Ring of Guilt Read online

  The guy was clearly even crazier about antiques than I was. I was about to get all flustered and gabble on about Griff’s bed time, when I realized he’d given me the opening I needed. ‘I think the patient would benefit from another good night’s sleep,’ I said firmly. I pushed my luck even further. ‘And given the ward sister’s schedule, a couple of days’ conv—’ Hell and damnation, I’d only lost the bloody word.

  Thank goodness he chipped in so fast he might not have noticed my hesitation. ‘Two more days? Lina, please!’

  I felt tempted to reply as I’d heard other dealers reply: ‘I do appreciate your concern but I do have other clients who have an equal right to my time.’ It would have sounded very professional. But my mouth found it hard to say things like that. ‘I’m absolutely tied up tomorrow, all day, and I’m committed the day after. Things I really can’t get out of. I’m sorry.’ What I found I could not do was tell him I’d leave the vase with Mrs Walker. I wanted to see his face as I switched on the whole battery of lights and revealed the vase it all its glory. That, now I came to think of it, was almost what I liked best – seeing the expressions on owners’ faces as I returned much loved items to their care.

  ‘Tomorrow evening,’ he said. ‘And I’ll take you out to dinner afterwards. Six thirty?’

  Sometimes an afternoon with my father required a long soak in the bath with some of Griff’s cherished herbal oils.

  ‘Seven thirty.’

  ‘Seven. Please. Lina, you really mustn’t make me wait a minute longer. Please.’

  ‘Seven. But please come to the cottage, not the shop. Or you’ll set off CCTV cameras and all sorts of alarms.’ I didn’t tell him, however, about the cameras that would register his arrival on our front door step.

  ‘I can’t make it out,’ I told Griff later. ‘I mean, what’s half an hour here or there if he’s got to take the vase back to its owner? Doesn’t make sense. And all this business about taking me out to dinner . . .’

  Griff frowned, but said nothing.

  His silences always worried me.

  Had I told him how insulting Sanditon had been about our little firm? How he’d sneered about me being a mere shop assistant? Surely not.

  Griff took my hand. ‘I know you’re streetwise, my child, but sometimes your innocence alarms me.’

  My turn to frown. ‘You mean he’s trying to . . . what do they call it when other clubs are after footballers? Tap me up?’

  The idea seemed to surprise him and he let go my hand. ‘Employ you full-time, you mean? I know he’s a major player, but I can’t see even him requiring his own restorer.’

  ‘Even if he does, he can’t have this one,’ I said firmly. ‘Well, we shall just have to wait and see.’

  As planned, I phoned Will Kinnersley the next morning. His direct line. I had a vague idea that plain clothes officers didn’t necessarily work the same hours as those in uniform, but nine seems a pretty universal start of business. While I cleaned my teeth, I’d practised what I wanted to say, and had even mentally prepared a voicemail option – when you’re uncertain with words you want to cover all bases. I even wrote down one or two of the words that I was afraid might disappear wherever the wretched things insist on going when I try to use them.

  In the bathroom it was easy enough. When I came to dial I was furious with myself – my hand was shaking. Hell, he might have been attractive, I might have fancied him like hell – though I’d never admit it to Griff – but he was a man holding on to property that was rightfully mine. There. Steel in spine time.

  Voicemail of course. But I managed, without so much as a giveaway hesitation, to ask him to phone me so that we could arrange the return of my rings. There might have been a slight emphasis on the word my, come to think of it.

  Right. And now to the business I was really dreading – the visit to Bossingham Hall.

  EIGHT

  You wouldn’t have thought I’d need to phone my father to let him know I was on my way. After all, he hardly ever left Bossingham Hall unless I took him – before I’d come on the scene he’d had to make occasional excursions by taxi, but the track to his wing was now so bad most companies refused to risk their cars’ suspension. But there was always the remote chance that I might find Titus Oates there, which would embarrass us all. At the moment I only suspected my father was deep into forgeries for Titus; the least hard evidence and they both knew I’d never visit the Hall again. Titus even suspected, I think, I might break our unwritten agreement never to mention him to the policemen I knew. I don’t think I’d have shopped him, not unless I had proof positive that he was leading my father astray. But my father was more than willing to make a dishonest buck, so I couldn’t have dropped one in it without the other.

