Guilty as Sin

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Lord Elham, you say?’ She practically curtsied to me.

  ‘Yes. But I’m not his heir or anything like that.’

  ‘Not a lady? Nor even an honourable?’

  I shook my head sadly. ‘Just honest.’ Most of the time, at least.

  ELEVEN

  The unexpectedly lengthy interview over – I hoped Hunt could claim overtime – I was drifting back to the town centre, wondering whether to take advantage of a late opening evening to do a little shopping, when I ran into Spencer. It took him a few minutes to switch his face to the How nice to see you position – perhaps my snubs were beginning to get through his thick skin at last. However, his smile soon reached his eyes and he was offering me a drink. Better still, a pizza or a curry or something.

  I settled for a diet Coke at a handy pub. I wasn’t sure what we’d talk about, since I really didn’t want to encourage his Google-inspired explorations of my life. For once Pa seemed a good bet: I let it be known that he lived alone south of Canterbury and I did my best to keep an eye on him.

  ‘I thought you looked after your grandfather – at least, that’s what he says.’

  ‘Did he tell you that he also looks after me? Because he does.’

  He frowned as if he’d forgotten an important part of his homework. ‘I thought you only went to the dance class so he could exercise gently after his heart operation?’

  ‘That was what got us going. I suspect if I stopped going he’d give up too, which would be a total shame, because he’s so light on his feet. And it’s good to keep learning things.’ Good for both of us. ‘What about you? Still thinking it’s like Strictly?’

  He pulled a glum face.

  I provided an answer myself: ‘Not a lot of fake tan and sequins around. Nor many men lifting their partners.’

  ‘More’s the shame – the local osteopaths would have a brisk trade.’

  I was so surprised he could quip, I almost forgot to laugh. But he’d been talking families, so perhaps it was time for me to find out something of his. ‘If I’m following Griff into the business,’ I said, somewhat underplaying my role, of course, ‘what about you? Have you got a family firm to go into? Didn’t I recall Honey saying something …?’ I couldn’t, of course, because Honey was as non-committal about her life as Spencer was.

  ‘What’s she been saying?’ he snapped, before I could finish the fake question, not to mention think of a satisfactory lie.

  ‘Oh, something about going nowhere at Fenwick’s, that’s all, and wishing she – No, I can’t recall her exact words. What about you?’ I repeated. ‘Or are you – as Griff puts it – resting? Between jobs,’ I explained.

  ‘Why all this cross-questioning?’

  By now I did have some sort of response. ‘Because for me my job’s so much a part of my identity – as you’ve seen on Google,’ I said, with what I hoped was a disarming smile. ‘And knowing how someone spends their days – or nights – helps place you. But not everyone wants to be placed. Especially as accurately as Google places you.’ My grimace was genuine. But why had I gone into appease mode for a guy I wasn’t even remotely drawn to? An irritating imp, however, quite inexplicably popping up from the depths of my brain, told me to continue. ‘Or, to be accurate, places me. Another drink?’ It was my round, after all, and a few moments at the bar would give me time to consider which way the conversation ought to go. Sport? It was time to go fishing.

  At least Spencer’s leisure time didn’t involve a rod and line. But it wasn’t much better, from my point of view. It would have to be rugby, wouldn’t it – a sport about which, thanks to Griff’s aversion to blood injuries, I knew next to nothing. But in my time I’d learnt a lot about nodding intelligently while others held forth, and to be fair I’d gained a great deal of information about the world in general and my small antiques part of it in particular. This was a chance to pick up on what Spencer might accidentally let slip, not for me to be entertained.

  Apparently he’d played rugby since prep school, which presumably meant private education and therefore money. Then a public school I’d never heard of. He didn’t mention playing at university, but he did mention Maidstone second fifteen – again, that meant little to me, bar the fact he wasn’t up to first team standard. I floated questions about injuries and training when he paused for breath. It transpired he had cover for private medicine. So there must still be money around somewhere. But I didn’t quite dare to ask about it, not yet. Instead I came up with a sensible question: ‘What would your team-mates think about your ballroom dancing?’

