Drawing the Line Page 21

  She burrowed in her bag for a tissue for me.

  As much for something to say as anything, I suspect, Mr Barker said, ‘So that cracked plate guy could be your father.’

  I squared my shoulders. ‘I’m damned if I’m having a parent who tries to palm shoddy goods off on his customers!’ Did that mean I’d rather have a tipsy lord? When they laughed, I added, ‘Sorry about – all that. Griff had a bit of an accident the other day – I’ve been so worried about him.’ She looked so concerned I could have told her everything.

  But he was plainly embarrassed. ‘You’ll have to tell him to take more water in it, won’t you? Oh, only joking, Lina!’

  ‘No, you’re right. He does drink too much. But I shall stop him.’

  ‘If anyone can, you can,’ Mrs Barker said, patting my hand kindly. ‘Now, is there anything else we should look at? One of Griff’s specials?’

  You know how you can feel eyes on you? And you look up suddenly and all you can see is people looking any way but at you? That’s how I felt for the rest of the morning. I didn’t have time to check: there was a constant stream through the doors, with whole families milling round touching. At least the hotel had asked people not to bring ice creams in, and the two men selling admission tickets were enforcing the ban. But I’d have been a lot happier if the kids had been down on the beach, shingle and all, and I dare say they would have been too. Thank goodness I’d pigged out at breakfast-time – there was no way anyone could sneak out for a lunchtime bite.

  Lunchtime! And I hadn’t phoned Lord Elham! At least the food wouldn’t spoil. But I couldn’t just not turn up.

  I didn’t want to use the mobile in here, with all the racket around me. It’d sound as if I was in a pub: I didn’t want to give the impression I’d stood him up for a quick half with my mates.

  At these gigs you often had to ask a neighbour to cover for you, but I didn’t know the ones either side and those opposite were invisible in the crush. Josie? She’d do it if she could ask her neighbour. Who happened, of course, to be Twee Cottage.

  Tough. Now I came to think of it, I needed a loo. I could make the call from there.

  ‘Come tomorrow!’ Lord Elham said. ‘Same place, same time.’

  Same lunch!

  ‘Sorry. I’m tied up for lunch. And I shall be pretty busy the rest of the day.’ I’d need time to get today’s sales records straight. Not to mention spending some time with Griff. ‘Would Tuesday suit?’

  This time he sounded huffy. ‘I suppose –’

  ‘I have to work on other projects too, you see,’ I found myself whining. ‘You know how it is.’

  ‘Good God, no! Never worked in my life. Leave that sort of thing for the lower orders.’

  Of which I was one.

  ‘Come a bit earlier. See the rest of the place: no invaders on Tuesdays.’

  Or most other days.

  ‘Tuesday at – let me see –’ I thumbed through an imaginary diary. ‘Would noon suit you? I’d have to be away by about two, though.’ I couldn’t expect Mrs Hatch to hold the fort all the time. A flash of inspiration: ‘Could I bring a camera?’

  ‘One of those paparazzi bastards? Not likely!’

  ‘Not a cameraman. Just my own camera.’

  ‘Hmm. No objection to the odd Box Brownie. Tuesday it is, then. Don’t forget the bubbly, will you – running low.’

  If Lord Elham wasn’t very satisfactory father-material, I certainly didn’t want to be related to Arthur Habgood. He was sitting reading, while two or three people were hovering with intent by Josie’s stall. I dived in as if I owned the place, taking money from folk who didn’t even ask for ‘my best’. When I pressed the cash into Josie’s hand I reported, ‘Not a single haggle. A couple of pretty plates, as seen, and a willow-pattern plate, origin unknown.’

  ‘For the asking price?’

  ‘Not a penny less. And someone was asking about some Rockingham you promised to get hold of. Look – over there. I’ll send him back to you.’

  Humming to myself, I felt my bum-bag. Yes, pleasantly full. A good day’s pay for a good day’s work. Now it was just a matter of packing everything up. Bubble-wrap time, not just for me, but for all the dealers. No matter how tired you were – and people like Josie looked absolutely knackered – you still had to be careful of course, because the more careless you got, the more fragile the china became. So the last thing you wanted was some idiot making you jump.

