The Grail Tree

by Jonathan Gash

  ‘Yes. We can’t be seen together, you helping me along like a bloody walking wounded. Tell him I’ve an urgent message, that Jimmo’s a witness to old Henry’s killing by Dr Haverro.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘And don’t say anything about being in the Castle. We’ve not been anywhere near, see?’

  ‘Will you wait there for me?’

  ‘Yes.’ I saw her look long and hard. ‘Promise, love,’ I said, which seemed to satisfy her honest little innocent soul. ‘One thing, Lydia. You did explain to Martha?’

  ‘Exactly as you said.’ She glowed in the firelight with pride of a job well done. ‘This morning.’

  ‘And only to Martha?’

  ‘Yes. Her niece Dolly was so interested –’

  ‘Dolly was there too?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We had such a lovely chat . . .’ Her voice faded. ‘Was that all right?’ she asked anxiously.

  Which explained how Bill Leyde had learned. It wasn’t thick stupid old Honkworth who was monitoring the search for the Grail Tree. It was the geltie, clever, quiet and self-effacing. With Dolly to collect the essential details.

  I looked into Lydia’s face. After all, I’d ruined her lovely necklace. And I just hadn’t the heart.

  ‘Yes. You did fine, love. Exactly right.’

  ‘I knew you’d be pleased,’ she said brightly. ‘Have you change for the phone, please?’

  ‘Press the emergency button,’ I said brokenly.

  ‘Oh, how exciting! I’ve never done that before!’

  I drew breath. ‘Look, Lydia,’ I got out. ‘Sorry about losing my temper in there so much. It’s just that . . . well, I don’t really see the need of dying.’

  ‘I quite understand, darling.’

  ‘Eh?’

  She checked me over once more and trotted eagerly off. I watched her go, marvelling.

  That’s what I like, I thought bitterly. Help. I limped down towards the huge crowd and the fireworks. I needed to get round the back of the tableau where the reserve firework cases would be stored.

  That Fire Night’s big finish was marred only by an accident in which one of the many helpers at the fireworks lit the trailing blue fuse prematurely. It was reported that this caused a series of explosions in which the miscreant, one Lovejoy – a well-known local antiques dealer of Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. – received injuries inflicted as a result of standing too near to the main firework tableau. Reports were profuse and critical. Injuries sustained, the reporters said, were to his left arm and right leg, cuts in several places, and some facial injuries. He was allowed home after emergency treatment in the casualty department of the County Hospital. Doctors said no permanent defects were anticipated. Lovejoy has since apologized, a Festival spokesman informed reporters, to the display organizers and especially to the Silver Band who were not in position in time to play the required music appropriate for the final tableau which took place five minutes ahead of schedule. Lovejoy had inadvertently caused the tableau and six reserve cases of fireworks to ignite without adequate supervision.

  The miscreant when apologizing admitted his folly, but explained it had been the result of an over-enthusiastic desire to help. Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. had, it was reported, promised a donation to next year’s firework festival. Festival organizers were preparing a report on existing safety precautions in the vicinity of the bonfire site. A report by the fire services was in preparation.

  Nice touch that, I thought, being driven home by Lydia from the hospital, telling the reporters I’d see Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. would make a donation, though where the money would come from . . . I was covered in traces of firework powder which would nullify any sinister forensic investigation of my clothes for traces of gunpowder. My injuries accounted for, I waved to Maslow glowering at the hospital gates, but only to show him my bandages. He didn’t wave back, the heartless slob. That’s the modern copper for you, always losing sight of justice.

  Fair’s fair after all. It may not be legal and it may be miles away from proper justice, but fair’s very definitely and unmistakably fair. Which is not too bad, as the antiques game goes.

  Chapter 21

  DAWN WAS COMING as we arrived at the cottage. I staggered out of the car and turned to thank Lydia, but she’d descended too.

  ‘Er, well, Lydia . . .’ I began.

  ‘Inside,’ she said. I stared. She had my key. Somehow she’d nicked it from my coat. She scooped a letter from the doormat. No stamp, I noticed.

  ‘If you’ll just leave the case,’ I suggested, limping after her.

  ‘Sit there.’ She dialled, leaving the door ajar so I could hear into the hall. ‘Hello, Mother?’ Pause. ‘Yes. Cynthia and Mirabelle are here. Yes. Flight Five Nine.’ Pause. ‘Oh, I expect a couple of hours. They haven’t announced yet.’ Pause. ‘Of course I’ll write. Don’t fuss. ’Bye.’ Click. Burr. I listened warily. Cynthia and who?

  She came in and started taking my shoes off.

  ‘Er, look, Lydia . . .’

  ‘I’m going to the Channel Isles,’ she said happily.

  ‘Oh, good. Er, have a good holiday –’

  ‘Stupid,’ she said scathingly. ‘I’m not really going. That was only a . . . front for Mother’s sake.’

  ‘You’re not?’

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  I thought this over while she felt for hot water in the alcove and complained in a mutter when everything ran cold.

  ‘Er, Lydia.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What happened to Lisa?’

  Without turning, Lydia pointed. The unstamped letter lay on the divan. I opened it with one hand and my teeth. From Lisa, saying ah well maybe some other time but good luck and ending with three kisses. Somebody had given her the push. I wondered who that somebody could be, watching Lydia boil some water. The situation wore all the signs that Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. was going to be washed and darned to within an inch of his life. Amid the preparations I tottered to the clamouring phone for an unpleasant conversation.

