Chapter 35
Thirty-five
The door swung shut behind Christina, sealing her into the warmth and bustle of the Smuggler’s Inn. Despite the late afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows, candles flickered in storm jars on each table, and soft jazz played beneath the clink of glasses.
Christina smiled at a few acquaintances, her pulse surging as she wondered what Brambleton would make of her secret once the gossip mongers got hold of it. The thought made her want to give them something worth talking about.
Behind the bar, Rose bustled about serving pints, but waved, ‘Your man’s in the corner,’ she called out cheerfully.
She found Percy near the bare fireplace.
His pint sat half-finished, a neat leather folder beside it like a weapon waiting to be drawn.
She hoped it contained the expert’s report.
She would enjoy delivering that to Ernest – maybe on a silver salver.
Gentlemanly as ever, Percy stood when she approached, ‘Christina,’ he said warmly.
‘Can I get you something? White wine? Gin and tonic?’
‘It’s Tina,’ she said firmly, surprising herself. ‘And I’d prefer a half of bitter, please.’
Percy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he set down his drink and wandered off to the bar. When he returned with her drink and settled back into his seat, she scanned his expression. Calm, expectant, unreadable.
‘I don’t have good news for you,’ he said.
She let out a shaky breath. ‘Tell me?’
‘There’s been a delay. The handwriting expert’s gone down with norovirus, hasn’t been able to start work yet.’
Christina wrapped her hands around the glass of bitter, dark as treacle, its foam already settling, feeling its coolness seep into her palms. ‘Then we find someone else. Tonight.’ Her voice sharpened, cutting through the pub’s comfortable murmur.
A couple at the next table glanced over.
‘We can’t afford to wait. What about Exeter University?
They have an art history department? Or Bristol.
There must be someone else. There’s still time. ’
Percy leaned back, stroking his neat beard, reassessing her. ‘Perhaps. But it might be an idea to give me the cup, just in case?’ He lifted his glass, then added, ‘I can put it in our vault. Possession as they say . . .’
Damn, why hadn’t she thought of that? She shook her head. ‘No can do. Hartwells have it now, with instructions to include it in the sale.’
Percy spluttered over his pint. ‘What?’
‘Ernest and Hugo cornered me.’ The memory made her want to grind her teeth.
‘They knew I’d got it, and for different reasons they both wanted it included.
But I’ve been quite creative with the description.
There should be competition for that cup.
’ She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a fierce hiss.
‘If we can get an expert to confirm the signature is forged a second before the gavel comes down, I’ll stop that auction even if I have to pull the plug on the auctioneer’s microphone. ’
Percy’s eyes widened. ‘That’s . . . fighting talk.’
The bitter tasted sharp on her tongue, earthy and real. ‘I won’t let that man be the second fraudster that steals from the Pembertons.’
‘And Hamish? Is he in agreement with this plan?’
‘His phone’s off. He doesn’t know.’ He didn’t know any of today’s momentous developments yet.
Her heart clenched. Poor Hamish, dreaming of a candlelit dinner with his wife; he was like one of his Tudor nobles riding to court to pay homage to Henry VIII without knowing that Cromwell had just persuaded the king to sign his death warrant.
The jazz music seemed to grow discordant, the saxophone wailing like something in pain.
‘But even if he disagrees with the decision, it won’t change anything. He’s outnumbered by Ernest and Hugo.’
Percy studied her for a long moment. ‘Right. Well.’ He pulled out his phone, scrolling through contacts. ‘I know someone at Cambridge. Forensic document analysis. I’ll call in a very large favour.’
‘How quickly?’
‘If I can reach her tonight, have the documents collected from the current expert and couriered over . . . a verbal confirmation tomorrow morning, perhaps. I’m convinced it’s a forgery, but I’m not an expert.’
Tina grinned then lifted her glass high, nearly toppling a plate of garlicky prawns held aloft by Rose. ‘Then let’s hope this expert works fast.’
He raised his pint. ‘And let’s hope you’re as fierce as you seem tonight.’
She didn’t feel fierce. She felt terrified. But she also felt exhilarated, and more alive than she had in years.
