Drawing the Line Read online

  ‘What do you mean, “even you”, Tony Baker? Griff insists I’m a woman of parts.’

  ‘Some of them very nice too,’ he said, but without much enthusiasm. He’d taken the arrival of Marcus with no fuss at all, not at all the reaction, I’d have thought, of a young man with his mind on one particular part, the one he’d been after last night. He’d not shown any more sign of locking horns with Marcus than Marcus had with him. It was fine by me. Last night’s sleeplessness was catching up with me. Passion? I could think of absolutely nothing nicer than an early night tucked up with Tim the teddy.

  The first words Shaz spoke were to ask me if my friends had managed to find me. ‘They’d been so worried, they said, you leaving your new shoes in their car. They wanted to know which cottage you lived at, but I sent them off to your caravan. I didn’t say anything about your row with Mr Tripp. Everything all right between you now? And how is he? Fancy me forgetting to ask that! Oh, I am sorry.’

  No point in asking how she knew about that. The whole village was probably wringing its collective hands at Griff’s injuries, not to mention sucking its collective teeth at my goings on. ‘Fine. Oh, bad enough for the hospital to keep him in a bit.’ That wasn’t quite a lie. ‘So I’ve got a friend staying over.’ Neither was that.

  ‘Not that gorgeous looker that popped in for some flowers? Scrummy. Let me know when you’ve finished with him!’

  ‘Promise.’ For some reason I had to put in, ‘And it was only a bit of a tiff, Griff and me, not a real a row. You know what families are like.’ I was just about to leave, when I added, ‘I had a couple of lifts that day: I suppose you wouldn’t remember what sort of car it was?’

  She was shrewder than I’d thought. ‘They weren’t real friends then? I’m ever so sorry. I wouldn’t have told them. In fact, I offered to look after your shoes for you – save them the trouble. But they really insisted.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Shaz. You did your best. But the car – any ideas?’

  She turned to look down the street. ‘Look – that one there!’

  ‘Ah. A Ford Focus!’ Surprise, surprise.

  ‘No. I mean yes. That Ford Focus. The one that’s just parking now.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Well, it looks like it. Mind you, I suppose they all look the same now. Hang on – there’s a passenger getting out. That bloke –’

  I peered, but unless, like Shaz, I pressed my nose against the window, I could see nothing but my own reflection.

  ‘Were there two men last time?’

  ‘No. Just the one. Before you ask, he was just ordinary. Dead ordinary.’

  I risked shoving my head round the door. In the dusk, all the colours and distances flattened, this man looked dead ordinary too. Suddenly it all seemed a waste of time. All I’d done was confirm what I already knew: that someone had found where I lived by asking Shaz. I was no nearer to knowing who. At least the van and the frontispiece were as safe as I could make them. More importantly, Griff was out of reach, too. I grabbed the tampons and marched towards the pub. More or less. Pretending to be completely preoccupied stowing the tampons, I drifted along. My eyes were peeled, of course, and my ears straining. But to a vicious driver I was positively inviting a hit and run. I didn’t mind pretending to be bait.

  Especially as absolutely nothing happened.

  While the men washed up, I nipped into the living room to phone to check that Griff was still all right.

  ‘My dear Evelina, of course he is. There’s hardly been time since your last phone call for him to have had a relapse.’

  ‘Can I speak to him, please?’

  ‘He’s preparing for bed.’

  ‘I’ve seen him in his dressing-gown before now.’ As I was sure Aidan had.

  He gave a brief snort, presumably at my lack of logic, but I heard the clatter of the handset being out down. There was a long silence: Aidan wouldn’t do anything as vulgar as yell.

  ‘Lina, dear heart, isn’t it your bedtime too?’ Griff grumbled gently.

  ‘As soon as I’ve got rid of my two male chaperons,’ I said.

  ‘Two!’

  ‘Tony Baker and Marcus Copeland. They both thought I needed looking after.’

  ‘I wonder why. Tony, yes, but young Marcus? How could he have known?’

  I was just about to tell him about Shaz when I stopped. Yes, what had brought Marcus to the village in the first place?

