Silver Guilt (22 page)

‘Provenance,' he said.

‘Provenance?' I repeated stupidly, putting down my paintbrush and trying to think about something other than a shepherdess's chipped nose.

‘For silverware. The word is some bloke's busy getting his mitts on as many old auction catalogues as he can. So that when he tries to sell his ewer or his salver, he can show where it came from. Old dodge, doll. All that silver nicked from Bossingham, you can bet he's waving his catalogue under some dealer's nose proving his dear old grey-haired granny bought it a hundred years ago – well, give or take – and she's just popped her clogs and left it to him. That's what he'll be doing.'

‘Thanks, Titus. That's really helpful. I owe you.'

‘Right. You do. So get the filth out of Lord Elham's face, there's a good girl. There's a few jobs I need him to do. You might tell him.'

‘I didn't hear that. In any case, the police won't go away until folk have stopped nicking stuff from him and the Hall itself. Some more silver went last night. Small. Portable.'

‘Bloody hell. Got to put a stop to that.' And he cut the call. That was Titus for you.

Tell my father there was more dodgy work for him? Not likely. But I'd better let Morris know about the catalogues, hadn't I? Was half nine too late to call him? I hoped not. It would be nice to hear someone's voice. The cottage was horribly empty without Griff. Was it empty for him, when I was away? And what if I ever married and left him? Marry! How many girls of my generation thought that was the way to have a relationship? But they hadn't had Griff to guide them.

Morris answered straight away. ‘What's up?'

‘Nothing. I mean, there's nothing wrong. And I'm sorry to bother you at this time of night. But someone's told me something you ought to know.' I explained.

‘And I suppose you wouldn't want to name your source?'

I snorted. ‘Not if I ever want any more information from him.'

He laughed. Then there was a little pause.

‘Are you OK? Really?' he asked.

‘The place is a bit quiet without Griff,' I admitted.

‘Perhaps you should have accepted Aidan's invitation after all.'

‘I'd only be in the way. I'm quite busy, actually. All this nipping round the countryside's made me get behind with my work.'

‘If you need me to come down, you've only got to say the word. You know that.'

‘Thanks. But I'm fine.'

‘Really truly?'

‘Really truly.'

We started to talk about all sorts of other things. At last, we had the previous exchange about being fine all over again. And by then I really did feel a whole lot better. To cheer us up, Tim and I had planned to treat ourselves to a really creamy hot chocolate, not to mention a slice of one of Griff's wonderful cakes, but we didn't need cheering up now, of course. But we had them anyway, and tucked ourselves in for an early night.

When Piers had made all those romantic plans for the weekend we'd both forgotten Griff and I were due at an antiques fair in Westonbirt, down in Wiltshire. Or it might just be in Gloucestershire. Anyway, not far off the M4.

‘I'm afraid the sight of my face would put off all but the keenest punter,' Griff said, when I popped over to see him. I couldn't argue. ‘So why don't you ask Piers to help you? He won't be selling collectibles there, for goodness' sake.'

Three days together, and spending the nights in our caravan – I was over the moon at the thought. But it seemed Piers had forgotten something on his own account – a big collectibles fair in Devon. My heart sank. Not just because I'd really been looking forward to seeing him but because at a fair like Westonbirt I felt a bit out of my depth, socially that is: lots of other dealers talked horribly like Nella and Aidan, and everything about them was intimidatingly and effortlessly chic. On the other hand, Griff and I always put out our best items, so although many other dealers were top of the range, we weren't outclassed professionally. Setting up was a pain on your own, too. So it would have been nice to have Piers beside me.

‘But my fair doesn't start till Saturday,' Piers said. ‘Why don't I meet you at Westonbirt and help you put out your things, and then I could go on to Barnstaple from there? Maybe we could have a nice meal somewhere. I don't think Gloucestershire goes in for discos and that. And then on my way back I could come and help you pack up?'

‘Oh, yes, please!' Damn. I sounded overeager, a bit like a puppy being offered a treat. I ought to learn how to do cool, a bit stand-offish.
Whatever,
would have been better, with a huge shrug.