Back in the cottage, Christina stirred softening onions with one hand, while sipping wine with the other. The radio mumbled quietly in the background – a farming programme she wasn’t really listening to – and outside the early evening sun shone like blue gauze across the fields.
She stared at her reflection in the kettle: hair pinned up, lipstick fresh. Her hands, usually stained with polish and solder, were clean. She looked like a woman about to do something brave.
She was about to be brave.
She glanced at the clock: six o’clock. He would be home soon. She’d texted – twice – but no reply. No calls, no voicemails. For once, it was a relief. If Hamish hadn’t answered Tina’s calls, it meant no one else had reached him either. Her secret – still safe – clung to her like a second skin.
Tonight, she’d tell him everything. While the casserole was still warm and the wine still had legs, she’d pull the truth from her throat and set it on the table beside the salt.
Your wife is the daughter of a disgraced thief.
Your family’s money vanished because of mine.
I paid for my university fees with Pemberton money, forcing your mother to sell land to pay for yours.
I’ve been trying to repay that wrong by faking silver.
I never told you any of this. And I’m sorry.
Please forgive me because I love you with every fibre in my body.
For the second time that day, she was grateful Elspeth wasn’t at home. One less person to protect. One less pair of eyes and ears to witness the fallout.
She heard tyres crunching on gravel and took a steadying breath. A car door shut. Tina swallowed, then tore a towel off the Aga rail and dried her clammy hands. The door crashed open.
‘Smells like home,’ Hamish called, stamping his shoes and hanging up his coat.
His hair was windswept, his clothes dishevelled, and his face bore that smile that still melted her at the knees.
Her husband, the man she adored. Her heart started hammering.
He’s smiling. He loves me. I’ve won him back but I’m about to lose him. This time forever.
‘You wouldn’t believe the mess of a time I’ve had. They’ve shut the link road again.’
He kissed her cheek, tossed his satchel onto the table, then stole a piece of carrot from the chopping board.
‘God, it’s good to be back. I’ve missed this.
You. Everything. That lecture went well, by the way.
I even snuck in my bit about Elizabeth surviving on the art of ambiguity. You’d have been proud.’
She turned, drying her hands again. ‘Hamish, there’s something I have to say . . .’
Her phone rang. Tina stared at it, Penelope’s name flashing on the screen. Once her past came out, people like Lady Penelope would drop her as neatly as Henry VIII shed wives. Tina didn’t want to answer. But Elspeth was at Penelope’s; her daughter might be ill.
Penelope’s voice was breathy as she picked up. ‘Christina, thank God – I tried Hamish first but got no answer. It’s Elspeth. She and Benjamin were rehearsing. I left them alone in the library – and now they’re gone. No note. Nothing.’
Tina’s blood turned to ice. ‘Gone?’
‘I’ve called for them all through the house. William’s on his way to help search. I’ve phoned all Benjamin’s friends, but no one’s heard from him. I didn’t want to panic you but—’
‘You did the right thing,’ Tina said, her voice clipped, her secrets once more on hold. What was one more night after twenty years of duplicity? This was far more important. ‘I’m on my way.’
She hung up.
Hamish stepped forward, running his hand through his hair anxiously. ‘I heard what Penny said. Elspeth missing? Should we call the police?’
‘We’ll search first,’ she said.
‘Let me go, you stay here.’
‘I’m not staying here.’ She moved toward the door.
‘You should, in case she comes back.’
Tina stopped. Turned. ‘No,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘We’ll leave a note on the door. She knows where we keep the spare key. If she comes home, she can let herself in and she’ll know we’re out looking for her.’
Christina shoved the casserole into the aga, scribbled a note and they grabbed their coats.
Outside, the wind was rising, making the garden gate groan.
She taped the note securely to the door at Elspeth’s eye level.
Hamish held the passenger door open, and for a moment their eyes met across the roof of the car.
She saw her own fear reflected there – not just about Elspeth, but about everything that had been building between them for months.
Right now, though, none of that mattered. Right now, there was only Elspeth, somewhere out there in the dark.
She flung herself onto the seat, slammed the car door shut, and they drove into the night.