Guilt Edged (21 page)

‘No sodding street lights, are there, Mrs Tripp? Want my advice? Just let yourself into the house smartish and lock up quick as you can. Press your panic button if nec. Only, I've got to keep my eye on some posh place in Tenterden.' He cut the call.

I froze. What if it was Aidan's place? I almost called him back, but stopped myself in time. He wouldn't have told me if it was, would he? Couldn't, for heaven's sake.

Rafiq bounced back into the van. ‘Right, time to sort out that guy, innit?' He rubbed his hands, raring for a fight.

‘Let's just hope he's gone,' I said under my breath. But I tried to enter into the spirit of things. ‘Tell you what, let's just drive very quietly, very gently, and surprise whoever it is.'

Poor Rafiq was really mortified to find all his unnatural driving had been in vain. The street was deserted. A perfect gentleman now, he strode round to the passenger side to help me out, and he shone his torch at the door lock to help me let myself in.

‘Won't stir till you call and tell me everything's OK, innit?' He folded his arms and turned round to face the street. I was being guarded with his life. It wasn't until I'd turned both thumbs up that he accepted I was safe and sound. With a wave, he got back in and drove away.

Before I could think of eating, I had to check it wasn't Aidan's house under special surveillance. Hang Aidan, and his
objects d'art
– it was Griff I was worried about. The landline was engaged, and both their mobiles switched to voicemail. I left a perky message on Griff's, asking him to call me to talk about my purchases from the fair. Texted him, too. Nothing to panic him – after all, if Phil and the team were doing their job properly, he and Aidan might not even know there was a problem.

OK. Time to eat. Fine except for one thing. I'd left my tikka and naan in Rafiq's van.

Having had no response at all from Griff, and with Aidan's landline engaged whenever I tried it, I was reduced to talking to the cat. ‘I wish I could keep you. But you know I only bought you as an investment. And what do I find? That you're a really pricey pussy. Faience, that's what you are, according to the Internet. And you're as old as I thought you were. Late eighteenth century, probably all the way from Brussels. How about that? And when I put you up for sale you'll have a really nice price-tag on your paw. Two and a half thousand pounds, that's what it'll say, Cat. How about that?'

For five minutes I toyed with the idea of a real cat, the sort that would sit on my lap and purr. But there were three arguments against. Griff hated cats; cats and china did not mix; and Tim the Bear would be speechless with jealousy.

The phone rang at last.

‘Phil here. Van heading your way. Cottage, not shop. Suspicious-looking guy. Front door now.'

Just like a visitor, then. But I couldn't think of anyone likely to visit me, suspicious or otherwise.

Not until I checked the security camera.

It was Rafiq, with my supper.

F
riday morning brought good news: Tripp and Townend were awash with euro-loot. Some of the invoices I'd submitted to our French clients had been paid, and the others, according to the bank, were in the pipeline. Paul tapped busily at his calculator, sorting out today's conversion rates to pounds sterling and coming up smiling.

It meant, though I didn't tell even Paul or Mary, that I could go higher with my bids for the items at today's auction – I could take a risk on that miniature. Even so, when it came to it, though part of my everyday job was making bids at auctions, my hands were greasy with sweat and my voice kept cracking. And that was just for the plates! But I got them for peanuts, far less than I'd mentally set aside. Which left all the more for the lot of miniatures.

Which dropped into my hand like a ripe plum. As easy as that. I couldn't believe my luck. Or was it a horrible misjudgement? I wouldn't know whether I'd made the right call till I had it in my hand, so, abandoning the vase I should have been working on, I headed straight out, taking a couple of plastic boxes stuffed with bubble-wrap for the china.

Willpower time. Lyminge first. It was like making myself eat the vile grey porridge I knew was really good for me before toast and Griff's home-made marmalade.

‘You bought this for less than a thousand pounds?' I'd never heard Aidan squeak but he came pretty close to it now. A squeak, in his elegant drawing room – the one too posh for the family miniatures!

‘This and half a dozen little friends.'

His eyebrows disappeared as he passed it carefully to Griff. In awed tones he continued, ‘A Samuel Cooper?'

