving a Staffordshire figure I hadn’t brought with me today. I hadn’t known he’d be here, of course – didn’t he say that he’d be at Stafford? – but I felt I’d been somehow unprofessional.

A pair of hands squeezed me round the waist. ‘Hallo, young Lina – how’s things?’

I suppose it was better than being goosed. In any case, I needed the bloody man’s expertise, didn’t I? ‘Titus! I didn’t know you’d be here today! Not your usual sort of venue.’

He touched the side of his nose. ‘More buying than selling. Some of these older folk have champagne tastes and beer incomes. So they like to sell the odd autograph or letter. It’s all very discreet, of course.’

I nodded. There’d be lots of Mrs Hatches around in retirement towns like this, as well as the well-heeled punters I hoped to attract. ‘Tell you what, Titus, could you do me a favour? I need some information.’

Titus didn’t do favours: that was what his face said, quite clearly. But then he muttered, ‘I suppose back in Yorkshire you saved me from a pretty tricky situation. OK, what do you want?’

I glanced around. Paranoia or what? Everyone in the room seemed to be looking at us. ‘Why don’t I buy you a coffee?’

‘Make it breakfast – full English, mind – and I’ll throw the information in free.’

‘A page from
Natura Rerum!
’

‘Shh. Look, it’s almost certainly a fake, isn’t it?
Because anyone in the trade’d know the book was worth more in one piece. But I reckon someone with – with your experience – would know if it was genuine. And if it isn’t, who’d done it.’

‘Not me, I can tell you that, here and now.’

‘Shh. No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ I lied. ‘But would you recognise anyone else’s handiwork?’

‘I might. Of course, you’d need to run proper tests – that’d take time and money.’ He almost rubbed his hands together in glee.

‘I know they would. That’s why I’m asking someone who…who knows more than most official experts to have a look.’

‘Where is it then?’ He stuck his hand out.

‘In a safe place. If I’d known you’d be here, I’d have brought it along.’ I shrugged. ‘So I’ll need to get it to you somehow.’

‘You won’t be trusting it to the post.’ It sounded like an order.

‘’Course not. I know you don’t have a shop: where do you work from?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out – not.’

If he wanted me to beg and cajole, he’d be disappointed. ‘We’ll have to meet up somewhere. Not at our shop. It’s not there.’

‘Why not?’

‘Just in case it’s the real McCoy, of course.’

‘So someone else knows you’ve got it?’

‘A spate of burglaries in the village,’ I said casually.

‘I thought your place was supposed to be like Fort Knox.’

Now how would he know that? Unless Griff had
blabbed while he was drunk. ‘Even so.’ I shrugged.

‘So where is it?’

‘Same sort of place as your base.’ But we were going to have to trust each other sooner or later.

‘You’re a bit young to be learning to play with your cards so close to your chest.’

I pulled my most streetwise, cynical face.

‘What does Griff think?’

‘He suggested you.’ Perhaps that’d loosen some of the tension.

The waitress brought our breakfasts.

‘You’re sure this is on you?’

‘That’s what we agreed.’

‘OK, Lina – how far are you from Tunbridge Wells?’

‘Very little, if only we could rely on crows. By car –’ I made a snaking gesture with my hand.

‘Yeah: rolling English drunkard roads.’ He sloshed ketchup all over his bacon. ‘What about Tenterden? Is that too far? You can buy me lunch.’

I’d better not bounce with glee. ‘Your turn to treat me, I’d have thought!’

He snorted. ‘All right on your own side, aren’t you? OK. We go Dutch. Tomorrow suit you? Plenty of good pubs. How about the White Lion?’

‘Sounds good to me. Twelve-thirty?’

One of the first punters through the door were those for whom I’d brought along the Mason’s jugs, but they made their way to our stand by way of all the others.

‘No Griff?’ Mrs Barker asked, checking the rim with her fingertip for chips.

‘Not today.’

Mr Barker inspected the other jug. ‘This is perfect, as far as I can tell. You didn’t give it a helping hand, did you?’

I shook my head firmly. ‘We always say if it’s restored, you know that.’

