Guilt Edged

by Judith Cutler

  Late as it was when we got back, I insisted he had a long hot bath: being soaked to the skin was bad enough, but having to sit in wet clothes was worse. He also had a medicinal glass of red wine, though I was anxious about mixing alcohol and his pills. I checked all the instructions and there was no explicit warning, so I let him have his own way.

  ‘So long as you promise me you’ll oversleep tomorrow,’ I said threateningly, and headed to bed myself. My heart ached a little too – until I finally admitted that it was bruised pride, not unrequited love, it was suffering from. At least there was a text from Carwyn: progress was being made, he said, and he’d give me more info in the morning.

  But he didn’t, of course.

  At least, apparently none the worse for his soaking, Griff insisted on taking the Internet business helm. He waved aside my half-hearted protests, saying truthfully that I had more than enough to do in my workroom. Apart from tea breaks and a lovely salad lunch – Griff at his best with smoked salmon, avocado pear and mixed leaves, and a large spoonful of capers, not to mention his special dressing and wholemeal bread – I worked without interruption, after leaving further messages for Freya and Robin. There was nothing else to worry about, after all, so long as I didn’t think about Carwyn and his broken promise. I couldn’t do anything about Toby Byrne, who was still unconscious, according to Richard, who’d evidently managed to contact the hospital without Charles’s assistance; I needn’t do anything about the dratted white horses, because I’d dumped them on Yorkshire Trading Standards and also because Carwyn would be getting his south-western colleagues to check out Totnes, and someone would be knocking on the door of the shop in Hastings Paul had identified; I needn’t do anything about stolen miniatures, since the Thames Valley police were deeply involved with them too. Most of all, I found I needed to be worrying less and less about Griff. He really seemed perkier than he’d been for months – even perkier than before he’d admitted to being less than well.

  ‘Lina! Come quickly!’

  I was on my feet and down those stairs like a shot. It was only when I saw the phone in his hand and the smile on his face to realize I didn’t need to panic.

  ‘Robin!’ he mouthed, handing it over.

  ‘It’s a girl, Lina,’ Robin was saying. ‘A beautiful girl. Perfect.’

  ‘And Freya?’

  ‘Fine. Now. They were both poorly to start with. Both in Intensive Care for a while – though they let Imogen stay with her in an incubator. Which is why I’ve not been in touch. But she’s fine now. They both are. Oh, Freya wants a word.’

  I could hear the phone being dropped and picked up. In the background were various muffled gurgles.

  ‘Lina? I really could do with a hamper. You know how rubbish Robin is with food. No, hang on – take it to the rectory. Not here. They say I should be able to go home later this week. As soon as Imogen’s well enough. Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ I said.

  ‘Good. Are you shagging Carwyn yet? Or are you still hanging out for bloody Morris?’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything when I see you,’ I promised, fingers crossed tightly behind my back. On the other hand, she’d certainly enjoy the story of the confiscated underpants. ‘In the meantime, all our love. Griff’s putting the champagne on ice right now.’

  ‘So long as he saves some for me …’

  There was a muffled noise and Robin chimed in: ‘No booze – she’s breastfeeding.’

  ‘And how long will she keep that up?’ I asked Griff as the call ended. ‘Freya’s not really one for patience, is she?’

  ‘Motherhood has been known to change a woman.’

  ‘I still reckon Robin’ll be mother. Well, the difference between their salaries for a start …’

  After Today, Griff’s favourite news programme was PM. Feet up, he was listening to it when someone rang the front doorbell. Since I was involved with glue and paint, I let him open it, though I admit I called down to remind him to check who the visitor might be. He grumbled loudly that of course he would. Then I heard voices: whoever it was had been admitted. Brian and Helen? What were they doing here?

  Though they were both seated and clutching cups of tea by the time I’d cleaned up and made myself respectable, I thought they looked embarrassed. But Griff kept general chatter going for a few minutes, before excusing himself to check something in the kitchen.

