Guilt Trip

by Judith Cutler

  ‘What a pity those lovely lads have been forced out of their valeting work,’ he mused. And then looked alert. ‘Have you heard anything from Freya about your trip to the centre with young Wayne?’

  ‘Not a word. But she did imply that the whole investigation might take some time and involve not just the police. But that’s between you and me, and certainly not for your “Ban the Centre” committee. So, are we on for a picnic? No spreading checked tablecloths and swigging champagne, I know.’

  ‘Of course. In fact, why don’t I pack individual portions, in some of those new plastic boxes I found in Lakeland?’

  By the time we reached the Sussex border it was raining in earnest.

  ‘To hell with a view,’ Griff said. ‘We know we can park by the oast.’

  ‘Good idea.’ Actually, that had been my hope all along – what better for keeping an eye on things than parking up in our anonymous car and eating a packed lunch? Though in the event I decided to park a hundred metres or so away from our usual spot – we could move closer when there were other cars to merge with.

  ‘Tell me,’ I began as we opened his new airtight boxes and armed ourselves with forks, ‘how many of the cast have had problems with their cars and so on? Not just us and that lawyer guy.’

  ‘I think Gina – that’s the nice woman who brought the wine box on Thursday – mentioned unexplained scratches on her car. But no one took much notice, because she tends to park by touch, as it were.’

  ‘What about the man you replaced as lead?’

  ‘Andrew Barnes? I don’t know.’

  ‘Do you think you could find out? A man wouldn’t sacrifice a nice juicy part without a really good reason. And questions would come better from you than from me – you can do the nosy gossip tone, whereas after my run-in with Emilia the other night it might sound more like an interrogation.’

  ‘Very well, ma’am.’ Eyes twinkling, he gave a mock salute. ‘Any other enquiries I should pursue?’

  ‘Actually, yes, there is another line – and I think it’s more important. We’ve talked about it before, but never got round to finding out: when did the planks you use for your desk appear? Who provided them?’

  ‘My dear child, we both know they’re old.’ He shot me a much shrewder glance. ‘You’re trying to see a conspiracy, aren’t you?’

  ‘The fish might have been meant to smoke us out,’ I said, labouring the pun. ‘And all the other events might have just led up to it.’

  ‘But if the planks are part of the conspiracy – a reason, I should say – then why did whoever got in to put the fish in the heating ducts not simply remove them at the same time?’

  When he separated his negatives and turned sentences round like that it always took me a moment to catch up.

  ‘I don’t know. I accept I have a suspicious mind, Griff – which is why all this pill-taking and puffer-spraying of yours worries me.’ There! I’d managed to spit it out. ‘Not to mention all these tests,’ I added, in for a penny, in for a pound.

  ‘My child, I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all.’ He stared at the rain trickling down the windscreen. ‘I’ve just been having a touch of angina. Quite normal for a man my age. But Dr Baker is such a keenie-beanie that he set me in train for all sorts of tests. And each time you’ve had one they find another you have to undergo. Such a bore. Especially since the next one involves an overnight fast and an appointment at the William Harvey at nine o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll take you.’

  He hesitated. I’d been expecting a flat refusal, so I waited. At last he said, ‘You know, if you’re not too busy, I’d be terribly grateful. It’s a different part of the hospital, and you know how hard it is to find your way around. But it’d mean your losing a morning’s work I fear. Just to sit and do nothing. No! I lie. You could go and investigate the Outlet – you might pick up a bargain, and goodness knows it would be cheaper than paying for hospital parking!’

  I managed a smile, as if I thought a discounted shopping trip was a brilliant idea when all I wanted to do was hold his hand. ‘You’re on. When?’

  ‘Oh, not for a few weeks, I should imagine. It’s not urgent, you know, dear one – just routine. Someone’s research project, I dare say. Nothing more. Some fruit, my precious?’

