I turned for Pippa’s house, feverish with excitement now, all thoughts of rushing off to Thomas Cook to book my holiday in Lanzagrotty totally forgotten. Oh no, I couldn’t lie on a beach getting sand in my eyes; I had to lie quietly in a darkened room and think, think, think!
But what did it all mean, though? So what if Sam was a Meissen expert, could it just be one huge coincidence? I shook my head. No, it was much too huge for my liking, much too staggeringly colossal. I set my mouth in a grim line as I drove fast and furiously through the back streets of Chelsea, my mind whirring. Oh yes, make no mistake about it, Sam was up to his neck in the nicking of our precious porcelain, and I was the super sleuth who was going to nail him!
I careered up to some red lights, just managing to stop in time, and gripped the steering wheel hard as I tried desperately to think of some more incriminating evidence. I was pretty sure I had to have a bit more than just the fact that he was a Meissen enthusiast to go to the police. I mentally ticked off a few starters in my head.
Right, first of all, Sam had no money. He was stony broke, that much was clear, so he needed the loot. Secondly, he’d know how to get rid of the stuff. He obviously had his finger on the pulse of the porcelain market so he’d know when and where to pass it on without arousing suspicion – probably knew every collector in the country. Thirdly … I bit my lip and frowned. Thirdly, on the night of the burglary he’d been two hundred miles away, holed up in a hotel room with yours truly, much too drunk to drive and much too late to catch the last train to Cornwall, which would have gone hours ago. Damn! I punched the steering wheel hard. How the hell had he done it then?
I stared out of the window at the row of shops I’d pulled up in front of. Unless … unless he hadn’t actually done it himself. The lights went green, I shunted into first gear and shot off. Yes, of course, brilliant! Sam wouldn’t actually want to get his own hands dirty, would he? No, he’d have an accomplice, a lackey, someone who’d do the job for him. But who could that be? Did Sam know someone in Cornwall, perhaps? Someone who’d run the risk? I sighed. The list could be endless; he might know every light-fingered crook in the West Country for all I knew. He probably knew a hell of a lot of antique dealers, and if Lovejoy was anything to go by they were all a pretty dodgy lot.
I roared up the road to Pippa’s house in a state of high excitement, parked – well, screeched to a halt – and ran up the garden path. I found the spare key under the pot, bustled importantly into the sitting room and grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil to take notes. I sat down purposefully on the sofa, all ready to think.
I chewed the end of my pencil. Now think, Polly, think. I gazed into space. Nothing much seemed to be happening. I pursed my lips. What would be the most thought-provoking position? I wondered. I swung my legs up and lay down with my head on the arm of the sofa. Then I shut my eyes. Huge mistake, I began to feel a bit sleepy. I quickly got up and sat with my head between my knees so that lots of blood could flow into my brain and help things along. I frowned at the carpet. Now come on, Polly, think. Think!
I bashed my head with my fist. Why was I so slow? Where the hell had I been when God had been handing out the little grey cells? Round the back of the bike sheds, probably, having a quick fag and touching up my lipstick. I groaned in frustration. Why couldn’t I be one of those people who only had to look at a puzzle and it snapped into place? Like those eggheads on Countdown who did conundrums in under twenty seconds, or people who did The Times crossword while they were waiting for the toast to pop up. Why couldn’t I be more like … Nick! Yes, of course, Nick! He’d know. I’d ring him. He’d know exactly what to do.
I leaped up with a little squeak of joy and ran to the phone, delighted to have such a good excuse to speak to him. I was halfway through punching out Tim and Sarah’s number, however, when I hesitated and lowered the receiver. Should I be doing this? How would he react to hearing from me? As far as I was concerned he was my darling husband, father of my unborn child, no less, but as far as he was concerned I was still public enemy number one, the unfaithful hussy of a wife.
All the same, I thought, slowly bringing the receiver back up to my ear, this was surely something Nick should know about, wasn’t it? We were talking about his precious porcelain collection here; it might even lead to him getting it back – he’d thank me for that, wouldn’t he? It would help to – you know, ingratiate me, wouldn’t it?