‘Not like that guy back there. Trying to pass a majolica plate as perfect.’

‘Cracked right across,’ his wife added.

‘And cunningly repaired by me,’ I said ruefully. ‘I sold it to him as restored, too.’ Curiosity got the better of me. ‘What was he asking?’

‘Three times what it was worth,’ he said. ‘What’s your best on these?’

I told him. ‘If you want the pair, you could take off another ten.’

‘Twenty!’

‘Fifteen,’ I grinned. We always played this game. But I nearly dropped one when she asked, ‘Is that man – could he be your father?’

I gaped. ‘The Devon Cottage guy? Why?’

‘He looks very like you.’

‘Me! No! Absolutely not!’

‘He isn’t, then,’ Mr Barker concluded, counting notes from his wallet.

I managed a grin. ‘He might be. I never had a father. I remember my mum. But she was killed,’ I added flatly. Why on earth was I beginning to get emotional?

‘You poor child,’ Mrs Barker said, pressing my hand. Her husband made sympathetic but embarrassed sounding noises. ‘So did Griff adopt you?’

‘I wish he could. But I think I’m too old, legally, I mean.’ I swallowed. ‘My last foster-mother and he are
great mates. That’s how we ended up together. He’s my friend. My very best friend.’ And I’d nearly lost him. ‘Sorry! He’s not very well,’ I managed.

She burrowed in her bag for a tissue for me.

As much for something to say as anything, I suspect, Mr Barker said, ‘So that cracked plate guy
could
be your father.’

I squared my shoulders. ‘I’m damned if I’m having a parent who tries to palm shoddy goods off on his customers!’ Did that mean I’d rather have a tipsy lord? When they laughed, I added, ‘Sorry about – all that. Griff had a bit of an accident the other day – I’ve been so worried about him.’ She looked so concerned I could have told her everything.

But he was plainly embarrassed. ‘You’ll have to tell him to take more water in it, won’t you? Oh, only joking, Lina!’

‘No, you’re right. He does drink too much. But I shall stop him.’

‘If anyone can, you can,’ Mrs Barker said, patting my hand kindly. ‘Now, is there anything else we should look at? One of Griff’s specials?’

You know how you can feel eyes on you? And you look up suddenly and all you can see is people looking any way but at you? That’s how I felt for the rest of the morning. I didn’t have time to check: there was a constant stream through the doors, with whole families milling round touching. At least the hotel had asked people not to bring ice creams in, and the two men selling admission tickets were enforcing the ban. But I’d have been a lot happier if the kids had been down on the
beach, shingle and all, and I dare say they would have been too. Thank goodness I’d pigged out at
breakfast-time
– there was no way anyone could sneak out for a lunchtime bite.

Lunchtime! And I hadn’t phoned Lord Elham! At least the food wouldn’t spoil. But I couldn’t just not turn up.

I didn’t want to use the mobile in here, with all the racket around me. It’d sound as if I was in a pub: I didn’t want to give the impression I’d stood him up for a quick half with my mates.

At these gigs you often had to ask a neighbour to cover for you, but I didn’t know the ones either side and those opposite were invisible in the crush. Josie? She’d do it if she could ask her neighbour. Who happened, of course, to be Twee Cottage.

Tough. Now I came to think of it, I needed a loo. I could make the call from there.

‘Come tomorrow!’ Lord Elham said. ‘Same place, same time.’

Same lunch!

‘Sorry. I’m tied up for lunch. And I shall be pretty busy the rest of the day.’ I’d need time to get today’s sales records straight. Not to mention spending some time with Griff. ‘Would Tuesday suit?’

This time he sounded huffy. ‘I suppose –’

‘I have to work on other projects too, you see,’ I found myself whining. ‘You know how it is.’

‘Good God, no! Never worked in my life. Leave that sort of thing for the lower orders.’

Of which I was one
.

‘Come a bit earlier. See the rest of the place: no
invaders on Tuesdays.’

Or most other days
.