  ‘Need a hand?’

  It was Marcus.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  We drove home in convoy. At least, Marcus thought that’s what we were doing. But if I hadn’t still had a load of china and glass in a rented car, I’d have tried to shake him off. I was still fuming at the thought of being looked after – ‘the little woman needs help to lift heavy boxes’, indeed! Worse, while I was yelling at him, I’d missed the departure from the Grand of Mr Habgood, whom I’d meant to pin to the wall. If people wanted to know about me, they knew who to ask. Not my colleagues and friends: me.

  ‘I only wanted to help,’ Marcus bleated, as we finally pulled up in Bredeham.

  ‘I know.’ My temper had subsided a bit. ‘But there’s helping and helping. Now, a big help would be to make sure no one tries to grab me while I’m putting this car away. OK?’

  ‘Would another help be to make a cup of tea?’ he asked, once we and the boxes were safely inside.

  ‘Yes. Or better still, coffee. Then I suppose you’d like a meal before you head back to Copeland’s place.’

  He looked dead shifty.

  ‘Or –’ I prompted.

  ‘Actually, we’ve had a bit of a – well, we’re not seeing eye to eye at the moment. I couldn’t tell you all about it in front of Tony, but I – well, perhaps we both need a bit of a breather. So I was thinking: I need a roof over my head. You could do with a bit of protection.’

  What about my fear that he was after Natura Rerum too? ‘Let me have a think.’

  The thinking was done for me. The answerphone was flashing impatiently. The first message was from Griff, saying he’d be slipping out to some friends of Aidan’s for supper, so not to worry about phoning. He was sure I’d done wonderfully at the fair, and he’d love to see me when I had time. It sounded as if he didn’t think I would. I phoned back with a message of my own – I’d see him about eleven next day. Next came Mrs Hatch, her consonants furred with what sounded like a stinking cold. OK: flu. She didn’t see how she could possibly come to the shop until possibly Thursday – and she couldn’t guarantee even that. I phoned to tell her machine not to worry – I had a friend staying who could help out. For could, read would. Yes, Marcus’d definitely be singing for his supper. There was still the problem with village gossip, but that could be dealt with as and when I knew how.

  ‘No problem,’ Marcus said. ‘So long as I can work while I mind the shop. All my things are in the car. It’s parked at the back of Tony’s,’ he added.

  ‘You’ll still be doing work for Copeland even though –’ I squeaked.

  He shook his head glumly. ‘I suppose we need each other.’

  I dug a word from the back of my head. ‘Symbiosis,’ I said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It’s like me and Griff. We’ve both got strong points, both got weaknesses. You and Copeland – you’re strong where he’s weak.’

  He nodded. ‘Coz needs my talents; I need his money. Symbiosis.’

  ‘OK.’ It seemed like the principle Iris had worked on when she’d introduced us. ‘And your staying here with me is a symbiotic arrangement.’

  ‘Yes. I suppose it is.’

  I nodded, so pleased with myself I could hardly get my head through the door.

  To my surprise, I got back from unpacking the china in the shop to find that Tony had dropped in. He was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a Beck’s. Marcus passed me one.

  ‘I’ve got some frozen curries if you don’t fancy cooking,’ Tony said. ‘And naan and rice and everything.’<
br />
  ‘Can’t refuse that sort of offer,’ I said cheerfully. I hadn’t been looking forward to an evening with Marcus, not if he wanted to tell me all about his tiff with Copeland. Têtê-à-têtê: that was the term, wasn’t it? That and symbiosis too! Yo, Lina!

  ‘Staying with Tony every night,’ Griff repeated slowly, putting down his coffee cup the following morning. Aidan didn’t go in for antique china, but at least this was Wedgwood. Aidan was humming loudly in the kitchen, so I’d know what a sacrifice he was making leaving the living room to Griff and me. ‘Well, it should stop any village gossip about you, dear heart.’ Was it my imagination or did he stress ‘you’ very slightly? ‘Now, are you quite sure about showing Titus this page of yours? You may be in for something of a disappointment.’