  ‘It’s a good job he did – I’d have forgotten about Folkestone. The Grand. Tomorrow. Any instructions?’

  ‘Good quality. Nothing too heavy.’

  ‘Yes, we’re talking about genteel retired people on good pensions – right?’

  ‘Absolutely right. Good girl. Now, rid of those swains of yours and hie you to your bedchamber – you have to make an early start tomorrow. Good night, my child.’

  ‘And you, Griff. Sweet dreams.’

  I pushed the kitchen door slightly ajar.

  While Tony washed up, Marcus was drying the dishes. What had really brought him to Bredeham? Why had he supplied me with all the information about his cousin’s contacts? Was it really because he was my mate? Or – I stared down a tunnel of doubt that was all too familiar – was he yet another person I’d trusted only to find them betraying me at the first opportunity? Hell, I’d been so naïve! It’d make sense for him to want to get hold of Natura Rerum, just as it would any dealer. Find that and he’d be able to cut loose from his cousin and build up his own business.

  Did that mean I thought Marcus was capable of stealing it?

  Stealing was what people did, wasn’t it? In my old world at least. But in Griff’s you didn’t even steal information. Which world was Marcus in? Somewhere in between?

  ‘What’s the latest?’ Tony asked, over his shoulder.

  ‘Fine. He says thank you both of you for looking after me,’ I invented.

  ‘I’ll look after you tomorrow, too,’ Marcus declared, dumping the damp tea towel on the table.

  I shook it and hung it on the rail. ‘I shall be fine.’

  Tony chimed in. ‘It’d make sense. He could go with you to Bossingham Hall and –’

  ‘I shan’t be going to Bossingham Hall tomorrow, shall I? Not if I’m working. I’ll phone Lord Elham and cancel.’

  ‘Why not suggest you go later in the day? It’s not very far out of your way if you went via –’

  ‘I’m not taking a car full of china up his drive, and I certainly wouldn’t risk parking it where I couldn’t keep an eye on it. So it’ll be another day –’

  ‘– another dollar,’ Tony concluded.

  ‘OK, what I’ll do is sleep over here tomorrow night. Then I can go with you on Monday.’

  ‘Marcus, I am seeing Lord Elham on my own. There’s no earthly reason for you to turn up – a total stranger – as my muscle, thanks very much.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Leave it, Tony. Listen, both of you: I’m quite happy to let someone know when I’m going and when I expect to be home. Griff, for instance. Coffee?’

  As I made it – instant, since I was pissed off with both of them – I tried to work out how much alcohol Marcus had had. Failing, I asked point blank.

  ‘About twice the legal limit, I should say,’ Tony replied for him. ‘Better let Lina look after that shiny motor of yours, mate.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘So how will you get home?’ I demanded, determined to make one thing clear without having to spell it out. ‘The last train ran ten minutes ago, if I know railways.’

  ‘Come on, Lina – you’ve plenty of room here.’

  I shook my head. ‘Griff’s house, not mine. And you can imagine what the village would make of it: Griff’s away, so Lina’ll play. And it’ll grow. By tomorrow lunchtime it’ll be, Lina was snogging her bloke while Griff was having emergency open heart surgery.’

  Tony at least nodded that he understood. ‘Looks like there’s only one thing for it, mate – my sofa. So now we’ve fixed that
, how about some of that nice Scotch you always offer me, Lina?’

  Another shake of my head. ‘Griff’s whisky, not mine. And since I’ve got to be up at six tomorrow to sort out the Folkestone stock, I’d better be turning in.’ I stood up, the technique my social workers had always used to say the interview was over.

  Tony grabbed me as I staggered – well, I would, the way my knees buckled. He looked at me anxiously. I wasn’t going to tell him how scared I used to be.

