But Freya was having, in her words, a totally crappy pregnancy. The sickness had gone on much longer than in the textbooks, and she was still looking totally exhausted at a point in her pregnancy when all her friends had told her she’d be full of beans and bursting with energy. Not many of them were senior police officers, maybe, DCIs expected to work more hours than God expected humans to work, including the Sabbath, when, of course, Robin was also working his surplice off. He had to keep his eye on some six or seven churches. At one time I’d thought he was cracking up under the strain, but Freya had grounded him and made him clean his kitchen, in whichever order. But even before I’d introduced them, my relationship with Freya had been touchy – definitely without feely to follow. She and Morris didn’t get on either, as she was inclined to pull rank. I sometimes thought one of the reasons he’d agreed to work for Interpol was to get promoted to the same level and not have to call her Ma’am when she felt like it.
I’d popped over to see her at Maidstone Police HQ, the day after the Chichester trip, at about seven in the evening. Griff was still being too polite to chunter, and in any case he’d always pressed me to make more friends of my own age. Freya must have been a good fifteen years older than me, but she more or less qualified. We’d agreed to go on to eat in Maidstone, to find a restaurant that catered for whatever craving she was enduring at the moment. Robin would be at two PCC meetings, one after the other.
‘Business first?’ I suggested as she waved me to a seat the far side of a mass of paper files.
‘Always,’ she said. ‘If I can stay awake long enough, that is. Nothing personal,’ she added, not quite as if she meant it.
I filled her in on the story of Charles Montaigne as best I could. It didn’t take long before she started taking notes. ‘And since he knew all about my family and friends, not to mention my taste in clothes, I thought yesterday’s words constituted an actual threat,’ I finished, bravely dipping into jargon.
She rocked her head. ‘There’s always gossip in a profession like yours. Take your father: it must be common knowledge now that you’re related, and equally well known that he’s an alcoholic. You and Griff – well, you’re not exactly top of the range Burlington Arcade dealers, are you?’
‘True. But me and Morris and Leda?’ I’d not mentioned the most vicious details about the pecking order of love and didn’t intend to, not to Freya.
‘That’s a bit more worrying, especially if they know he has a daughter.’ She found a dusty looking Polo mint in her in tray and chomped on it. ‘You kept that business card of his? Haven’t touched it, have you?’ Blinking hard, she peered at the little piece of card in its freezer bag, the best I could do for an evidence bag.
‘Only by the edges.’ I didn’t like to add that it had been sitting in Griff’s filing basket and might have been pawed over by him.
‘You and I both know that even though the guy who gave it to you has changed his name, he wouldn’t be able to change his fingerprints, would he? Or his DNA?’
‘You’re taking this seriously?’ I didn’t know whether to be relieved or scared.
‘I don’t think a guy who finds out that much about you just wants to send flowers on your birthday.’ She rubbed her hands over her face. ‘Who else knows about this? Morris, of course? No? No!’
‘I didn’t like to worry him, since he’s the other side of Europe and or worried about Leda.’
She threw me a funny look, rather spoilt by a yawn.
‘Griff?’
‘He’s not well, and stress seems to make him worse.’
‘Even so . . . After all, Mr BMW might not regard him as his favourite person. Griff’s got something, after all, that he wants.’ When I looked blank, she raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘You, of course. At least you’ve got that security system to beat all security systems.’
‘Which has taken these photos of Monsieur Montaigne.’ I passed her the disk I’d saved the best images on to. ‘And this is his car number. Please don’t ask how I got hold of it.’
She jotted, raising an eyebrow. ‘Anyone else?’
‘Harvey Sanditon.’
‘The man Robin calls a pretentious prick?’
Not very clerical language, but I didn’t argue. ‘The same. I phoned him when Montaigne first said I should work for him, to ask what he knew. Which was zilch. He said he’d ask around. Actually, he suggested I ask another antiques dealer who knows most things.’ I knew she wasn’t going to like the next bit of information, so I made her wait for it.
‘Who is?’
‘A guy called Titus Oates.’
