The Grail Tree (26 page)

‘Dear me,’ Lydia whispered. I screamed silent abuse and hatred at her to keep out of the way.

Three clicks to adjust the flint and I was off, clicking sparks on to a folded piece of Lydia’s blouse. He’d have to reload. My hands were trembling so much I was practically useless. Clicks shed sparks but it seemed an age before the lovely aroma of smouldering cloth arose. I put the cord in, still clicking sparks down.

It caught. There was a red erosion starting in the cloth. I held the string to the spreading spark and blew and blew. That pure delicious scent of smouldering string came and I subsided in ecstasy. I had it all together, the touch-match, the cannon and now the time. For that split second I didn’t care. Not a damn. Even if Leyde finished ahead, I felt overjoyed I’d created a weapon from nothing under impossible circumstances. I looked up to see Lydia thoughtfully spreading the smouldering remains of her torn blouse on the cannon’s barrel to beat it out. That restored me to sheer screeching terror.

‘You’ll explode the frigging thing!’ I hissed, pulling it away and flinging it aside.

‘But it was a present from –’

I pulled her to me by the throat and thrust my face furiously at hers.

‘Lydia. One more fucking word from you. That’s

all.’

‘Well, really!’

‘
Shut up!
’

My rage gave way to terror. The paces were loud and uncontrolled now. There was plenty of gloom about, and we had most of what there was. But the fireglow was constant. Even the alcoves caught reflections. You could see the statues and the cases lit from the sky’s dull red light. He couldn’t miss seeing us.

‘Stay over there. When the bang sounds, run.’

‘Where?’ she whispered.

‘How the hell do I know where?’ I hissed. ‘If I knew that I’d already be there, you stupid –
Any
sodding where. Just run.’

‘I only wanted to do the right thing, Lovejoy,’ she whispered, offended. ‘There’s no need to –’

‘Shhh.’

We crouched on either side of the cannon, immobile. I’d scraped the spare grains into the touch-hole by feel, and had the burning string concealed in my hand. I reached over and squeezed Lydia’s shoulder hard to say stay put. A few more paces. The gallery darkened even more. He was there. He’d come. Leyde’s silhouette.

The double-barrelled muzzle-loader was at the slant. Probably a Greener, or maybe a later retailed Birmingham-proved Forsyth. Certainly it was a high-quality antique. At least there was that. He loomed in the arch leading to our gallery, waiting for his eyes to adjust. One pace more. I needed one step forward. I reached across to Lydia and pushed. She fell from
her crouching position with a cry of alarm. He heard, turned slightly, saw, stepped forward. My string dipped into the hole. I fidgeted it round and round. Nothing. He raised his gun as the cannon cracked a deafening double sound. My leg was smashed between it and the wall. I was screaming now and openly as loud as I could go. Lydia was tugging feverishly at the cannon, of course the wrong way but we finally got it off me. She looked a mess but I suppose I was worse.

It had caught the fleshy part of my calf, miraculously leaving the bone alone. The skin was ripped in five or six places under the trouser leg. The whole place was shrouded in smoke.

I leaned back against the wall. There was no point in looking for Bill Leyde. I didn’t even give the space where he’d last stood a single glance.

It was Lydia who rescued it all from the jaws of Maslow. She got us both assembled, found my jacket and notepad, and incidentals like a million miles of wool. And her shoes, nail file and bits of blouse. There was no point in rubbing fingerprints off anything. I’d been putting them all over the museum for years, at the request of the curator. I remembered that luscious case.

We were outside in the lovely air before I spoke.

‘I’m going down to the fireworks, Lydia,’ I told her. ‘I have to stand there and let Maslow see me. Can you find him, or bring at least one of his merry men?’

‘Bring him to the fireworks?’

‘Where they set them off. Soon as you can. Say I have some news for him.’

‘Will you be all right?’

She helped me across the bridge on the terrace
walk. We’d left the Castle door ajar after a lot of careful thought.

‘Yes. We can’t be seen together, you helping me along like a bloody walking wounded. Tell him I’ve an urgent message, that Jimmo’s a witness to old Henry’s killing by Dr Haverro.’

‘I understand.’

‘And don’t say anything about being in the Castle. We’ve not been anywhere near, see?’

‘Will you wait there for me?’

‘Yes.’ I saw her look long and hard. ‘Promise, love,’ I said, which seemed to satisfy her honest little innocent soul. ‘One thing, Lydia. You
did
explain to Martha?’