‘Tuesday at – let me see –’ I thumbed through an imaginary diary. ‘Would noon suit you? I’d have to be away by about two, though.’ I couldn’t expect Mrs Hatch to hold the fort all the time. A flash of inspiration: ‘Could I bring a camera?’

‘One of those paparazzi bastards? Not likely!’

‘Not a cameraman. Just my own camera.’

‘Hmm. No objection to the odd Box Brownie. Tuesday it is, then. Don’t forget the bubbly, will you – running low.’

If Lord Elham wasn’t very satisfactory father-material, I certainly didn’t want to be related to Arthur Habgood. He was sitting reading, while two or three people were hovering with intent by Josie’s stall. I dived in as if I owned the place, taking money from folk who didn’t even ask for ‘my best’. When I pressed the cash into Josie’s hand I reported, ‘Not a single haggle. A couple of pretty plates, as seen, and a willow-pattern plate, origin unknown.’

‘For the asking price?’

‘Not a penny less. And someone was asking about some Rockingham you promised to get hold of. Look – over there. I’ll send him back to you.’

Humming to myself, I felt my bum-bag. Yes, pleasantly full. A good day’s pay for a good day’s work. Now it was just a matter of packing everything up. Bubble-wrap time, not just for me, but for all the dealers. No matter how tired you were – and people like Josie looked
absolutely knackered – you still had to be careful of course, because the more careless you got, the more fragile the china became. So the last thing you wanted was some idiot making you jump.

‘Need a hand?’

It was Marcus.

We drove home in convoy. At least, Marcus thought that’s what we were doing. But if I hadn’t still had a load of china and glass in a rented car, I’d have tried to shake him off. I was still fuming at the thought of being looked after – ‘the little woman needs help to lift heavy boxes’, indeed! Worse, while I was yelling at him, I’d missed the departure from the Grand of Mr Habgood, whom I’d meant to pin to the wall. If people wanted to know about me, they knew who to ask. Not my colleagues and friends: me.

‘I only wanted to help,’ Marcus bleated, as we finally pulled up in Bredeham.

‘I know.’ My temper had subsided a bit. ‘But there’s helping and helping. Now, a big help would be to make sure no one tries to grab me while I’m putting this car away. OK?’

‘Would another help be to make a cup of tea?’ he asked, once we and the boxes were safely inside.

‘Yes. Or better still, coffee. Then I suppose you’d like a meal before you head back to Copeland’s place.’

He looked dead shifty.

‘Or –’ I prompted.

‘Actually, we’ve had a bit of a – well, we’re not seeing eye to eye at the moment. I couldn’t tell you all about it in front of Tony, but I – well, perhaps we both need a bit of a breather. So I was thinking: I need a roof over my head. You could do with a bit of protection.’

What about my fear that he was after
Natura Rerum
too? ‘Let me have a think.’

The thinking was done for me. The answerphone was
flashing impatiently. The first message was from Griff, saying he’d be slipping out to some friends of Aidan’s for supper, so not to worry about phoning. He was sure I’d done wonderfully at the fair, and he’d love to see me when I had time. It sounded as if he didn’t think I would. I phoned back with a message of my own – I’d see him about eleven next day. Next came Mrs Hatch, her consonants furred with what sounded like a stinking cold. OK: flu. She didn’t see how she could possibly come to the shop until possibly Thursday – and she couldn’t guarantee even that. I phoned to tell her machine not to worry – I had a friend staying who could help out. For
could
, read
would
. Yes, Marcus’d definitely be singing for his supper. There was still the problem with village gossip, but that could be dealt with as and when I knew how.

‘No problem,’ Marcus said. ‘So long as I can work while I mind the shop. All my things are in the car. It’s parked at the back of Tony’s,’ he added.

‘You’ll still be doing work for Copeland even though –’ I squeaked.

He shook his head glumly. ‘I suppose we need each other.’

I dug a word from the back of my head. ‘Symbiosis,’ I said.

‘Eh?’

‘It’s like me and Griff. We’ve both got strong points, both got weaknesses. You and Copeland – you’re strong where he’s weak.’