We agreed to meet at Westonbirt School itself. From a distance, the house looked genuinely Elizabethan. But according to Griff it was actually built for a very rich Victorian, whose family had made its fortune supplying London with drinking water. He'd made enough to start the National Arboretum just across the road, too. Now his house was a posh girls' school. I suppose even all the young ladies' fees wouldn't run to keeping a place as grand as this in the condition it deserved, and to make an extra buck it stooped to hosting antiques fairs. It was nothing like the schools I never quite went to – full of beautiful wood, silk-covered walls and ornate ceilings with genuine-looking gilding. None of the graffiti you'd get in your average comp. It was almost a sin to hide the walls by erecting stalls and lighting. But I set to and got on with it – because Piers had called in to say he was stuck in a jam on the M25 and would be late.

As he cut the call I looked at my watch. He was going to be very late indeed if he hadn't even got on to the M4. What time had he started out, for goodness' sake? But I didn't have time to think of all the cutting things I should have said to him, so I simply got on with what I had to do.

Some dealers were strictly specialist – oriental silk; seventeenth-century portraits; boudoir paintings. Our stall had what Griff called an eclectic mix. And I knew that was the right word because I'd written it down and learned it. I'd picked up a couple of tricks about display from Nella – about the only thing I'd ever thank her for! – and maybe they were responsible for a run of sales that left obvious gaps. In fact I was so busy I didn't notice the time. And to be honest I didn't even miss Piers, except that an extra pair of hands would have been useful. I was quite startled when he suddenly appeared, rather red-faced and with an angry glitter to his eyes.

‘They only charged me for coming in! I told them I was a dealer, coming to help you, but they didn't believe me, the buggers. I had to fork out five quid!'

Should I offer to pay him back? I was on the point of fishing out some coins. But bother him. If he'd even grabbed me and kissed me before telling me how cross he was maybe I wouldn't have minded.

‘Would you mind holding the fort for a minute or so? I'm desperate for a loo,' I hissed, not waiting for a reply. Well, I couldn't. But while I was away from the fair, I thought I might nip down to the tiny canteen area and pick up a sandwich and some water – I'd had no lunch, after all. As an afterthought I bought double, just in case he'd been so keen to get down here he'd not stopped.

There was something different about the stall. Hands full, I stopped and stared. He'd reshuffled the things on display, so the gaps didn't show. Excellent. But there was another difference. Not like at Bossingham Hall, where there were more cards than items. It was the other way round. Sitting in pride of place was not the perfect Barr and Barr sucrier, with gilt handles and little painted scenes of jolly, well-fed peasants – goodness knows where the artist had found his models – but an elaborate leather jewel case, lined with watered silk. It contained a dazzling pair of earrings – free-hanging emeralds and diamonds on tiny springs.

I gaped and pointed.

‘I was hoping you'd shift them for me. Victorian, of course. Got this aunt who's fallen on hard times. Doesn't want anyone to know.' He tapped the side of his nose. ‘
Noblesse oblige
, and all that.'

‘All the same,' I muttered, putting down the plates and water bottles. I fished my eyepiece out of my bag and held out my hand. Eventually he twigged and passed me the case. Not a dodgy diamond in sight. In fact the gems were so fine I'd have expected to see the earrings at Christie's. ‘These are well above our usual range – you can see for yourself,' I said, gesturing. ‘What sort of price were you expecting?'

The figure he named was high, but not excessive (thanks, Morris) for such lovely pieces. I nearly asked out loud, ‘Are you sure these aren't off the back of some lorry, Piers?' but managed to be a bit more tactful: ‘What's their provenance?'

‘They're from the collection of Lady Olivia Spedding.' He looked coldly down at me, rather like the Duke of Wellington, now I came to think of it, holding out his hand for the earrings.

I returned them, shrugging. ‘No skin off my nose,' I informed him, my voice all accent and attitude.

I wasn't so much surprised as taken aback when he just said, ‘Usual commission,' and disappeared. What the hell?

But I couldn't say it aloud or do anything except smile: a punter was pointing to the sucrier. He wanted to look at it. And remember, if a punter handles, he'll usually buy.

