TWELVE

‘Watch your back, girl, that’s all I say,’ a familiar voice growled.

‘Titus?’

‘Nod’s as good as a wink, that’s what I always say.’

‘It would be if I knew what you’re talking about,’ I said. ‘Listen, have you come across someone who looks like me but seems to have annoyed people?’

‘Like I said, watch your back.’ The wretched man cut the call.

How cheering was that?

I sat on the stairs. For Titus to phone was dead serious. Especially on our landline – he’d had this idea that mobile calls were less traceable, and, though he’d now discovered he was mistaken, he still preferred . . . Well, he’d have preferred carrier pigeons with tiny scraps of paper that could be chewed and swallowed.

So it wasn’t very surprising that I actually screamed when the front doorbell rang. A long heavy ring, not one to take no for an answer. It had to for a while, at least – I checked on the security system to see if I should open the door or scarper. Actually, of course, that wasn’t an option, but dialling 999 and maybe ruining Robin’s evening with Freya might be.

One glance and I flew to the door. I shouldn’t have. I should have been cool and dignified, and certainly not ready to fling my arms round the neck of a married man.

‘Hi, Morris.’ I think I sounded friendly but cautious. That was what he seemed to need. That and whisky so stiff he’d not be able to drive legally for a few hours. What a good job I’d kept my arms firmly under control.

He took a couple of sips and then left the tumbler on the kitchen table. I’ve no idea how we’d fetched up in the kitchen, not the living room. He didn’t seem to know either, but he pulled out his usual chair and sat down.

‘How much do you know about snuffboxes, Lina?’

I clicked my fingers. ‘That much. Less, actually.’

‘But you knew your find was precious?’

‘My purchase. I bought it legitimately. With a promise to pay any more to the church fund when I sold it for what it was worth.’ I sat too.

‘Your purchase. How much do you know about history?’

I pulled a face. ‘I can do periods – like the Normans and their vile castles. But not dates. Well, 1066 I suppose.’

He raised his eyes to heaven. ‘Vile castles! They include some of our finest pieces of architecture. And are the precursors of even finer ones.’

‘They all say this to me.’ I put my thumb down on the table top and made a squashing movement. ‘Down with the natives.’

‘But you’re probably descended from a Norman aristocrat!’

‘You can look at my father and think I should be proud to know that?’ Then I remembered that Morris was inclined to be respectful to him, and even drop out the occasional ‘My lord’. ‘Anyway, why this sudden interest in castles?’

‘Not castles, Lina. History. Do you know anything about the Commonwealth?’

I gaped. ‘You mean the Games in India and Rwanda joining and—’

‘The other Commonwealth.’

‘You really have lost me.’

‘You’ve heard of the Restoration?’

‘Ah! King Charles and spaniels and Nell Gwyn and oranges and Lely portraits.’

‘Excellent. Well, we know they had snuffboxes in the Restoration period. And – since Shakespeare makes one of his characters taking snuff from what he calls a pouncet box—’

I was sure the books I’d read called them something else, but I couldn’t remember what. I stayed mum.

‘—we suspect that Elizabethans had the equivalent of snuffboxes. But no one’s ever found one from the intervening period. Not the right size and design and shape. You couldn’t go into a museum and point to one and guarantee it was a snuffbox. Until now. Until you found – bought it – and I got it authenticated. You’ve picked up the Holy Grail of snuffbox collectors.’

From being tidily sitting down, we suddenly found ourselves in each other’s arms. It was a hug. No more. A big, solid hug. And then I pushed away.

‘There’s just one problem, Morris,’ I said, wishing I didn’t have to. ‘I think I’ve got another one.’

We were sitting down again, this time in my workroom, with all the lights focused on my tenner’s worth from X.

‘And you still won’t tell me where you got it? Oh, come off it, Lina; it came via that stinking old scoundrel from whom Griff gets a few bits and bobs from time to time. I’ve met him, remember! I can’t remember who was more surprised, him or me.’ He chuckled at the memory, a really nice treacly laugh with a smile that lit up his whole face.

It was a bit more than a few bits and bobs, but I wasn’t going to point that out. Or to confirm his theory. We owed X far too much for me to dob him in; friend Morris might be, but he was still a policeman.

‘Suppose you just tell me about it,’ I said.

‘I could tell you my theory. The first is that both this and the other one have come from the same collection, presumably not by fair means. Oh, you might have paid good money for the first one, but that doesn’t mean it should ever have been offered for sale.’

I pulled a face. ‘I actually went and talked to the guy in whose cardboard box of rubbish it had turned up. Bugger Bridger, as my father called him. They’re neighbours, but not close, in any sense.’ I paused to let Morris’s next gust of laughter subside. ‘Colonel Bridger said he’d never seen it. On the other hand, my father said he dimly recognized it: he’d seen someone in the neighbourhood take snuff from it – even recalled a worn bit by the catch where the owner’s thumb would have rubbed it. And though at one time he did most things dimly, these days he does seem to have a bit more functioning between the ears. So he might be telling the truth.’

‘And Bugger Bridger might be lying?’

‘I wouldn’t bet on it. One theory, for what it’s worth, is that someone slipped it into the box either by mistake or for safe keeping. And either in his stable, where he kept the box, or at the fête, when I found it and someone tried to nick it.’

‘That bit’s news to me. Any CCTV footage?’

‘Morris, this is deepest, most rural Kent! I did suggest that Robin ask the guy who’d been taking snaps of the event for the parish mag for all his photos, on the off-chance they showed anything, anything at all, but he’s been a bit busy and I’m afraid I forgot to remind him.’

He fished out a notepad and jotted. ‘And X said?’

‘You’ve met X. He’s not given to gossip, is he?’

‘But I’d trust you to slide in a salient question.’ His smile made the room feel a lot warmer.

‘I did fish a bit – mentioned Bossingham. Which made him try to cancel the deal – cost me an extra couple of quid. Shit, Morris! You bastard! I didn’t want to involve X, not at all!’ I’d done the unforgivable – I’d betrayed a friend’s trust. ‘Just take the fucking thing and go. Now. And I hope it’s a sodding fake!’

He tore the page from his pad and, tearing it into confetti, pressed it into my palm. I dropped the shreds in the kitchen waste bin, destined for the compost heap.

‘All off the record, Lina. And I promise not to run X to earth unless I really have to. And I shall keep your name out of it.’

‘You? You might. But you won’t be talking to him. Not with your rank. It’ll be some shiny underling keen to please and to get a promotion who does that. Someone who doesn’t know the meaning of discretion. Don’t you understand? He trusted me. And I’ve grassed him up!’ I bunched my fists, ready to do violence.

He grabbed my wrists. ‘No, you are not going to hit yourself. For God’s sake, what would Griff say if he came home and found you with a pair of black eyes? Stop it. Sit down. Please.’

I stared. How did he know about my self-harming? I thought that was between me and Griff.

As I shuddered into quiet, he moved his hands up my arms, across my shoulders, and to my face. ‘Don’t you understand, Lina, I would never, ever do anything to harm you?’

And I believed him. Until he kissed me.