  ‘An apple, please.’ I took one and a big, deep breath. ‘There is just one thing, Griff – I know you think this discussion’s closed, but it isn’t. There was this story in the parish mag the other day. I know you never read it, but I do. You never know what nice words you’ll find. Anyway, this story. A couple went on their hols and phoned back to see how their family was coping without them. And the daughter said, “The cat’s died.” Just like that. So the father said, “You should always prepare people for bad news. Why didn’t you tell us that the cat was on the roof and you couldn’t get her down? So we’d have been aware of a problem.” Well, next time he phoned home, his daughter said, “Grannie’s on the roof and won’t come down . . .”’

  He gave a perfunctory snort of laughter. ‘The moral of this tale being—?’

  ‘If one of these tedious tests found something you didn’t like, something you really had to worry about, it’d be a terrible shock for the people who love you. At least I know the cat’s on its way up the drainpipe, but Aidan ought to too, you know.’

  ‘Aidan! He’s got enough to worry about.’

  ‘Even so. I could tell something was troubling you, Griff – don’t you think he can’t?’

  He started to laugh. ‘Very well, I will tell Aidan about the tests. Reluctantly. To please you.’ He clasped my hand. I think we were both crying but neither wanted the other to know. After a moment, however, he added, ‘And one day maybe you’ll tell me why your relationship with Morris is causing you such distress.’

  ‘Yes. Promise. But not now. The first of the actors is here.’

  He peered through the fug that had built up on the new shiny windows.

  ‘No! Don’t wipe it with your hand! Use this duster!’ I squeaked. ‘You’ll have it all smeary. And no one to valet it, remember, except me.’

  He took the duster and polished. ‘It’s not one of us. Who could it be?’

  It could be – and was – that young man with the gorgeous eyes. Come to think of it, his bum was gorgeous too, as Griff obviously noticed, because he polished the window as if his life depended on it. All the young man did was mooch up to the oast and peer in at a couple of windows. He didn’t even go round the back; instead, stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets, and hunching against the wind, he strode towards the workshops. I was out of the car, equally hunched, in a flash.

  ‘If anyone asks, we’ve had a row and I’m in a strop and walking it off. OK?’

  Bewildered, Griff nodded.

  I shut the door on any questions he might have.

  I’d find out where Gorgeous Eyes worked if it killed me. No. Stupid expression. Even thinking of the consequences made me drop back a bit further. But I could still see him lope past a couple of wood-filled skips and towards the workshop which had attracted my attention my first evening here when someone had killed the lights but not emerged, leaving me with the sense that I was being watched.

  Although the driving rain meant he was unlikely to turn round, it also meant I had to squint as it blew on to my eyelids – nasty, thin, needly stuff. My hair streamed. But at least I saw him let himself into a unit, and the lights went on, so he must be intending to work. They also meant someone outside – me, for instance – could see what someone inside was doing. The answer was nothing in the room that was lit up. But someone could just be watching me from an unlit window. And with Griff in his present state, I couldn’t do brave and foolhardy, much as I might want to.

  I hunched more deeply and ploughed on, trying to make sure I kept turning in the direction of the oast. At least by now there’d be people there to protect me, if I needed to take to my heels and run.

  FIFTEEN

  ‘That all went surprisingly w
ell, didn’t it?’ Griff said as we settled into the car four hours later.

  Now we didn’t need sun, we’d got it, loads of it, low late-afternoon stuff, dazzling on the wet roads. Fortunately, we were heading east, not west. All the same, I popped on my sunglasses. ‘I got all the credit for the props when it was you who organized them.’

  ‘Which is only fair, since you’ll never get any credit at all for being a good prompt. And you are, for all some people grumble that they were just inserting a dramatic pause. Or that they’d rather make their memories work themselves. And it was kind of you to offer to read Megan’s part when she’s away next week. It means Emilia can keep to her rehearsal schedule. At least that’s one thing she didn’t have to moan about.’

  Starting off as carefully as if I was taking my driving test all over again, I asked, ‘Has she always been like that? What I’d have called a spoilt brat, even if she is sixty if she’s a day?’

  ‘Sixty? She’s well over seventy, my love. She’s had a lot of work done on her face, as you can see in a good light.’

  ‘All the same, she’s beyond rude.’

  ‘I know. It worries me. Yes, she was always tempestuous, in a pretty, girlish way. A typical Gemini: up one moment, down the next.’

