Silver Guilt (11 page)

‘I can see that. I can also see the difference in print size. Font size,' I corrected myself. ‘Bloody hell, Morris, what do I do?'

To my fury, he chuckled. ‘I didn't think you swore before seven o'clock.'

I jabbed a finger at his chest. ‘If you want swearing, Morris, you can have it.' I let rip with some of the things I'd learned on the streets. Not loudly. Maybe they worked better in a quiet conversational tone, because I'll swear he went white.

‘I can see why you have to ration yourself,' he said at last. ‘Phew, I've not heard anything like that since I was in uniform arresting pr— Since I was in uniform.'

‘You mean fine art thieves are polite and mealy-mouthed? I must remember that next time you arrest me. Oh, no – you didn't arrest me, did you? Just ruined my professional reputation.'

He looked from me to the ad and back again. ‘Maybe I should have a word with Farfrae. He's here somewhere.'

‘Hunting in pairs, are you? Great.'

But he'd turned away to dial, and spoke so that I couldn't overhear him however much I tried.

Being bear-hugged by a policeman wasn't ever on my list of must-dos before I die. But Farfrae embraced me as if I were his long-lost niece. It didn't seem a spontaneous hug, however. More a carefully stage-managed one, with both Griff and Mr Habgood as audience. And Morris taking a photo of the occasion, for good measure.

‘What's all this about?' I asked. I might have sounded a bit grumpy.

‘I thought the news that you were on very good terms with a police officer might help your injured reputation,' he said.

‘But you're a detective – work in plain clothes. It can't do your cover much good if everyone knows you're a cop.'

He put his arm round my shoulders and gave me another squeeze. ‘I'm actually leaving the police,' he said. ‘I'm going into private security work. Art, not bankrolls. Theft, forgery . . . You never know, I may ask you to work for me from time to time.' This time he kissed my cheek. ‘Anyway, that's why I'm doing the hugging and Morris is taking the photos. He's being promoted into my job, but you can't hug him, Lina, because he's staying as a detective.'

‘Or you can hug me if no one takes any photos,' Morris put in, with a grin – the sort that made me think he'd be quite nice to hug. But he took a couple of steps back, and disappeared into the crowd, tucking his mobile away as he did so.

‘Perhaps you and your grandfather would join us for coffee?'

Both Griff and Mr Habgood stepped forward. Not feeling ready for a big scene, I shook my head, and tucked my hand into Griff's arm. ‘We must be off. Look at the punters! Miss the first wave and you can be sunk.'

He looked genuinely disappointed. ‘Actually, I'd like to borrow you for a few minutes, if you can be spared.'

I looked at Griff, who nodded cautiously. ‘Ten minutes max,' I said. ‘And then I'll be back. See if you can push that pretty Derby coffee can!' I didn't say anything to Habgood, who eventually took the hint and mooched off.

‘Now what?' I asked, not very graciously.

‘I just thought walking round together might help us both.'

‘I'm not sure. There's a lot of dealers who think being on hugging terms with the police is being a traitor.' Titus Oates, for instance.

‘Not at your end of the market, surely.'

I thought of the man who occasionally spirited items into our cottage at times when I wasn't there. He'd not nicked them, of course, just picked them up very cheap at car boot sales and such. All the same I was sure he wouldn't take to the idea of my hobnobbing with any police officer. But I'd been silent too long. ‘You know Griff and I pride ourselves on our provenances,' I said.

He'd picked up the hesitation, of course, but gave no more than a wry smile. ‘OK, no more hugging. But the fact is your professional reputation has been horribly impugned, and I can't see you taking legal action – there's no legal aid for that sort of thing for a start. I just thought if we were seen to be on good terms it might help restore your firm's standing.'

‘I'd rather you'd talked to Griff first.'

‘I did. That's why he came along. No idea who the other bugger was, though.'

‘He thinks he might be my grandfather on my mother's side. He's been on at me to do a gob swab for ages. But that ad put him off rather. So it might be a good thing after all,' I said. ‘You said “help us both”,' I added. ‘So what's in it for you?'

