Guilty as Sin Read online

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  The account I gave of our Devon trip was brief, concentrating on the notion that I hadn’t wanted to play gooseberry when Griff lunched with Noel Pargetter.

  Pa scratched his head, inspecting his fingernails to see what he’d harvested. ‘I know that name from somewhere.’

  ‘You’re not confusing him with Nigel Pargetter on The Archers?’

  He gave me a sour look.

  ‘Actually he used to be an actor, so you may have seen him on stage.’

  Pa shook his head. ‘I never was much of a one for the West End. No, no … I’ll ask Titus. He’ll know.’

  Which didn’t augur well at all. ‘Anyway, he’s retired now. He came into some money,’ I added idly.

  ‘Lucky bugger,’ he said, again with no apparent irony. ‘Anyway, this reward. How do we get our hands on it? Nothing dodgy, I hope …’ he added, at his most sanctimonious. ‘Stealing from churches?’ he exploded as I finished my little story. ‘That’s outrageous. How low can you get?’

  Forging church and other documents for a start, I could have said. But I encouraged his outrage and embroidered, just a little, their anger at being pursued by a girl with a pole. ‘If anyone’s got his ear to the ground it’s Titus,’ I declared, adding very quickly and hoping he wouldn’t notice the hiatus, ‘and you.’

  ‘I don’t like the idea of your being in danger,’ he said. ‘You’d best come and camp out here.’

  ‘Don’t worry – Kent Police are keeping an eye on me,’ I lied blithely. I’d not seen a patrol car for days now. ‘But the important thing is this: you’re not to put yourselves at risk either.’

  ‘I don’t hurtle round the country in a van with my name and address on it. Very well, I’ll ask around. It sounds like a steal-to-order job, doesn’t it?’ Ever the professional, my pa. ‘I’ll bet it’s heading overseas – did you hear about a brass lectern nicked from a place in Gloucestershire that turned up in a market place in Romania? Did you say you’d got some photos of them?’ He squinted at my phone, shaking his head at the lack of facial features. ‘You interrupted them? Men with chisels like that? My God, what sort of idiot did I breed?’

  ‘The sort that’s been protecting you and Titus for umpteen years. This here project, Pa, that’s supposed to be making your fortune: what is it?’

  He touched the side of his nose. ‘Wait and see.’

  Griff was never at his sunniest when I’d been to visit Pa, but he looked quite hang-dog when I returned, fussing unnecessarily with the morning’s post.

  ‘I – we’ve – had an email,’ he said, keen to get it off his chest at once.

  ‘Harvey and his dratted vase?’

  ‘Precisely. He’s reminding me we’ve had it in our possession for a week and that he has had no written estimate, which he needs for his insurance company. He’d be grateful for an immediate response. All very formal,’ he added anxiously.

  ‘We could always send him an equally formal reply stating that pressure of existing commitments is such that we can’t deal with his request until next Friday at the earliest? No? OK, I’ll get on to it. Is Paul around? I wouldn’t mind an independent witness. And you can’t get much more worthy than an accountant.’

  ‘You mean he did that himself?’ Paul stared at the pieces of the vase as I removed the packing, which, to do Harvey justice, had done its best.

  The good news was that it wasn’t shattered, but had broken along existing fault lines – they were slightly brown, whereas new fractures would have been pristine white.

  ‘Not deliberately. He dropped it as he fell down some steps. Come on, Paul – Griff must have told you and Mary all about his gatecrashing the fancy-dress dance.’

  ‘He was very subdued – none of his usual revelling in detail. So how do you go about preparing an estimate?’ He sounded genuinely interested.

  ‘A subtle equation of the hours I shall need to work on it and how much I want the job. In this case I’d be more than delighted if he got a quote from someone else and they undercut me. So I’d say …’ I named a figure that sent his eyebrows skywards. ‘Well,’ I asked, ‘what do accountants charge per hour …? Quite. And there are a lot more of you around than people like me.’

  He looked at me steadily. ‘I want you to buy Griff out of this company. Soon. And if possible buy him out of the retail antiques company, too. Actually, perhaps the other way round. I’ll give it some thought. Do you have any cash reserves of your own that I don’t know about?’