I finished dialling and listened with some trepidation as it rang at the other end. I cleared my throat nervously, but after a while trepidation turned to frustration as no one answered. I tried Trewarren but it just rang and rang there too. Oh, come on, Nick, where are you, how come you’re never there? Finally the answering machine clicked into action.
‘Hello, this is Nicholas Penhalligan, I’m sorry we’re not …’ and so on. I listened dreamily. It was a pleasure to hear his voice. Suddenly I realized I was beyond the beep.
‘Oh, er, Nick?’ I began clumsily. Oh help, why hadn’t I thought out what I was going to say? ‘Um, it’s Polly here, your wife – obviously enough!’ I giggled nervously, then cleared my throat and struggled to sound sensible. ‘Um, look, the thing is I’ve got this idea, well, more of a suspicion really. I think it’s possible – well, I’m almost certain actually – that Sam’s somehow connected with our burglary, because I’ve found out that he’s got loads of Meissen in his house – don’t you think that’s weird? And he obviously really knows his stuff – his porcelain stuff, I mean,’ I added quickly. ‘Er, so that’s it really. I’m going to do some more investigating but I really need to speak to you, for – well, for advice really. Um, bye then.’
I put the receiver down. Terrible, Polly, really terrible. Totally convoluted and inarticulate. I sighed. Oh well, what did he expect from a pregnant woman? I looked at my watch. Ten past one. He’d surely come back for some lunch soon, I’d just nip to the shops and get some food, then I’d sit by the phone for the rest of the day and wait for him to ring.
I raced up to the high street, bought some provisions, then ran back to the house. I set up camp by the phone in the hall and nibbled a piece of raw broccoli, quite disgusting, but full of folic acid, apparently, good for a baby’s brain, or back, or something. Now that I knew about this baby’s illustrious parentage I’d decided it had to be on the receiving end of something slightly more nutritious than dry biscuits.
I nibbled away and stared at the phone. Eventually my bottom got sore from sitting on the hard chair so I commandeered the portable phone and lay down on the sofa with it by my nose. I watched it closely. I rang the operator once or twice just to check it was still working. I carried it around with me. It had lunch with me. It watched a lot of television with me. It even had a bath with me.
By the time Pippa’s key turned in the door at six thirty I’d clocked up almost five hours of solid telephone watching without so much as a tinkle from Nick, and I was almost going berserk. I fell on her as she came through the front door, relieved that at last somebody in the world would be forced to listen to my story.
‘Oh, Pippa, thank goodness you’re back, I’ve got so much to tell you – you won’t believe what sort of a day I’ve had, you just won’t believe what’s happened!’
Pippa dumped her bag and jacket on the hall chair and gazed at me rather dreamily. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were shining.
‘Really?’ she said in a distracted manner. ‘I’ve got some news too …’
She smoothed her hair in the hall mirror, gazing abstractedly at her reflection. She looked radiant. Suddenly she turned and grabbed my hand. She beamed.
‘Oh, Polly, something most extraordinary has happened, something so unbelievably wonderful I still can’t really believe it’s true! Come on, let’s go and get a glass of wine and you can tell me your news, then I’ll tell you mine!’
She dragged me into the kitchen, fairly skipping with excitement, and reached for a bottle of wine in the fridge.
‘You first!’ she trill
ed. ‘I want to save mine till last!’ She shoved the corkscrew in and screwed furiously.
‘Well, first of all,’ I said, perching on the edge of the table, ‘Sam’s not the father of this baby, Nick is.’ I grinned. ‘Sam’s had a vasectomy.’
‘What!’ She popped the cork out and almost dropped the bottle. ‘Are you sure? Did Sally say so? Oh, Polly, that’s terrific!’ She put the bottle down and hugged me. ‘I’m so pleased! You must be delighted.’
‘I am, ecstatic, and I can’t wait to tell Nick about the baby. I think he might see things differently now, don’t you?’ I asked anxiously.
