Guilty Pleasures, page 14
Harvey looked as chic as he always did; Griff assured me that good tailoring always did that to a man, a point he himself proved in a suit he’d bought on his London break.
Estelle, who shook hands as if I was a wet fish, was a few years older than Harvey, I thought, despite the work on her face, which left her looking not so much young as desperately sad. However, she wasn’t just smart and elegant. She was intimidatingly well turned out, from her beautifully cut and coloured hair to her manicured feet. Pedicured feet. I recognized the dress from a Sunday supplement, but didn’t know the designer – probably one with a capital D. The wow-factor heavy silver jewellery was modern Danish at a guess. ‘Georg Jensen,’ Griff mouthed.
I always found summer difficult to dress for, unless I went for the vintage look Griff preferred, which sometimes made me look like Little Bo Peep. A sudden flutter of the brain made me wonder if Pa had liberated the sheep illicitly from his old nursery. He was quite capable of it, especially when he’d warned me off. I’d plumped for a silk dress Griff had picked out last time we’d been to London together. It hadn’t been expensive to start with, and had been further reduced, but he insisted the empire line suited me. It did until I sat down opposite Estelle. Provincial, that was what I felt.
And tonight I felt provincial in my conversation too. Griff was full of London news, not just the opera but a couple of actors – household-name actors – he’d lunched with and the exhibitions he’d been to. Estelle mentioned her box at the ENO; Harvey talked about his friends at Sotheby’s. I did what Griff said always pleased people. I let them get on with it and fired occasional questions to show I’d been listening. Since I didn’t know what the ENO was, I was a little stuck, especially as I thought to ask might be a question too far.
Then I let a disgraceful thing happen. I let my phone ring. I wasn’t sure my blush was because it was so not done or because the caller I switched to voicemail was Morris. At least I had the decency to wait till the main course was over before slipping to the loo.
I was glad the call was over by the time Estelle joined me in there.
I knew I ought to say something. I looked around me at the chic decor – those interesting glass washbasins with the taps and even the soap dispenser operated by hand movement. No towels, paper or fluffy, just one of those Dyson hand driers you put your hands in. So nothing to talk about really. In any case, she’d not seemed the sort of person you could have a girlie gossip with, heading with no more than a nod into one of the cubicles. I touched up my lippie, but since she didn’t say anything, decided it was better manners just to slip back to the others.
I was just summarizing briefly – very briefly – to Harvey the conversation I’d had when she returned, looking thunderous for some reason. Should I have waited after all?
‘It was my contact at the Met,’ I repeated, so she couldn’t complain she didn’t know what I was talking about. ‘He wanted to ask how today’s operation went and to pass on his thanks to Harvey.’
‘You told him how much he owes me?’ It was hard to tell if he was serious or mocking.
‘Yes. He says should the Met go bankrupt, you’d be able to claim it back from the stallholder if he’s sold you a pup, which he obviously has.’
‘Or claim a complementary repair from Tripp and Townend,’ he suggested, raising an eyebrow at Griff, ‘by way of compensation?’
By now his wife was furious, not sad. Naturally, she was far too polite to say anything, but she oozed cold anger, directed at me, of course. I was just the messenger, but that wouldn’t stop me getting shot at if she had a chance.
Harvey didn’t seem to have picked up her mood, turning to me with an ironic smile only a degree cooler than his usual flirtatious charm. ‘I take it you’ll take the damned thing back with you? I’ve photographed it and copied all the paperwork, just in case.’ He handed over the sort of pretty card carrier-bag that usually comes with a present inside.
‘Thank you kindly, sir. I think.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘Thank you for disguising it so well. I’d seriously prefer no one to know I’ve got it.’ I was going to witter on about being on local TV, but thought better of it. Whatever I said would be the wrong thing for poor Estelle. However, there was one question I must ask. ‘Are you happy with the repair?’
‘Perfectly. As I frequently tell Griff, you are a very talented woman.’
