FOURTEEN

I’d only just cleared my breakfast things when the phone rang. Robin was on his way and thought he’d better let me know in advance.

It was hard to work out his tone, but I said he would be welcome. After all, I had to stay in for another parcel delivery. A piece of early twentieth century Worcester, it was important enough to come by special courier, not just lumped in a van with a lot of other parcels. I knew the driver quite well by now, since the repair was one of several sent by a fellow antiques dealer, Harvey Sanditon. Harvey and I seemed to have something going at one time, only it didn’t work out. He still put work my way, usually in a highly flirtatious tone that I tried to match. I was over the whole thing, but happy to take his money, and happier still to work on the high class china and porcelain he specialized in.

When she let herself into the shop, Mrs Walker was in a chatty mood, full of my TV appearance. She was really peeved I’d not plugged Tripp and Townend, and it was only the sound of the house doorbell that allowed me to escape.

I checked. Yes, it was Robin.

‘I managed to get the photos you wanted,’ he said, sounding something between sulky and apologetic. ‘Of the fête. Quite a lot. Brian emailed them to me. I put them on this memory stick,’ he added, now triumphant.

Making coffee, I didn’t point out he could have forwarded everything to our computer. For a bright man with an Oxbridge degree, Robin could sometimes be as dim as me.

It was a lovely morning, the sun warming the corner where Griff and I sometimes have breakfast, so, having set the locks and activated the security system, I led the way outside. Just in case, I took the old ashtray too.

Robin glared at it. ‘It’s nearly as bad as taking snuff, isn’t it? I’ve just been reading up on James I. Not keen on tobacco in any form. It was very much an illicit pleasure.’ He lit up, all the same. ‘Didn’t stop people, I’ll bet. How’s Griff, by the way?’

‘Pleased as Punch. Aidan’s managed to get tickets for Magic Flute,’ I said, ‘with that Russian soprano.’

Wrong.

‘Do you realize how much subsidy something like the Royal Opera House gets? Whereas wonderful local theatre groups, those that spend their lives touring cold, miserable village halls with no facilities to speak of, can’t squeeze a penny out of the Arts Council?’

I did, but thought I’d better let him talk his talk and finish a second fag before saying anything.

Time ticked by.

‘Let’s go and look at those photos,’ I risked suggesting, not just to change the subject and diffuse some of the general anger buzzing round him this morning, but also to speed things on. Even without the delivery, I had enough restoration work for three weeks, but I also had to think about an antiques fair coming up in Devon. Griff had promised to be back with me in time, thank goodness; all that preparation and setting up aren’t much fun on your own. I stood up. Robin took the hint and followed me inside to the office.

We peered at the screen. Dozens and dozens of photos.

‘Brian had a new camera,’ Robin explained. As if he needed to.

At least everything was properly focused – my guess was that the camera did that all by itself. But as for framing and composing . . . Well, I didn’t take many snaps myself, but Aidan did, and he had a strict rule that he never let anyone see what he’d done until he’d run them through a computer program that would straighten verticals, crop rubbish from the edges and improve colour saturation. That was just for starters. Maybe someone should introduce this guy to the program.

So here were upwards of sixty photos of people I’d never seen before. I clicked through them quite quickly, which I could tell irritated Robin, who wanted me to deal with them with due decorum. But I’d only caught glimpses of the would-be thief – from behind at that – and of the guy who’d tripped me, and thought that if I gave myself the same conditions it would help me to recognize them. It didn’t. I went and fetched my magnifying glass, which I wielded with a flourish. Time to concentrate. Capital C. Not just on the foreground either. Now would Robin realize I was taking it seriously?

‘No luck?’ he prompted me.

‘Not on the thief. Nor on the guy who tripped me. Or have I missed someone?’

‘No. But I think that’s the guy who promised to call the police.’ He pointed. ‘He’s not one of my parishioners, however, so I don’t suppose it helps much.’

I followed the line of his finger, already showing signs of nicotine staining. Time to perk things up a bit, so I went into the Crop part of Photosmart, our photo program, clipping away everything I didn’t want. The result was very fuzzy, however. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells. But that guy there – the one next to the guy in the stocks – I know him all right. He was the man at the reception and in M and S – the one who looked at me as if I were something you’d brought in on your shoe. This one.’ I clicked away. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Not from Adam. Just a guy.’

‘But a guy who gets to go to the Cathedral drinkies. So someone must know him,’ I added helpfully.

‘If you think I’m going to phone the Archbishop’s office and ask for the guest list, forget it. All he did was grump at you. You challenged him later. He denied it. End of.’

Something had really got to him, hadn’t it?

Something about a soft answer turning away wrath came into my brain. ‘How about you? Any familiar faces apart from phone man? You know, people who’ve dropped into church once and then popped up again?’

‘People do that all the time. You don’t sign an attendance contract, you know. I mean, how often do you go to your parish church, let alone any of mine?’

‘Point taken. People work on Sundays these days, don’t they? But you’re the sort of person to pick up vibes, Robin.’

‘Spotting a would-be thief while I’m giving him Communion? Don’t think so.’