  Come on, Lina. Talk your way out of it. What about the tampon excuse? Yes, that’d do. ‘I always feel a bit wobbly at this time of the month. All I need is a hot water bottle and a good night’s sleep and I shall be fine.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  There was no way Marcus was going to come with me to the Grand. Hoping that after all the booze he’d put away it would take a great deal more to wake him than my travel alarm, I set it for five and put it on the pillow right next to Tim Bear. Griff had trusted me with setting up before: I wouldn’t let him down this time. I selected stock carefully – a quite different range from the stuff we’d taken to Oxford, for instance. The grey generation were much more silver in my book: they were happy to spend well on good quality items. Just to make sure I checked Griff’s database for regular customers building interesting collections. As a result, I added a couple of Mason’s ironware jugs, and a pretty Rockingham cup and saucer. Pity the jugs were a little larger than I’d have liked, the Ka’s space being limited, but I got them in the foot-space behind the passenger seat.

  The house, garage and gate all locked and checked at least twice, I set off down the motorway to Folkestone. No, there was no sign that I might be followed. I’d hired the basic model, perhaps a bit underpowered, but even so compared with the van it was driving heaven.

  I was so early there was plenty of parking. Since the Grand’s on a cliff-top area known as the Leas, where there’s a good breeze even on a quiet day like this, I made several journeys to and from the car, not risking balancing boxes of fragile goods one on top of another. Setting up was a doddle, with good power access for the lights. I was beginning to enjoy myself.

  ‘What, no Griff?’ It was Josie, nose almost on a level with the tables making up the stall.

  We’d agreed a story yesterday. ‘He had a bit of a fall. He’s a bit shaken so I’m flying solo today.’

  ‘The booze, I suppose?’

  Heart sinking, I still shook my head firmly. ‘He’s cutting down. No, some idiot jostled him on a pavement. But he’s fine.’

  ‘That’s a relief. Now, any more nice little restorations for me today?’

  I produced some of the stuff I’d rescued from the house sale.

  ‘Very nice. Anyone but you’d try to pass them off as mint condition. And anyone but me, that is. That Majolica plate you wouldn’t sell me – I see that guy from Devon’s marked it very high for a restoration job. Yes – over in that corner. Opposite me.’

  ‘Arthur something – with a twee trading name.’

  ‘That’s him. He was asking about you. A lot of questions. Was I sure that Griff was your grandfather, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Why should he think he was? I’ve never –’

  ‘No, but some people think you must be – there was talk of father and daughter, but they did the maths.’

  ‘They might consider Griff’s preferences too,’ I laughed. ‘But why was he asking after me, this Twee Cottage man?’

  She shook her head. ‘Damned paedophile, maybe.’

  ‘But he’s old! And I’m twenty!’

  ‘You may be twenty, but you only look about fourteen. There are a lot of nasty men around, Lina. Any trouble, you talk to old Josie. Right?’

  ‘Right. I mean, thanks. Josie – if you hear of him asking any more questions, you’ll try and find out why, won’t you?’

  This was weird stuff. I’d thought he was a bit flirtatious when we’d done the deal involving a Staffordshire figure I hadn’t brought with me today. I hadn’t known he’d be here, of course – didn’t he say that he’d be at Stafford? – but I felt I’d been somehow unprofessional.

  A pair of hands squeezed me round the waist. ‘Hallo, young Lina – how’s things?’

  I suppose it was better than being goosed. In any case, I needed the bloody man’s expertise, didn’t I? ‘Titus! I didn’t know you’d be here today! Not your usual sort of venue.’

  He touched the side of his nose. ‘More buying than selling. Some of these older folk have champagne tastes and beer incomes. So they like to sell the odd autograph or letter. It’s all very discreet, of course.’

  I nodded. There’d be lots of Mrs Hatches around in retirement towns like this, as well as the well-heeled punters I hoped to attract. ‘Tell you what, Titus, could you do me a favour? I need some information.’

  Titus didn’t do favours: that was what his face said, quite clearly. But then he muttered, ‘I suppose back in Yorkshire you saved me from a pretty tricky situation. OK, what do you want?’

  I glanced around. Paranoia or what? Everyone in the room seemed to be looking at us. ‘Why don’t I buy you a coffee?’

  ‘Make it breakfast – full English, mind – and I’ll throw the information in free.’

  ‘A page from Natura Rerum!’

  ‘Shh. Look, it’s almost certainly a fake, isn’t it? Because anyone in the trade’d know the book was worth more in one piece. But I reckon someone with – with your experience – would know if it was genuine. And if it isn’t, who’d done it.’