To be fair, there was no sign of his tantrum when Piers reappeared. In fact, he really grovelled, blaming the awful journey and a lot of other things.

‘Maybe this will cheer you up a bit,' I said, fishing out our chequebook and sitting down to write the amount we owed him for the ring. Griff had already made it out and signed it, so all I had to do was add my name. ‘There.'

It went straight into his wallet. ‘Thanks. Now about this evening—'

Why didn't I want to hear the next bit?

‘I've booked a table at the Hare and Hounds, just up the road. My treat.' He patted his wallet. ‘Glad rags – I hope you've brought some? But then I'm afraid I shall have to slope off as soon as we've eaten: an old friend of my mother's heard I was going to be in Barnstaple, and insisted I stay with her. A pain. But I really can't offend her. She's expecting me to stay over into next week, too.'

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him what to do with his table and his glad rags. But I didn't want to spend a whole evening on my own, even with Tim Bear for company, and I would make sure I picked the most expensive food on the menu. And my father had taught me about choosing champagne, hadn't he? Yes, two could play at that game. And I rather thought, now I had those earrings as hostages, I might well win.

I still had enough good china and glass in the van to fill up the empty spaces on the stall, but there wasn't much left by the end of the fair. I got together with an old-lace dealer, a lady in her fifties, for supper on Saturday – it seemed she didn't like eating alone in public either – and we helped each other with packing up. The earrings hadn't sold, though there had been some interest. Piers hadn't been keen for me to offer a reduction even if anyone asked me for my ‘best' price. So I was stuck with beautiful but overpriced earrings, which were the first thing I showed to a multicoloured Griff when I eventually got him home on Monday morning. Aidan had been touchingly reluctant to let him go, Mrs Hatch had been inclined to gossip when he visited her in the shop, and even the postie wanted a few minutes of his life.

‘Leave the post and emails till later,' I said, relieved to find the cottage in one piece after the weekend, ‘and sit down while I make you a cup of tea. Here's your eyeglass: have a look at these.'

‘What am I looking for? Not more dodgy stones?'

‘None that I can see. But I'd really value your opinion.'

‘Continental,' he said, when I put his tea beside him. ‘Beautifully clean. Everything just as it should be for the period. Feel the weight. Lovely quality stones – all of them. No reason why we shouldn't sell these. And for the price he wants, too.'

Just then the phone rang. I thought I heard Griff add something about sprats catching mackerel, but perhaps I was mistaken.

The whole day was tarnished by the fact that sooner or later I'd have to ask Griff about the assault. He knew something was wrong, and made himself busy checking what I'd sold and exclaiming with pleasure at the profits. When I came back from a stint in the shop – Mrs Hatch had a dental appointment – wonderful smells were wreathing themselves round the outside of the cottage, courtesy of the powerful but fairly quiet extractor fan that he'd recently treated us to. He was obviously preparing one of his best meals. I felt worse and worse. As I retired to work upstairs on that poor shepherdess, I heard noises from the street. The police were returning our van. I'd been bracing myself to have to go and collect it, but it seemed someone had taken pity on Griff and dropped it off on his way home, a mate hanging on to give him a lift the rest of the way. It was all very friendly, with Griff offering tea and generally chatting up the man in overalls – I think Griff has a thing about overalls. He was just waving them off when Overalls shot out of his mate's van, waving something.

‘They're not going to be much use, I'm afraid. But you might as well have them anyhow.'

Griff's glasses, the lenses shattered. I was nearly sick with relief. I tucked the van in the garage, and returned to find Griff with the phone book.

‘I thought I ought to make an appointment with that nice Mrs Pybus,' he said. ‘It must be a year since she tested my vision and generally had a poke round in my eyes. If I've got to have new specs then they might as well have the latest prescription.'

I wouldn't put it past him to have understood why I hugged him so hard, but he said nothing.

The next offer of tea was to a uniformed police officer, a young woman a bit older than me.

‘This is PC Sally Monk,' Griff announced, ‘who showed me a lot of mug shots while I was at Aidan's. Pray come in and sit down.' He ushered her into the living room,