Guilty Pleasures

Titus Oates is one of the most invisible people I’ve ever met. He looks so ordinary that no one’d ever be able to do an e-fit of him, or pick him out at an ID parade. He’s also so law-abiding – never drinks and drives, never passes a speed camera without smiling innocently at it, pays all his debts on time, would die on the spot if asked to fence stolen goods – that you’d never think that about a tenth of his dealings are on the iffy side of dodgy, as he puts it. The vast majority are squeaky clean, of course. Which is how he gets away with . . . whatever scam he happens to be involved in at the time, some of which involve my father’s skills.

The Sunday fair at the Grand Hotel in Folkestone was one of his – and our – regular events. This particular Sunday the sunshine of the previous day had been replaced by lashing winds and driving rain.

‘Anyone with any sense would have stayed in with the supplements,’ Titus muttered as he slipped past clutching a paper cup of coffee, just like half the frozen punters, who no doubt assumed that June and warm sunny days were syn . . . synon . . . Drat. The word had gone. It meant just the same thing. Although there were some regulars – including a woman who’d got a wonderful deal from a rival stall on a piece of Staffordshire creamware I’d had my eye on – most of those trudging round wore holiday gear, showing more naked flesh than they’d have dreamed of doing in their own places. At least, I hoped so. All those men as old as Griff wearing their bellies over the top of half-mast knee-length trousers, hairy legs and huge trainers or flip-flops . . .

‘I’ll keep an ear open.’ He drifted away. But half an hour later, when I was heading for the ladies’ loo, he continued, as if without a break, ‘Who’s the cabinet maker?’

There was a guy in one corner, just past the stall selling postcards and travel memorabilia, who had a few bits and pieces of silver, so when I had a quiet moment I drifted over. There was a very pretty Edwardian tea caddy, coming in at £500, and a lot of spoons, none of which did anything for me at all, presumably because I hadn’t been born with one in my mouth. Most of the other items were in the two to three hundred range – a couple of mugs and a few snuffboxes. Naturally, they were all in much better condition than the one I’d bought, which might of course be better off sold as scrap, the way precious metal prices were these days. But I hated to destroy anything someone had gone to a lot of trouble to make, and which someone had then used. I’d not managed to clean it, what with our late supper and early start for the fair.

I flicked a smile at the dealer, whom I’d not seen here before, or at any other fairs in the area, but he did not return it. The caddy was perfect, but I wasn’t so sure about a sauce boat. The surface patina round a funny little engraved bird looked a tiny bit different from the rest. One thing I did know about silverware was that sometimes items were changed – not necessarily recently – to make them more saleable. So I picked it up and breathed hard on it. Oh, dear. There were the solder lines where the bird had been let in after something else, probably a crest, had been removed.

Maybe the dealer knew, but had gone ahead with the rather high price anyway. In that case, his wasn’t a brain I wanted to pick. If he didn’t know, there wasn’t much point in trying to pick it, was there?

The next stall belonged to a dear old friend, Josie, who was now as bent as a question mark. But her eyes were as bright was ever, and her welcome as warm. She grabbed my wrists so she could inspect my sore palms. ‘Lucky you didn’t break anything, falling like that. And then where would you have been? Couldn’t have done your restoring then, my love.’

‘How did you get on in Hastings yesterday?’ she continued. ‘Were you so busy you couldn’t wave to an old duck like me? Mind you, with a young fellow like that in tow, perhaps you didn’t even see me.’

‘If I didn’t wave, it was because I didn’t see you. And it wasn’t a young fellow I was with – it was a whole churchyard full of people, miles from Hastings.’

It was clear she still wasn’t convinced. Perhaps her eyes weren’t as good as they once were. No point in arguing about that, either. I admired a couple of pieces on her stand, only to have her press them on me. ‘Go on, chick. These earrings would set off your eyes beautifully, and the necklace goes with them like cream on a scone. And I’d rather give them to you than have some other dealer flog them at twice their value. Yes, this is absolutely my last fair, Lina. I’m selling up. Lock, stock and barrel. You and Griff stay back after the others have gone, will you? So you can pick out anything for your business. I know you’ll give me a fair price. But these you must and shall have, just for yourself.’ She reached up and kissed me. ‘So long as you remember to wave next time you see me.’

I nodded. ‘She’s been threatening to ever since I’ve known her. But I really think she means it. And I’m wondering – there must be other folk here who’d like to give her a decent send-off.’

‘You make it sound like a funeral, sweet one. But you’re right. I believe the hotel could provide sandwiches and champagne. If you organize that, I’ll see to the guests. A discreet little promenade between stalls, of course . . .’

And not just between stalls either. I actually saw Griff speaking to Titus. I was so amazed that I almost gave the guy asking the price of a Chamberlain’s Worcester plate the trade price, not the retail one. Neither Griff nor Titus would have been amused. I might have had difficulty seeing the funny side myself, come to think of it.

Soon after three, however, I was grinning like a Cheshire cat. We’d risked putting the Meissen parrot out, and had given it quite a high price to perch on, too. And someone swooped down and bought it, without a quibble. Seemed his daughter liked miniatures.

It was, as Griff said, in his apparently spontaneous farewell speech to Josie, the end of an era. I knew how long it had taken him to write it, and how many backs of envelopes, but I wasn’t about to snitch. Half of the room was in tears, the other half in tears of laughter. The champagne flowed, the dealers fell on the sandwiches and cupcakes – those had been my idea, but they looked a lot better than they tasted – as if they’d fasted for weeks. There were hugs all round.

Tripp and Townend had done Josie proud. The only thing that spoilt it for me was Josie’s last plea to me: ‘Next time you see me, just remember to wave. That’s all I ask, lovie.’