He nodded. ‘Coz needs my talents; I need his money. Symbiosis.’

‘OK.’ It seemed like the principle Iris had worked on
when she’d introduced us. ‘And your staying here with me is a symbiotic arrangement.’

‘Yes. I suppose it is.’

I nodded, so pleased with myself I could hardly get my head through the door.

To my surprise, I got back from unpacking the china in the shop to find that Tony had dropped in. He was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a Beck’s. Marcus passed me one.

‘I’ve got some frozen curries if you don’t fancy cooking,’ Tony said. ‘And naan and rice and everything.’

‘Can’t refuse that sort of offer,’ I said cheerfully. I hadn’t been looking forward to an evening with Marcus, not if he wanted to tell me all about his tiff with Copeland. Têtê-à-têtê: that was the term, wasn’t it? That and symbiosis too! Yo, Lina!

‘Staying with Tony every night,’ Griff repeated slowly, putting down his coffee cup the following morning. Aidan didn’t go in for antique china, but at least this was Wedgwood. Aidan was humming loudly in the kitchen, so I’d know what a sacrifice he was making leaving the living room to Griff and me. ‘Well, it should stop any village gossip about you, dear heart.’ Was it my imagination or did he stress ‘you’ very slightly? ‘Now, are you quite sure about showing Titus this page of yours? You may be in for something of a disappointment.’

‘It’s got to be a fake, hasn’t it? Actually, I hope it is. Yes, honestly. It’d be horrible to think that someone had torn a page out of a book as old and rare as that. No, what I hope is that Titus will be able to identify the forger. That still might get me back to the owner.’

‘You don’t think after all that it is Lord Elham?’ He peered over his glasses.

‘I hope not. He’s not the sort of father I’d want, not one bit.’

He stared, forgetting his coffee, while I told him why not.

‘Does that mean you’ll stop going to Bossingham Hall?’ He sounded anxious.

Wrinkling my nose, I confessed, ‘Not really. The whole place just fascinates me. You can see why. I’m seeing things your paying visitors never see. Corridors behind bedrooms. Attics. It’s magic, Griff. It really is.’

‘I’m inclined to agree with those young men: you shouldn’t go on your own. Not without telling someone, at very least,’ he added, with what sounded like a note of pleading, ‘what time you’re going and what time you expect to be back. I know you’ve been safe so far. But he may simply be getting your trust – grooming, it’s called.’

‘I thought that was what paedophiles did,’ I objected.

‘I know you’re a grown woman, my love, but you – you don’t look your age, let’s say.’

It was easy enough to translate that: short and thin with no tits worth mentioning. I nodded. ‘I will take care. I promise.’

‘And you’ll take care with Titus?’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s a good ten minutes’ walk and you don’t want to turn up puffed. He might mistake it for being flustered or anxious.’

In other words, push off and get it over and done with: yes, Griff was as nervous as I was.

‘Cheers!’ Titus toasted me with bitter.

I raised my glass of shandy. But I didn’t know what to do next. What I’d really have liked was to show him the page and then beat it, fast. We’d agreed to lunch, however. Dutch treat. Flustered or anxious? I was
shit-scared
. If only Griff had been with me – even Marcus.

‘Have you ordered?’

I shook my head. ‘Only just arrived. Don’t you want to look at the page?’

‘I always think better on a full stomach. There.’ He passed one of the sheets I’d noticed hanging by the bar. ‘Look like giant bog paper, don’t they? Funny idea, disposable menus. Anyway, beef for me. What about you?’

I barely glanced at it. ‘Ploughman’s, please. Cheese.’

He got up to order, returning with a numbered wooden spoon. I slid a fiver towards him, which he pocketed without a word or, come to think of it, any change. ‘So why was that guy so interested in you yesterday?’

‘No idea. He could have asked me if he was really interested.’

‘Perhaps he thought you’d done such a good job on that plate he’d offer you some work.’

‘I’d rather not have done such a good job if he was trying to pass it off as perfect,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ Actually, apologising only made it worse, didn’t it? Blushing, I stared at the big fireplace, empty now, but in winter home to a lovely roaring fire. I’d often thawed out here while waiting for Griff to finish his visit to Aidan.

