Silver Guilt (28 page)

Nella merely eyed the search warrant Morris showed her as if it was an inaccurate bill, and listened with complete boredom to the arrest incantation, which he spoke so clearly that Griff and his actor friends would have applauded. Her shell of calm cracked when she saw the handsome toy boy in handcuffs, but she soon regained control over her features.

As she gathered her bag and coat, she said, ‘You will be careful packing away these items. Most are extremely valuable.'

Only
most
. Did that mean that Titus' suggestion that someone was cobbling together two unfashionable things to make one desirable one was true? And that she was involved?

I couldn't ask, of course. But I was sure that Morris would. Meanwhile two officers took up position by her stall. They wouldn't need to know price codes or how to work the credit card terminal, would they?

‘I'd have expected a triumphalist dance,' Tiny said, as I returned to our stall. ‘And a few handsprings. But you've got a face as long as a fiddle.'

‘I know her brother. And a more upright and law-abiding man you couldn't meet. And I'm worried about the lovely silverware. She's right. Whoever packs it must be very careful.'

‘Are you volunteering?' Morris demanded, appearing from nowhere. ‘It'd be great if you would.' And he was gone, before I could tell him what to do with his great idea.

Actually, why not? I left Tiny in charge, ready to charm cash out of a really sweet old lady looking up at him and fluttering her lashes as if he was a Greek god, and headed off to supervise the team dismantling Argentia's display.

Which was how I came to find an eighteenth-century musical snuff box with a hunting scene, stolen from Bossingham Hall. I wrapped it and slotted it in with the rest. They'd be looking for a new administrator, wouldn't they? I just hoped it would be someone who loved the place and the things within it.

‘H
ow's Aidan taken this business?' I asked Griff, as we prepared supper together his first night home.

‘Quite hard. It was very tactful of you to keep out of the way when he brought me back, my sweet.'

‘It wasn't just for his benefit, Griff,' I admitted. ‘Mine too. That woman!' I looked at the clock but it wasn't quite seven, so I couldn't use the rude words I wanted to. ‘Thieving's one thing, but trying to shift the blame to poor old Lord Elham is another.'

‘Not to mention trying to implicate you, dear one.' Griff put down the vegetable knife and allowed himself a sip of champagne. ‘Tell me, did I hear aright when you told me that your father proposed to rid you of your troublesome boyfriend? I misquote, of course.'

I frowned. The words rang a distant bell. ‘Troublesome
priest
? Thomas à Becket?'

He put an arm round me and kissed me. ‘Exactly. It should actually be
turbulent priest
, but let that pass. What does he intend to do?'

‘He won't say. Except I have to take him to London.'

‘London!'

‘I've already taken him shopping for the right clothes – that gents' outfitters in Canterbury. It was like stepping back a hundred years or so. And then we nipped off to Jones's for some shoes. He had a haircut too. And bought a Dictaphone. Don't ask me why – I've no idea, and he's really enjoying keeping everything to himself. He tells me he'll let me know when we have to go. I shall just – and I never thought I'd ever say this – have to trust him.'

‘So soon you will be footloose and fancy free? Ah, do I sense a little hesitation? Have you lost your heart to young Robin at last? No? Oh, Lina – it's Morris, isn't it?'

I couldn't tell whether he was pleased or alarmed. I sat down. ‘He's nice. He's lovely. But he's nearly twenty years older than me. And he told Tiny that I didn't know long words.'

‘A breach of faith.'

‘He didn't need to. As I shall tell him tomorrow when we go out to dinner. And then we'll see.'

In fact, Morris and I didn't go out to dinner the next day. Or the next. He phoned to apologize twice, saying things had come up and hoping I wouldn't mind. As it happened, I did mind, very much, but then came something to mind about a great deal more. Mrs Hatch died. Poor Griff was very badly shaken; as soon as the funeral was over, attended not only by the whole village, but by the two policemen who'd managed to resuscitate her, I took him down to stay with an old theatrical friend now based in Devon. I'd been invited too, but my father phoned to tell me to stand by for the Day of Reckoning, as he modestly put it. And since there was a limit to the amount of theatrical nostalgia I could enjoy, I went back up to Kent. Maybe if I took my father a load of casseroles for his freezer he'd explain what he was up to.