I didn’t need Griff’s glance to tell me the way to play this. ‘He always makes sure I prioritize the work I do for you: he loves top-end china, you know. I think I understand why we only deal in middle-range – because he couldn’t bear to sell the sort of stuff you presumably handle every day. On the other hand, I don’t suppose he’d told you he walloped an intruder with a Moorcroft vase the other day – and intends to claim on our house insurance.’
‘It was absolutely hideous,’ Griff said, grinning. ‘I shall buy an altogether more tasteful replacement.’
‘Intruder?’ Harvey repeated.
At last I could back out of the conversation, with the perfect excuse that I hadn’t been there. But Griff recounted how I’d not dialled 999 but had summoned a police officer ex-boyfriend to his aid.
It was a pity for Estelle’s sake he’d described Will as an ex. She’d have preferred me to be thoroughly engaged.
Declining an invitation to go back to their house with them – it was quite a schlep and we had to be ready for an early start tomorrow – we sipped a leisurely cup of coffee, though I knew Griff’s beauty sleep would suffer, even with decaf.
I was half expecting Estelle to grab my arm and hiss a warning to stay away from Harvey. But I caught her face in repose. It was even unhappier. Trev might not like her, but, despite her wonderful outfit and her admittedly fading beauty, I surprised myself by managing to feel sorry for her.
Until she stopped, turned and asked, ‘You may know a friend of mine, Arthur Habgood. He runs a pretty little shop down here. Devon Cottage Antiques.’
This was worse than grabbing my arm. It was grabbing my identity. Habgood had run a long campaign to persuade me to take a DNA test to prove I was his granddaughter. When I’d refused, for a variety of reasons, one of which was that in Griff I had a better grandfather than any biological one, he’d become very vengeful and had tried to do me a lot of harm. Damaging someone you claimed to want in the family didn’t make sense to me.
On the other hand, Habgood had presumably given Estelle only one version of the story, the one that cast him in the light of a dear loving father seeking the only child of his late daughter. He’d probably made Griff the villain of the piece too. As for Devon Cottage Antiques, it could be as pretty as a picture, but it would never replace the equally picturesque Tripp and Townend in my affections. So did she believe Habgood, or, knowing that Harvey didn’t like him much either, was she just being malicious?
There was only one person who could reply to her, and that, unfortunately, was me. It was a pity I was way out of my depth with all sorts of relationship undercurrents swirling around and carrying me away from the shore. Was this about Habgood and me, or really about me and Harvey? Or even her and Habgood? Whatever I said, I didn’t want to give her any ammunition she could possibly use against Harvey, or against me for that matter.
‘I’ve never seen his shop. Is it as sweet as it sounds?’ I managed. I didn’t add that he almost certainly sold dodgy china in it: he’d once tried to flog as perfect something I’d repaired, which was what had turned me against him. I knew Harvey didn’t try that game, at least with stuff that had been through my hands. I’d checked his website several times, and anything I’d worked on always warned of some restoration.
‘I’m sure he’d love you to go and see it. It’ll be open tomorrow, of course.’
I shook my head with what I hoped looked like real regret. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got to be on the road very early. Griff had to take time off to recover from being assaulted by that intruder – the one he socked with the ugly vase – and I’m way behind with the restoration work. I’ve got a courier collecting something I’m working on for a museum on Monday, and it’s not quite ready.’
Her voice reduced me to something on the level of a worker ant. ‘So you really do just the gluing and so on?’
Especially the so on. ‘Of course.’ I nearly spoilt it by pointing out that Habgood would confirm it, but managed to shut my mouth in time.
‘So it’s Griff who runs the company?’
He must have come back to look for me. ‘It is indeed. You could say I’m the public face, doing the contracts, wining and dining clients, and so on. I don’t quite lock Lina in an attic with only a candle to light her work, but she’s very much a back-room person.’ It must have been his acting past – he always lied beautifully. And I was happy for him to do so this time. There was only so much I wanted Estelle to know about me, and we were pretty near that point now.