‘I've never seen a diviner in action. Morris said at Bossingham Hall you found a—'

‘Shush. We don't talk about my father and his stuff. OK? So you want me to walk round and pull a big furry rabbit out of a tatty hat. It doesn't work that way, Mr Farfrae. Or does hugging put us on first name terms?'

‘Bruce.'

‘As in Robert the? The original Spiderman?'

‘I thought you said you had no education.'

‘Griff's done his best. Anyway, Bruce, I'm happy to walk round and be photographed for
Kent Life
or whatever, but I can't guarantee anything in the way of divining. It's not something you can do to order. So long as you understand that.'

‘Why not pick out something in the jewellery line for my wife? It's our wedding anniversary next week and I won't live to see another if I don't give her something special. I thought maybe a ring.'

‘Price range?' When he hesitated, I continued, ‘Is the sky the limit or do you want something cheap that'll scrub up nicely?'

Then he surprised me. ‘When I see it, I shall know.'

‘That might take a lot more than ten minutes. I'd better see how Griff's getting on. If he's busy you'll have to wait till after lunch.'

What with regular clients and new customers attracted by the buzz they brought, it must have been nearly half past two when business was quiet enough for me to ring Farfrae. He too was occupied, he said, but he'd be with me as and when he could. He cut the call before I could suggest he made sure of his facts before he leapt in and arrested anyone.

But at least he and Morris had been kind to me, so I tried not to bear a grudge, and even managed a smile when he turned up twenty minutes later.

‘Have you seen anything you like yet?' I asked.

He and Griff shook hands as enthusiastically as if they went way, way back. Griff used to be an actor, of course. But Farfrae was pretty good too.

‘He's after a ring,' I told Griff.

‘There's so many,' he said helplessly. ‘Where do I start?'

Griff simpered. ‘Don't ask me, sweetie!' Then he said seriously, ‘By asking yourself questions. Modern or traditional? Silver or gold? Big dealer with showy lights and big overheads or a smaller stand? Like our friend Josie over there.'

‘That little old lady with the bad back?'

‘That's the one,' I said. ‘She sells a bit of everything. I owe her big time because she used to let me practise repairing things. That's how you get better, working on the real thing. Then she'd sell them – but she'd never, ever pass them off as perfect. I've got to pass the time of day – let's go over.'

Although Josie barely reached my shoulder these days, and her poor hands were swollen and spotted, she gave me a hug even bigger than the police ones. ‘I told the others I'd trust you with my life, Lina,' she said in a carrying whisper, ‘when they started talking. That woman – I'll have her eyes out if ever I see her again. Though this'll be my last show, the way things are. And my back, of course.'

‘Josie, this is my friend Detective Inspector Bruce Farfrae, who also got up Lady Petronella's nose.'

‘Petronella indeed. More like “pterodactyl” if you ask me.' Showing her dentures in a snarl, she pulled herself into the shape of some horrid bird.

Farfrae laughed, as if she'd made a clever joke. I joined in politely – I'd have to ask Griff later.

‘Mr Farfrae's got a wife who needs an anniversary present. So I told him to start here.'

While he peered at the rows upon rows of rings – I could quite see why he was confused – Josie burrowed behind the stall, coming up with a badly broken figurine, a close relative of the one I'd spotted in Lord Elham's cupboard. ‘She's not for sale. One of my regulars asked if she could be repaired, and I said I only knew one person who could do it. Will you have a go?'

‘Even for a friend of yours it'd cost, Josie. There's a good week's work there. I'll do it as quickly as I can but—'

‘Ah, I heard you'd got yourself a young man. Does Griff like him? Or does Griff fancy him, the old bugger?'

‘We tossed for him and Griff lost,' I said. ‘You might know him. Piers Hamlyn. He's beginning to deal himself.'

Perhaps she didn't hear me. ‘Do you need old Josie to give you some help, Inspector?' She made sure anyone within twenty yards heard her.

He looked totally at sea. ‘I don't know . . . All these with three stones, one big and two smaller – they all look like someone dead's engagement ring. And that doesn't seem right, somehow.'

I was impressed. ‘Does it have to be a ring?'