  Armed truce, then.

  When my father suggested I might come via a supermarket – he usually left such ideas to me – I smelt a rat. Was the delay to give Titus plenty of time to get clear? Whatever the reason, I picked up green tea (my idea), champagne (his) and fresh fruit and vegetables (no prizes for guessing who thought of those). I would cook lunch for him, with plenty left over to freeze. Ah – he was short of naan bread. That was his favourite form of carb . . . carbon . . . Oh, whatever. He ate it with everything, Indian or not. From time to time he’d be really proud of himself because he’d prepared couscous. Well, if, microwave apart, the only kitchen item you ever use is a tea towel to hold over a champagne cork to stop it flying off, boiling water and pouring it over something you’ve had to empty into a pan is quite hi-tech. He’d only battle with rice if it came in sealed, ready-cooked packs.

  He bounded out to meet me like an eager dog, helping me carry the bags of goodies into his kitchen. He’d not only washed up recently – there was foam round the plug hole – but had also dried up and put away, which was very suspicious. But I didn’t ask any questions. No point – he’d only have lied.

  Without even being asked, he made us tea and we went to his living room. He kept looking at me anxiously. Was it because he was feeling guilty about Titus? Or because he’d noticed I’d not been around for a while and was afraid he’d upset me? Unlikely – I don’t think his conscience works like that, if at all. Or because he wanted to ask about my researches in Nanny Baird’s family and knew I could be as cagey as he could?

  I went for the last option, fishing the envelope of computer print outs from my bag. ‘These are details of firms that would search for any family Nanny Baird might have left.’

  ‘How would I get in touch with them? I don’t want hordes of claimants bearing down on the Hall – think of that last oik.’

  I could understand his shudder. ‘Why not phone your solicitor and ask him to do it for you? It’d be easier than wading through this lot yourself. In fact, I can’t think of it when you first raised the problem. Sorry.’ I put the envelope on the table.

  ‘I don’t like these legal chappies. Charge you a grand for scratching your own arse. I suppose you couldn’t—? No?’

  At last I remembered his lawyer’s name. ‘Mr James is a bit of an old woman, but he’s very met . . . met . . . thorough. Or if you didn’t want to involve him, so long as these firms are bona fide –’ that was one term Griff had made sure I knew and could use – ‘then they wouldn’t let anyone know who was asking. They’d take instructions from you about that.’

  ‘But you could get in touch with them on my behalf. I wouldn’t want them coming here.’

  ‘People can’t just tell a firm to find someone – there has to be a reason. It all gets too complicated if I try. I might even need power of attorney to do that,’ I said, suddenly realizing I might have to embark on an explanation. I knew all about it because Griff and I had it for each other.

  ‘Matter of fact, I’ve been thinking of giving you that, anyway. In case I lose my marbles. Or get ill. Don’t want any old idiot switching off the machine, you know.’

  I know I opened my mouth several times, but no sound came out. It was a good job, really, because I coul
dn’t think of any adequate words to say.

  ‘Been looking into it,’ he continued. ‘Don’t need any legal training or anything. Lots of people have relatives to do it. And you’re my only family.’

  This time I did manage to croak, ‘There are a lot more out there.’

  ‘Who only crawl out of the woodwork if they think there’s money in it. And may not even be family anyway. Hmph. Anyway, I know it’s a lot for a little girl to take on, but you could discuss it with that old queer of yours and see what he thinks.’

  Little girl! Queer! I should have been down on him like a ton of bricks.

  ‘Now, a little glass of something before lunch, eh? And we’d better look for something else to sell. Can’t find that damned engagement ring of my mother’s anywhere, by the way. I think we should get you sniffing it out, you and your instinct. God knows where you got that from . . .’