The cottage was so quiet I understood a little bit of how Mrs Walker might feel, so before I went round to my father's wing I popped into the main part of the hall to take her off for a coffee and bun. There was no sign of her, so I asked another volunteer where she might be.

She looked carefully round before leaning towards me and whispering, ‘I'm afraid she was sacked.'

‘Sacked!' I repeated. Much more loudly. And marched into the admin hub demanding an explanation.

‘Well, she broke a plate,' said the deputy administrator apologetically.

‘She didn't break it! It broke because that Fielding woman messed with the climate control. Hey, now she's been arrested, can't Mrs W come back?'

‘I don't think she could.'

‘But I'd trust her with the china in my shop!' I shouted. And then stopped shouting. ‘You don't have her address, do you? Oh, don't tell me it's more than your job's worth.'

It seemed it was.

My father looked dead shifty when he came to his front door. ‘Could you come back in an hour or so, Lina? I'm engaged at the moment.' Since Titus Oates' van was tucked behind an outhouse, I knew better than to ask how on earth he could be busy.

‘Pop these in the freezer and call me when you're free,' I said, putting the bags of home-made meals for one into his hands. ‘Remember, I really do not want to know what you two are up to. Ever.'

The best thing about villages, especially those as small as Bossingham, was that everyone knew where everyone lived. So when I saw someone busy sweeping her front path, I pulled over and asked for directions.

‘Mrs Walker? Three houses down. That way. I warn you, she's not herself.'

Nor was she. Her hair was a mess and her jumper and skirt could have been cleaner. I had a sudden fear that if I was kind she'd cry. So I had to be careful with my offer.

‘I'm in such a mess,' I said, quite truthfully, though I hammed up my distress, so it seemed to match hers. ‘I've got Griff convalescing down in Devon, a shop to run and antiques fairs popping up all over the place now spring's here. I just don't know where to begin.'

The biscuit she passed me was shop bought and on the stale side. She really did need a kick start. In fact, she looked so miserable I wondered if I was going to make an almighty mistake.

I sold her the idea slowly. First I said I was lonely and hated eating on my own.

‘We could always lunch together?' she said hesitantly.

‘There's a nice pub,' I said, ‘over in Bredeham.'

She was off in a flash to change and comb her hair. At last, while we were tucking into our rather tough lasagne (I didn't even know lasagnes could be tough), I pointed out that she'd never seen our shop.

It was love at first sight. I think she'd have paid me to let her work in it. She even took the security system in her stride. She would start as soon as she'd had her hair done, she declared. We agreed a week's trial without prejudice on either side – her idea, and certainly her words.

Somehow I had to tell Griff I'd made such an important decision on impulse, and without consulting him. But I needn't have worried. He greeted the news as if he'd written the script himself. He even thought a woman who worried how her hair looked would be a credit to the shop. Somehow everything started to look a lot better, as I told Morris next time I texted him.

And so they did until the next phone call. It was Lord Elham's summons. I was to take him to London the next day.

For some reason I cleaned the van before I called for him. And it was a good thing I had. Not only was he wearing his new clothes; he'd even shaved.

‘You look very good,' I said.

‘It's not often I go to Town these days but I think it behoves me to look every inch the country gentleman.' And then he flinched. ‘We are not travelling in your trade vehicle!' he insisted.

‘I'm not going to turn up advertising it's me, am I? We'll do what Griff and I always do if we want to go to London. We'll park at the station and catch the train, and after that take a cab. There's nothing more incognito than a cab, surely.'

‘And you're happy to lurk – in that cab, for preference – while I Do the Deed?'

‘What deed?'

‘You'll just have to wait and see,' he declared, with something like a chuckle.

I was glad Griff was still away – he'd have been very alarmed, not just at what I might be getting involved in but also at the thought that my father's sudden kindness might be a way of persuading me to move to Bossingham.

