Silver Guilt (10 page)

‘Is it my imagination or have we not moved since we arrived?' I asked at last.

‘Not an inch. And it isn't that the queue's just got thicker – though it has. Bloody Krauts. No, it's OK, they won't understand. I'm just surprised they haven't put beach towels down everywhere,' he declared, reminding me suddenly of Nella.

‘Please, Piers—' I tugged his sleeve. One or two Germans all too clearly understood. But we were spared an international incident by the arrival of a Frenchwoman, making shooing gestures. I was too busy assessing her look and wondering how to achieve it, a bit of a problem given that she was five inches taller than me and probably weighed no more, to hear what she was saying. In any case, I'd only been to about three French classes in the whole of my school life, so I wouldn't have been any the wiser anyway.
On Grev?
What might that mean?

Piers broke out in a torrent of French, waving his arms just like Aidan did. So did a lot of people. The rest of us just looked blank. That soon turned to disbelieving as our companions translated. It seemed the staff of all the museums in Paris had decided to go on strike. Today. Starting now.

‘Piers, it really doesn't matter,' I said, when he'd used quite a lot of words I never used before Griff's seven o'clock watershed. ‘We're here together. The rain's clearing. There are lots of lovely things to do.'

‘I've always wanted to go up the Eiffel Tower!'

‘Er . . .' I didn't want to remind him of my last attack of vertigo and its messy consequences. ‘What about one of those river boat things? It wouldn't be too cold if we sat inside . . .'

As days went, it wasn't great, but he'd done his best, and I decided to giggle him out of his grumpiness with our Eurostar champagne – as champagnes went, not great either – on our way home. We'd just popped back up out of the earth and on to English soil, as I rather pompously observed, when my phone rang.

Without even looking to see who it was, I took the call. ‘Morris? Morris!' I squeaked. ‘Look, before you start, I've always wanted to say this to someone – I'm on the train!'

I had a sudden cold feeling that Morris estimated to a millilitre how much I'd sunk.

‘Sorry,' I said more soberly, ‘but I really am, and it always drives me mad when you get on the train and this chorus starts up.
I'm on the train
– you know?' I hoped I sounded like a seasoned traveller.

‘I do indeed.'

‘So what can I do for you?' I asked, when he didn't seem inclined to say any more.

‘Oh, I just wanted a little favour – but if you're in transit somewhere—'

‘I'm on the way back. From Paris. Lovely!' No need to tell anyone that the boat trip had made Piers throw up.

‘Did you and Griff buy anything?'

‘It was me and Piers and no, we didn't.' A bit of bling for me, and a scarf for him. Dead romantic, I don't think. ‘Nothing for the business, at least,' I said, and suddenly wished I hadn't. Not sure why, though. I smiled at Piers, who was making winding gestures to get me to cut the call.

The connection died anyway. Morris didn't try again, and I was too busy thinking about passports and things to call him back.

A difficult restoration job came my way, so I didn't worry overmuch when Piers called to cancel a date because his mother was ill. It occurred to me I'd not been introduced to any of his family, and of course I'd made damned sure he didn't meet Lord Elham. So when one day Piers announced that we must be related, I was quite surprised.

I put down my naan bread – we'd managed to get together for a quick and not very good curry in Maidstone while Piers was en route to a Beanie Bear gathering – and stared.

‘Related?' Surprised? Actually I was horrified.

‘Yeah, I reckon my aunt is your father's second cousin. Too far away for consanguinity to be a problem.'

I nodded, wondering what on earth I was agreeing with. If only I could remember the word, I could ask Griff what it meant.

‘You never talk about your family,' I said. ‘Not like I talk about Griff, anyway. And you've never taken me along to meet any of them.'

‘Hell, Lina, how Victorian is that? Do you want to be presented formally, is that it?'

‘Of course not. But you've got Griff's seal of approval, and I just wondered . . .'

