Guilty Pleasures (3 page)

And I gave Him another smile when I discovered what I'd been sitting on. Not just any old choir stall, but a misericord, one of those seats that tips up to support the chorister's bum if he has to sing during a long service. Underneath the plain seat you'll often find carving, which there was here. In turn, I found a fat man, a long-faced woman who looked as if she'd got toothache, and what looked like a Green Man. Maybe it was the evil-looking imp next to him that made my retro necklace snap, the beads cascading all over the floor, parts of which were so dark I had to find them by touch. I hope I said nothing too offensive, but I couldn't guarantee it.

‘And what might you be doing, miss?' a voice demanded.

Scrabbling to my feet, I found myself eyeball to eyeball with the Commandant and her teeth, set in snarling mode. ‘Gathering up these,' I said, showing her a handful. ‘What a time and place for the string to give way.'

‘Hmph,' she said, not pleasantly.

I almost asked when kneeling in a church had become a crime. But she looked as tired as Griff after a busy fair, so I simply smiled and fell into step with her as she headed for the door. Actually, to be honest, I didn't fall into step. I was herded, wasn't I? Anyway, someone called her, so I had another dawdle, this time by some impressive memorials – not because I could read the Latin, but because I wanted to make a point.

I was just leaving the church when Robin ran up the path. To my amazement he was wearing his church gear – the white nightie over the black skirt.

‘Hoped I'd catch you,' he gasped, ‘before you left.'

‘Where've you been?' I asked stupidly.

‘Nearly forgot a wedding at Brayham,' he said. ‘Dear Lord, that was a close call. Anyway, what did the police say?' He collapsed into a handy pew.

I joined him. ‘What police?'

‘The police after the thief. I called them. That was when I remembered the wedding. Thank goodness the bride was even later than I was.'

I made a little rewinding gesture. ‘Did you actually dial nine nine nine?'

‘No. Someone with a mobile said he was doing it and why didn't I just scoot. What's the matter?'

I was twitching the end of my nose. Why had someone said he'd phone, which meant no one else would, and then obviously not done so?

‘All these flowers giving you hay fever?'

‘Just smelling a rat,' I said. ‘But that's me. I smell them even when someone's gone to all this trouble to keep out the smell of damp. And isn't that dry rot in that funny little porch?'

‘Our fault, not the original builder's,' he said quickly. ‘Oak withstands most things, but not a blocked drain. As for damp, yes, we're missing some slates.'

‘Will the money you raised today pay for everything?' I asked, just managing not to squeak in disbelief.

‘Hardly. It's like the little Dutch boy and his thumb in the dyke, I suppose. We just stick in more thumbs.'

‘Let's hope no one pulls his out, then – though he may get a plum, I suppose. OK, so how do we raise enough to do a proper job? I suppose you haven't got a handy millionaire or two in the congregation?'

‘I wish. But then, would we want to accept tainted money?'

‘Tainted?'

‘Think of the rich man and the camel trying to get through the eye of a needle.'

‘I thought you said that that was a reference to some narrow gate or other,' I said, referring to an explanation he'd given me months back.

He grinned. ‘True. But think about it. How can anyone be a millionaire without exploiting someone?'

I could see him muscling up for a good philosophical argument, so I nipped in with another question. ‘OK, what about ordinary people?'

‘There's a joke going round us clergy. The Archdeacon phones to say there's good news: there's plenty of money to repair the roof, or whatever. The bad news is it's still in people's pockets.'

‘Ah. And are there enough pockets?'

‘Not a chance. On a good day I get twenty souls, on a bad ten. Most are retired: the young aren't exactly leading a lemming rush to eight o'clock Communion. In terms of cash, it'd be cheaper to buy a minibus and ferry them to one of the other churches than to pay the heating and lighting. Not to mention the maintenance work.'

‘But surely something as old as this must be listed?'

‘Oh, yes. I think all churches may be, actually. And this one is special. So special I'm surprised – shocked – that English Heritage isn't prepared to help. Well, the cuts, Lina – everyone's having to tighten their belts, as they say.'