  Helen led. ‘We’re after a favour, Lina. I know you don’t do your divvying to order, but we … we really need some help. There’s a lot riding on it. Tris’s future, really.’

  I must have looked aghast.

  ‘No, he’s not stolen anything, nothing like that. But it seems there’s a chance of him getting what he insists on calling a proper job, and he needs a reference.’

  ‘And you’re not happy giving it?’ I asked with a frown.

  ‘Not exactly. Yes, a bit doubtful, I suppose.’

  ‘But he’s immensely knowledgeable. I mean, he knows far more than many dealers I know. Far more than me. What’s the problem?’

  They looked at each other. Brian said, ‘We don’t want to give him a bad reference without a reason. And to give him no reference at all – well, that’d scupper any chance he might have.’

  ‘But you’ve not told me why you can’t give him a good one,’ I pointed out. ‘I’d really hate to say the wrong thing. The trouble is, as Helen knows, he had a bit of a thing for me, and … it didn’t end well. If he ever found out I’d had a hand in writing it, he’d go berserk. Rightly.’

  Helen snapped her fingers and looked triumphant.

  ‘He won’t. But it’s interesting,’ Brian said, ‘that you imply he’s got a temper. He has. Not with us, not often, but with people he speaks to on the phone. His friends, not our clients. Which maybe doesn’t count.’

  Griff reappeared. ‘It seems to me, Brian, if I might join you, that you like and would recommend this young man, but both of the women have – implied – reservations. What have you said to the young man?’

  ‘Nothing yet.’

  ‘And do you have any doubts of his honesty? Because if so I don’t know why you’re asking Lina about his reference.’

  Brian and Helen exchanged another look. ‘Actually, the police aren’t happy with the way he checked the provenance of a couple of batches of miniatures we sold,’ Helen said. ‘Which reflects badly on us, of course.’

  As did the fact they were paying him zilch.

  I made rewinding gestures. ‘The police have been round?’

  ‘Didn’t they tell you? Oh, yes. They wanted chapter and verse on every single one. Seems Tris had verified both the seller’s details and the rest of the provenance. On both lots.’

  ‘Yes, the Midlands … But surely someone else must have checked the payment details?’

  ‘All valid as far as our accounts department were concerned. The payment was made and went through. All fine and dandy. One was something Estate, near Alcester. Can’t recall the exact name. Or the one in Worcestershire. But there’s something worrying the police, no doubt about it. They wanted to know who’d bought the lots so they can examine each and every item in them.’ She added the question my headmistresses had always asked me when something bad had happened: ‘What do you know about this, Lina?’

  Too much by far? ‘I know at least one valuable miniature has gone astray. From a private collection. Thames Valley police were on to it – thought I might have nicked it. I hadn’t. But someone has. Perhaps they’re checking all batches of miniatures sold recently.’

  ‘All batches?’ Brian repeated. ‘Not just ours?’

  ‘My theory would be,’ I said, ‘that the stolen item is being sold with a group of others, so it goes under the auctioneer’s radar. You see, I bought a really good miniature the other week, but it was tucked away in a batch of uninteresting ones – just like the ones at your place cheek by jowl with the brilliant ones.’

  ‘Which Tris was very dismissive about and you weren’t.’

  ‘I
hadn’t seen the paperwork, Brian, just the miniatures themselves. And I didn’t – don’t! – know anything about miniatures. So I was just reacting. Instinct. Intuition. Whatever.’

  Brian looked as if he was sucking a rotten tooth, but Helen said, ‘So is Tris involved in this scam or not? And can we write him a reference?’

  Griff stepped in. ‘I don’t think Lina’s divvying powers extend that far, Helen. With all due respect, you have to make that judgement yourself. What I might, in your situation, be tempted to do is to give a fair evaluation of what he’s done as an unpaid volunteer but say that until an ongoing police investigation is complete you are unable to comment on the honesty or otherwise of anyone at all in your organization. Anyone at all. That should cover it.’