‘Of course he will!’ she said staunchly. ‘Once he knows he’s going to be a father he’ll forgive you anything.’
‘Well, hopefully,’ I said nervously, twiddling my hair round my finger. ‘But listen, Pippa’ – I slipped off the table and sat down in a chair – ‘there’s something else, something really quite serious.’
‘What?’ She poured out a couple of glasses and sat down opposite me. ‘You look all sort of strict and headmistressy, what is it?’
‘Sam collects Meissen china – I saw his collection at his house.’
Pippa frowned. ‘So?’
‘Meissen, Pippa, the same porcelain that was stolen from Trewarren, don’t you see?’
‘See what?’
‘Well, he has to be involved somehow, doesn’t he? I mean, it’s much too much of a coincidence. D’you think I should ring the police or something?’
She stared at me. ‘And say what? That Sam collects the same china as you, so therefore he nicked yours? Don’t be ridiculous, Polly, Sam’s not a thief, and anyway he was with you on the night of the burglary, wasn’t he?’
‘Well yes, but that doesn’t stop him from being involved, does it? He probably got someone else to do it.’
‘What, you think he masterminded the whole operation from the dance floor of Annabel’s while some Cornish tea leaf was doing his dirty work? Don’t be absurd, it’s just a coincidence, and anyway what about Bruce, what about the bit he gave to his mother? Or d’you think that was really Sam in disguise? Mincing around the hospital in a pair of tight jeans and a blond wig, hoping Bruce’s mum wouldn’t suss him?’
‘Now don’t be flippant, Pippa, this is serious –’
‘Well tell me then, tell me how you think he did it.’
‘Well …’ I scratched my head. I’d been so sure, so convinced. I struggled to get back to my train of thought.
‘Yes?’ she demanded.
‘Now hang on a minute, Pippa, you’re confusing me. I had some good ideas earlier, just let me think a minute –’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Polly, forget it, will you? It’s absurd. Totally crazy. And anyway,’ she seized my hand across the table, ‘what about my news – just listen to this! Guess what?’
‘What?’
‘Josh is leaving his wife!’
‘Oh! Oh, that’s … wonderful, Pippa.’
‘Isn’t it fantastic? When he got home last night she confessed that she’d been unhappy for ages and was having an affair with some guy at work – Josh had no idea! She wants her man to move in with her, so Josh is going to come and live here.’
‘Really? What, here with you?’
‘Yes, of course, why not? And guess what, Polly, he hinted – only hinted, mind – that when the divorce comes through, we might even get married. Married!’ She leaped up and danced around the kitchen, clutching the bottle of wine to her chest. ‘Aren’t I just the luckiest girl in the world? Aren’t I? God, I can’t believe it! There’s only one thing, though.’ She sat down again and looked anxious. ‘D’you think we can still get married in a church? Because Josh has been married before? D’you think I can still have the whole ivory-silk-and-orange-blossom bit? Do you? Only I really want all that.’
‘Well, I –’
‘Actually I have a feeling it’s OK so long as the vicar jumbles the vows up a bit. My cousin married a divorcee and she had the works, but I seem to remember the words were a bit different, which is fine by me. I don’t mind what Josh says so long as “I do” is tucked in somewhere – oh, and all his worldly goods, of course!’ She giggled. ‘Oh, and, Polly, you can be my bridesmaid, or – no, you’re married – my matron of honour! My pregnant matron of honour. Gosh, you’ll probably be about nine months by then – you can waddle up the aisle after me, what a scream! Oh, isn’t it brilliant, isn’t it just fantastic?’ She leaped up and did a few pirouettes round the kitchen.
‘It’s great news, Pippa, really it is.’ I forced a smile. I couldn’t help thinking that Josh wasn’t exactly leaving his wife – she was kicking him out. But it wasn’t just that, there was something else, something about Josh, something nagging …
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘sorry to harp on, but about Sam, d’you really think I shouldn’t just mention it to the police? I mean, that he’s a collector?’