Suddenly, we were past the point. ‘So why was it you who were dealing with the Metropolitan Police back there? If you’re just a back-room girl.’
Again I had a terrible sense that anything I might say would be taken down and used in evidence against me.
Griff jumped in. ‘Oh, Estelle, didn’t you notice the rosy glow about her when she took that call? He’s her boyfriend, of course. A very special one.’
‘He’s the one that asked Harvey to buy that snuffbox. He also wants him to look at some photos,’ I said, since we’d reached Harvey himself by now. ‘Did you recognize anyone?’ How long was it since I’d sent the huge file through? Now I came to think of it, I felt a bit aggrieved he’d not got back to me, even to say no one rang any bells.
‘Did you need to inflict so many on me? I’ve only just got through the first scan. Hell, such awful photos, Estelle – they’d have had you spitting tacks. Estelle’s quite a dab with a camera, Griff – I often think she could have made a career out of photography.’
If he’d spoken about me like that I’d probably have slapped him. Patronizing bastard. And to think . . . No, it was she who’d married him.
‘But there are a couple of faces . . . I didn’t say anything because I wasn’t sure. But I’ll look tomorrow or Monday, if I have a moment, and get back to you – or direct to that inspector of yours, if you give me his email address.’
I printed Morris’s details on the back of one of my cards. ‘It really could be quite important, Harvey. You know how we prioritize your repairs: maybe you could return the favour,’ I said, my face stern and unsmiling.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He gave a mock salute.
Griff picked up the sudden tension. ‘I hate to use the cliché, Harvey, but it really could be a matter of life and death.’
NINETEEN
After a long tussle with the M25 and a snazzy bit of parking on my part when we unhitched the caravan in the field a friendly farmer lets us use, we arrived home in Bredeham. I’d rather hoped to find Morris’s Saab waiting for us. What I didn’t expect was an ordinary car, with two uniformed women sitting in it. They looked very serious as they got out.
‘Ms Townsend? We’d like a word, please.’
‘Of course,’ I said, smiling up at them from the driver’s seat in what I hoped was a nice cooperative way. ‘Can I just put the van in the yard? And then I’ll let you in?’
‘The old man can do that, can’t he?’
I froze. My vibes were twanging alarmingly. Thoughts bombarded the inside of my skull like balls in a machine. If they’d come in logical order it would have helped, but they didn’t. How dared they be so rude to Griff? Why were there two of them? Did it matter that they’d got my name wrong? Unmarked car? What about IDs? Why was one going round to Griff’s side? So much make-up on duty?
The van was in reverse, and we were hurtling back up the village street before I knew what I was going to do. I pointed to the dashboard-mounted mobile. ‘Speed-dial Freya Webb. I may be done for resisting arrest – I want to get my word in first.’
‘My dear one!’
‘Just in case. Tell her I’m coming straight over to Maidstone and she can arrest me there if necessary.’
‘It’s Sunday!’
‘It’s her personal mobile – she’ll tell me what to do. For God’s sake, Griff, do it.’
So why didn’t the two women give chase? At least knowing they weren’t on my tail I could dodge and dive through lanes only locals would know. But I could only do it slowly – you never knew when you might come nose to nose with a farm vehicle six times your size, not to mention the fact I still had a load of china aboard, and though it was well-packed, bubble wrap could only absorb so much shock.
I was concentrating so hard on not getting us squashed or even running into a road block they’d had time to set up that I didn’t hear much of what Griff was saying. But I could hear that his voice was serious, and suddenly running didn’t seem to have been the sensible option.
Maidstone seemed a most unattractive destination, even with Griff beside me. And it wasn’t to Police HQ that Griff directed me, but to the police station. At least Freya was waiting for me, in what was clearly her gardening outfit.
‘What the hell are you doing, giving my officers the slip, Lina? I thought you were a law-abiding type.’
‘You know I am. But when two people turn up without giving names and without showing their ID, I’m bound to be suspicious. And – like Griff’s assailant – they were wearing a lot of slap. I thought – who knows exactly what I thought? But here I am, as Griff told you I would be.’