We were spared any more squabbling by the arrival of the courier bringing my next repair. Trev, a wiry man in his fifties who loved antiques in a quiet and undemonstrative way, always insisted on carrying the parcel into what he called my operating theatre. Then he would unpack it himself, getting me to sign for the damage I’d been asked to deal with and noting anything else. Robin wandered in.

‘This is Trev, who’s brought this for me to work on,’ I said. ‘And this is Robin. Look, Trev’s just driven up from Devon. You don’t suppose you could rustle up a cuppa for him while I check over my patient?’

A few minutes later he came in with a mug and a fistful of papers. ‘Pressed the wrong button on the computer,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t stop it. It’s just spewing them out.’

I dashed down to find more cascading on to the floor. He’d only started to print all the photos. Fine. Except they were A4.

‘Never mind,’ I said brightly, as I returned. ‘Only ordinary office paper, after all.’ And I’d got backup supplies of all the colour cartridges he’d almost certainly emptied.

Trev watched me straighten them up into a tidy sheaf. ‘What’s this – the ugly bugs’ ball? Sorry, vicar,’ he added hurriedly.

Robin looked bemused rather than affronted. ‘You’ve come all the way from Devon with just this vase?’

‘It’s one of a pair,’ I said. ‘Together they’re worth something in the eight thousand pounds range. Separately or with one broken—’ I shook my head.

‘But they’re just vases.’

‘They’re by Harry Davies,’ Trev said, as if that would make everything clear. He stroked the gilded plinth.

Robin shook his head. Any moment we could have a rerun of his attack on the opera.

‘Tell you what,’ I said, ‘the guy who sent this knows everyone in the antiques world. Right?’

Trev nodded. ‘At the top end, at least,’ he said.

‘And you know a lot more,’ I added, with a grin, which he returned.

The first snuffbox would almost certainly qualify, if Morris was to be believed. But I mustn’t think of Morris now. ‘Would you mind if Trev looked at these photos? And then took them back to show Harvey? They might just place someone.’

‘What about the Data Protection Act? People’s privacy?’ he squeaked.

‘What about Griff getting beaten up? And you getting run off the road? If I were you,’ I added airily, ‘I’d take the memory stick along to Freya and see if any faces match any of her records. Help her to steal a march on Scotland Yard.’

I might have flicked the Happy switch.

‘Really? Do you think she’d mind?’

‘She might find it extremely useful. As might Morris, of course. I’ll email these to him,’ I said. ‘See who comes up with something first.’

Leafing through the photos, shaking his head from time to time, Trev listened, sipping tea with which there was clearly something wrong, though he was too polite to say so. At last, with the air of someone who’d made a major sacrifice, he said, ‘Mind if I use—’

‘You know where it is,’ I smiled.

‘You’re sure you can trust him?’ Robin hissed. ‘In your house?’

‘I always have.’ But on those occasions Griff had been with me. On impulse I reached for the phone.

Harvey answered first ring.

‘Lovely vase,’ I greeted him.

‘Arrived safely?’

‘Would you expect anything else of Trev?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I was going to send you a load of photos, just in case there’s anyone there you might know. Anyone, and however you know them.’

‘Sounds very mysterious.’

‘I don’t want to put ideas into your head: now we’ve spoken, I’ll email them instead, but I warn you they’ll take forever to send and receive – they’re unedited.’

‘Why not just the hard copies then? Via Trev?’

‘Because I want you to look at figures in the background. I know you’ve got a programme that can enhance everything.’

‘I have indeed. I never needed it to enhance you, however.’ He paused while we shared a flirtatious giggle before asking, ‘I suppose I can’t come to collect the vase in person?’

‘Of course you can.’ Another game we always played. If he ever did turn up in person, I’d be so surprised that I’d probably drop whatever I’d repaired. ‘Or you could drop into Matford next week and collect it then,’ I added.

‘Angel. Will Griff be there? I’ll shout you both dinner at a little place I’ve just discovered. A gem to match you. Can you put me on to Trev?’

‘Here he is now.’

Trev took the handset, but spoke to me. ‘There’s this really old guy still hanging around. He drifted away when I came to the door, but he’s still at the end of the street. Just checked.’

Harvey must have picked something up. I heard him squawk: ‘Keep an eye on her, Trevor.’ I wish he hadn’t added, ‘Can’t risk any damage to those hands of hers.’

It was probably just X, I told myself, with more goodies. He certainly wouldn’t want to appear at the same time as anyone else. On the other hand, it was late in the day for a man who liked to arrive before breakfast, so I nipped down to check on the security system. It didn’t take long for the men to join me. The three of us peered at the current view from our cameras. The street was empty as far as the cameras could scan. So I rewound to about five minutes before Trev arrived. Sure enough, an old guy wandered past, and then back again. Trev’s anonymous Ford van arrived. The old man drifted away. Actually, a pretty fast drift. But then he came back again, and, staying the far side of the van, bent as if he was looking under a wheel arch. Somehow I didn’t think he was checking the tyretread. I rewound to the time Robin arrived. His car got the same treatment, again from the side further from the pavement. But where was the old guy now?

Trev was ready to dash out and start hunting. I held him back. ‘We don’t know what he’s put there and what will activate it.’ Pressing the phone into Robin’s hand I said, ‘We need the police. Call Freya. Speed dial! It’ll be quicker than nine nine nine. Now!’