The words niggled as I loaded the van, and niggled as I pulled on to the rectory forecourt – heavens, was the use of weed killer against the Ten Commandments? – to give Robin the cheque for the difference between what I’d paid for the Meissen and what I’d got for it. I’d expected Griff to argue about stopping off en route, but, as my father had observed, he had a soft spot for Robin . . . and was also keen on using the rectory loo.

Robin accepted the cheque with pleasure and offered us a cup of coffee. I accepted on Griff’s behalf and drifted into the kitchen after him, only to have him try to shoo me out. No wonder he was embarrassed to find me in such a tip. When had he last washed up, for goodness’ sake? And why would he need to wash up when there was a dishwasher there?

‘OK. I’ll empty it and pass all the stuff to you and you can put it away without it ever having to touch – yuk – these work surfaces. And then we’ll load up and we’ll wash anything that we can’t cram in. Heavens, Robin, you’re as bad as my father. Actually, that’s an insult to my father. He keeps his kitchen pretty clean these days.’

As we worked, I said, ‘I thought young vicars were supposed to be fighting off all the ladies in the parish; at least, they were in those Barbara Pym novels that Griff read to me.’

‘They were probably curates. And the ladies in my parish don’t ride bikes to eight o’clock Communion, remember, they drive past the church – all the churches! – in four-by-fours and drop the kids off at school early so they can whizz off to their part-time but highly lucrative jobs.’

‘That’s a great shame, if so on includes emptying the kitchen bin and the sink tidy. It means you’ll just have to do them yourself.’ I shooed him out and set to work refilling the dishwasher.

How I got talked into going with Robin to a concert in the Cathedral the following evening, I’ve no idea. Griff’s doing, I suspect. Anyway, it was agreed we’d meet in Canterbury.

Griff would have preferred me to go in by train, since for some unknown reason he didn’t like the idea of my driving round on my own after dusk, but I pointed out that the last train left Canterbury for Bredeham at 9.35 p.m., and I’d be properly stuck if the orchestra gave an encore. In fact, it was a good job I had my own transport, because I found that we were seated amongst some church dignitaries and their wives, and that somehow Robin and I were absorbed into their after concert drink and nibbles do in the crypt.

Mostly people were talking about the concert, which left me in pretty scary territory. Griff and I often listened to music together, so I could tell my Verdi from my Vivaldi. But I was always bemused by the Cathedral’s echo, not knowing which part of the orchestra to listen to first, and this was a piece I’d never heard before and couldn’t make head or tail of. I really couldn’t have said anything intelligent – except about the hardness of the seats. No wonder some people had brought their own cushions.

People swirled about us, everyone apparently knowing everyone else. Willy-nilly, a woman with a profile like a horse grabbed Robin by the arm and marched him off, leaving me eyeball to eyeball with a sleek middle-aged guy in a black roll-neck, probably cashmere. Clearly one of us ought to say something. I could have asked him what had brought him here, the opening gambit Griff said never failed. Since he was one of the few men there not sporting a dog collar, it might have worked. But he stared at me with something like horror, as if he really, really did not want to be anywhere near me, and turned so sharply that he jostled the canapés clean off a waiter’s tray.

In less august company I might have yelled, ‘Pardon me for living, I’m sure!’ with a few extra words added, to make sure he knew I was offended. As it was, stranded, I felt a horrible wobble of the lower lip. What had I done to deserve that?

To cover my embarrassment, I bent to help the poor scrabbling waiter, but only made things worse, of course, so I surfaced sharply, almost colliding with an elderly guy with a rather well-filled lilac shirt.

I could try Griff’s gambit on him, though he was clearly a clergyman. But he’d grasped some at least of the situation, and passed me a napkin to wipe my tapenade-covered fingers. And he spirited some more champagne from nowhere.

‘It must be so hard,’ I ventured, recalling that the crypt also housed the Treasury and its contents, ‘to balance the vital maintenance of your lovely churches, and the need to preserve historical artefacts like those locked away down here.’ That didn’t sound too bad, did it?

On the other hand, I got results. I might have fired a starting pistol. He poured out all the things I’d heard from Robin about small congregations and huge bills and the number of churches in benefices, plus a few more, including words like faculty and non-stipendiary. Finally, with an apologetic smile, he said, ‘But I’ve talked enough shop—’

‘Truly, absolutely enough shop!’ he declared at last. ‘Now, what’s your connection with that wonderful old church?’ he asked, with the sort of smile that made him seem really interested. Perhaps he was. And it was certainly something the first man was interested in. Very interested. Cashmere Roll-Neck had sidled up to us as if desperate to catch every last syllabub. Hell, that was a dessert Griff made. Very rich. I’d banned it. Syllabus? Syllable!

‘A friend asked me,’ I said, not even looking in Robin’s direction. Or in Cashmere Roll-Neck’s. He was practically perched on Rev Lilac Shirt’s arm. ‘Just books and bric-a-brac.’

‘The Archbishop! Not the Archbishop of Canterbury! In person!’ Miming a big beard, Griff, who’d stayed up to make sure I got home in one piece, sat down heavily and reached for his glass of whisky.

‘Yes. Really nice guy. Twinkly eyes. He gave a short speech – very short, just a couple of sentences. Then he said hello to a load of us, no more than that – because he’d told us he had to get home. I couldn’t work that bit out. Not a big deal, surely, a walk across the grass?’

He embarked on a more detailed explanation than I needed right now. What I really needed was time to think about some questions I didn’t actually want to ask myself. Josie said she’d waved to me in Hastings, when I wasn’t there. This evening I’d given someone I didn’t know the shock of his life. Did I have a double?