  I didn’t sniff out the ring, probably because my instinct doesn’t work that way. If it did, I could make a living as a bloodhound. But I did unearth some plates I’d put aside for a rainy day for him.

  ‘Prices are just beginning to creep up again.’ I said, packing them carefully. ‘But I think we shall have to rely on two-for-one offers for non-vintage bubbly for a bit. I always keep my eye open for good deals.’

  ‘I know you do. You’re a good girl – and quite a taking little thing.’ For some reason he peered at my hand. ‘Not wearing that chap’s ring? That socking great ruby – the vulgar one? Of course not. Good job – good riddance. What about that pretty sapphire? No? I suppose you’ll be thinking of selling them?’

  I touched my finger to the side of my nose in a gesture he’d know from Titus. ‘The market’s still improving, and they won’t go bad in my safe.’

  He gave a crack of laughter. ‘Good girl. Chip off the old block. You make a nice profit – that’ll show the bastard.’

  It would, of course, if I was ever likely to see the bastard again.

  I made him another cup of tea and, letting him get on with his favourite afternoon TV programmes, I let myself out and locked up after myself. Only when he’d finished his day’s viewing would he realize I’d left all the details of the tracing services on his table. Over to him.

  It was a good job the drive home was straightforward, because I wasn’t concentrating as hard as I should. I had quite a bit on my mind, after all it’s not every day someone asks you to be the one to switch their machine off, as and when it is necessary, of course. That was bad enough, but to have him suggest I talked everything over with Griff suggested a good deal of understanding I’d never have imagined him capable of. It must be all that green tea sparking his brain into life.

  It made me feel a bit bad about refusing to hunt for the Baird descendants, if any. But however I looked at it, it didn’t seem to be my sort of job. All that paperwork for a start, and no doubt a lot of legal language. Plus I really was pretty busy on my own account. My father assumed my life revolved round visits to him, whereas sometimes it was as much as I could do to carve out the half day the trips involved. If I took on more work for Harvey Sanditon, then there’d be even less time to spare. Which gave me, if I thought about it, a very good reason to turn down any offers Sanditon made: I had to make enough time to care for my poor grey-haired old dad. Which meant, of course, staying in Kent, not moving to New Zealand or Devon or Shropshire or wherever.

  I just had time to tell Griff my father’s plans for me before he shooed me upstairs, where a bath was already running, complete with lovely soothing bath oils.

  ‘And while you soak, consider what you should wear this evening – worrying about your father must take second place to that,’ he called up the stairs.

  If I knew Griff, he’d already have given the matter thought, which was a huge relief. It had to be an outfit that would tell him I was a professional to my rather battered fingertips, when I showed off the vase. And then it had to transform into something I could wear for dinner – which didn’t sound like a quick trip to the village chippie.

  I was just about to sink down so that little more than my nose was above water when I heard voices. Surely Sanditon wasn’t here already? Thank God I’d not got my hair wet. I leapt out of the water like a dolphin after an electric shock, towelled roughly and, swarming into my bathrobe, sprinted across the landing to my bedroom. My best trouser suit had mysteriously arrived on the bed, together with my really wickedly expensive boots (half price from Ashford Outlet) and a silk top that Griff’s partner Aidan had given me – and his gifts always oozed quality. Hair? A glamorous pair of Art Deco combs, then. Slap. Thanks to Griff I could apply that in three minutes flat. And a whiff of light perfume. Phew.

  It was hard to take the stairs two at a time in that particular pair of boots, and in any case I didn’t want to appear downright breathless, did I?

  Especially when the person Griff was so artlessly chatting to was Will Kinnersley.

  Will Kinnersley, and, just out of sight until I emerged fully into the room, another rather sallow young man, who all too clearly was another policeman.

  Neither appeared to have a ring ready to press into my hand.

  NINE

  Then there was another sort of ring. On the door bell, this time. I looked in horror at Griff. Although they were crammed side by side on one of the sofas, the two tall young men made our cosy living room look cluttered. I also knew from bitter experience that people can get the wrong impression when they find you in the company of police officers.