  For answer he told a long story about two male ballet dancers dealing with bullies by doing one of those Carlos Acosta ballet leaps and kicking them in the teeth. I wasn’t sure where that got us, but I spoke earnestly about core muscles, a term I’d picked up from Pilates. For response he pulled his t-shirt tight and made his stomach ripple up and down. Weird. Actually, post-Pilates, I could do it too, but not in public.

  Dare I ask how his rugby training (presumably) and playing fitted in with his job? On the whole, since he was now checking his mobile and texting, I thought not. It was better to end the session amicably.

  Would I have been better off spending my evening shopping? Probably.

  But you never knew.

  In the past, I’d wanted action and I’d wanted it immediately, sometimes going out of my way to provoke it. Now, perhaps since not so long ago someone had threatened to break all my fingers, I was more circumspect, realizing that just as I had a queue of repair jobs, other people, like DS Hunt, had other cases to investigate, possibly more urgent and almost certainly at the same time. According to Carwyn, though she was probably carrying the caseload of an inspector, she wouldn’t have enough colleagues to delegate to and an appeal to her superiors for more would lead to hysterical screams of laughter. With that in mind, I completed a couple of urgent museum jobs over the next couple of days, content, if not actually happy, in the knowledge that social services and the police would be dealing with Dodie’s theft with all the information I’d been able to give them.

  I also popped round to see Dodie myself, not just because Pa texted me to ask how she was, but to review the CCTV pictures and take the newly laundered clothes. I was pleased to see her wearing a softly pleated navy skirt with a toning sailor-striped top, the ensemble completed by a red scarf I didn’t recognize, but which one of her carers had given her. I felt humbled: these women earned, as Griff had pointed out, a pittance, but one had found the cash from somewhere for an act of kindness. Moira, whom I ran into as I was coming out, assumed a cool managerial smile when I told her: it seemed that carers were forbidden to receive gifts from their clients and in all probability strongly advised not to give them.

  Blithely ignoring her Eeyore face, I launched into an attack on the awful shapeless slippers. But I did so with an eye on what I hoped was the appropriate jargon. ‘What Health and Safety rules they violate,’ I said, ‘I can’t imagine. But if she should ever fall and damage her hip, I would hold whoever lets her wear them entirely responsible. Wouldn’t you?’ I fixed her with my beady eye, knowing that social workers were at least as target-driven as the police, with lower pay and even fewer resources. And their tiniest slip provoked the most vicious media attacks imaginable.

  ‘I will certainly bring the issue to the case-worker’s attention, coming as it does so soon after the incident of the clothes.’

  ‘I was so grateful you were there,’ I said, speaking, as it happens, from the heart. ‘You handled everything so well.’

  ‘The process is one thing, the outcome is another,’ she declared with a nod. ‘Ah, here’s Frances, our retired podiatrist. Perhaps she’ll be able to advise as to the most suitable footwear.’

  Cleaning the cut edges of the Worcester vase was the first stage, not to be hurried. Any dirt would weaken the join when I eventually got round to applying adhesive, a job I had to do, needless to say, in total calm and with complete concentration. I even went so far as to g
ive up booze and coffee for forty-eight hours, as if I was training for a sporting event. The retouching would require a similar regime, but I could give myself a couple of days off once the groundwork was done to my satisfaction and a vase stood proudly in my workroom where once a pile of shards had lain. Who wanted to go to the pub with the Pilates girls and stick entirely to water?

  Come to think of it, who wanted to go to the pub with the Pilates girls at all? Not me, to be honest.

  ‘The trouble is,’ I confided in Griff over a mid-afternoon cup of tea, ‘that after that drink with Spencer, I have this niggling feeling that they want to find out about me, while giving nothing away about themselves.’

  ‘You have a very unusual career, sweet one. No wonder they’re interested.’

  ‘But they block any questions about themselves. Not as crudely as Spencer, but they simply don’t want to talk. Yes, I know it could be my problem – I’ve never had anyone to have girlie chats with so I’ve still got L-plates on – but I’m wondering if I should take a little risk. What if I suggested we pick up a take-away after the pub and brought it back here? Would the other girls do the same next week and the week after?’