‘Yours is on the tightest notch already. And those misericords are pretty important, aren't they?'

‘Oh, yes.' He sighed, then buried his face in his hands. Although he wasn't on his knees, I thought he might be praying and didn't want to interrupt, so I sat quietly and looked about me. I was a sucker for lost causes. Was there anything I could do?

When he emerged from his silence, I asked bluntly, ‘Have you any valuables to sell? The church, not you.'

‘You'd have to talk to the churchwarden. Fiona. She'll know. She's wonderful – no parish priest should be without a Fiona, preferably a Fiona for each church.'

Fiona must be the Commandant. No need for him to know we hadn't entirely hit it off.

After a pale smile, he added, ‘You know they've tacked another church on to the benefice? Eight altogether now.'

‘All the extra services?' I squeaked. ‘Not to mention extra parish work? You need a trade union,' I declared, getting to my feet. ‘Come on, it's a lovely evening. Let's find a pub and I'll shout you a shandy and you can tell me who was supposed to have called the police. Hell! That's my van alarm!' Elbowing him aside, I sprinted out into the sun.

Whoever had tried to get into the van had presumably been put off by the noise, though not necessarily the one that the people restoring the churchyard to its usual state heard. We'd had our system tweaked, just a little, so in addition to the usual racket there was another, probably illegal noise, just out of the range of adult hearing. It came courtesy of one of Griff's shadowy friends, and I approved of it heartily – see, I'm
not
fit to be associated with an agent of whatever law you choose – and it was there to deter the odd enterprising youngster who thought he'd nick something to sell for his next fix, or just smash up anything handy. Until his ears started to hurt a very great deal. As mine were hurting now, though Griff's wouldn't even have picked up the evil sound.

When the alarm stopped and I could venture closer, I could see that there were a couple of marks on the back doors, from a jemmy by the look of it, but the defences were still intact. At this point I withdrew and covered my ears. I knew what was going to happen. Just when it seemed to have settled down, the alarm became very, very loud again. That was part of its charm. From a discreet distance I zapped the van and silenced the system. Presumably whoever had tried to break in had taken the same exit route as the guy who'd been after my silver box earlier, over the fence and into the woods. In jeans and trainers I'd have been in there chasing him. But not in this dress and these sandals.

I turned back. Robin had stripped down to civvies again, bundling his working gear over his arm. He still sported his dog collar, though, and it seemed wrong to let him go off to do my dirty work chasing after Crowbar Man dressed like that.

I managed a rueful smile. ‘No harm done. That's what we have the alarm for, to put people off. And maybe the guy who promised to call the fuzz was just too busy.'

Shaking his head, he frowned. ‘Two attempts at theft in one fête is two too many.'

‘Do you remember who you asked?'

‘I didn't ask. He offered. And I don't think I knew him. But the fête was well advertised – there was a really good piece on local radio – and I didn't know quite a number of the visitors.' The frown deepened. ‘Does it mean we've not just got two attempted thefts, we've got two would-be thieves?'

There was no point in lying to Robin. ‘Or maybe a thief and an accomplice?'

‘You'd have thought one of us would have noticed someone trying to break into your van,' he mused. ‘Why did no one say anything? Look, I'll have a word with Fiona.'

‘She's as knackered as you are. Tell you what, do you have a parish mag that carries photos of events like this?'

‘Yes. I think I saw Brian with his nice new digital jobbie.'

‘When you've a moment, ask him to keep everything. He may have got a snap of the guy trying to lift that box. Or jemmy the van. Just by accident, when he was taking something else.'

He looked around. ‘He's gone. But I'll email him.'

I put a hand on his arm and smiled. ‘Can you hear that? It's the Rose and Crown calling, saying it's got a pint of best bitter with your name on it.'

He cocked his head: he could certainly hear something calling, but it turned out to be his phone. He took the call at once, his face changing from a nice bloke after a drink to a serious, concerned professional.

‘That was the hospice. I'm afraid Mrs Garbett needs me. I'll see you soon, Lina – OK?' He managed a quick peck on my cheek and was gone.

