Silver Guilt (21 page)

‘Maybe if I showed you some mug shots on computer you could pick him out. Like my Kent colleagues will be showing Griff this morning.'

‘That'd only work if Mr Fielding was a criminal, wouldn't it? And I'm sure I've seen him somewhere really respectable. I suppose you couldn't ask her about him?'

‘Not without a reason, Lina. Looking at the display cabinet's another matter, however.' Fishing out his mobile, he didn't use it but pressed the other thumb hard on the bell. ‘I've just had an enquiry from one of my colleagues,' he told the anxious-looking woman who opened it. Now I understood about the phone. ‘No need to disturb Ms Fielding again. We'll go straight to the library corridor.' He set off like a rocket, as if he knew his way around. Once we were out of sight, however, he slowed down so I could lead the way.

‘There can't be all that much wrong with your memory,' he said, as we turned into the library corridor, ‘not to get us through this rabbit warren without a compass.'

‘But I had to leave a trail of breadcrumbs so we can get out again,' I said, with a grin it took him a moment to return. ‘Now, this is the cabinet that set me off. And I don't know for the life of me why.'

Side by side we stared at it. All that beautifully polished silver, including some early Matthew Boulton. I wished I liked it more, but I didn't. Perhaps the NEC experience had put me off silver for ever.

Morris started pointing at one piece after another, counting not quite under his breath. ‘I think Griff's games have paid off,' he said. ‘There are seventeen information cards, and only sixteen pieces.'

‘Perhaps the other case has one extra.'

It hadn't. So we played a game that Griff would have been much better at – matching each piece to its card. Eventually we found one card without an object:
A George III
silver-gilt musical snuff box, of rounded oblong form, with engine-turned base and sides, the cover decorated in high relief with fox-hunting scene, no apparent maker's mark, London 1819.

‘Tell me about it,' Morris said.

‘No idea. I told you I'm hopeless when it comes to silver.'

He grabbed me by my shoulders and shook me – but only gently. ‘Lina, when will you get it into your head you're not hopeless about anything. It's just you haven't learned about it yet.' Frowning, he added, ‘Who used to shake you? You froze just then. Hey, hang on!'

For some reason my hands were flailing in front of my face, as if to fend someone off. Or maybe it was something. A memory.

‘Lina? Lina? Are you all right?'

My therapist had told me to concentrate on my breathing. So I did. Great gulps at first, then smaller breaths. ‘I'm fine. Sort of,' I added with a bit of a smile. ‘Sometimes I remember things I'd much rather not. Some people say you should explore them. Other people say there's no point in digging up things you'd rather leave buried. Yes, I'm OK.' I held out my hand to show it wasn't shaking. Not very much, anyway. He looked so concerned I made a huge effort. ‘Griff might have an idea about this here snuff box. But even he's not an expert. I gather you don't want to go and ask Ms Fielding about it?'

‘I'd rather have a few facts to impress her with. And I did introduce you as a consultant,' he added, eyes twinkling nicely.

We found a corner where the signal wasn't too bad, and I called Griff. He sounded so much his normal self when he picked up I could have danced for joy. And his brain was ticking over nicely. He gave me a quick rundown on snuff boxes, musical and otherwise, and even recalled a George III one in working order going up for auction three or four years ago. ‘It fetched over £5000 then,' he said. ‘So goodness knows what it would be worth now. A real collector's item, of course. For some reason people are really attracted to anything depicting sport – as of course you know. The person to ask, of course, would be Nella Cordingly, but I can't imagine you'd want to contact her.'

‘I'd rather stick pins in my eyes. And don't you go calling her, either. Promise. Griff, promise!'

‘I promise, my child. And I'll go further – I won't even ask Aidan to ask, either.'

As we finished the call, I turned to Morris. ‘Hang on, you're an expert too. A bloody police inspector in precious things.'

‘I'm more into graphic art, with special reference to Renaissance religious pictures. And I'm really hot in altarpieces. Farfrae knows everything about Impressionist brushwork and can tell a fake a football field away. We really do have to consult experts like you from time to time.' He grinned as I clocked the word
expert
. ‘So, something worth upwards of five thousand quid has gone walkabout. Something small and portable. Highly desirable. I'd better have another word with Ms Fielding. I suppose you couldn't lead the way, could you?'