For the first time she sat up straight. ‘Oates! Now if you could help us to nail him—’
‘He’s a mate,’ I said flatly. ‘So I wouldn’t even try.’ I didn’t complicate things by saying he was a mate of Pa’s, too.
‘I didn’t hear you say that. And Oates said?’
‘He knows no more than Harvey. But he did help me out yesterday, when Montaigne came over. He saw I wasn’t enjoying the conversation and tried to tail him for me. He managed to ID the car. Then I sweet-talked some security men and got that number for you.’ She started tapping the registration into one of her two computers.
‘Oh ho,’ she said at last. ‘Oh very ho, in fact. You’re sure this is the number? Yes? Then it sounds as if, not satisfied with inventing a name for himself, he invents his own vehicle reg too. Shit.’ She sat back as if everything was too much for her.
‘These are the organizers of yesterday’s fair – that guy there’s an old friend of Griff’s.’ I fished out an advertising flyer and dropped it on her desk. ‘One of them – any of them – might know something about him.’
She peered not at the crumpled paper but at my bag. ‘What else are you going to pull out of there? A whole warren of rabbits?’ She stopped grinning. ‘It’s not like you to have passed up the chance of digging this information out yourself, Lina.’
‘It’s the company I keep – turning me respectable.’
‘And?’
I didn’t want to pour out the whole Griff business again, so I looked at my watch. ‘What time did you say you’d booked that table? It’s nearly half seven now.’ No wonder she looked so tired if she regularly worked so late.
‘Let me just get all this straight in my head,’ she said, checking over her notes, point by point. She made a special effort to look at the note and the paper I’d given her. ‘If I don’t do this it all goes,’ she said apologetically. ‘My memory’s disappeared out of the window. I go upstairs and forget what I’ve gone for. And then I think, well, I might as well have a pee, anyway, because that’s the usual reason I go upstairs these days. Thank goodness Robin’s place has a downstairs loo.’
‘How are the plans going for you to move in?’ I asked. Yes, they’d turned the usual pattern on its head: they married before they lived properly together. Weird. But that was Robin for you. And I suppose the schlep from Stelling Minnis to Maidstone cop shop wouldn’t be much fun if you had to factor in morning sickness as well as the traffic on the M20.
‘Not good. But then, there’s talk about him applying to move to another parish nearer Maidstone. Only one church in this particular benefice, thank God, unlike his present one. Is it seven or eight churches he’s supposed to keep an eye on . . .?’
The Thai Palace isn’t actually near a palace. It’s at the top end of Week Street, unpromisingly near to the station, County Hall and prison. Freya was too hungry for the longish walk, so she’d led the way in her new Peugeot. Had she been trained in pursuit driving techniques? I could hardly keep her in sight. But at last I pulled in beside her in a car park in Brewer Street. Then there was a scamper to the restaurant in the next street – a scamper for me, at least. She, with her long legs, could make more elegant speed, despite the bulge.
‘I’m surprised Griff let you out tonight,’ Freya said, tucking briskly into the Thai prawn crackers – our second portion.
‘Oh, he’s on some village commi
ttee. A new antiques centre appeared just outside Bredeham the other day, just like that, selling teas and plants and goodness knows what else by now. A lot of livelihoods are at risk.’
‘Yours included. Are you sure you don’t want to finish these?’ Her hand hovered over the crackers basket.
‘I’m not eating for two. Though I have to say, bulge apart, you don’t seem to have put on an ounce.’
‘Not supposed to at my age. Supposed to watch all sorts of things, including blood sugar. Considering it’s a natural process, there’s an awful lot of scientific monitoring.’ She scooped some more sweet dipping sauce. ‘Whose baby is it?’
I blinked.
‘This centre – whose baby?’
‘No one seems to know exactly.’
‘It must have a name.’
‘Bredeham Antiques Centre doesn’t give much away.’
She sighed. My stupidity always made her sigh. ‘The Internet, of course. It should be registered, with the names of the owners, at—’ She broke off, eyes wide, at the sight of our shared starter. ‘Doesn’t it all look lovely! Now, end of shop. Absolutely no more work-talk, for either of us.’ By the way she tucked in, she meant it, so I didn’t dare ask where I should look for information. But no doubt the action committee would know anyway. Eventually, having crammed food down her throat as if she was one of those geese, she asked, ‘So what – in the absence of Morris – have you been up to? New bloke yet?’