  ‘This isn’t pretty or girlish.’

  ‘No. It isn’t. Actually, she’s so possessive of the play, so resentful of criticism, that one or two of us have speculated that it might be her work, not that of her creative writing protégé.’

  ‘That would explain,’ I began slowly, ‘why – shit! Put your head right down as if you’re reading a map. Just do it!’ I put the car into gear and drove off as unobtrusively as I could. I’m not sure I breathed till we’d got off the industrial estate.

  ‘And what, dear heart, was all that about?’ Griff asked mildly as I pulled on to the main road.

  Deep breath time. It was hard to lie to Griff, but I had to fillet out great chunks of my explanation – and make sure he didn’t notice.

  ‘It can’t have been an ex-boyfriend?’ he prompted.

  ‘Not this time.’ We shared a laugh.

  He wasn’t put off by that, of course. ‘So it was—?’

  ‘Some guy’s been pestering me to do some work for him. He was talking of a lot of regular work. Much too much.’

  ‘More than Harvey Sanditon sends you, I gather?’

  ‘Quite. So I told him no.’

  ‘It’s most unlike you to do what I can only call a bunk when you spot someone you’ve clashed swords with.’

  Turning right on to the A road was like embarking on a ritual suicide, what with the quantity of really fast traffic in each direction and the now brilliant sun. After what felt like five solid minutes I swore, risked the wrath of the driver behind me, and turned left. The satnav got ratty, but told me it was checking a new route. Good. That was what it was paid for.

  ‘I was saying you were usually brave to the point of foolhardiness – though I applaud your decision not to try to turn right there. So why avoid that particular man?’

  ‘Because I didn’t like his choice of alias. Charles Montaigne.’

  Griff was silent for longer than I liked. Eventually, he said, ‘I can see why you wished to avoid him. Such a choice suggests he knows your tastes in vintage clothes, my love, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Which is why when I was talking to Freya Webb I mentioned him to her.’

  ‘And her response?’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see him reaching for his spray.

  ‘She’s taken note and will get him checked out.’

  ‘But she doesn’t know his real name, does she?’

  I was really anxious now, but I replied lightly, ‘I’m sure she has ways and means.’ More brightly, I added, ‘She’s got his business card for a start, and that’s got a phone number on it. Freya’s good – you know she is.’

  ‘I know she is when she’s not enceinte, sweet one. Pregnant, that is.’

  ‘I’ve seen the word in one of your Georgette Heyer novels,’ I said.

  ‘Some women become terribly forgetful at such a time. I hope she’s not one of them.’

  ‘I can’t imagine her forgetting anything. Though she did make a point of writing things down . . . and she did say something about her memory. Perhaps that’s why she eats so much. The pregnancy, not her memory.’ We approached an island. ‘OK, satnav – over to you.’ I obeyed its instructions. ‘Did you find a moment to ask Emilia why your predecessor had jumped ship?’

  ‘Andrew Barnes? I did indeed, while you were occupied in the gallery with your props. At first she was inclined to bluster, but when I pressed her she admitted that he’d complained of things happening to his car.’

  ‘The same sort of things that happened to that solicitor’s car – and to our van, of course?’

  ‘Possibly. The more I asked, however, the less she wanted to tell me. So I did something I wasn’t proud of but which you, being more streetwise, might applaud. I checked in that ultra-smart address book of hers – how much do people pay for paper and leather, just because it’s got a trendy name on it? – and found Andrew’s address and phone number. We’re old acquaintances, no more, but I am quite prepared to contact him and ask exactly what unpleasantness he experienced.’ Then he caught me off guard. ‘That was a very attractive young man you pursued, my love. Is he an object of desire? In which case trying to accost him when your hair is drenched into rats’ tails is not the most sensible of moves.’

  Drat and double drat. ‘I’ve spoken to him a couple of times when I’ve been waiting for you. And yes, he is very attractive. Lovely big eyes, cheekbones to die for. Nice bum, too, as I’m sure you noticed. I was interested to see where he works, that’s all.’