I didn't like to admit the name meant nothing to me. I managed a dry smile. ‘Unknown artist, according to the catalogue. Unknown man, too – but I'd guess from your expression you know who it is.'

‘Not precisely. But it has to be a relative or by-blow of one of the Charleses, doesn't it?'
By-blow
: that was Aidan's euphemism for
bastard
. Perhaps he used it to spare feelings I didn't really have about my illegitimacy. ‘Such quality … Lina, when you come to sell this, may I have first refusal?'

I could feel Griff's eyes on me. ‘Of course,' I said. ‘But the thing is, Aidan, I don't want to sell it. At all. I know that's what dealers are supposed to do. But I want to buy it from Tripp and Townend and hang it on my own wall. If you don't mind, Griff.'

‘My darling, the only thing that stops me telling you to have it for free is the fact you paid for it using our funds. Our accountant would die if I did. So we will do it officially, with every scrap of paperwork being entirely official and above board. What it does call for is champagne …' His voice tailed off. This wasn't his house, after all, to be hospitable in.

‘What a good job I stopped off at Waitrose,' I said. ‘I even got it out of the chiller cabinet, so it should be ready to drink.'

Far from being delighted with Aidan's reaction to my unknown man, I was actually quite worried. The more I looked at it, from the delicate gold frame to the wonderful living quality that the artist had achieved, the more anxious I became. From being good, the vibes I was getting were bad. There was something altogether wrong about my purchase.

Should I ask Tris? He was an expert, after all. On the whole I thought not. The unknown man and his unknown artist could both stay that way until I'd made more enquiries myself. Until I had, I wouldn't – perhaps couldn't – hang him on my wall. As for his mates, perhaps they'd better stay with him. Just in case.

I wouldn't explain to Griff till I got him on my own. Meanwhile, we had other things to celebrate: the Adam and Eve delftware plate had him literally jigging with pleasure, which was more than enough excuse for champagne in my book at least.

 

When I'd told Tris I had a rush job on for Harvey Sanditon I'd been lying, but by some coincidence, as I laid the table for supper, still festive and cooked by Griff himself, a text came through from Harvey himself. A valued client had had a disaster: could I help?

Leaving the napkin-folding to Aidan, who did such things so much better than I, I retreated to call Harvey. My eyebrows were still probably sky-high when I returned to the dining room.

‘A week's work, I'd say,' I told Griff quietly as Aidan brought in soup. ‘So urgent, the owner will pay me a bonus on top of my fee if I can deliver by next weekend.'

‘Can you manage it? As their Big Day draws ever closer, Mary and Paul must have things to do that will take them away from the shop.'

‘I shall just have to focus … Thanks to today's auctions I think we've got enough stock for the shop. And I picked up a few things at Smeeden – including a really cute faience cat.'

Griff looked at me; even though I meant to sound casual, he knew it was another item I didn't want to part with.

‘He –
it!
– should do well at Sir Richard's gig. As for more top of the range stuff, we'll have to bring one or two things out of store – and the Adam and Eve plate should help.'

Aidan was quiet to the point of looking suspicious. It was clear he didn't like our shop talk. So we turned our attention to the food, and said nothing more.

I could only hear parts of their after-dinner conversation, which took place in the drawing room while I ferried the dirty dishes from the dining room to the kitchen. The rest I could imagine. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but as soon as I heard my name my ears wouldn't switch off.

‘Lina lonely!' Aidan said in loud disbelief. ‘What gives you that impression? She might be on her own more these days but she's always struck me as an extremely self-contained young woman.'

‘She wants a cat and she's bought a picture of a handsome young man. Exactly what I'd do in her situation. She's been on her own long enough. And Aidan, much as I'd love to flit around London for a couple of days with you, I think it would be too much for me.'

‘And the connection is?'

‘I don't want to stop you going up to town and enjoying yourself. I would like to spend some time with Lina before the weekend in the Cotswolds. The connection is that you can go to London and I shall return to Bredeham.'

‘And you'll exhaust yourself trying to look after her.'