‘Why should I want a new bloke?’ I didn’t give her time to reply. ‘Actually, I did come across this really dishy guy the other day. The first time we met, he looked at me as if I was the last person he’d ever want to meet. And the next. But last time we got chatting – he seemed quite nice. But keener,’ I added slowly, watching the last spring roll disappear, ‘to learn about me than to tell me about himself, if you see what I mean.’
‘Just as it should be – a bit of flattering interest. Where did you meet? Next to some suit of armour in a junk shop?’
‘Outside a converted oast-house, in the middle of an industrial estate over in Sussex. Griff’s starring in some am dram piece. And I’m prompt and props,’ I added, with a touch of pride.
‘Poor cow. Worst job in the world. Worst jobs. Props – you put in hours hunting round for stuff the cast immediately lose or break. Prompt – you have to be there for every single rehearsal, even when the actors who aren’t in that act get the evening off. Someone saw you coming, Lina.’
Although she was only saying what Griff had already told me and what I now knew for myself, my joy in the job disappeared as quickly as the prawn I’d been hoping was mine. I grabbed a beautifully carved carrot fish. Perhaps it was supposed to be there simply for decoration, but I was going to grab every scrap of nourishment I could, especially as, if I knew Freya, we’d be going Dutch. Money wasn’t an issue. If it’d had been Robin I’d have treated him to the meal and as much booze as he could tip down his thirsty throat, no argument. But all her regular hints that since I was a partner in a business I must be some Kentish oligarch had irritated me ever since Morris had told me how much his promotion to DCI would be worth. And it was a great deal more than I ever took from Tripp and Townend, even with all my restoration work.
‘So what did you say the eye candy did?’
‘This and that. And there’s such a wide range of individual units out there, from cheese to carpentry, it’d be hard to guess which this or that. It’s a horrible, scruffy place, with badly maintained roads, tatty old buildings and rubbish everywhere. And yet it’s got this little theatre in the middle.’
‘And does Lover Boy’s this and that extend to acting in this theatre? Oh, Lina, that’s why you agreed to dogsbody, isn’t it?’
‘He’s nothing to do with the theatre. He’s just a guy.’ And I had a sudden, unpleasant memory of him talking to the man I’d encountered when I was picking up litter. And a weird memory of sawdust and a skip full of wood . . . and another of the lovely old planks that had become Griff’s pretend desk. Something else was flying right at the edge of my memory, too. If only I could catch it.
But as the waitress removed the platter that had once held the starters, now with not so much as a lettuce leaf left, Freya said, ‘That’s what you should be wearing. That sort of thing, anyway.’ She nodded at the fitted jacket and severe skirt. ‘If not in shot silk. Imagine looking in the mirror and seeing that.’
‘Imagine being able to afford to wear that much silk. Oh, thanks to Griff and his eye, I’ve had the odd bargain at that gorgeous Thai shop in Tenterden, but it’s not exactly the sort of thing I could wear for work. Or you,’ I added, beginning to wish people would keep off the subject of my clothes. I wanted to grab my top and ask, ‘Is Traidcraft Fair Trade good enough for you?’
‘Better than going round looking like Heidi. Didn’t you read it when you were small?’ she added, when she realized I hadn’t a clue what she was on about. ‘Classic children’s book, for God’s sake. Shit, I’m not supposed to say that. Anyway, her clothes: just like all that retro stuff you insist on wearing. All you need is white socks and Mary Jane shoes – oh, and possibly a ribbon in your hair.’
‘Retro’s big at the moment and getting bigger, thanks to Mad Men on the TV. So I’m actually at the cutting edge of fashion.’
‘And looking like Heidi.’ Her eyes swivelled to the right. ‘Wow! Are we supposed to get outside that lot?’
Our main course had arrived – no wonder they called it a feast for two.
For quite some time, there was no more talk – either shop or my fashion sense. I ate what I could and was grateful.