  Since I was on my feet, I did the logical thing – I stepped over the long legs, closing the living room door behind me, and answered it myself. Hell, it couldn’t be Harvey Sanditon, could it?

  It could. Harvey Sanditon and a very large bunch of flowers. I couldn’t tell what colour they were because Will and his mate had stupidly left their car’s blue lights flashing, as if they were on some televised raid.

  Like the flowers, changing colour every time the lights pulsed, Sanditon looked puzzled. No, more like dead concerned. ‘You’ve not been robbed, have you?’ he gasped.

  It wasn’t hard to tell how his mind was working.

  ‘No, and the vase is quite safe,’ I said, all in one breath. ‘The police are here about something else,’ I added, ready to lead him upstairs to my work room. On the other hand, the flowers confused me – as did the box of something tied in ribbon he was also carrying. Did all this mean I should treat him as a guest rather than just a punter? After all, we were about to do dinner.

  As I hesitated, Griff flung open the living room door, announcing, ‘My angel, this young man wants to talk to you about your body.’ His wink was probably supposed to help; it certainly made Will’s colleague’s face go the colour of the Royal Worcester egg-cup I’d used that morning. Mine went a much deeper shade, clashing horribly with my cerise top. Sanditon managed a tiny cough, and Will probably saved the day by throwing his gorgeous head back and laughing.

  Whether he’d deign to explain might depend on how he viewed Sanditon. Was he just a punter, a besotted middle-aged beau, or a serious rival – always assuming Will fancied me half as much as I fancied him?

  No point in hanging around to find out. ‘I found a corpse the other day,’ I said flatly. ‘I expect he wants to talk about that. And, as you’ve probably already noticed, policemen tend to hunt in pairs.’ Time to get more assertive, maybe. ‘Sergeant Kinnersley, as you can see, this isn’t a good time. Mr Sanditon’s got a long-standing appointment to collect an item I repaired for him.’ So I earned brownie points for authority, even though I was lying through my teeth.

  Griff seized the gifts and did his best to spirit them away into the kitchen, as if all punters appeared with interesting payment in kind, not nice boring cheques. As he returned, he said, ‘I’ll make an appointment for you to see these gentlemen, shall I? In our business diary?’ he added, in case I wished my mobile phone on him. Griff shuddered with horror at the thought of anything except a paper diary.

  ‘
Yes, please. I think tomorrow afternoon’s free. Mr Sanditon, do you want to see the patient?’ I gestured to the stairs, praying that despite my haste I’d shut my bedroom door so he wouldn’t see the chaos on my bed and dressing table.

  I think some of Griff’s love of the theatre must have rubbed off on me. As before, I’d placed the vase dead centre of the work table. Things like the packing case and invoices were tucked out of sight.

  I switched on all the lights at once.

  Sanditon’s face was all I could have asked for.

  At last, when he’d turned his baby in his hands and examined it from every angle, he put it back and turned to me, eyes glowing. Then he did something that really took me by surprise – he kissed my hands. It’s a gesture I always found really sexy, and I blushed all over again.

  And then yet again, because I had to ask him for payment before the vase left the building. It was one thing Griff was absolutely adamant about, I explained, so pleased I remembered the word I almost dropped the envelope with the invoice in it. Better that than the vase, I suppose.

  There was a tap on the door.

  Will popped his head round. ‘Griff says you’ve worked a miracle and I ought to see it.’

  ‘So long as you look, not touch, young man,’ Sanditon rapped out. ‘Unless your insurance still covers it, Ms Townend?’

  I didn’t think he was joking. Keeping the vase base firmly on the table, I turned it gently. ‘That’s the handle I repaired,’ I said. ‘Or was it this one?’

  ‘Wow,’ Will said, with what sounded like reverence. ‘You built it up from nothing?’

  ‘Yes. I was just about to hand over the fragments of the original to Mr Sanditon, Will. See you tomorrow afternoon? Make sure Griff puts the appointment in the diary, won’t you?’ Did that sound flirtatious or if I was just helping the police with their enquiries?