  ‘You’re my accountant! You know every penny I’ve got.’ I didn’t need to mention the contents of our secret hidden safe, the whereabouts of which were known only to Griff and me.

  ‘You could try for a bank loan – with your turnover you shouldn’t have too much of a problem. All the same … Would your father help out?’

  ‘He doesn’t have a bean, and when he dies the trust will claim back his living quarters.’

  ‘And you won’t even get his title?’

  ‘I wouldn’t even if I was legitimate. I’m by no means his first-born. Or his last.’

  ‘I can’t believe you still visit him.’ Paul shook his head.

  ‘He’s a bit like this vase – a difficult project. You can’t imagine what a mess he was when I first came across him. He functions as a normal human being, these days. Almost,’ I conceded, in the name of honesty.

  Paul patted my shoulder. ‘I know what you did for Mary, when she needed help so much. Which is why I want to stop you ending up in the most awful financial mess where no one will benefit except HM Revenue and Customs, some lawyers and – yes, some accountants like me. I’m working on it, Lina – you and Griff will just have to trust me, even when I give you unpalatable advice.’ He added sternly, ‘Do you realize how vulnerable you are, Lina? When Griff dies, you lose your home and your work. Half at least. To be honest, though, I can’t see a solution either of you would like.’ And with that he was gone.

  I checked the poor vase one more time and jotted down some figures. In the end I couldn’t inflate them – not much, anyway. If ever there was an artefact that needed my skills, this was it. Some might have thought my estimate high, but I knew of very few other freelance restorers who would have considered doing it for any less.

  NINE

  Well, well, well … Who should drift into the Pig and Whistle as we recovered from our Pilates class with quantities of mineral water, but Spencer! With Honey sitting right beside me, I couldn’t tell him straight out that I didn’t want his company. I tried to make it clear half an hour later that I didn’t need him to walk me home, but Honey and Laura decided they’d all had enough too so we set out as a foursome, awkward on the narrow and uneven pavements. Was I surprised when we split into two and Spencer fell into step beside me?

  ‘I didn’t know you were famous,’ he said.

  ‘Neither did I!’

  ‘Well, I Googled you and you’re all over the place.’

  ‘It’s just because of my work,’ I said modestly, hoping I was right; I’d never bothered to check. ‘I bet you are too, aren’t you?’ It took me a moment to realize my mistake. But I couldn’t unsay it. Anyway, we were almost home and the girls were giving me girlie hugs – in which Spencer had to join, of course. At least it was no more than a hug, but I really wasn’t comfortable. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to dance with him at the next class. Come to think of it, hoping wasn’t enough: I was going to have to speak very firmly to Griff.

  Dodie clapped her hands in delight at the sight of Pa’s flowers – I’d chosen roses and lilies, since I always found the seasonal chrysanthemums on offer so depressing. Because I really did not want to root round in her possessions, even with Tony and Griff to keep an eye on me, I’d taken a glass vase from stock we’d set aside to dispose of – sometimes at auction you have to buy a job lot of tat just to lay your hands on one decent item.

  But the mention of a possible visit was a step too far: her eyes filled and she picked at h
er hair and clothes. There was no need for words. Shapeless tracksuit bottoms and a heavily pilled sweater wouldn’t fill anyone’s heart with optimism. Why did she have to wear garments guaranteed to make her miserable? I’d have asked point-blank but this wasn’t my father, who rather liked to be bullied; it was a woman I hardly knew.

  As it happened, one of her team of carers arrived just as I was leaving – the one who’d been interested in the radio. Her smile was perfunctory, mine the one I use when I want to inveigle someone into doing something they don’t want to do. In this woman’s case, she probably didn’t have time for conversation, or to answer my question: ‘Doesn’t Dodie have anything better to wear? And what about her poor hair?’

  ‘I talk to you, I don’t have time to talk to her. OK?’ And she disappeared inside.

  She was right, of course, a point Moira Carr made when I ran into her in the village deli.