Actually, Griff had reassured me when – in a very roundabout way – I'd asked what he thought of Piers. He was so low on the Richter scale of passion I wondered if he might actually be gay and using me as what Aidan and Griff referred to as a beard – in other words, making him look like a full-blooded male with standard issue arm candy. Griff said he didn't pick up any vibes, and maybe Piers was doing what he'd said at the start – simply taking things slowly, always, in Griff's book, better than rushing headlong into things you wished you hadn't next day.

Piers got his diary out. Perhaps he'd taken my hint seriously, and I was going to see them. ‘Now, when's the next fair we're both at?'

‘Detling?' What had fairs got to do with the price of anything? Unless his parents were coming to one to see how he operated.

‘Detling? No, I can't do that one – I'm off to Dublin. More family,' he said.

I vaguely hoped he might invite me to go along too. I'd never been to Ireland, after all, and it might make up for the Paris mess. But then I reminded myself that he knew I couldn't have gone. I was going to be with Griff, getting cold and wet.

‘So we must do something really fabulous when I get back,' he declared, stowing his diary and kissing my hands. He seemed to study them. What a good job after all my painting and gluing I'd actually treated myself to a manicure at the village hairdresser's. ‘Really, really fabulous. I promise.'

I
f we'd been busy, of course, there was no way I could have taken time off to spend time with Piers. But there was no denying it: business was slack. Griff started to take a pile of books along to the shop and spent the empty hours reading. We hoped and prayed things would look up when the weather improved. Meanwhile, I did the restoration work which kept us in profit.

I also had time to think about Lord Elham and the problem he didn't seem to know anything about. I took to dropping in at times he wouldn't normally have expected me. My excuse was that I wanted to make sure he was eating properly, so I'd take plastic freezer boxes full of microwaveable dinners. He quite liked a lamb curry I'd learned to make, and was very keen on my pasta sauce. He ate both with naan bread he kept in his freezer, but I didn't complain. At least while I was there I could make him drink a couple of cups of green tea. It might not do all the Internet said it'd do, but it might do some good. Griff swore it had helped bring his blood pressure down, but I rather thought he was humouring me. Though it has to be said that his GP told me he was actually a lot better since I'd started to bully him. Maybe the same technique would work on my father. It would certainly be better than the prison food he'd get if Morris and his team ever really managed to nail him.

Each visit I made a point of visiting all the rooms in his wing, pretending I was looking for items to sell. Of course I could have sold most of it, but there are fashions in antiques just as in everything else. Lovely mahogany Victorian furniture was at an all time low, and some of our friends who'd specialized in it had actually gone to the wall. On the other hand good jewellery was doing surprisingly well, presumably because of the value of gold. A cynic would say that if you didn't like your ring or brooch, you could always melt it down.

So I'd tell him, truthfully, that there was no call for the cut glass I'd so lovingly cleaned, and that we might as well wait for the market to rise even more before I tried to move the gorgeous dressing set I'd unearthed. So far the Meissen figure had stayed put. Once or twice I thought I smelt pot – that really heavy skunk smell – but Lord Elham always turned the TV volume up if I started asking any questions. Not just about the skunk, or I would have been suspicious. Questions about anything. I even mentioned I was dating a relative only to have him take as much notice as if I'd answered a quiz question properly. Less, probably – he really couldn't believe I could have so little general knowledge. He, on the other hand, was as good as Griff when it came to useless information. They'd have made a really good pub quiz team.

With the coming of spring, Bossingham Hall would be opened up to the public. I knew it was always spring-cleaned first, and wondered if I could get myself recruited as a cleaner, so I could have a good poke round. But several of the ladies working there – running the shop, the tea room and the ticket desk – knew I was not only Lord Elham's daughter, but an antiques restorer as well. Perhaps they giggled over their tea cups that I was having a go at restoring him too. So I didn't dare turn up with my rubber gloves and feather duster. I'd just have to wait until the Hall officially reopened to go and look round.

Unless I used one of my unofficial entrances. I had a couple, both, so far as I knew, unknown to anyone else.