  ‘Quite a long-term experiment. With luck it might end in genuine friendship, of course. But not if you undertake it simply hoping to catch them out. That’s not how you make friends.’

  ‘I know. Speaking of friends, did you ever ask Noel Pargetter what you’d done to offend him? I know Devon’s a big county, but what if he’s a mate of Arthur Habgood? Or – oh, dear, oh, very dear – a friend of Harvey’s?’

  He looked at me under his eyebrows. ‘I thought we agreed I should take him at his word? But you may be right. Perhaps I should contact him and assure him of my undying devotion and beg for another reunion? Or not!’ he added, with an ironic grin. Then his face became serious again. ‘There’s no reason why I shouldn’t simply ask what he meant by such a peculiar email, of course. Let me think about it. Meanwhile, for your little venture, may I suggest plenty of white wine in the fridge? Aidan’s invited me to supper, as it happens, so I may stay in Tenterden overnight to sleep off my excesses. But I’ll be back for a late breakfast – it’s Dodie’s day for home Communion … What have I said?’

  ‘This sounds as if I know more than the experts, but … Griff, what if we could take her to church? She’d need a wheelchair and some support, and there’s no way she could kneel at the altar rail or anything. But wouldn’t it be good for her just to get out? She must be going stir-crazy!’

  ‘You may be in danger of judging her feelings by your own, my love.’

  ‘I’m judging them by what she told me about her fear of dwindling. And by the changes to Pa that came once I’d torn him kicking and screaming from Bossingham Hall. And he’d got a more varied environment in his quarters than Dodie has in hers. He still likes me to wait on him hand and foot, but that’s because he’s so jealous of you. I know he goes out with Titus—’

  ‘Albeit not, if possible, to such public places as supermarkets bristling with CCTV cameras,’ Griff said tartly. Pa wasn’t the only jealous one.

  ‘But he’s cleaner, sprucer and pretty much a signed up member of the human race. I’m not saying we should expect any miracles for Dodie—’

  ‘Though we would be taking her to the right place for them!’

  ‘But she might just like to see unfiltered daylight for a change. Could you get Tony to discuss it with Moira? She’d know how to get hold of a wheelchair, provided Dodie was interested.’

  ‘And are you going to get your father to turn up for morning service as well?’

  I couldn’t quite work out his tone. ‘Not without Moira’s permission.’

  Which seemed to be the right answer.

  TWELVE

  Sadly for my old friends at the Indian place, Honey and Laura were massive Chinese fans, insisting we try the new take-away, which had once been the baker’s shop. We ate at the kitchen table. The food, which we kept warm on one of our rarely used heated trays, was just about acceptable, provide it was washed down with copious quantities of the white wine Griff had put in the fridge.

  Honey, fresh from a row at work with someone who had always, apparently, had a down on her, gave a blow by blow account of a conversation I suspect she wished she’d had as opposed to the one that actually took place; at least I hope so, because I’d have bet Harvey’s vase that at least two of her sallies would have got her instant dismissal.

  ‘I’d love to be like you,’ she declared, ‘your own boss.’

  ‘I had a long apprenticeship first,’ I said, ‘and Griff and I are a legal partnership, so I’m still answerable to him.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t say he was your boss. He must be pretty well retired.’

  ‘I owe Griff everything,’ I said, truthfully. ‘And until he’s ready, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting he retires. In fact he does so much I honestly couldn’t function without him.’

  ‘So what does he actually do?’

  ‘He holds the whole enterprise together.’ I peered at the bottle. ‘There’s so little wine it’s not worth saving. Honey? Laura? There you go.’

  Laura told us about her brother becoming an intern with a London advertising agency that paid him zilch, not even travel or food expenses. ‘I should think work experience in a place as pretty as this—’ she looked back into the living room ‘—would be lovely. Would you let us handle the china?’

  ‘You could handle the pieces in there because most of them are damaged – that teapot over there, for instance.’ I fetched it. ‘I’m a little teapot …’ I recited. ‘But when it comes to pouring out, you wouldn’t get much, would you?’ I turned it round to show it had lost most of the reverse side.