  I did not intend to tell Griff that when I’d popped out for air during the break he’d swung by, oh so casually, and suggested that being nosey wasn’t always the safest option. He’d really looked concerned – not the sneering sort of false sympathy I’d got from Montaigne when he’d talked about my hands – and he’d had an air of taking a risk himself, just to speak to me. He’d ended what was hardly long enough to be a conversation with a few interesting words, however: ‘See you on Thursday evening – right?’ And then he’d sloped off.

  ‘No. it isn’t. All, of course,’ Griff said. ‘You might just as well tell me, you know. This infernal machine says we won’t be home within the hour, and I do so like a good narrative.’

  ‘Your other bit of information first, then. Where did those old planks come from?’

  ‘Ah, I failed there. I’d clearly irritated Emilia enough. She threw over her shoulder some remark about Andrew which despite my miraculous new ears I failed to pick up.’ He patted his hearing aids. ‘Which reminds me, loved one. Emilia isn’t happy about my wearing them – not authentic.’

  ‘Of course they’re not. They had ear trumpets in those days, didn’t they? But they’re pretty well invisible, even in the best light. And in the dim lighting she’s promised, no one’ll see. You could always grow your hair a little longer to make sure – or agree to that white wig she’s been bullying you into trying. It’s actually quite fetching, you know.’

  ‘In a Worzel Gummidge sort of way.’

  ‘You know who it does make you look like? That composer you say was a randy old bugger with a wonderful profile he liked to show off. Wrote music for pianists with twenty fingers, you said.’

  ‘Liszt! Well I never. I suppose I should be flattered – though, given his proclivities, pretty obliquely,’ he added as dryly as he could given that he was trying not to shake with laughter.

  It was time to cut him down to size. ‘Besides which, if you don’t wear your new ears, you won’t hear half of what your colleagues are saying – none of them speaks very clearly, you know. I don’t know how the audience will manage. Some giant communal hearing aid, perhaps . . .’

  Often I have to remind Griff about such things, but when we got home he toddled off to phone Andrew Barnes while I pu
t the props in the storage area of the shop. Mrs Walker and her fiancé had done well with sales this afternoon – perhaps the rain had driven people indoors. At least they were still patronizing us small fry – or perhaps the sheer quantity of stuff at the new antiques centre had confused them. New antiques centre – was that another oxymoron or a simple statement of fact? If I remembered I’d ask Griff, who always laughed so obligingly at my jokes. What wouldn’t make him smile was a note from Mrs Walker to say that a well-dressed man had come in asking to speak to me. He’d not left a name or a card, but said I’d know who he was and that his offer was still open. Just.

  I didn’t like his tone – not one bit. MW.

  No, nor did I. On the other hand, he couldn’t be in two places at once, and I’d certainly clocked him out on the industrial estate. But that was quite late in the afternoon, well after Mrs Walker would have closed the shop and gone home.

  Phoning Freya on a Sunday seemed a bit OTT, but I’d certainly call her first thing. And if she didn’t seem a bit more involved than she had before, then I might be forced to do something absolutely against my will – raise the matter with Morris.

  Griff was looking very sober when I found him in the kitchen, unpacking the remains of our picnic and thinking about supper. ‘I find I can raise no enthusiasm whatsoever for a rechauffage of yesterday’s baked meats.’

  ‘Oh, they’ve done very well. I think it’s time to give them a rest in the bin or the compost heap,’ I said, sorting animal from vegetable as I scraped. ‘There. That gives you a nice clear run.’

  He still looked grim when I came back in from the yard. ‘Did you make sure you put the lids back tightly? We don’t want another visit from that fox.’

  Seven-foot walls, and they still got in. It was a good job humans weren’t so lithe. All the same, it wasn’t animals that were worrying him, I was sure of that.

  ‘Are you OK?’ At least I could be blunt now we’d managed to have that little conversation. I pointed at his chest.

  ‘Oh, that’s fine. The tablets really are helping. No, I’m worried – because I can see you won’t let me prevaricate any longer – as a result of my conversation with Andrew Barnes. He declined to say anything over the phone. Anything at all. In fact, we seemed to be having two quite separate conversations.’