At last she slowed down. ‘Tell you what,’ she said as she signalled for more water, ‘tomorrow I’ll get one of my lads to go with you to this here antiques centre. Pretend you’re setting up house, so act in love.’
‘Setting up house means furniture – that’s not really my thing.’
‘Come on: you can tell a hawk from a handsaw.’
When she turned to quotations, she always took the wind out of my sails.
‘Yes, but I’m china, not—’
‘You’re also a diviner, Lina – and though people like Morris have the facts, you’ve got the flair. Just go and do it. Hell, you know you’re itching to get into the place, and what better cover than one of my lads? Wayne Langland would do. Right. Normal dress, please, nothing like your Alice in Wonderland look – jeans or something. And shades. Get Griff to make you up to look different – a wig’d be good. Oh, I’m sure an old thesp like him’ll have something. Phone me at about ten to remind me, though,’ she added, although she was making a note on her phone. ‘Now, what about dessert? We could share, or we could have something individual?’
I plumped for something individual. But even then she finished it off for me.
TWELVE
Actually, asking Griff to fix my make-up was a brilliant idea, though Freya couldn’t have known of the coolness between us, which would have been even frostier if Griff had known about my early morning call to Titus to warn him about Freya’s interest in him.
‘Ah,’ Titus had said. Just that. No wild swearing, just that one syllable.
Now, rubbing his hands with glee, Griff scrambled into the loft – aided, I’m afraid, by his puffer spray, though he did his best to hide the quick dose he needed. The spray might go into his pocket, but a sweetish chemical smell hung on his breath. He came down with a bin liner. When he opened it, it looked as if he’d been a member of a successful scalping party – red hair cut short, blond hair in ringlets, dark hair in a long cascade.
I tried on one after another and posed like a small cartoon model.
He wiped tears of laughter from his cheeks. ‘Dear one, if only there was a female juve lead in this play of ours. You’d be so wonderful . . . But for this more serious venture, with CCTV cameras, not spotlights, trained on you, we have to make sure that everything looks natural. We have to consider your natural colouring. So I think the auburn must go. Your s
kin isn’t pale enough. And although we could fix the face, we couldn’t disguise your arms and hands. What will your policeman wear? You need to be compatible, after all.’
‘You may have to make him up too,’ I said, enjoying a hug.
When Wayne Langland turned up, Freya having remembered to send him without any prompt from me, he didn’t need any of Griff’s skills. He was Mr Average, from his trainers to the tips of his gelled hair. He could have been anything. He nodded approval at my appearance, which, under the tousled black wig, hinted at goth in its pale make-up and dark eyes and lips. But only hinted. Nothing to scare the horses, as Griff said.
Wayne plainly hadn’t heard the expression. He jiggled his car key impatiently.
‘If we take the car, their security system will record the number,’ I said doubtfully.
‘But if you don’t, they’ll wonder how you got there,’ Griff objected.
‘And only the police are allowed to check numbers on the DVLA database,’ Wayne said.
Absolutely deadpan, I said, ‘Of course.’
‘OK, so there are some leaks in the system. I wonder what DCI Webb would want us to do.’ He bit his lip.
‘To act on your own initiative, I should imagine,’ Griff said crisply.
As we drove down to the centre, via a very roundabout route, we agreed our backstory. We’d inherited a house, if anyone should ask, a late-Victorian end-of-row villa in Maidstone. So we wanted to furnish it cheaply with stuff that wouldn’t look out of place. Since the bottom had dropped out of the brown furniture trade, this all held together. We sketched a few rooms, about the right size, and had on our wish list a dining table and chairs, some bookshelves and a chiffonier. We decided we might argue a bit about any pictures we saw, but do nothing to draw attention to ourselves.
‘It’ll all be good practice,’ Wayne said as he crossed the main road, ‘for when Livie and I set up for real. After we’ve paid off our student loans, saved a twenty per cent deposit and survived redundancy, that is. Nice place you and your grandad have got. Worth a mint, I should think. All right for some.’ He parked, not very well, in a completely deserted car park, pulling on the handbrake with a vicious tug that felt strangely personal.
Guilt Trip Page 9