  ‘Lovejoy?’ Lydia’s mother. ‘Sorry to ring so early.’

  ‘Oh. Look –’ My anxious explanation was cut short.

  ‘No need to account for Lydia’s absence, Lovejoy,’ she purred. ‘Last evening she explained everything. I ought to say I’ve seriously misjudged you, Lovejoy. You were so right to suggest Lydia takes a holiday with her old schoolfriends, to give her time to . . . well, adjust to a new occupation.’ I quickly realized I was being praised.

  ‘Not at all,’ I said, gently kicking the door to. ‘I began to perceive signs of a certain . . . attachment, shall we say? It seemed wise to –’

  ‘I do agree. So wise,’ she breathed. I grew reckless, remembering my previous score with her.

  ‘Anyway,’ I cruised on. ‘I find that maturity is something far too lacking these days –’

  ‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that, Lovejoy. Youth is all very well, but –’

  ‘Well,’ I said happily. ‘I’d better get on. Thank you for ringing.’

  ‘Not at all.’ She didn’t ring off. ‘I . . . I may be out your way later. Today or tomorrow. Only passing through to see a friend for coffee, that sort of thing. I may call in and thank you personally.’ Then she rang off.

  I watched the receiver in my hand but it just looked blank.

  ‘Who was it?’ Lydia asked, fetching a bowl to the table. ‘Put your hands to soak in that. I’m going to wash your face and comb your thatch.’

  ‘Er, Tinker,’ I said. ‘He’s found an early penny-farthing bicycle for sale.’

  ‘How nice.’ She put my hands in the water. ‘Stay like that till I say take them out. I’m going to unpack.’ I soaked as she instructed.

  ‘Unpack?’ I thought a bit. ‘Clothes?’

  ‘Of course, you silly,’ she said briskly. ‘Does it get very cold in the cottage at night? I’ve brought an extra blanket for us, till I get used to it.’

  ‘Er, look, Lydia –’

  ‘No.’ She
sat with me. That seductive lurch again. I was getting to know it. ‘You look for once, Lovejoy.’ She faced me, serious and determined. ‘I don’t pretend to be Cleopatra. But lately I have been examining my, well, appearance. I have come to the conclusion that my figure is really quite presentable, even attractive. It pleases you to watch me. I’ve already observed that. Of course there’s a problem.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Inexperience,’ she said gravely. ‘I can’t pretend my experience in . . . in carnal matters is very profound. But my willingness will, I anticipate, be equalled by your patience.’

  ‘It will?’ My head was spinning.

  ‘Let’s hope so, Lovejoy.’ She rose but I pulled her-back with a wet hand.

  ‘Hang on. I usually have . . . other visitors.’

  I’d been thinking of Jean Evans, if she ever cooled down. And Betty, who didn’t need cooling at all. And Lydia’s mother, who wanted to call for reasons as yet unspecified. And Jessica, who was keen to balance our respective books. And Sarah, whom I liked now I’d got used to all that high breeding. And . . . and Lydia had a scrap on her hands if she stayed. I sighed. Some days things are just too much. Lydia was smiling.

  ‘I’m quite looking forward to those confrontations,’ she informed me earnestly. ‘In any arrangements between kindred souls, disputations appear an inevitable characteristic. Under your influence, Lovejoy, I am persuaded that attraction is inseparable from conflict –’

  There was more of this junk.

  ‘No,’ I said finally. ‘No, Lydia. I couldn’t stand the aggro. You’re lovely, but –’

  ‘Oh, but you can,’ she said, all smiles. ‘I’m going to be good for you, Lovejoy. In every way. You can’t send me away. Or else.’ I thought about that, but she had no cards left to play.

  ‘Or else what?’ I asked, narked.

  She was smiling, absolutely confident.

  I suddenly stood up, yelping at the pain. It had gone. ‘The case.’ The little box carrying the Grail Tree. I’d kept hold of it until I was taken into Casualty. Then I’d given it to Lydia for safety. ‘Where is it?’ I screamed. ‘What have you done with it?’

  ‘Safe, darling.’ She put her arms around me happily. ‘Perfectly safe. I’m keeping it for you.’

  ‘Where is it?’ I sank, groaning. ‘Oh, hell fire.’

  ‘In a month you’ll be convinced of my . . . attributes, darling,’ Lydia said calmly. ‘If I haven’t persuaded you that I am exactly what you need, Lovejoy, I will fully deserve to be banished. A month is a perfectly fair trial period. Do you agree, darling?’

  I thought and thought while Lydia waited, smiling compassionately. There was no other way.

  ‘And then you’ll give it me, no matter what?’

  ‘I promise,’ she said seriously, placing her hands on her heart. I watched her hand and her heart. She did have a lovely heart. I swallowed. ‘Agreed, Lovejoy?’

  I managed to say it third go. ‘Agreed, Lydia.’

  ‘Lydia, darling,’ she corrected.

  ‘Lydia, darling,’ I said at last. She clapped her hands delightedly. ‘There’s only one thing, love,’ I asked. ‘Will you, er, answer the door when people call? I don’t feel up to many visitors just yet.’

  Trapped, I listened helplessly to her singing as she brewed up, honestly not knowing whether to hate or admire her. You can’t beat a woman for trickery.

  I don’t think they’ll ever learn to be honest and fair-minded, like me.