Guilt Edged

by Judith Cutler

  ‘I know it looked bad last night,’ he said. ‘I know it did. But I just wanted to see you. And you know that song – about the street where you live.’

  Him! Love me! Nah, didn’t buy that, not for one minute. I didn’t even think he had a crush on me, not the way he’d behaved when we’d had those drinks together.

  I mimed a phone. ‘Call? Text?’

  ‘But not at that time of night. I just wanted … and then I fell asleep,’ he admitted.

  I must not laugh. Absolutely must not. ‘Anyway, here I am.’ But I found myself folding my arms. Defensive? Or combative? If I wasn’t sure how it would look, it was because I wasn’t sure how I felt. I added an encouraging smile. Was this how Morris felt when he was dealing with me, an adult indulging a kid?

  Fog or no fog, I could see his blush from where I stood.

  ‘I was wondering – would you fancy a drink?’ he blurted. ‘The Crown?’

  A quick check of the watch. I ought to get at least two more hours’ work in, preferably more. ‘About half seven? But then I have to do some more work – I’ve got a contract to finish.’ In other words, Tris, you’re not coming back with me.

  His mouth opened a few times which I took to mean yes.

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘See you then.’ I tried to make my retreat behind the gate look leisurely, but all the same I was happiest with it locked.

  Drat the boy. I really didn’t want to go out, especially with him, because there were a lot of things I didn’t want to let slip, especially to someone else in the trade. I’d have to stay on the wagon and make sure he did the talking, which he usually did anyway. But not about me and my doings.

  That was what was different about this evening’s drinks, which, as I’d expected, I bought. I drew the line at buying us both food, though – I was telling him the straight truth that I really did want to get back home to work. Even as I made the point I felt mean – after all, I had a sound income, and occasionally busted a gut to earn it. And I’d have to eat something anyway.

  He started picking my brain about other auction houses in the area.

  I countered with another question. ‘Are you fed up with Brian? He’s got a wonderful wide range – you must be learning a lot there.’

  ‘I was just thinking of a paying job,’ he said, tugging at my heart strings.

  ‘Brian and Helen are the only people I’m friends – as opposed to friendly – with. I couldn’t give you half a dozen names and tell you to phone them and say, “Lina Townend says you should give me a trial.” I’m just another dealer to most auctioneers.’

  He wouldn’t take no for an answer, listing all sorts of firms in Kent and Sussex, and asking for my opinion. But I hadn’t had years of training – both dodging trouble on the streets, and then, for professional reasons, with Griff – to know when to keep shtum. Mention the Lyminge Sale Room and the one near Hastings I would not, just in case I mentioned my plans for tomorrow. Double tact; double silence.

  ‘What about people in your line? Dealers. There must be someone you know who’d give me a job. I mean – while your partner’s ill, couldn’t you do with a hand? National minimum wage – that’s all I’d ask. As a friend. Come on, think about it – someone to do all the heavy work. And didn’t I hear that old bat of yours, the one that yacks all the time, is going on holiday soon? How’ll you manage without someone in the shop?’ He grabbed my hand.

  Now how did he know that? Of course, Mary wasn’t the most silent and discreet of people. But I didn’t like to hear her described like that, not one bit – even if, especially if, that was how I’d once thought of her.

  ‘Mary’s a highly experienced shop manager,’ I said curtly, removing my hand. ‘But at least I’ll talk the idea over with Griff. Another half? Because it’s time I got back to work.’

  ‘I told you that you needed help!’

  ‘I’m just about to make from scratch an entire hand for a Staffordshire figure, and paint and glaze it so well that no one but me will be able to tell what I’ve done without looking at the documentation I give them and their insurance people. When you can do that you can help.’ I shouldn’t have said that, not in that tone: it was too brutal. I added with a smile, ‘I’m really sorry, Tris, but you’ve got a wonderful brain and plenty of brawn, but not these.’ Safely out of range, I waved my fingers at him.

  ‘It’s not fair. I’ve studied for years. I’ve got all the qualifications anyone could dream of, and a few more. And no job. But you – you don’t have so much as a GCSE, do you? Sorry. Shouldn’t have said that.’

  Damned right he shouldn’t. But how did he know?

  He had the grace to blush, and he changed the subject quickly. ‘Are you going to bid for anything at the sale on Friday?’

  Should I go for his jugular? On the whole I couldn’t be bothered. Besides which, getting angry made my hands shake. So I answered coolly: ‘Not this time. In fact I—’ I’d nearly dropped it out, hadn’t I? ‘In fact, I’m expecting a vase from Harvey Sanditon. He’ll expect absolute priority – and pay for it,’ I added fairly, even though I was lying through my teeth about the vase.

  ‘That’s the upmarket guy you were shagging, isn’t it?’

  Who’d told him that? I suppose the world of antiques was small enough. ‘How dare you! He’s married, and I don’t do married men. Or, to be frank, men who sit outside my house at midnight. Sorry, Tris. But at least you know where we stand. Mates.’ At best. At very best.

  ‘But Lina—’

  Hell, he was only trying to snog me, here in the bar!

  ‘You emptied the ice bucket over him!’

  ‘Only a couple of cubes.’

  ‘Even so, he won’t like that!’ Afzal looked more serious than amused. He tipped extra salad between the thick cheeks of the naan bread. ‘Some guys don’t cope with humiliation. Look, I’m just making up a takeaway order. Rafiq’ll take it and give you a lift. Just in case.’

  Rafiq was another cousin – how many did he have, for goodness’ sake? I’d never met him before, but he seemed to know his way around the village.

  ‘You’re that antiques lady, innit?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Cottage and shop, innit?’

  ‘Right.’

  Pausing only to make sure the delivery order was anchored, he set out. Talk about bats out of hell! Still, maybe that was how they drove in Birmingham. So he didn’t see me gripping the seat as if my life depended on it – maybe it did! – I mentioned that Griff had once taken me to Edgbaston for a day at a Test Match. Well, I didn’t reckon he’d want to hear about my adventures at NEC antiques fairs.

  Bingo. We nattered about cricket during the short journey home in his van. But to my amazement he shot straight past the cottage.

  ‘Someone there,’ he said. ‘In the shadows opposite. Saw the light of his mobile. I’m going to deliver this order and then bring you back. OK?’

  The speed he was going it had to be OK, didn’t it?

  At last he screeched to a halt, grabbed the insulated bags and hurtled off on foot. I called the security firm, to flag up – in his own words – to Phil that we might have someone to worry about.

  ‘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. T
he 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.

  NINETEEN

  Friday 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 woul
d 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!