‘Good. Because I may just get you off the charge of resisting arrest. But you have to be questioned about something else, and it’s serious. Do you have a solicitor?’
‘Why ever should she need one?’ Griff demanded. ‘Leave it to me, angel heart – I shall get the best money can buy.’
I gripped his hand. ‘Maybe that’s a mistake. Maybe it’ll antagonize people having some hotshot poking his expensive nose in.’ But I held his glance and added quietly, ‘But you know whom I’d like you to call.’
‘I told you, it’s serious,’ Freya said. ‘Everyone’s entitled to legal support.’
‘Am I under arrest?’
‘Only by the fell sergeant, death, and we all hope he’ll hang around a bit.’ She paused to smile at Griff, who presumably appreciated her allusion. I didn’t. ‘As far as I can see, you came voluntarily. So I don’t see why you should be under arrest at the moment. All the same, you’ll be seen in an interview room – well, I’m sure you’ve watched enough TV to know the procedure.’
I looked her straight in the eye. ‘I’ve never pretended that I don’t know the procedure first-hand. I saw the inside of enough cop shops when I was a kid.’ She handed me over to the women I’d escaped from.
I didn’t even recognize them. Amazing! That must be what they mean by blind panic. They introduced themselves as Constables Smedley and Long. They were blonde, and from their scraped back hair to their bitten fingernails they were identical.
All the same, I gave my apology. Profusely. They seemed a bit bemused, but accepted it, raising identically plucked eyebrows when I explained why I’d been so afraid. In fact, Long seemed very interested in what she called the backstory. It was she who asked all the questions; Smedley might have been suffering from a severe attack of that itis thing that makes you lose your voice.
‘So you didn’t want to escape from the police, but from people you thought were criminals,’ Long summed up.
I think she sounded more long-suffering than disbelieving, but I wouldn’t have placed bets on it. I tried a smile. ‘Exactly. So I’m sorry I nearly ran you over and – anyway, here I am, and I’ll cooperate in any way I can.’
She changed the subject with a huge wrench. ‘Tell us about St Jude’s Church. That’s in Kenninge.’
‘I know where it is. I helped out at the fête there. Which is how all the drama of break-ins and the rest of it started.’
‘Tell me about the church itself.’
‘You’d need an architect to do that, wouldn’t you? All I know is that it’s very old, with a sagging roof and a slightly bulging wall. The porch is rotting. It needs a lot of money spending on it. More than a week of church fêtes would ever make.’
‘Did you have any ideas how this money could be made?’
‘I may have suggested to Robin Levitt, the vicar, that they should sell some of the family silver. The church plate, that is. But I don’t know what they’ve got, and even if I saw it lined up in front of me I wouldn’t be able to do more than date it. It’s not my area at all. That’s why I needed help with the silver snuffbox featured on TV the other day. Why I handed it over the Met for safe keeping.’
‘We know about that, and very public spirited it was of you. But did you decide to recoup your losses, as it were?’
‘I don’t think . . . Recoup?’ My dratted memory. ‘You mean, get my money back? I only paid a few quid for it. You could say it was a charitable donation.’
‘You could. But when you realized just how valuable it might be, weren’t you tempted to claim some of the money?’
‘I actually went with Robin to try to talk the donor into having it back! Look, if I’ve done something wrong, or someone says I have, could you spell it out? The A303’s horrible, especially when you’re towing a caravan, there are roadworks on the M3, and someone has sprinkled something highly flammable on the M25. I’ve been on the road some seven hours and I’m not at my brightest. Even apart from needing a pee.’
‘Did you steal something else from the church to make up for the thousands of pounds you gave up when you surrendered the snuffbox?’
I tried not to laugh. ‘A postcard? A guide book? What should I steal? I’m not sure where God is in my life, but I wouldn’t push my luck nicking from His House, believe me. Especially when one of my best friends is the priest in charge.’
‘Something more valuable than that, believe me,’ Smedley said, making me jump.