‘Exactly as you said.’ She glowed in the firelight with pride of a job well done. ‘This morning.’

‘And only to Martha?’

‘Yes. Her niece Dolly was
so
interested –’

‘
Dolly was there too?
’

‘Oh, yes. We had such a lovely chat . . .’ Her voice faded. ‘Was that all right?’ she asked anxiously.

Which explained how Bill Leyde had learned. It wasn’t thick stupid old Honkworth who was monitoring the search for the Grail Tree. It was the geltie, clever, quiet and self-effacing. With Dolly to collect the essential details.

I looked into Lydia’s face. After all, I’d ruined her lovely necklace. And I just hadn’t the heart.

‘Yes. You did fine, love. Exactly right.’

‘I
knew
you’d be pleased,’ she said brightly. ‘Have you change for the phone, please?’

‘Press the emergency button,’ I said brokenly.

‘Oh, how exciting! I’ve never done that before!’

I drew breath. ‘Look, Lydia,’ I got out. ‘Sorry about
losing my temper in there so much. It’s just that . . . well, I don’t really see the need of dying.’

‘I quite understand, darling.’

‘Eh?’

She checked me over once more and trotted eagerly off. I watched her go, marvelling.

That’s what I like, I thought bitterly. Help. I limped down towards the huge crowd and the fireworks. I needed to get round the back of the tableau where the reserve firework cases would be stored.

That Fire Night’s big finish was marred only by an accident in which one of the many helpers at the fireworks lit the trailing blue fuse prematurely. It was reported that this caused a series of explosions in which the miscreant, one Lovejoy – a well-known local antiques dealer of Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. – received injuries inflicted as a result of standing too near to the main firework tableau. Reports were profuse and critical. Injuries sustained, the reporters said, were to his left arm and right leg, cuts in several places, and some facial injuries. He was allowed home after emergency treatment in the casualty department of the County Hospital. Doctors said no permanent defects were anticipated. Lovejoy has since apologized, a Festival spokesman informed reporters, to the display organizers and especially to the Silver Band who were not in position in time to play the required music appropriate for the final tableau which took place five minutes ahead of schedule. Lovejoy had inadvertently caused the tableau and six reserve cases of fireworks to ignite without adequate supervision.

The miscreant when apologizing admitted his folly, but explained it had been the result of an over-enthusiastic
desire to help. Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. had, it was reported, promised a donation to next year’s firework festival. Festival organizers were preparing a report on existing safety precautions in the vicinity of the bonfire site. A report by the fire services was in preparation.

Nice touch that, I thought, being driven home by Lydia from the hospital, telling the reporters I’d see Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. would make a donation, though where the money would come from . . . I was covered in traces of firework powder which would nullify any sinister forensic investigation of my clothes for traces of gunpowder. My injuries accounted for, I waved to Maslow glowering at the hospital gates, but only to show him my bandages. He didn’t wave back, the heartless slob. That’s the modern copper for you, always losing sight of justice.

Fair’s fair after all. It may not be legal and it may be miles away from proper justice, but fair’s very definitely and unmistakably fair. Which is not too bad, as the antiques game goes.

D
AWN WAS COMING
as we arrived at the cottage. I staggered out of the car and turned to thank Lydia, but she’d descended too.

‘Er, well, Lydia . . .’ I began.

‘Inside,’ she said. I stared. She had my key. Somehow she’d nicked it from my coat. She scooped a letter from the doormat. No stamp, I noticed.

‘If you’ll just leave the case,’ I suggested, limping after her.

‘Sit there.’ She dialled, leaving the door ajar so I could hear into the hall. ‘Hello, Mother?’ Pause. ‘Yes. Cynthia and Mirabelle are here. Yes. Flight Five Nine.’ Pause. ‘Oh, I expect a couple of hours. They haven’t announced yet.’ Pause. ‘Of
course
I’ll write. Don’t fuss. ’Bye.’ Click. Burr. I listened warily. Cynthia and who?

She came in and started taking my shoes off.

‘Er, look, Lydia . . .’

‘I’m going to the Channel Isles,’ she said happily.

‘Oh, good. Er, have a good holiday –’

‘
Stupid
,’ she said scathingly. ‘I’m not
really
going. That was only a . . . front for Mother’s sake.’

‘You’re not?’

‘I’m staying here.’

I thought this over while she felt for hot water in the alcove and complained in a mutter when everything ran cold.

‘Er, Lydia.’

‘Yes?’