  ‘There’s no reason for her to be in such a state, surely,’ I expostulated over the cheese counter. ‘There must be someone who could drop in and do her hair and sort out some better clothes. I know they must be machine washable and mustn’t need ironing, but even so …’

  ‘Why not talk to her social worker …?’ Moira suggested reasonably. ‘Lina? What have I said?’

  ‘It’s no good, I can’t deal with social workers,’ I said. ‘I know they all mean well and they’re underpaid and overworked, but they messed up my life good and proper and if I had my way I’d—’

  Her face was very tight, but she managed to say, ‘Perhaps you didn’t know that I’m a social worker. Retired now, of course.’

  Retired. Of course she was retired. Practically everyone who did voluntary work for the church was retired.

  I took several gulps of air. After all, I needed this woman on my side, and she hadn’t personally ruined my education. ‘In that case,’ I began, grasping desperately for the sort of lingo that would impress her, ‘you’d have all the skills and know-how to approach them. They wouldn’t be able to blind you with words and phrases that simply don’t mean anything to me. And you wouldn’t annoy them, would you?’ I added, pleading despite myself.

  Her face softened a little. ‘It depends which words and phrases I used in return.’

  ‘And you’re not in an – an …’ It was ages since my vocabulary had upped sticks and run, which it always used to do when I was stressed, which was most of the time. I tried again. ‘I’m in a strange position. I’m not a friend of hers, though my father was. I deal in antiques, and some people might construe my presence in her house as – well, as casing the joint. Mightn’t they?’ I looked her straight in the eye, suspecting there’d already been gossip to that effect.

  ‘Yes. Have you finished your shopping? In that case, let’s pay and have a coffee.’ She gestured at the tiny café they’d managed to squeeze into the side of the shop.

  ‘If you had a wish list with regard to Dodie,’ Moira asked, scooping the froth from her cappuccino, ‘what might it include?’ She looked at me from under her remarkably straight eyebrows, which owed more than a little to poorly applied pencil. The rest of her make-up was equally amateurish, with every seam between colours showing, as if she’d painted by numbers. Her sea-green eyeshadow, with no modulations at all, was quite startling. Perhaps it was all of a piece with her suddenly clichéd language: I’d seen ‘with regard to’ in print but never heard it spoken.

  ‘I’d like someone to care for her properly – not just dash in to see to her immediate needs. Look at today – wouldn’t it be lovely if someone could pop her into a wheelchair and let her enjoy the sunshine? One of those emergency buzzers to hang round her neck – surely that’s essential for any old person living on her own? Someone to do her hair and nails – probably her feet, too. And someone to ensure that she has clothes that don’t make her cringe – there must be some in her wardrobe.’

  ‘And you’ve looked?’ she rapped back.

  ‘Certainly not! I’ve not been DBS checked, I’m not family; my only role is to see if any incriminating footage crops up on the hidden camera I’ve installed. Oh, and to take her some flowers from my father, who knew her years ago.’ I smiled sadly. ‘He’d love to visit her, for old times’ sake, but Dodie doesn’t want him to see her in her present state.’

  ‘You’re not thinking of some sentimental Darby and Joan reunion, are you? Because that might be prejudicial to her mental stability.’

  Should I tell her she’d got froth on the end of her nose? ‘Aren’t company and stimulation supposed to be good for the elderly?’ Whoops – Moira was no spring chicken herself. ‘Lunch clubs and seated aerobics? That sort of thing?’

  She eyed me with as much enthusiasm as if she herself was Dodie’s overburdened social worker. ‘Who are you expecting to do all this? Not you, obviously.’ It was a decided accusation.

  ‘I work full-time. I look after my father. Even so, I’d love to do more, and would, but as I said, I’ve no legal right even to step into her house.’ I added something I’d heard on the radio, ‘Fear of litigation has made cowards of us all.’ It sounded quite impressive, come to think of it.

  It did the trick. ‘I’ll endeavour to talk to social services for you, though I must tell you their budgets have been slashed and with outsourced carers they have very little direct contact with their clients.’

  Humbly I asked, ‘Is there a retired hairdresser in the congregation who might volunteer her services? Maybe even give her a manicure? And, oh, Moira, find her some better clothes?’ Catching her eye, I dabbed my nose.