THREE

S
ince Griff wouldn't be back till late, I called my father to say I'd drop in on the way home. With the impressive name of Lord Elham, he lived at the equally impressive address of Bossingham Hall. If you approached via the front it was
very
impressive indeed – a lovely Palladian house, perfectly symmetrical. However, my father had been relegated to just one wing, which he sometimes loudly resented. Since the trustees who now owned the place let him live rent free, I didn't think he had much to grumble about.

‘I suppose you haven't brought any more bubbly?' he greeted me, flourishing a fresh bottle of champagne. He'd probably drunk his way through another during the course of the day.

It had taken me ages to realize I couldn't stop him being an alcoholic, but these days I supplemented his diet of Pot Noodles with home cooking and fresh fruit and vegetables and insisted he got through at least four cups of green tea a day. At least, he did when I was there to brew them, which wasn't as often as he thought it should be.

‘I told you, I've been to a church fête.'

‘But they have bottle stalls and tombola and raffles – you might have won something.'

I was quite taken aback. ‘So they do. And I didn't buy a single ticket! Drat!'

‘You'd probably have wasted your money anyway.'

‘But that's the whole point of church fêtes – losing your money for a good cause.' He plainly didn't follow the concept, so I patted the bottle. ‘I shall have to buy you some. Is there anything else you're short of?' I drifted us both into the kitchen to see what he needed.

The shopping list was getting quite long, which showed how much his diet had improved – who'd have thought of my father mentioning fruit, let alone eating it? – when he said, ‘We'll need something to pay for all this with, won't we? Are you going to do your divvy act?'

‘Tell you what, we'll have a cup of tea and I'll see what I can find. Divvy or no divvy.' Actually, I'd have killed for a glass of champagne, but I was driving. So green tea it was, on the grounds that it was good for him. He didn't like it, but didn't moan too much so long as it was jasmine-flavoured. Pity I hadn't managed to lay my hands on one of the fête's gorgeous cakes, or had the sense to keep back one of Griff's. Of course, he had donated them to the fête, not to my father.

Any other daughter might have asked her father what he'd been up to, but the answer would be either watching daytime TV, which I wasn't really qualified to talk about, or working for Titus Oates, which I certainly didn't want to discuss. Titus was a sort of mate of mine, though Griff disliked him intensely. But it's one thing having friends on the shady side of the law, and quite another to know your father is a master forger. So I told him about my day – not that he showed much interest in what I was up to until I mentioned Robin Levitt.

‘That Bible-basher? Drops in to see me from time to time, but only brings bottom-end cava? Oh, he's a decent sort, but he's not good enough for my precious daughter, whatever that old queer of yours thinks. Griff. Sorry.'

I regarded him over the rim of the tea cup. How on earth did he think that the bastard daughter of a promiscuous lord – a lord, moreover, who'd been so careless in the matter of contraception that the
precious
daughter
had thirty brothers and sisters out there, all equally illegitimate – might be a marital asset? But somewhere in that booze-dimmed brain was enough cunning to have got me out of at least one serious scrape.

To change the subject I told him about the attempted theft, which drew a tut of sympathy from him, as he appeared to notice my plasters and bandages for the first time. I even dug in my pocket where I'd transferred the little snuffbox and showed it to him.

What was my father doing looking knowledgeable? Snuffboxes weren't his line at all. Were they?

All he said, though, was, ‘Pretty little thing. Will you be able to mend it?'

Good question. I'd made a bit of a name for Tripp and Townend with my restoration work, but that was china and occasionally glass. ‘I've never tried fixing silver,' I admitted. ‘And after that business with the Hungarian dish, I've not managed to get very fond of it.'

‘Hmm. You've always struck me as being capable of doing anything you turned your mind to,' he said, surprising me. Then he returned to his priority. ‘Anyway, I'm sure you'll find something to sell.' He removed the cup and saucer from my grasp. ‘Come on. There's a new quiz show starting in twenty minutes, and I wouldn't want us to miss it.' Delete the
us
and you'll get his meaning. And perhaps
go on
would have been more accurate than
come on
.