Guilty Pleasures (13 page)

‘All off the record, Lina. And I promise not to run X to earth unless I really have to. And I shall keep your name out of it.'

‘You?
You
might. But
you
won't be talking to him. Not with your rank. It'll be some shiny underling keen to please and to get a promotion who does that. Someone who doesn't know the meaning of discretion. Don't you understand? He trusted me. And I've grassed him up!' I bunched my fists, ready to do violence.

He grabbed my wrists. ‘No, you are not going to hit yourself. For God's sake, what would Griff say if he came home and found you with a pair of black eyes? Stop it. Sit down. Please.'

I stared. How did he know about my self-harming? I thought that was between me and Griff.

As I shuddered into quiet, he moved his hands up my arms, across my shoulders, and to my face. ‘Don't you understand, Lina, I would never, ever do anything to harm you?'

And I believed him. Until he kissed me.

THIRTEEN

W
e'd got as far as my bed before I truly realized what was happening. Not that I wasn't willing. I was more than willing. Heavens, I was tearing his clothes off.

It was the sight of the three bears on my bed that brought me to my senses, in particular the one he'd once given me as a farewell present. Farewell as in ‘I'm going to be the father of someone else's baby'.

‘Stop. We have to stop,' I gasped, pulling away from him. ‘We mustn't. You're married.' He'd actually bought a belated engagement ring for Penny from our shop, which I felt at the time was a weird thing to do. And Griff and I had sent a pretty coral and silver rattle cum teething ring for their baby's christening. ‘You're Leda's father, remember.' I grabbed Tim as a shield, before realizing it might have been a stronger statement to hold the one he'd given me. I'd never cared for it enough to give it a name until Griff had pointed out what a swell it was, as superior as the bear Aidan had given me. They'd become Nash and Brummell.

‘Leda's father, am I? Not according to my dear wife.' He grabbed Tim and hurled him at the wall.

Retrieving him and hugging him better, I put him back on the pillow. Turning to Morris, I took a deep breath. ‘Come downstairs. I'll get some coffee and you can tell me all about it.'

I think he sank at least as much whisky as coffee, but I didn't blame him.

‘A DNA test on a baby? It sounds a bit extreme,' I said. I knew it was only a gob-swab, because I'd been resisting someone's demands for me to have one, but I was old enough to make my own decisions, and obviously Leda wasn't.

‘That's what the other guy wants. A horn player in the same orchestra,' he said, staring at the empty glass.

‘And Penny agrees?'

‘She thinks it's highly likely – always did, apparently. To think I only went back to her because she was pregnant.'

There was a very long silence. I didn't think I should break it – to be honest, I wasn't sure I could, given the effect that Penny's pregnancy had had on me.

‘I love her. Utterly and completely. I'd die for her. I knew the first moment I saw her, the moment I first held her in my arms. I love comforting her in the middle of the night. I didn't know love could be like this. It hurts, Lina. She's part of me. And now some scientist's going to come along and say she's not. She's part of someone else.'

For a time I'd thought he was saying all those things about Penny, and I was ready to scream. Now I realized who he meant, I understood completely. ‘Only biologically. Like me and my father. I may have his genes, but it's Griff I love. Much the same way as you love Leda.'

‘So what do I do?'

I knew he didn't really want an answer, but he got one all the same, even if it was a question. ‘Where's Leda now?'

‘With her parents.' I didn't know a voice could sound so bitter. ‘I've been turfed out of my own house.'

‘Bloody hell. And what does your lawyer say?'

‘What's the point of involving the law?'

‘You're a policeman and you have to ask that?' I squeaked. ‘No, no more whisky. You can sleep here, but you've got to be on the road first thing, banging on the door of the best family law solicitor there is.'

‘Why?' he asked dully.

‘Because if you love Leda that much, you can bet she loves you. OK? And it'd be more than a crime to drop out of her life – it'd be a sin!'

‘Where are you going?'

‘To switch on the computer. Surf the Internet. Find you that lawyer.'