‘You stick to your trade and I’ll stick to mine.’ Titus jabbed with a surprisingly elegant finger. ‘OK? Now, that paper. If anyone gets nosy, slide it under these
menus.’

I didn’t point out he’d wanted to eat first. Putting the folder on my lap, I slipped out the frontispiece and laid it on the table.

He did what I’d done: smelt it, felt it. He ran a finger down the cut edge. The he got out a little magnifying glass and peered. Then he held it at arm’s length: so much for discretion and hiding it. At last, he put it down on top of a menu and supped from his glass. ‘It’s good. I’ll say that. It’s very good. I’d even say the paper was genuine. Yes, cut from another old book.’

Ready to die with embarrassment, I touched the cut edge. ‘Stupid bloody cow: it’s the wrong side, isn’t it? Why didn’t I notice till now?’

‘Because you were seeing what you wanted to see. And if Larry Copeland had got round to framing it, no one’d have been any the wiser.’

‘So he’d known it was a fake. You don’t suppose that he and Marcus – did it themselves?’ The waitress was bringing food across. Automatically, I slipped the page under a menu.

He roared so loudly that the waitress took a step back. ‘Bloody hell, no! No, not you, sweetheart. Hey, that looks good. Got any horseradish? You’re an angel!’

The ploughman’s might have been paste and sawdust for all I could taste. For all I’d said out loud that I knew it was a forgery, part of me had wanted it not to be. But if there was one person in this world I wasn’t going to cry in front of it was Titus. I swallowed some bread with the aid of a gulp of shandy. ‘Why not?’

‘Young Marcus looks very pretty with a paintbrush in his hand, but this is quality printing, Lina. It takes years
of practice to make woodcuts as good as these.’ He shoved the menus aside. ‘Look at those curves.’

‘Do you recognise the handiwork?’ Yes, that was more important. Much more important.

His face told me I was in for another disappointment. ‘I wish I did. I’d give him a job tomorrow! If I indulged in that sort of thing, of course, which you know I wouldn’t dream of.’

‘Of course not. It’s good, is it?’

‘If he’d used the right ink, excellent. Provided he’s got a large supply of old books he doesn’t mind cutting about, he could make a real living. Now, that’s much more sinful, in my humble opinion, than anything I might be doing. No, you have to draw the line somewhere.’ Warming to this subject, he leaned his arms on the table, stabbing the air with his fork to ram home the point. ‘Here, did you read about that bloke who’s been slicing maps out of old atlases – absolutely ruining them. The police in four countries are after him. Seems he …’

‘So the various attacks may be nothing at all to do with your sad little page, dear heart?’

I shook my head firmly. ‘That pre – pre –’

‘Presupposes?’

‘Right. Presupposes that the people who attacked you and tried to burgle us didn’t –’

‘They attacked you too, remember. With a car. Twice.’

‘Yeah. Well. They missed. It presupposes that they didn’t know the page wasn’t genuine. And they’re after the rest of the book.’

‘Which, even minus the frontispiece, would be enormously valuable, if not intrinsically, in terms of
scholarship. If the frontispiece could be restored to it, then, well –’ He gestured: the sky was the limit. ‘Lina, I wish there were somewhere for you to go into hiding, too. Until this whole business has subsided.’

I shook my head. ‘Collectors have long memories, Griff. That Ruskin woman down in Devon, or the spectacle case one: neither of them would forget a good specimen.’

‘They wouldn’t attack and maim to get hold of even the best
sang de boeuf
ware.’

‘Others just might.’ I pulled got up, leaning over to kiss his forehead. ‘I’m glad you’re here, safe with Aidan.’

Griff took my hand. ‘He says you’ve been terribly fierce about my alcohol allowance. My dear child, in my dotage I may be, but I can read the instructions for the painkillers. Avoid alcoholic drink.’

‘So you’re on the wagon?’ I was ready to jump up and down.

The old bugger smiled slyly. ‘I’m avoiding the tablets.’