  ‘Surely you couldn’t repair damage as bad as that,’ Laura exclaimed.

  If it had been world-class porcelain, instead of just a pretty domestic piece worth virtually nothing, I actually could these days by rebuilding it layer by patient layer, but they didn’t need to know that. ‘I repaired that jug over there as an apprentice piece.’ Drat, I shouldn’t have used the technical term. ‘It’s OK, but no one would want to buy it.’

  They peered at it. ‘But it’s fine.’

  ‘To the naked eye. But it wouldn’t fool an expert.’

  ‘What if someone tried to sell it to someone else as perfect?’ Honey asked, sounding really interested.

  ‘When I do a repair, I log all the details of the original damage and what I’ve done to put it right.’ I knew I sounded pompous but I could have added a lot more – how I sent the owner a copy and kept one for myself, signed by both me and the client. For insurance jobs, there was another copy which went to the company.

  ‘And people actually credit your work on their websites. Wow.’

  I didn’t recall mentioning that, but her brother might have told her when he Googled me. ‘Just the name of the firm. Not me.’

  ‘I thought that George Clooney lookalike mentioned you by name. Or was that just because he fancied you? Has he changed it, now you’ve told him to piss off?’

  ‘I’ve not looked.’ And didn’t want to.

  Although Laura was having difficulty smothering her half-a-bottle-of-wine yawns, Honey said, ‘Where do you work? Let’s go and see!’ She’d downed nearly a bottle.

  Two tipsy women amidst all that precious stuff!

  ‘I wish you could. But my insurance insists everything has to be kept locked away, I’m afraid. Two reasons: risk of further damage and confidentiality. People don’t want folk to know their priceless heirloom’s got a great fresh crack down the back.’ To prevent argument, I pointed to the coffee maker. ‘Now, do you want to try Griff’s new toy?’

  Since I also fished out liqueur glasses they were more than happy to.

  ‘What about other stuff?’ Honey asked. ‘Can you repair that?’

  ‘It depends what. And how good a job it has to be. I could do something with glass, but no one would give me any prizes.’

&
nbsp; Laura looked wildly around. ‘What else do people need repairing?’

  ‘Wood,’ Honey said swiftly. ‘Stone.’

  ‘There’s plenty of wood to practise on in a building this old,’ I said, ‘if I ever did. But there are specialists for that. And for stone.’ Why had I added that? Come to think of it, why had she asked?

  ‘So if I fell over a table and broke it and the pot on top of it,’ Honey said, ‘then you could fix the one but not the other?’

  ‘If you’d insured it because it was valuable, I’d certainly do the pot but suggest an expert for the table. But if it was just a favourite vase and any old table, I’d tackle both if you really needed me to.’

  ‘But you’d want me to pay?’

  Damned right I would. ‘Mates’ rates,’ I said with a grin. ‘But I’d move the table and vase if I were you.’

  ‘But you could do it?’ Honey insisted.

  I wished she’d let it go. Maybe she was too drunk to. I hoped she wasn’t on an early shift the next day.

  Perhaps Laura picked up my irritation, though I tried hard not to show it. ‘Come on, Honey, you wouldn’t expect to do a wedding make-up for free, would you?’

  ‘I’m not talking about free. I’m just talking about repairing things.’

  ‘Tonight I’m too pissed to repair a fingernail,’ I declared. ‘Mind you, mine are rubbish anyway …’ Anything to get them away from my work and get Honey on to hers. But she was already checking the time with a squeal and hurriedly texting.

  Guess who’d promised to pick them up and take them home? Dear old Spencer. He muscled in on all the hugs and air-kisses, of course, though he did apparently draw the line at risking a grope. Anyway, at last I waved them all goodnight, and, locking the door behind them, thought about leaving the kitchen as it was till the morning. I wasn’t at all drunk, having made sure I had two glasses of water to every one of wine, so I had no excuse. Before I tackled the mess, however, I did a lot of the other chores, including locking the shutters and checking the security cameras were working. Warm though it was, I even locked the kitchen shutters. There was no point in advertising to any chance snooper that I was on my own.