  My eyes rounded at the flow of official-sounding language.

  ‘So it’s a no, then,’ Helen said. ‘Poor Tris.’

  ‘Poor Tris,’ I echoed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  I was waving them off when I noticed a car parked opposite. It was Tris again, slumped as before behind the wheel of his battered Subaru. He wasn’t looking in our direction. He wasn’t looking anywhere. Just staring ahead.

  What should I do? Finish locking up for a start, before nipping back inside to consult Griff.

  ‘Ignore him,’ he said, switching on the radio again.

  ‘But what if he’s …?’ I made a throat-cutting gesture. What if he was after us?

  For once Griff misunderstood me. ‘At this time of day? Not the usual time to top oneself, my child.’

  I hadn’t even thought about that possibility, but it seemed more likely. Horribly likely. Nibbling a nail, I said, ‘All he wanted was a real, paying job … Griff, what if he’s had too much to drink, or has taken drugs? Or what if he’s got a hose from his exhaust into the car and—?’

  ‘With Brian’s BMW parked right opposite? And our neighbours coming home from work? Really, Lina, I have to tell you that for once your imagination or your kind heart is working overtime.’ He put his feet up again and reached for the radio. ‘Very well, do you want me to go and ask him if he’s trying to top himself?’ Sighing, he made as if to get up. Half-heartedly.

  ‘It’d better be me, hadn’t it?’

  It all started well enough, with me asking Tris through the driver’s window if he was all right.

  And when he got out, he insisted all he wanted to do was talk about his future. ‘Lina, it’s all such a mess. I need to talk to someone—’ Then he grabbed me. Really, his line in snogging was pretty poor. And I didn’t even have any ice cubes handy.

  As I tried to fend him off, the street was flooded with lights, a car skidded to a halt and suddenly I was staggering backwards and watching someone thump Tris so hard several times that he fell backwards, hitting his head on the car and slithering to the ground apparently unconscious. More than apparently. For real. Certainly there was a lot of real blood coming from his nose. But the other man was gathering me to him and demanding to know if I was all right.

  Morris? Even, and possibly better still, Carwyn? But I knew that viciously expensive aftershave, and, come to think of it, I knew that viciously expensive car. Bloody Aidan and his bloody Merc. Not to mention his knuckles, which were also – but this time literally – bloody.

  ‘What I can’t understand, Aidan,’ I said, not very graciously as an ambulance removed Tris, just in case the bang on the head had done anything serious, ‘is how you came to be here. Before you explain, though, you’d better have some ice for that hand of yours.’

  It wasn’t just me eyeing at it: an embarrassed police community support officer, no doubt wondering if he should call in for his proper colleagues, was trying to make sense of the scene.

  Naturally, Aidan ignored him. And my suggestion. ‘It’s a good job I was here. What would it have done to Griff to see you being raped in front of his very eyes?’

  ‘What good will it do Griff seeing you here after what you were doing with Charles?’ I countered.

  He had the grace to look hangdog. ‘That’s why I’m here.’

  But it wasn’t. Not entirely. Or even not exactly. To do him justice, though, even as I unlocked the front door, he was calling to Griff in the most penitent of tones. I let them sort things out between them while I spoke to the PCSO, a man in his early forties with a very whiny Kent accent, in the warmth of the kitchen.

  ‘I’m quite sure that Tris won’t press charges if I don’t press charges against him. I think he just wanted to … Something had upset him and he just turned to me …’

  ‘For a bit of a hug, like?’

  ‘Possibly. On the other hand, since I don’t particularly want to hug him, I’d be really grateful if I could have a word with him and find out what was really going on inside his head. You know, since we used to be … Just in case Aidan was right and he meant to hurt me.’ Maybe the sight of me might shock him into saying something.