  ‘It’s got to be a fake, hasn’t it? Actually, I hope it is. Yes, honestly. It’d be horrible to think that someone had torn a page out of a book as old and rare as that. No, what I hope is that Titus will be able to identify the forger. That still might get me back to the owner.’

  ‘You don’t think after all that it is Lord Elham?’ He peered over his glasses.

  ‘I hope not. He’s not the sort of father I’d want, not one bit.’

  He stared, forgetting his coffee, while I told him why not.

  ‘Does that mean you’ll stop going to Bossingham Hall?’ He sounded anxious.

  Wrinkling my nose, I confessed, ‘Not really. The whole place just fascinates me. You can see why. I’m seeing things your paying visitors never see. Corridors behind bedrooms. Attics. It’s magic, Griff. It really is.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with those young men: you shouldn’t go on your own. Not without telling someone, at very least,’ he added, with what sounded like a note of pleading, ‘what time you’re going and what time you expect to be back. I know you’ve been safe so far. But he may simply be getting your trust – grooming, it’s called.’

  ‘I thought that was what paedophiles did,’ I objected.

  ‘I know you’re a grown woman, my love, but you – you don’t look your age, let’s say.’

  It was easy enough to translate that: short and thin with no tits worth mentioning. I nodded. ‘I will take care. I promise.’

  ‘And you’ll take care with Titus?’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s a good ten minutes’ walk and you don’t want to turn up puffed. He might mistake it for being flustered or anxious.’

  In other words, push off and get it over and done with: yes, Griff was as nervous as I was.

  ‘Cheers!’ Titus toasted me with bitter.

  I raised my glass of shandy. But I didn’t know what to do next. What I’d really have liked was to show him the page and then beat it, fast. We’d agreed to lunch, however. Dutch treat. Flustered or anxious? I was shit-scared. If only Griff had been with me – even Marcus.

  ‘Have you ordered?’

  I shook my head. ‘Only just arrived. Don’t you want to look at the page?’

  ‘I always think better on a full stomach. There.’ He passed one of the sheets I’d noticed hanging by the bar. ‘Look like giant bog paper, don’t they? Funny idea, disposable menus. Anyway, beef for me. What about you?’

  I barely glanced at it. ‘Ploughman’s, please. Cheese.’

  He got up to order, returning with a numbered wooden spoon. I slid a fiver towards him, which he pocketed without a word or, come to think of it, any change. ‘So why was that guy so interested in you yesterday?’

  ‘No idea. He could have asked me if he was really interested.’

  ‘Perhaps he thought you’d done such a good job on that plate he’d offer you some work.’

  ‘I’d rather not have done such a good job if he was trying to pass it off as perfect,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ Actually, apologising only made it worse, didn’t it? Blushing, I stared at the big fireplace, empty now, but in winter home to a lovely roaring fire. I’d often thawed out here while waiting for Griff to finish his visit to Aidan.

  ‘You stick to your trade and I’ll stick to mine.’ Titus jabbed with a surprisingly elegant finger. ‘OK? Now, that paper. If anyone gets nosy, slide it under these menus.’

  I didn’t point out he’d wanted to eat first. Putting the folder on my lap, I slipped out the frontispiece and laid it on the table.

  He did what I’d done: smelt it, felt it. He ran a finger down the cut edge. The he got out a little magnifying glass and peered. Then he held it at arm’s length: so much for discretion and hiding it. At last, he put it down on top of a menu and supped from his glass. ‘It’s good. I’ll say that. It’s very good. I’d even say the paper was genuine. Yes, cut from another old book.’

  Ready to die with embarrassment, I touched the cut edge. ‘Stupid bloody cow: it’s the wrong side, isn’t it? Why didn’t I notice till now?’

  ‘Because you were seeing what you wanted to see. And if Larry Copeland had got round to framing it, no one’d have been any the wiser.’

  ‘So he’d known it was a fake. You don’t suppose that he and Marcus – did it themselves?’ The waitress was bringing food across. Automatically, I slipped the page under a menu.

  He roared so loudly that the waitress took a step back. ‘Bloody hell, no! No, not you, sweetheart. Hey, that looks good. Got any horseradish? You’re an angel!’