Breakfast was a very strange meal. It was highly nutritious, because breakfasts at our cottage always were, but equally full of things not said.

The second snuffbox sat on the table between us.

‘And your theory is?' Morris asked, prodding it.

‘That the first is genuine. Well, who am I to argue with your experts? I bet when they'd cleaned it up they found the area of wear my father remembers. This one? When it's cleaned up, I bet you'll find a brilliant copy, artificially aged. Only it may not be worn thin by generations of thumbs. All the same, I'd like you to take it with you – right? And you leave me a receipt. And a receipt for the other one, come to think of it.'

‘I left one with Freya Webb.'

‘Who hasn't got round to passing it on to me yet. And I want it not because I don't trust either of you, but because I really want to have a bit of paper to wave at anyone who turns up here demanding the box.'

‘You really think you're at risk as long as anyone thinks it's here?'

‘Didn't Freya make that clear? Someone breaks in here and beats Griff up in his own home, which is why he's with Aidan in Tenterden.' I didn't so much as flick a glance at him under my eyelashes. ‘Sure, we've got lots of photos of him, currently in police hands, but Griff's sure the intruder was wearing really brilliant make-up. And with his stage background, he should know. So all the computer matching in the world may not come up with the right mugshot. It's not just us, either, of course. Mrs Walker is very careful about shop security, and her fiancé's with her a lot of the time, but she's vulnerable. Someone even tried to run Robin off the road when he was driving our van,' I added, ‘so I've got myself nice anonymous hired wheels. Actually, what I really need is not so much a receipt as a tattoo on my forehead:
I haven't got the damned snuffbox any more
!'

He smiled slowly. ‘You know, it's a bit of a risk, but I might be able to improve on that. It'll take a couple of hours to set it up, but it might protect you and even flush out the rightful owner. Can't think why I didn't think of it before.'

‘You've had a lot on your plate,' I said. ‘And you've still got to get that lawyer sorted. Though,' I continued thoughtfully, ‘in the cold light of day I wonder if ordinary conversation might be better. If they're in the same orchestra, they'll both be playing at the same time. What'll happen to poor Leda then? They can't just pop her quietly into a cello case.'

‘Relegate myself to being a free babysitter?'

‘Isn't that what a lot of fathers opt to do? Quality time, Morris: she could be all yours most evenings. How about that?' Even as I said the words, I could see drawbacks. An officer as senior as Morris couldn't guarantee having acres of empty hours. ‘I do think you need your house back, though,' I conceded.

‘Bloody right I do. I think Penny sees that. It's all bloody Oliver's fault.'

‘Split his lip for him: then he wouldn't be able to play.'

‘Don't tempt me.' Actually, it was all too clear that I did – tempt him, I mean. ‘Can I use your office?' he asked quickly. ‘Make a few calls, send a few emails?'

‘Feel free.'

Suddenly everything seemed to have two meanings. Blushing painfully, I cleared the table, stowing what I could in the dishwasher, stacking the rest for hand-washing. Manual work was supposed to help you think clearly – that was what I always said. But it didn't seem to be working this morning.

I agreed to Morris's weird plan because I thought it might help St Jude's church. So it wasn't just me standing beside the ancient church door, but Robin and Fi too. The reporter was a friendly woman about my age whom I recognized from
South East Today
.

‘So it's St Jude's that will benefit from the sale of this historic box?' she summed up.

‘Unless the rightful owner comes forward,' I said clearly. ‘Meanwhile, it's in safe hands. Because the police think it might have been stolen, it's locked away safely at Scotland Yard.'

There. It was what I think is called a wrap. Robin and I hugged. So did Robin and Fi, who managed to clasp me very loosely indeed for appearance' sake, but didn't put her heart into it, not by any means. I'd no idea what I'd done to get up her nose, but something had clearly offended her.