  ‘Not me, I can tell you that, here and now.’

  ‘Shh. No, I’m sure you wouldn’t,’ I lied. ‘But would you recognise anyone else’s handiwork?’

  ‘I might. Of course, you’d need to run proper tests – that’d take time and money.’ He almost rubbed his hands together in glee.

  ‘I know they would. That’s why I’m asking someone who…who knows more than most official experts to have a look.’

  ‘Where is it then?’ He stuck his hand out.

  ‘In a safe place. If I’d known you’d be here, I’d have brought it along.’ I shrugged. ‘So I’ll need to get it to you somehow.’

  ‘You won’t be trusting it to the post.’ It sounded like an order.

  ‘’Course not. I know you don’t have a shop: where do you work from?’

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out – not.’

  If he wanted me to beg and cajole, he’d be disappointed. ‘We’ll have to meet up somewhere. Not at our shop. It’s not there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Just in case it’s the real McCoy, of course.’

  ‘So someone else knows you’ve got it?’

  ‘A spate of burglaries in the village,’ I said casually.

  ‘I thought your place was supposed to be like Fort Knox.’

  Now how would he know that? Unless Griff had blabbed while he was drunk. ‘Even so.’ I shrugged.

  ‘So where is it?’

  ‘Same sort of place as your base.’ But we were going to have to trust each other sooner or later.

  ‘You’re a bit young to be learning to play with your cards so close to your chest.’

  I pulled my most streetwise, cynical face.

  ‘What does Griff think?’

  ‘He suggested you.’ Perhaps that’d loosen some of the tension.

  The waitress brought our breakfasts.

  ‘You’re sure this is on you?’

  ‘That’s what we agreed.’

  ‘OK, Lina – how far are you from Tunbridge Wells?’

  ‘Very little, if only we could rely on crows. By car –’ I made a snaking gesture with my hand.

  ‘Yeah: rolling English drunkard roads.’ He sloshed ketchup all over his bacon. ‘What about Tenterden? Is that too far? You can buy me lunch.’

  I’d better not bounce with glee. ‘Your turn to treat me, I’d have thought!’

  He snorted. ‘All right on your own side, aren’t you? OK. We go Dutch. Tomorrow s
uit you? Plenty of good pubs. How about the White Lion?’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Twelve-thirty?’

  One of the first punters through the door were those for whom I’d brought along the Mason’s jugs, but they made their way to our stand by way of all the others.

  ‘No Griff?’ Mrs Barker asked, checking the rim with her fingertip for chips.

  ‘Not today.’

  Mr Barker inspected the other jug. ‘This is perfect, as far as I can tell. You didn’t give it a helping hand, did you?’

  I shook my head firmly. ‘We always say if it’s restored, you know that.’

  ‘Not like that guy back there. Trying to pass a majolica plate as perfect.’

  ‘Cracked right across,’ his wife added.

  ‘And cunningly repaired by me,’ I said ruefully. ‘I sold it to him as restored, too.’ Curiosity got the better of me. ‘What was he asking?’

  ‘Three times what it was worth,’ he said. ‘What’s your best on these?’

  I told him. ‘If you want the pair, you could take off another ten.’

  ‘Twenty!’

  ‘Fifteen,’ I grinned. We always played this game. But I nearly dropped one when she asked, ‘Is that man – could he be your father?’

  I gaped. ‘The Devon Cottage guy? Why?’

  ‘He looks very like you.’

  ‘Me! No! Absolutely not!’

  ‘He isn’t, then,’ Mr Barker concluded, counting notes from his wallet.

  I managed a grin. ‘He might be. I never had a father. I remember my mum. But she was killed,’ I added flatly. Why on earth was I beginning to get emotional?

  ‘You poor child,’ Mrs Barker said, pressing my hand. Her husband made sympathetic but embarrassed sounding noises. ‘So did Griff adopt you?’

  ‘I wish he could. But I think I’m too old, legally, I mean.’ I swallowed. ‘My last foster-mother and he are great mates. That’s how we ended up together. He’s my friend. My very best friend.’ And I’d nearly lost him. ‘Sorry! He’s not very well,’ I managed.