Drawing the Line Read Online Free PDF

into one to a complete stranger was entitled to a bit of respect. And a lot of love. I knew he was worried about me, so I tried not to sulk. I adjusted a couple of our spotlights, tweaked our sign, and, waving what I hoped looked like a cheery hand, set off.
    If I was gloomy, some of our mates looked downright miserable. Hardly surprising: if they didn’t sell – preferably at a profit – stuff they’d paid good money for, they wouldn’t be able to pay their bills.
    Despite the morning clouds, it hadn’t rained. That wasn’t much comfort to the hardy outside brigade, whose faces had frozen into the sort of smile Griff called a facial rictus, with which they’d no doubt welcome any passing punters. There were a couple of stalls selling what they claimed were ‘collectables’. I gave them a miss, but felt this pull to the jewellery stall I’d sneered at earlier. Where was it? There was something hidden amidst all that glitter that was calling me so strongly I almost whispered to it to stay where it was.
    Chokers. Bracelets. Rings the size of knuckle-dusters . Yes. There in the tray of rings, so small it was almost invisible, was a white gold ring. Someone had thought it was silver. And the emerald, not much to write home about, was set in purple enamel. A few tiny diamonds completed it. I’d no idea why, but I knew the little trinket was important. Thank goodness I’d known not to clear myself out. Perhaps I did have a bit of the diviner’s gift, as Griff always swore I did – antiques, not water, you understand.
    I waved it under the dealer’s nose.
    ‘Twenty pounds?’ She was uncertain, hopeful. And therefore vulnerable.
    I pulled a face. ‘Come on. Trade. I’m with Griff. Griff Tripp.’ Kind Griff, honest Griff. Griff who might or might not approve of what I was doing.
    ‘So you are. Well, say fifteen. And that’s only a couple of quid more than I paid. Pretty, isn’t it?’
     
    Griff popped a jeweller’s glass into his eye and peered. ‘I knew you were a divvy!’ he crowed. ‘Its intrinsic value isn’t much more than you paid, though the band and setting are, as you realised, white gold. Tiny emerald. Diamonds no more than chippings. Enamel. Oh, I’d say a little more than a hundred, so you’re still in profit.’
    ‘There’s a but coming up. I can feel it. What’s the but, Griff?’
    ‘A nice but.’
    I grinned.
    ‘I know a lady who collects this sort of thing. Women’s Social and Political Union – Suffragettes, to you and me. These were their colours. There’s a story behind this ring. And it’s that story that may bring you in some hard cash. That’s the good news. The bad news is that the lady in question lives in America.’
    ‘So I may have to wait.’ I could feel my face fall.
    ‘“One auspicious and one dropping eye”! Poor Lina. Would you like me to make you a tiny advance on your undoubted profit? Enough to buy that damned page?’
    The whole hall probably heard that I would. Thank goodness my dear Griff was the sort of gay who liked being hugged by women. Removing his shoe, he pulledout a warm and slightly damp wad of twenty-pound notes. ‘How many?’ Without waiting for a reply, he peeled off five. I was home and dry.
    And, of course, frustrated. Completely frustrated. Now I had the frontispiece, how did I find that vital thing, its provenance? It was clear that Marcus neither knew nor cared, and Copeland was in a foul mood over what he declared a completely wasted day. He was no worse off than the rest of us, and possibly better: several people had gone off with his distinctive carrier bags. Admittedly they were small or middle-sized bags but a sale is a sale. Copeland’s presence seemed to quench any desires Marcus might have had for a drink or any other designs he might have had on me. Meek as a lamb he helped pack the more valuable prints and put away his paints.
    Not to be outdone I withdrew to Griff’s stall, packing with what I hoped looked like