‘What happened to Lisa?’

Without turning, Lydia pointed. The unstamped letter lay on the divan. I opened it with one hand and my teeth. From Lisa, saying ah well maybe some other time but good luck and ending with three kisses. Somebody had given her the push. I wondered who that somebody could be, watching Lydia boil some water. The situation wore all the signs that Lovejoy Antiques, Inc. was going to be washed and darned to within an inch of his life. Amid the preparations I tottered to the clamouring phone for an unpleasant conversation.

‘Lovejoy?’ Lydia’s mother. ‘Sorry to ring so early.’

‘Oh. Look –’ My anxious explanation was cut short.

‘No need to account for Lydia’s absence, Lovejoy,’ she purred. ‘Last evening she explained everything. I ought to say I’ve seriously misjudged you, Lovejoy. You were so
right
to suggest Lydia takes a holiday with her old schoolfriends, to give her time to . . . well, adjust to a new occupation.’ I quickly realized I was being praised.

‘Not at all,’ I said, gently kicking the door to. ‘I began to perceive signs of a certain . . . attachment, shall we say? It seemed wise to –’

‘I do agree. So wise,’ she breathed. I grew reckless, remembering my previous score with her.

‘Anyway,’ I cruised on. ‘I find that maturity is something far too lacking these days –’

‘I’m so pleased to hear you say that, Lovejoy. Youth is all very well, but –’

‘Well,’ I said happily. ‘I’d better get on. Thank you for ringing.’

‘Not at all.’ She didn’t ring off. ‘I . . . I may be out your way later. Today or tomorrow. Only passing through to see a friend for coffee, that sort of thing. I may call in and thank you personally.’ Then she rang off.

I watched the receiver in my hand but it just looked blank.

‘Who was it?’ Lydia asked, fetching a bowl to the table. ‘Put your hands to soak in that. I’m going to wash your face and comb your thatch.’

‘Er, Tinker,’ I said. ‘He’s found an early penny-farthing bicycle for sale.’

‘How nice.’ She put my hands in the water. ‘Stay like that till I say take them out. I’m going to unpack.’ I soaked as she instructed.

‘Unpack?’ I thought a bit. ‘Clothes?’

‘Of course, you silly,’ she said briskly. ‘Does it get very cold in the cottage at night? I’ve brought an extra blanket for us, till I get used to it.’

‘Er, look, Lydia –’

‘No.’ She sat with me. That seductive lurch again. I was getting to know it. ‘
You
look for once, Lovejoy.’ She faced me, serious and determined. ‘I don’t pretend to be Cleopatra. But lately I have been examining my, well, appearance. I have come to the conclusion that my figure is really quite presentable, even attractive. It pleases you to watch me. I’ve already observed that. Of course there’s a problem.’

‘Which is?’

‘Inexperience,’ she said gravely. ‘I can’t pretend my experience in . . . in
carnal
matters is very profound.
But my willingness will, I anticipate, be equalled by your patience.’

‘It will?’ My head was spinning.

‘Let’s hope so, Lovejoy.’ She rose but I pulled her-back with a wet hand.

‘Hang on. I usually have . . . other visitors.’

I’d been thinking of Jean Evans, if she ever cooled down. And Betty, who didn’t need cooling at all. And Lydia’s mother, who wanted to call for reasons as yet unspecified. And Jessica, who was keen to balance our respective books. And Sarah, whom I liked now I’d got used to all that high breeding. And . . . and Lydia had a scrap on her hands if she stayed. I sighed. Some days things are just too much. Lydia was smiling.

‘I’m quite looking forward to those confrontations,’ she informed me earnestly. ‘In any arrangements between kindred souls, disputations appear an inevitable characteristic. Under your influence, Lovejoy, I am persuaded that attraction is inseparable from conflict –’

There was more of this junk.

‘No,’ I said finally. ‘No, Lydia. I couldn’t stand the aggro. You’re lovely, but –’

‘Oh, but you can,’ she said, all smiles. ‘I’m going to be good for you, Lovejoy. In every way. You can’t send me away. Or else.’ I thought about that, but she had no cards left to play.

‘Or else what?’ I asked, narked.

She was smiling, absolutely confident.

I suddenly stood up, yelping at the pain. It had gone. ‘The case.’ The little box carrying the Grail Tree. I’d kept hold of it until I was taken into Casualty. Then I’d given it to Lydia for safety. ‘Where is it?’ I screamed. ‘What have you done with it?’