‘Lovejoy. Did you and Michelle?’
‘Eh? Did we what?’
She blushed, a lovely rose pink. ‘You know.’
‘No.’ I was puzzled. Then my brow cleared. ‘You can’t mean . . . ?’ I was mixed furious and hurt. ‘Elaine! How can you ask that, after . . . after . . . you and me . . .’
‘Shhh,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’ My back was towards the workshop. ‘I honestly didn’t mean anything, darling. And thank you.’ She blew a mouth and left smiling, beckoning to Trembler.
Duncan and I watched them go.
‘She’ll take him in hand, Duncan.’
‘Aye.’
Michelle was there in the car, waiting to drive me to Inverness for the train home. I’d already said my goodbyes. Mrs Buchan had wept uncontrollably at the simultaneous loss of two prize appetites. I’d restored her to normal apoplexy by saying I had to get home because her pasties weren’t a patch on East Anglia’s. Mrs Moncreiffe was also sad: ‘It was all so naughty, wasn’t it?’ she said, tittering. Tinker hates tittery women. Dutchie would be down again before long. I’d said so-long to Hector, his two dogs and the others. Robert hadn’t looked up from shoeing a horse. I kept out of range in case he lobbed the anvil at me in farewell.
‘Duncan. You’ll say cheerio to Shona for me?’
‘Aye. I will.’ He knocked out his pipe, cleared his throat. Something was coming. ‘She’s always been headstrong, Lovejoy. She shared all the clan obsessions. Don’t blame her.’
‘I don’t,’ I said, with my sincerest gaze. ‘But the road Elaine’s taking is healthier. More open. More people.’
‘Aye.’ He sighed. ‘My sympathy’s with Jamie. It’ll be a sorry union between that pair.’
‘One thing, Duncan.’ I pointed to the east wing, by far the weaker of the two. ‘Ever thought of having a fire? Accidental, of course. Just before a sale, like that Norfolk business in the mid-’seventies . . .’
‘Och, away wi’ ye.’
He was laughing, as I was, as we left.
‘Are you sad to be going, Lovejoy?’ Michelle had waved to Duncan, said she’d be straight back after she’d dropped me.
‘Not really. No antiques up here, is there?’
She gave a tight smile. After we’d reached that wretched bridge and were cruising on the metalled road instead of shaking the teeth out of our heads on the bumpy track, she shot me a glance.
‘Lovejoy. Did you ever . . . you know, with Elaine?’
‘I knew you thought that.’ I spoke with indignation. ‘I could see the bloody question coming. Look, love.’ Bitterness now. ‘If that’s the best your vaunted woman’s intuition can do I’d trade it in for guesswork.’
‘Did you?’ She slowed, to inspect my eyes.
‘No,’ I said levelly, with my innocent stare. I never try for piety because it never works. ‘And if you count the tableware you’ll find it complete. Anything else?’
‘I was only—’
‘Because I’m a bit scruffy and don’t share your blue blood I’m the perennial villain. Is that it?’ I was looking out at the moors, quite a tragic figure really, I thought.
‘I’m sorry, Lovejoy. But you must realize—’
‘You and the laird, okay. I did realize, eventually. But your main problem with Elaine is Trembler – forgive me, Cheviot Yale, Esquire – not me.’
She pulled at my hand. ‘Don’t be angry, darling. It’s only natural anxiety. I didn’t mean to offend . . .’
We were three hours reaching Inverness. I forget what took us so long. Anyhow, before saying goodbye Michelle promised in spite of all my protests to accompany Dutchie on the runs to East Anglia with the reproduction antiques. She looked shy, new, voluptuous.
‘You don’t want me, love,’ I said, thinking of Francie, Joan, Ellen, and Jo who would be desperate to hear how I’d got on. ‘I’m even bad at hindsight.’
‘Next month to the day, darling,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay with you a whole week. I’m dying to see your cottage, and nobody need know. Here. For you.’ She gave me a parcel, quite heavy. I know you’re not supposed to, but I can’t help palpating presents to guess what’s inside. She saw me and laughed. My chest was bonging a definite chime.
The Mawdslay had gone before I remembered. I’d promised Ellen I’d stay on her houseboat down the Blackwater for a few days about then. And Sidoli’s fairground was due through on its run south in that week. And Jo had hinted she’d have three half-term days to spare. And I’d Margaret to thank. And Helen. Oh God. Why is it that trouble always follows me, and never anybody else?
On the train I unwrapped Michelle’s parcel. The lovely pair of snuff mulls shone as the fading light patched and unpatched the carriage windows. The milky silver gleamed in time with the train wheels, and then blurred. Bloody women. No matter how you try they always get you at a disadvantage, don’t they.
One day I’ll give everything up, I honestly will. As soon as I find out how.
The Tartan Ringers Page 23