But I hesitated, given Morris's interest and the fact that once outside the main entrance I'd seen several vans with a CCTV firm's logos on them. Security was obviously being beefed up, and until I'd made sure there were no cameras on my access points I wasn't taking any risks.

I excused my cowardice by telling myself I must concentrate on preparations for Detling, one of the biggest fairs in the south east.

Who should I run into the very first morning but Titus Oates, coat collar up against the wind just like mine. We nodded at each other cautiously, the way people do when they both have information the other person would rather they didn't have. But remembering our last phone conversation, I moved a little closer to him.

‘Tell me, Titus—'

He jabbed my chest. ‘You never ask questions, doll, remember.'

‘You owe me, remember,' I retorted. ‘Tell me, do you ever smoke pot?'

‘You joking? Do anything to make the filth notice me? Bloody hell, I took you as having your head screwed on.' He turned his back and was about to stomp off.

I took an even bigger risk. ‘Well, someone at Bossingham Hall does. It's not me and I can't smell it on Lord Elham's clothes.'

When I first met him, of course, you wouldn't have wanted to get close enough to him to smell anything. Now there were a washing machine and a tumble dryer in the kitchen, and though he grumbled, I saw to it that everything, even his trousers, went through at regular intervals.

Titus stopped dead. ‘Bloody hell. Smoking? The whole place could go up like that!' He snapped his fingers.

Given the water sprinklers and the direct line to the fire station in Canterbury I doubted it, but I didn't want to interrupt him by pointing this out.

‘Who the hell could that be? He's never said anything to me. Or to you, I take it.'

I shook my head. ‘What does he say to anyone?'

‘A lot of crap, if he doesn't think he's going to get his fizz. But nothing about visitors smoking pot. Tell you what, doll, I'll get on to it. Keep my ears open. No need to call me – I'll be in touch if I need be.'

From Titus, that was a major offer. Meanwhile, back in one of the barns housing those of us with indoor stalls – there were some poor souls who had pitches outside, in all the elements – I had a job to do. We'd already sold more than we'd hoped, but there was still a lot on the stand, and while Griff worked better with some customers, I did well with people who considered me waif-like and in need of a good meal.

I was just sucking my cheeks and tum in when Arthur Habgood hove into view. He was flourishing something in his right hand. ‘Here you are!' he announced, as if he was doing me a favour. ‘Now, have you ever done one of these before?'

‘A gob-swab? You mean all the times I've been arrested?' I snapped. ‘Thanks a bunch.'

His smile disappeared and his eyes blazed. My would-be grandfather didn't see I was making a sarcastic point – he thought I was telling the truth! I was getting less and less keen on being part of his family.

‘They say you'd been in trouble up at the NEC,' he hissed.

‘Who says?' I fired. ‘Come on, tell me who. Because you can tell them that they were absolutely wrong.'

He shook his head. ‘I know you were fired from that silver dealer's.' He rifled through a trade paper. ‘There – quarter page ad!' He shoved the journal into my hands.

In much smaller print it added:
No charges have been brought against this person, who must be presumed to be entirely innocent.

I felt my face going white, then red, then white again. ‘I think I need a solicitor,' I said. And then my head went weird.

I might have needed a solicitor, but what I got was a posse of St John Ambulance people, refusing to let me get up. ‘Don't you understand?' I said, waving them away. ‘If Griff sees you lot and can't find me he'll be worried sick. Then you'll have a heart attack, not a silly dizzy spell to deal with. For God's sake, Habgood, scoot off and just start talking to him so he doesn't know what's going on. And if you so much as mention that bloody mag to him, I shall sue you too.'

‘This is all your doing,' I told Morris, whom I'd phoned in fury. It turned out he was actually drifting round Detling about a hundred yards from where I was standing. Now, muttering about blood sugar, he was treating me to a cup of hot chocolate at the refreshment area, not one of the coffee wagons pulled up outside.

‘She's phrased this very carefully,' he said.