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—— 31 ——
Countryside. No rain, no fog. And, at Tachnadray, no longer only one way out. Me, Duncan, and Trembler were talking outside the workshop. They’d taken on half a dozen apprentices. From the quality of their work I wouldn’t have paid them tea money, but Duncan said they’d learn.
“Make sure you spread them about this time.” I meant the reproductions they were going to mass-produce. “One each to East Anglia, Newcastle, Liverpool, Glasgow, Bristol, and Southampton. Stick to one route and you’re in the clag.”
“We’ve had enough trouble,” Duncan said with feeling.
“You didn’t have any,” I pointed out nastily. After all, I was the hero. “Okay, your son was a hostage, but safe. He’s a McGunn.”
“There’s no trouble for you now, Lovejoy, eh? I mean, those two men, and the others?”
“Tipper Noone? And the driver? No. Whatever the police find won’t matter a bit. Dobson and his killers are dead.”
The vehicle was fixed by Ern, a spontaneous case of brake failure. The police could enjoy themselves speculating on the guns found on two of the deceased. I, of course, wasn’t within miles. I sprouted alibis, Sidoli’s doing.
“Wotcher, love,” I said to Elaine.
Elaine had a new automatic wheelchair. I said it wasn’t as good as the old garden machine we’d sold at the auction. She’d bickered back that I didn’t have to sit in it.
“Lovejoy,” she said, in that tuneful propositioning voice women use when they’re going to sell you a pup. “How’d you like to become a partner?”
“If that is a proposal of marriage, you’re too plain.”
“Stop fooling. In Tachnadray.”
“It’s not me, love. Trembler here will. It’s time somebody took him in hand.”
That’s what we’d been heading towards all along. Elaine turned her seabed opalescent eyes on Trembler. “Will you, Cheviot?”
“He’s been on about nothing else,” I said irritably. “He’s trying to work out how to word it. Nerk.”
Trembler tried to start a solemn contractual conversation. “I’ll have to think—”
“Me and Tinker did a draft contract for you after breakfast. And,” I added, “my percentage of the auction profits you can split three ways—Tachnadray, and the families of the driver and Tipper Noone. How’s that?” As soon as I’d made the offer I groaned. Still, easy come, easy go.
“Is Lovejoy serious?” Elaine asked.
“I’ll do a list of exploitations. Pottery, prints, pressed flowers of Tachnadray, tartan novelties, photographs of the ancestral home. And you’ll sell inch-square plots to tourists, fortune at a time, each with a great Sale Deed in Gothic Latin lettering, a sealing-wax blob on a ribbon. Postage extra. And ‘coin’ tokens in fifteenth-century denominations. It’s where greatness lies.”
“There’s something scary about all this, Lovejoy.” But Elaine’s eyes were shining.
You have to laugh. For the first time in her life she’d challenged the outside world, and won victory. Now she wanted the thrill of the contest over and over. There’d be no stopping Tachnadray now, especially with Trembler on the team.
“I’ll come and check on you every autumn, Cheviot.” It was the end of an era. There’d be a sudden drop (I nearly said tumble) in Soho’s sexploitation shares tonight.
They had moved away when Elaine paused. “Oh, Lovejoy. Can I ask something?”
I walked over. Trembler moved politely out of earshot. Her eyes were radiantly lovely looking up at me.
“Lovejoy. Did you and Michelle?”
“Eh? Did we what?”
She blushed, a lovely rose-pink. “You know.”
“No.” I was puzzled. Then my brow cleared. “You can’t mean…?” I was mixed furious and hurt. “Elaine! How can you ask that, after… after… you and me…”
“Shhh,” she said. “I’m sorry.” My back was towards the workshop. “I honestly didn’t mean anything, darling. And thank you.” She blew a mouth and left smiling, beckoning to Trembler.
Duncan and I watched them go.
“She’ll take him in hand, Duncan.”
“Aye.”
Michelle was there in the car, waiting to drive to Inverness for the train home. I’d already said my good-byes. Mrs. Buchan had wept uncontrollably at the simultaneous loss of two prize appetites. I’d restored her to normal apoplexy by saying I had to get home because her pasties weren’t a patch on East Anglia’s. Mrs. Moncreiffe was also sad. “It was all so naughty, wasn’t it?” she said, tittering. Tinker hates tittery women.
Dutchie would be down again before long. I’d said so long to Hector, his two dogs, and the others. Robert hadn’t looked up from shoeing a horse. I kept out of range in case he lobbed the anvil at me in farewell.
“Duncan. You’ll say cheerio to Shona for me?”
“Aye. I will.” He knocked out his pipe, cleared his throat. Something was coming. “She’s always been headstrong, Lovejoy. She shared all the clan obsessions. Don’t blame her.”
“I don’t,” I said, with my sincerest gaze. “But the road Elaine’s taking is healthier. More open. More people.”
“Aye.” He sighed. “My sympathy’s with Jamie. It’ll be a sorry union between that pair.”
“One thing, Duncan.” I pointed to the east wing, by far the weaker of the two. “Ever thought of having a fire? Accidental, of course. Just before a sale, like that Norfolk business in the mid-seventies…”
“Och, away wi’ ye.”
He was laughing, as I was, as we left.
“Are you sad to be going, Lovejoy?” Michelle had waved to Duncan, said she’d be straight back after she’d dropped me.
“Not really. No antiques up here, is there?”
She gave a tight smile. After we’d reached that wretched bridge and were cruising on the metaled road instead of shaking the teeth out of our heads on the bumpy track, she shot me a glance.
“Lovejoy. Did you ever… you know, with Elaine?”
“I knew you thought that.” I spoke with indignation. “I could see the bloody question coming. Look, love.” Bitterness now. “If that’s the best your vaunted woman’s intuition can do, I’d trade it in for guesswork.”
“Did you?” She slowed, to inspect my eyes.
“No,” I said levelly, with my innocent stare. I never try for piety because it never works.
“And if you count the tableware, you’ll find it complete. Anything else?”
“I was only—”
“Because I’m a bit scruffy and don’t share your blue blood, I’m the perennial villain. Is that it?” I was looking out at the moors, quite a tragic figure really, I thought.
“I’m sorry, Lovejoy. But you must realize—”
“You and the laird, okay. I did realize, eventually. But your main problem with Elaine is Trembler—forgive me, Cheviot Yale, Esquire—not me.”
She pulled at my hand. “Don’t be angry, darling. It’s only natural anxiety. I didn’t mean to offend—”
We were three hours reaching Inverness. I forget what took us so long. Anyhow, before saying good-bye, Michelle promised in spite of all my protests to accompany Dutchie on the runs to East Anglia with the reproduction antiques. She looked shy, new, voluptuous.
“You don’t want me, love,” I said, thinking of Francie, Joan, Ellen, and Jo, who would be desperate to hear how I’d got on. “I’m even bad at hindsight.”
“Next month to the day, darling,” she said. “I’ll stay with you a whole week. I’m dying to see your cottage, and nobody need know. Here. For you.” She gave me a parcel, quite heavy. I know you’re not supposed to, but I can’t help palpating presents to guess what’s inside. She saw me and laughed. My chest was bonging a definite chime.
The Mawdslay had gone before I remembered. I’d promised Ellen I’d stay on her houseboat down the Blackwater for a few days about then. And Sidoli’s fairground was due through on its run south in that week. And Jo had hinted she’d have three half-term days to spare. And I’d Margaret to thank. And Helen. Oh, God. Why is it that trouble always follows me, and never anybody else?