  The ploughman’s might have been paste and sawdust for all I could taste. For all I’d said out loud that I knew it was a forgery, part of me had wanted it not to be. But if there was one person in this world I wasn’t going to cry in front of it was Titus. I swallowed some bread with the aid of a gulp of shandy. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Young Marcus looks very pretty with a paintbrush in his hand, but this is quality printing, Lina. It takes years of practice to make woodcuts as good as these.’ He shoved the menus aside. ‘Look at those curves.’

  ‘Do you recognise the handiwork?’ Yes, that was more important. Much more important.

  His face told me I was in for another disappointment. ‘I wish I did. I’d give him a job tomorrow! If I indulged in that sort of thing, of course, which you know I wouldn’t dream of.’

  ‘Of course not. It’s good, is it?’

  ‘If he’d used the right ink, excellent. Provided he’s got a large supply of old books he doesn’t mind cutting about, he could make a real living. Now, that’s much more sinful, in my humble opinion, than anything I might be doing. No, you have to draw the line somewhere.’ Warming to this subject, he leaned his arms on the table, stabbing the air with his fork to ram home the point. ‘Here, did you read about that bloke who’s been slicing maps out of old atlases – absolutely ruining them. The police in four countries are after him. Seems he …’

  ‘So the various attacks may be nothing at all to do with your sad little page, dear heart?’

  I shook my head firmly. ‘That pre – pre –’

  ‘Presupposes?’

  ‘Right. Presupposes that the people who attacked you and tried to burgle us didn’t –’

  ‘They attacked you too, remember. With a car. Twice.’

  ‘Yeah. Well. They missed. It presupposes that they didn’t know the page wasn’t genuine. And they’re after the rest of the book.’

  ‘Which, even minus the frontispiece, would be enormously valuable, if not intrinsically, in terms of scholarship. If the frontispiece could be restored to it, then, well –’ He gestured: the sky was the limit. ‘Lina, I wish there were somewhere for you to go into hiding, too. Until this whole business has subsided.’

  I shook my head. ‘Collectors have long memories, Griff. That Ruskin woman down in Devon, or the spectacle case one: neither of them would forget a good specimen.’

  ‘They wouldn’t attack and maim to get hold of even the best sang de boeuf ware.’

  ‘Others just might.’ I pulled got up, leaning over to kiss his forehead. ‘I’m glad you’re here, safe with Aidan.’

  Griff took my hand. ‘He says you’ve been terribly fierce about my alcohol allowance. My dear child, in my dot
age I may be, but I can read the instructions for the painkillers. Avoid alcoholic drink.’

  ‘So you’re on the wagon?’ I was ready to jump up and down.

  The old bugger smiled slyly. ‘I’m avoiding the tablets.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lord Elham showed no sign of reining in his boozing either. He was halfway through a bottle when I arrived at about eleven-fifteen on Tuesday morning. Did he open it when he got up, when you or I would have a cup of tea, or mix it with his orange juice or cornflakes? Silly me! He didn’t eat cornflakes, did he?

  I’d spent the rest of Monday trying not to be upset at not possessing a clue to a fortune or a father, and finding that the best way to occupy my time was to complete as neatly as I could the paper records of Sunday’s sales. Try how I might, though, my handwritten entries never looked anything like as neat as Griff’s. Funny, when you think how deftly they can repair fine china. When it came to the computer record, my hands sweated so much I had to give up. It was either that or hit myself again. No, I mustn’t do that. I must leave the task to Griff: that was one job he would be able to manage one-handed. A calming hour’s restoration work was called for. How about working on Lord Elham’s egg cup? I’d never known anything take so long to clean, but underneath the dried egg of ages it was a perfect specimen.

  ‘That’s not mine? Really?’ he demanded, holding it up to the light that struggled through his filthy living room windows. ‘I’d never have believed it.’ He was only going to go back on our deal, wasn’t he? Yes, down it went on that yucky table. ‘What’s that lot?’

  ‘Our little job for today. Could we go to the kitchen, please?’ I’d brought with me a roll of black sacks, rubber gloves and, on impulse, the facemask I sometimes wear. I thought I’d be glad of the facemask. The camera was in the bottom of the rucksack, but I thought I’d start what promised to be a really satisfying job first.