‘Let's go through the library.' I could never resist it, and almost jigged with pleasure just at the thought of it. ‘There!' I flung open the double doors with as much pride as if I owned the place.

‘Tell me what you like about it,' he said, laughing.

‘Apart from the perfect proportions, the – drat.' My phone rang. ‘My God! It's Mrs Hatch! I'll have to take it.' In less than the time it took me to press the green button, I saw her robbed at gunpoint, beaten up and—

‘Lina, my girl – I told you I knew how to look after the shop, didn't I? I've sold that sapphire ring! And for only £200 less than the asking price, too.'

Piers' ring! I said all the right things, and then asked, ‘You did sell it as seen, didn't you?
Caveat emptor
and all that?'

‘Of course I did. And the credit card's gone through and everything's just as it should be. And it looks as if I may have another customer.'

‘Be careful! You will be careful, won't you?' But I was talking to thin air.

Far from impatiently tapping his watch, Morris was staring open-mouthed at the family portraits. ‘If I was going to steal anything it would be that Gainsborough. Or the Reynolds. Or maybe even that gorgeous Vigée Le Brun.' Since none of them had a label identifying the artist I could tell he really did know his stuff, even that out of his period.

‘Make sure it's that one. There's one down the corridor I'm sure is a fake. OK, good news. Mrs H has sold a ring for Piers so we've got a bit of commission coming our way. I'll shout you lunch, if you like.'

‘You're my consultant – I can put you on expenses. Now, do we tackle Ms Fielding? She doesn't even know we're here.'

‘Oh, yes, she does. Or someone does. Not just the poor minion that let us in. CCTV, remember. It seems to be working again, thanks to you.'

‘Drat. I wouldn't make a very good burglar, would I? Very well, I suppose it has to be now. Are you going to stay silent as you did before or are you going to do the talking?'

‘It's very tempting. But you could be acting on information received, couldn't you? And I've always wanted to hear someone say that to someone else.'

But Ms Fielding wasn't about to hear it. Ms Fielding had been called away – a meeting with one of the trustees, according to her diary. I couldn't help catching Morris's eye, and was pleased, because he caught mine at the same moment.

We turned on our heels and left. Once again at the foot of the servants' steps, I said, ‘I know I've got a suspicious mind, but she does carry a handbag, and you'd easily fit that little snuff box in there. Well, half a dozen of them.'

‘I'm glad you didn't make that allegation within anyone else's hearing.' He was so pompous I stared – only to realize he was holding back a laugh.

When he'd let it out and I'd shared it, I asked, ‘Now what?'

‘Let's see if we can get Lord Elham to tell us what made Darrenarris so cross. And if he uttered any specific threats against you.'

We went round the outside of the building rather than use the door, because I wanted to see if my father was doing as he was told and locking up properly. He was. He'd kept the safety chain on and peered round it before letting us in.

But even a new brew of green tea couldn't make him recall why Darren had lost his temper. ‘Thing is, I seem to get so dopey when he's here. I drift off for forty winks and he's gone.'

‘Maybe you should stick to the champagne Lina brings you,' Morris said. ‘And green tea, of course.'

‘Trouble is,' my father replied, leaning towards him as if he was going to tell him a big secret, ‘I've never tasted a compost heap, but I'm sure it would taste like that stuff. She brought some the other day that was flavoured with jasmine – that was a bit better; she's a good girl. I'm proud of her,' he said, patting my arm.

Despite myself I felt a little glow. ‘How much champagne have you got left – the stuff I buy?'

He shook his head. ‘Not much. And I can't work out why. I'm not drinking any more. And Darren's been bringing a lot.'

Morris caught my eye. ‘How would you feel, my lord, if I took Darren's away with me and replaced it with your usual tipple?'

‘The police would do that?' His eye gleamed.

‘Non-vintage,' I put in quickly. ‘The sort I buy for you. And maybe we should find somewhere else to store it – somewhere only you know about. OK?'