  She took it for what it was, a woman-to-woman gesture, and smiled as she wiped away the froth. Getting to her feet, she said, ‘I’ll make due enquiries and get back to you.’

  And she left me to pay the bill.

  Surprise, surprise, Harvey accepted my quote for the repair, provided I could give it immediate priority. I’d never known an insurance company insert that sort of clause before, so I got Griff to email back our standard reply, to the effect that it was impossible to guarantee the repair of any object by a specific date. Griff eyed me anxiously, however, and I agreed to move it a little further up the queue than I really liked. The only reason I could see for what I saw as toadying to Harvey was a desire I actually shared, to get rid of all traces of the wretched man.

  I also had a rare communication, if you could call it that, from Titus Oates, who used the phone as if he was being charged by the nano-second.

  ‘This church crap, doll – I’m on to it. But keep your pretty little nose out of it – right?’

  ‘Hang on, Titus – this stuff my dad’s doing for you? What is it?’

  ‘Absolutely kosher.’ End of call.

  I made that twenty words.

  Actually, from Titus, they were pretty significant words, because he never actually lied. They implied the church thefts were the work of serious villains, and that for once my father wasn’t breaking the law.

  There was no option but to dance with Spencer at the next village hall class. Gerry, the man who regularly helped Dee demonstrate the men’s moves, was hors de combat with a snapped Achilles tendon, a disaster for a man who loved his tennis, his dancing and his gardening to the exclusion of all else – even, it was rumoured, his wife. She never came to classes, though she did deign to turn up at some of the dances Dee organized for her combined groups. The only other obvious choice of partner for Dee was Griff, of course, a far better dancer when he wasn’t hampered by me.

  I suspect some of the sentimental old dears’ hearts beat faster to see us young people in each other’s arms. Or maybe it was with relief that none of the womenfolk had to expose their feet to the onslaught mine suffered, largely because Spencer thought it was cute and charming to chatter. My response was to count audibly and, sinfully, to lead him. We had to end up somewhere, after all, and he knew no better.

  Annoyingly, his attempts to talk didn’t end there, and he dug himself so deeply into conversation with Griff that he ended up walking home w
ith us, although he was thwarted in his apparent desire to spend the rest of the evening in our cottage. Griff had the nous to say we had a complicated order to put up, and bade him a firm goodnight.

  However, as I set the table for supper, he said, ‘I wish you didn’t make your dislike of him quite so obvious, my dear one. He’s a pleasant enough lad.’

  ‘Sorry – he’s not pleasant enough to encourage. Not enough to ditch Carwyn for, certainly.’

  ‘But you say yourself there’s no future in that relationship. And you’re playing more than hard to get when it comes to Harvey.’

  I put the cutlery down with a sharp little clatter. ‘I am not playing hard to get. Harvey is married. I’ve told him repeatedly that I don’t want a relationship with him.’

  ‘Married or not, he’d keep you in very good style—’

  ‘Heavens, Griff, I don’t believe it! It almost sounds as if you’re pimping me!’

  ‘I want to secure your future, my dear one. I’m not immortal, you know. And Paul’s been saying frightful things about death duties and capital gains.’ He met my eye at last. ‘Has he said anything to you?’

  There was no point in lying. ‘He wants me to buy you out of the restoration business at least. And the shop.’ I shrugged. ‘I don’t see how. We’re not making much profit, but think of the stock we’re holding – that Russian stuff, for instance. All that would have to be valued. Not to mention the stuff in the secret safe.’

  He raised a finger. ‘But that is secret. That’s the whole point. Only two of us know about that. I could give it to you and no one would be any the wiser.’

  ‘Until a hundred thousand pounds’ worth of stuff finds its way on to the market.’

  He looked defeated for a moment, but suddenly snapped his fingers. ‘I may just have an idea. Involving your father … No, I won’t say anything more, not until I’ve spoken to him. But if anything happens to me before then, you say nothing, do you hear me, nothing of that to the tax people. Nothing to Paul. You’d have to find a way to dispose of it yourself. Promise me you’ll keep it as your nest egg?’ He took my hands and gripped them.