  The CSO looked embarrassed. ‘I suppose if you want to … They’re very big on reconciliation and arbitration and stuff these days. Cheaper than going to court and ASBOs and that. So if I could fix a meeting …’

  It was almost as if Griff and Aidan had been waiting for the officer to leave, because Aidan erupted from the living room as soon as I closed the front door, only to hang back as if waiting for my permission to speak.

  I gestured. It would be the living room for all of us. It would never do for Griff to have to eavesdrop in his own home. ‘Let me get you that ice first.’

  Wrapping the tea towel I produced, full of crushed ice cubes, round his hitting hand, he said, ‘Lina, I owe you the most profound, my most sincere apology.’ He really looked sorry too – which made me wonder why all those syllables weren’t nearly as effective as the simple words, I’m sorry. Griff would be able to explain later. ‘You were right; I was wrong.’

  My next words weren’t very long or very gracious. ‘What about?’ After all, I had a lot of grudges against him stored up, whatever Griff had said about forgiveness.

  ‘About my miniature. Lina, I implore you, get it back for me!’

  My little mental wheels worked overtime. ‘You mean,’ I said slowly, to give them the chance to catch up, ‘that someone really has stolen a prize miniature?’

  ‘Of course. I thought it was safe and sound with all the others, that no one would picked it out from the others hanging there. But Lina, someone’s taken it and replaced it with a copy. The frame’s still there, but not …’ He was almost in tears. Was in tears.

  No wonder he hated me. Because all I could think of were brutal questions. ‘It’s been removed? Like Toby’s? What do the police say?’

  ‘Police? What do they know about such things?’

  I thought of Carwyn. ‘A very great deal, actually. And you know what, your insurance company won’t think much of your talking to me before dialling nine-nine-nine.’

  He wrung his hands. ‘But – so awkward … Admitting …’

  ‘If you’re alleging that Charles replaced it while you were tied up,’ Griff said, ‘admit it you must. The police have heard and seen worse. Lina’s right, Aidan. It’s a job for people who can fully examine the scene of the crime, take DNA samples … That sort of thing,’ he said, with an airy wave of the hand.

  ‘Besides which,’ I added, ‘it’s almost certainly part of a pretty big scam.’ I repeated what I’d said to Helen and Brian. ‘Whoever’s involved must be stopped. From the people operating out of the Midlands, providing the selection of miniatures and their provenance, to the people taking the money via an authenticated bank account. And I can’t do any of that.’

  ‘But the gossip … my reputation …’

  ‘Which always was that you were an old bugger who liked an occasional bit of bondage,’ Griff said, softening the words with a ruefully affectionate smile. ‘And spanking. Not that Charles is anything but a young gentleman, of course. But I bet you couldn’t sit down for a bit. Do as Lina says: call the police. I bet you have the number of
that darling young Welshman, don’t you, dear one?’

  ‘Would you phone?’ Aidan whispered. He opened his mouth, looking first from me then to Griff. It was obvious he had something else to say but not while I was in the room.

  Sure I’d slip out and make the call. But this time I couldn’t help keeping my ears open.

  ‘It isn’t necessarily young Charles,’ I heard him confess before he shut the door very firmly. I’d have given a great deal to hear more, but it wasn’t my relationship, and in any case I really wanted to phone Carwyn, as at least one sane person in an otherwise crazy world and the one best suited to dealing with Aidan’s antics. In any case, he owed me news about the emporium and Hastings. Didn’t he?

  Carwyn showed no irritation at being summoned to talk to Aidan, greeting me with a quick apology for not getting back to me earlier.

  ‘Not much to report,’ he said. ‘Shall I fill you in when I’ve dealt with your friend?’

  Aidan, never one to be kept waiting, recounted his goings on, though at this point he coyly told Carwyn he preferred not to name names. Names! I know it’s just a cliché usually, but might he in fact mean there was more than one? Eventually, the admission inched its way out. I couldn’t look at Griff, for whom this must be painfully embarrassing. As for Carwyn, I had a feeling that, though he was serious and still quite deferential, he’d have a wonderful time regaling his mate with the tale in the pub later.