While the cameraman stowed his gear, the reporter and I nattered a bit about my work, which I'd carefully not mentioned at all during the interview. Morris's idea had been that I should simply appear as someone helping out at the fête, not as an antiques dealer. He wanted me to radiate innocence, some righteous indignation that someone had tried to nick anything from a church, and a noble generosity to wrap the whole thing up. He'd watched some of the interview, but had had to nip off to his car to take a phone call.

He was still on the phone when the interview finished, so I was happy to talk to the reporter as long as she wanted. Only then did I admit I had anything to do with antiques, though I played it down, as if really I was just a restorer. She seemed to think that this was a weird job for a young woman. When she mentioned the possibility of a little piece on the evening news, I smiled even more and passed her my card. But I said I'd rather wait till the snuffbox problem had been resolved; I reasoned that the more publicity for Tripp and Townend the better, but not if it cast in doubt all my nobility.

Robin grabbed me. ‘I'm not happy about not telling all the truth. You know, about your job, and about your getting tripped up and injured and—'

‘This is for a two minute piece, Robin. May be edited down further, the reporter said. The police press people only organized it to get people off my back and to do what you and I tried the other day – to find who really owns it. Didn't someone say that less is more?'

Morris closed his phone so I let myself into his car.

‘Well done. It all looked highly professional,' he said, with a smile. ‘Lunch?'

‘Why not?'

‘I've been texting Penny, like you suggested.'

Had I?

‘I said all those things I said to you. I said I didn't care whose biological child Leda was. I wanted to be part of her life. One way or another.'

‘And she said?'

‘She'd think about it. Which may not sound much but is an improvement, believe me. Thank you.' He kissed my cheek. Chastely. Only when we were miles from a camera did he kiss me again. On the mouth. Far less chastely.

I waved him off from the cottage, now mercifully free of snuffboxes. All the same, I locked up carefully, only opening the door to take in the couriered parcel containing what turned out to be an exquisite piece of Meissen. So that was the rest of my day filled, apart from a couple of phone calls to and from Griff.

He was over the moon at the piece on the TV and talked of my going across to Tenterden for a celebration supper.

‘No booze till I've finished this group,' I said. ‘One little shake of the hand and there goes five thousand pounds' worth of porcelain. We'll have a proper party when you and Aidan get back from London. Did you manage to get tickets for that opera . . .?'

On a roll, and without Griff to hassle me about beauty sleep, I worked on. It wasn't until nearly one that I went back to my bedroom.

Tim, Nash and Brummell regarded me wide-eyed. But at least I could guarantee they wouldn't tell a soul what they'd seen in the last twenty-four hours.

FOURTEEN

I
'd only just cleared my breakfast things when the phone rang. Robin was on his way and thought he'd better let me know in advance.

It was hard to work out his tone, but I said he would be welcome. After all, I had to stay in for another parcel delivery. A piece of early twentieth century Worcester, it was important enough to come by special courier, not just lumped in a van with a lot of other parcels. I knew the driver quite well by now, since the repair was one of several sent by a fellow antiques dealer, Harvey Sanditon. Harvey and I seemed to have something going at one time, only it didn't work out. He still put work my way, usually in a highly flirtatious tone that I tried to match. I was over the whole thing, but happy to take his money, and happier still to work on the high class china and porcelain he specialized in.

When she let herself into the shop, Mrs Walker was in a chatty mood, full of my TV appearance. She was really peeved I'd not plugged Tripp and Townend, and it was only the sound of the house doorbell that allowed me to escape.

I checked. Yes, it was Robin.

‘I managed to get the photos you wanted,' he said, sounding something between sulky and apologetic. ‘Of the fête. Quite a lot. Brian emailed them to me. I put them on this memory stick,' he added, now triumphant.

Making coffee, I didn't point out he could have forwarded everything to our computer. For a bright man with an Oxbridge degree, Robin could sometimes be as dim as me.

It was a lovely morning, the sun warming the corner where Griff and I sometimes have breakfast, so, having set the locks and activated the security system, I led the way outside. Just in case, I took the old ashtray too.