We could have travelled from Canterbury or Ashford International; I opted for Ashford because it has such a good – if dead expensive – car park. The downside was having to buy tickets from a machine. I prefer a person.

My father pointed at the screen. ‘Travel first class? Dear me, I can't afford that!'

‘Nor can I. I always travel second class.' I started prodding the screen, but I could tell he was sacrificing himself. However, he perked up considerably when he saw even the second-class areas were comfortable and our seats even had a little table on which to place the champagne he'd insisted on bringing but which I was determined to ration. To my amazement, he showed me how to tackle Sudoku, rattling through the
Times
's fiendish puzzle as if he were a child with an abacus. The journey passed surprisingly quickly.

‘Now, you won't drink more than one bottle of champagne at this club?' I prompted him.

‘Shampoo at £600 a pop? You jest! And yes, I know how the Dictaphone works.' He patted a pocket. ‘Taxi!' It seemed he didn't believe in queuing at stations. I kept my head down and hopped in behind him.

We found ourselves outside a posh-looking door in a very smart neighbourhood. My father pressed my hand, reminded the cabbie he had to wait, and disappeared inside.

‘I never seen the like,' the cabbie gasped. ‘Old geezer going into a knocking shop and leaving his lovely daughter outside while he has his shag. Don't hold with it.'

‘It's a brothel, is it?'

‘Bloody right it is. Claims to be a gentlemen's club, but it's a whorehouse all right.'

‘I've never seen one like that,' I said. Those I'd seen were seedy little places claiming to be massage parlours. If it were the sort of thing I could discuss with Robin, I'm sure he'd say it was the hand of God that prevented me from working in one, when I was at my very lowest. And maybe I wouldn't have argued with him. ‘He's actually not a punter at all,' I added, because the cabbie was still looking outraged. ‘He's – let's say he's working undercover,' I said, dropping my voice and touching the side of my nose.

Some time later my father emerged with a very smug expression on his face, directing the cabbie to take us to the Savoy, where it dawned on me that we were to have a rather late lunch. But he was on his best behaviour, praising the beef as judiciously as if I didn't know that Spicy Beef Pot Noodles were his real preference, and gossiping about the famous faces he'd seen at the brothel. I'd spotted, from the depths of the cab, a further couple he'd missed. One face we'd both seen was Piers Hamlyn's.

At last Lord Elham extended a spatulate finger and pressed the Dictaphone's Play button, not your usual behaviour in a restaurant but since the tables were so widely separated perhaps no one would hear and complain. Now we could hear the clink of glasses twice over – once for real and once on tape. We could hear Piers' voice quite clearly. He was boasting about his fence, how it was like taking candy from a baby.

And then we heard Lord Elham's: ‘Young man, it happens to be my baby from whom you are taking the confectionery. My little girl Lina. She will not be marrying you, of course. And, unless you want an exposé that would shock even your family to the roots, I suggest you listen very carefully to what I say . . .'

‘The Falklands!' I repeated at last.

‘I do wish, my love, you wouldn't squeak,' Lord Elham reproached me, just as if he were Griff. ‘Yes, the Falklands. I believe he will find his niche out there: sheep or mineral rights, whichever interests him more. Not for ever. Just long enough for you to mop up all the fake gems he's scattered about the country.' He laid a wad of notes on the linen tablecloth. ‘From Piers and his partners in crime. It should suffice. You will keep any change.' He looked at my ringless finger. ‘You should find enough there to purchase genuine stones for the jewellery in your keeping, which is now yours.' He sat back, belched, and looked at his watch. ‘Now, I don't want to miss
Neighbours
. I think it's time we made our way home. Do they have Sudoku in the
Evening Standard
?'

‘A
nd how much of your adventure with your father do you propose to tell Morris over the dinner table?' Griff asked. He was home again, at last, much to my relief.

‘Nothing at all,' I said flatly. ‘It's much safer if he goes on thinking Lord Elham's a demented old soak, several knives short of a canteen. What if he made a surprise visit and found Titus there, like I did the other day? Disaster all round!'