‘If I know her, she'll exhaust herself trying to look after me. But we can be like two playing cards propped up to make the foundation of a card tower. We shall support each other and thus achieve a lot more. If I do no more than answer the phone and check the Internet purchases, it will get me back into the business, nice and slowly, and it will get some of the pressure off her. You must have noticed how pale she is.'

Pale? Was I? I'd certainly got a couple of random spots which I could well have done without. More than a couple. And goodness knows when I'd last had my hair cut. That was something I must get done before the Warebank Court weekend. And I must think about clothes, too. But where would I find the time for buying them? I'd really messed up by not buying anything for autumn going into winter while Griff was in hospital, though Ashford would have provided a good basic wardrobe. But why not look beyond basic? Griff had blown more euros than I could imagine on chic French garments for me, and some of them would go with me to Warebank. There, decision taken.

Now what were they saying?

No, it was time to concentrate on loading the dishwasher, preferably with a bit of a clatter, and to close the ears to their private conversation. Probably Aidan thought much the same – I heard a door close firmly and the voices disappeared.

I didn't dare hope that Griff would come home. Or did I almost hope he wouldn't? What if he was too poorly to do all he wanted? What if he was taken ill? What about all his medication?

There was a terrible crash. I stared at my hands. How could they have dropped something precious? Something of Aidan's!

I stared at them in horror. They'd let fall – ah, just an old crock basin, one Griff whisked eggs in. It had landed on a le Creuset casserole. More noise than mess. All the same, I found myself crying, and, as usual, once I'd started I found it hard to stop. In no time, I felt Griff's arms round me, loving me better. Why should that only make it worse?

But a hissed question stopped me in mid-sob.

‘Dear God, the girl can't be pregnant, can she? Like father, like daughter, you know.'

Griff spoke before I could. ‘I can think of no one less like her father than Lina. As for pregnancy, that's her business.'

‘And not possible,' I declared. ‘I shan't embarrass you with details of my contraception, but believe me, Aidan, it's foolproof. Which means, in case you're concerned, that even I can't mess up.' Deep-breath time. A big row would be really bad for Griff's heart, wouldn't it? ‘Look, I'll clear up here and then head for home. No doubt I'll see you at your mate Sir Richard's place,' I added, my accent as ugly as I could make it.' A big hug and kiss for Griff. ‘See you soon. I love you. Don't worry – I'll drive as safely as if you were there beside me.'

‘My love, I will be there beside you. I'll get my things while you repack all your precious items.'

It wasn't all quite as neat as that. Aidan was full of the most grovelling apologies and kept finding other reasons to keep Griff with him. Most of the time I simply kept out of his way, loading the car with all my purchases, including the book on miniatures I'd left behind last time. I'd also ferried Griff's luggage, which was pretty minimal but more than he'd come with, since he didn't care to leave any dirty clothes at Aidan's. At last, as Aidan almost leapt up and down with anxiety, I said, ‘Come on, Aidan, all lovers have tiffs. But sometimes a little space is good for both partners. I'll look after him, I promise.' Maybe my being calm irritated him even more than if I'd lost my temper, as I wanted to. If I had, I knew I'd have well and truly lost it – used words that were general currency when I'd been a street kid and which he probably wouldn't have understood. But if I had, it wouldn't have done Griff any good.

‘And you'll be seeing him next weekend,' I continued, all nice and cheerful and grown-up. Could I be adult enough to say what I ought? I'd try, at least. With a deep breath and in a bit of a rush I said, ‘He's always told me not to let the sun go down on a quarrel.' I drifted away to let him take the hint.

But if he did, Griff didn't say anything to me as I picked my way home to Bredeham through the misty lanes.

Once we were safe, his belongings either hung up or in the wash, and he had a glass of his favourite Rioja in his hand, I tried again. Handing him the phone, I said, ‘You know what you told me about quarrels. Go on. You know you ought.'

Saintly or what? All the same, as I discovered when I logged in to check the day's emails, I was still shaking with rage. Or terror. All that passing out. This crying business. I couldn't – could I – be carrying Morris's child?