While the two men dealt with the cheap booze, I took myself off to the bureau in which Lord Elham had kept his notebook, now in our special safe at home. I didn't need to open the bureau, or its inner compartment. My vocab book was in shreds all over the floor. I was still staring at it when Morris joined me.

‘I thought I'd find you here.'

I pointed. ‘All that effort torn up and discarded.' I was ready to weep.

‘But you've finished with it now, Lina. Nearly. Most of it's up here.' With a smile as kind as Griff's he touched my forehead. He held my gaze so long I thought for a moment – no, he couldn't have been going to kiss me. Suddenly he turned away, fishing a polythene bag and purple gloves from his pocket. He knelt to gather up the shreds. ‘No, don't touch any of it. I'm hoping he was so angry he forgot to put on gloves and has left lovely clear fingerprints all over the pages.'

We nipped into Canterbury Sainsbury's, and found the usual brand of champagne on offer, so we stocked up, leaving the checkout girl wide-eyed at our drinking capacity. I also bought a range of green teas and a supply of healthy ready meals, in case I didn't have time to cook my own for him. But my enthusiasm didn't run to wanting to share them with him, and when we'd delivered them and reminded Lord Elham to lock up behind us, we returned to Bredeham. Via a very nice gastropub, actually, the Granville, on Stone Street, where he stood me lunch.

‘Now what?' I asked when we at last pulled up outside the cottage.

‘I ought to go back to London to consult my colleagues about this and all the other cases we've got in our in trays. I'm still not happy about leaving you on your own, though.'

‘I shall be fine.' I rather hoped I wouldn't be on my own. Piers should be back down south soon, and we had something to celebrate. Something told me, however, that wasn't what Morris wanted to hear. ‘You've seen how well fortified our place is. Fort . . . Fort . . .'

‘Fort Knox. Even so . . .'

‘Fort Knox. I shall be fine.'

‘Any problems, anything at all, you'll phone me – right? Promise?'

‘Promise.'

Because he was so nice I hugged him and kissed him, aiming for his cheek but getting his lips instead. He turned away quickly and got in his car, but seemed to have trouble with his seat belt. Eventually, though, he set off with a smile and a wave.

As soon as I'd killed the alarms and sorted the day's post, I phoned Piers to give him the good news about his ring.

‘You've sold it! That's excellent. Well done. Thanks very much.' Piers' words were enthusiastic enough, but I'd only have given him four out of ten for the warmth of his voice. It inched towards two when I told him we'd got £200 less than he'd asked for.

‘That's the way the markets are at the moment, Piers – haven't you noticed?' I said, stung. I couldn't bring myself to point out it was probably more than it was worth, given the dodgy diamonds.

‘I suppose so. Thanks, anyway.'

I thought an unasked question hung between us – when would he get his money? But I told myself he'd know that we'd have to make sure the purchaser didn't change his mind and that the card transaction was OK and all the other things that can go wrong didn't. And he could trust me to hand over a nice fat cheque as soon as I could. Maybe as soon as I saw him.

‘How's Leeds?' I asked.

‘Where? Leeds? Oh, pretty quiet. I shall be glad to pack up and come home. Are you doing anything this weekend?'

We made a few nice-sounding plans, and I began to feel better. He didn't have time to ask how things were down in Kent, though, because he said he'd got a customer. At least he promised to be in touch the moment he could.

All the same, I felt flat. I couldn't think why, unless something was troubling me about the way he'd said
Leeds
. As if he'd forgotten where he was. Or was supposed to be.

If only there was someone to take my mind off the niggling doubt. No Griff, of course. No Morris. Not even Mrs Hatch – she'd locked up the shop (I checked) and gone home.

For the first time for a long time, I actually felt lonely. Morris was right. I didn't have any mates my own age, no one I could have chewed Piers over with. So I'd better lock myself and the van in our Fort Knox and get on with a bit of sensible restoring.

W
hen Titus Oates phones, you feel you ought to curtsy, or something, because it's such an honour. He never gives his name, and always talks in a sort of gruff whisper as if he's afraid of being overheard – not that Titus ever talks when there's anyone within earshot.