He stared, as if I'd suggested flying. ‘It has to be personal,' he said, grabbing at firmer ground. ‘Nothing anyone else would have given her.'

Josie patted his hand. ‘You go for a little stroll, son. Give Lina her head. She'll find you just the thing. Let me know when you've fixed this lass, will you, lovie?'

We trailed round so long I felt guilty, not just for leaving Griff on his own but also for letting Bruce down – twice over. He wanted me to magic a brilliant find from a load of tat, and also to find a perfect present. The trouble was he kept asking me about the stalls and their owners and, apart from fearing I might be grassing someone up without meaning to, my head needed quiet.

Actually, it needed silence, and it needed it now.

I froze. There was something . . . Where was it and what was it? I patted his arm. ‘Go and have a look at those prints.'

‘But—' And then he decided not to argue and headed off, leaving me in peace.

The stalls here were at the bottom end of the market. There was some stuff I wouldn't have given to Oxfam, even during a famine.

I turned to the nearest. No. The next one. It was selling modern costume jewellery. Gold that makes your skin go green and silver that brings you up in a rash – that sort. I quite like retro and overblown myself, of course, and there might be something to go with my Dior dress. So I rooted around in the mass of dross like a pig after a truffle, which I had always thought meant a nice choccie till Griff explained.

And then I saw it. Unfortunately I didn't want it for Bruce's wife, much as he obviously loved her, but for me. It was a little blue flower pendant. It looked like plastic; some greyish glass chips scattered over it were supposed to be dew. I tucked it back for a moment.

‘What's your best on this?' I asked, holding up a brooch I really wouldn't have let into the house. I wrinkled my nose at £15. ‘No, thanks. What about this?' – a filthy teddy bear pendant with what looked like a plastic football at the bear's feet. I agreed a tenner, then picked up my flower pendant again. ‘Throw this in and I'll give you sixteen.' Eventually I had to part with £18, but I'd done OK. If I knew anything about it the teddy bear was gold and playing with a coral ball. As for the flower, I wanted to kiss it. Plastic? Glass? I didn't think so. Sticking both casually in my trousers pocket, I sauntered back to Bruce. He was beaming and pointing at a print.

‘How did you do it? How did you know it'd be there? It's the village where we went on our first date!' he said. ‘And they only want £325, so I can take her away for a weekend there, too. Look, they say the colouring's original.'

How could he be so naive? Had all his police expertise gone out of the window?

I said slowly and clearly, ‘They only wanted £280 and would have had your hand off if you'd offered £300. But now they've seen you're keen . . .' I shook my head sadly. ‘See you back at Griff's stand. And make sure they gift wrap it if you pay full price!'

‘You've done very well here, my sweet,' Griff said, when we were back home, looking at my newly cleaned trophies. ‘But what if Farfrae hadn't found that print? And wanted to buy his wife a pendant? Could you have parted with either of them?'

‘I don't know.' I always tried to be honest with Griff. ‘The bear, I suppose. Possibly.'

Griff watched me stroke his nice clean head. ‘And what would you have charged for him?'

‘What I got it for? Or what it's worth, which must be about £250? Griff, I don't like dealing with friends.'

‘And the pansy? Even though I don't know what mineral it's made of, and you're right, it is painted, I know those are very good diamonds. You could sell this for something like a grand, loved one. Eight hundred at least.'

‘
We
could sell it,' I corrected him.

He waited.

‘I wouldn't have shown it to him,' I muttered, blushing to my ears. ‘And I don't know if it's because I want to keep it for myself—'

‘Which you're quite entitled to do, remember.'

‘Or if I want to sell it at a huge profit. Oh, Griff, have I really got my father's blood in me?'

It was his turn to blush. ‘You've got an awful lot of my influence too, angel heart. And – shall I whisper? – I don't think I could have shown it to him either.'

That made it almost better. ‘I still feel bad about that print, though. Bruce really thought I'd sent him over to the stand because I knew he'd find something there. And all I wanted was to get rid of him.'

He stroked his chin, as if that would give the answer. ‘I really think you might actually have used your gift – you sent him to the print stand but you could just as easily have sent him to the garden memorabilia stand, where he'd surely have drawn a blank.'