Pippa stopped in mid-twirl. ‘No, I don’t think you should.’ She stared at me. ‘You know what you’re doing, Polly? You’re trying to get back at him. You’re trying to pin something on him because he got you drunk and then went to bed with you. You’re just pissed off with him, aren’t you? You haven’t got the slightest bit of proof, for heaven’s sake, you just know he collects the same china as you! And anyway, what about my news? What about my life, for a change, did you hear what I said? Josh and I might be getting married. Isn’t that marvellous, or doesn’t my life matter?’
‘Of course it does and I’m thrilled for you if … well, if that’s what you want.’
She stared at me. ‘Of course it’s what I want, it’s what I’ve always wanted – you know that. What’s the matter, don’t you like him or something?’
‘Of course I do, it’s just – oh, I don’t know, forget it.’
‘What? It’s just what?’
‘Well … it’s nothing really, it’s just – well, you know how he doesn’t get on with Bruce?’
‘Yes, so what?’
‘Well, I just thought –’ I licked my lips, I was getting into really deep water here. ‘Forget it, Pippa, it’s nothing.’
Pippa sat down and narrowed her eyes. ‘No, come on, Polly, what? I’d really like to know. So what if he doesn’t get on with Bruce?’
I squirmed around on my chair. ‘Well, I just wondered … whether he had anything to do with it – but forget it, Pippa, I’m way out of line here, I –’
‘No, no, I will not forget it! Hang on a minute now, you think Josh had something to do with the burglary? You think he framed Bruce, is that it?’
‘Well, I –’
‘Because his sister got AIDS from a blood transfusion and as a result he can’t bear homosexuals? You think that because of that he and Sam framed Bruce and nicked your china, is that it?’ She gazed at me for a moment, then sat back in her chair, her eyes widening with comprehension. She nodded slowly.
‘Ah yes, of course, I’ve got it now! You think that when he stormed out of the restaurant that night he went down to Cornwall to steal your porcelain. Then he passed it on to Sam and together they framed Bruce, that’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, but –’
‘Far-fetched? Polly, it’s obscene! For your information Josh was very upset that night because his sister had taken a turn for the worse. When he left the restaurant he went straight to the hospital. He spent the whole night sitting by her bed, holding her hand, comforting her and mopping her up as she threw up all night. If you need an alibi,’ she said, looking cold and furious now, ‘I’m quite sure the nurses at the hospital will verify his story. Why don’t you go and ask them? St Stephen’s, Fulham Road, go on, ask them!’ She was white now and her lips had all but disappeared.
I put my head in my hands and groaned. ‘Oh God, Pippa, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!’ I wailed. ‘I had no idea. What must you think of me? I just – oh, I don’t know, I’ve obviously got this whole thing completely wrapped round my neck.’
‘No, of course not, Pippa, of course not, and I’m so sorry, really I am –’
‘And what about Bruce? I mean, I know you like him, but take it from me, he is one hell of a mixed-up kid, and if you want my very candid opinion – which up until now I wouldn’t have voiced, but seeing as how you’ve forced me into it – I wouldn’t put it past him at all. Not at all!’
She lit a cigarette, puffing the smoke out fast and furiously and shaking the match out vigorously. She was clearly upset. She waggled her finger at me.
‘You know what you’re doing here, Polly? You’re trying to clear the people you do like and pin it on the people you don’t like, don’t you realize that? It’s crazy!’
I stared at her. She was right, of course. I was behaving like a loony, like some sort of amateur Sherlock Holmes. Whatever was I thinking of? I shook my head.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ I said miserably. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me, I seem to be seeing the worst in everyone at the moment. It must be this pregnancy lark. I think Josh is great, really I do, and I’m desperately sorry about his sister. Pippa, I’m so sorry, just call me hormonal, OK?’ I gazed at her beseechingly.
She glared at me fiercely, then looked away. After a minute she looked back. She grinned abruptly. ‘OK, forget it.’ She pushed the wine bottle over the table. ‘Life’s too short. Here, have another glass of wine, it might relax those hormones.’
Going Too Far Page 37