Guilty Pleasures Read Online Free PDF Page B

a few pounds, even if you make a loss, it won’t break us. And somehow I don’t think, as your face suggests you fear, that you’ve mislaid your divvy gift. Both of these items will repay investigation, and I’m sure that Mrs Walker will know just the customer to take that parrot off your hands. A thirty-pound mark up would be fine. Yes, an extra thirty pounds for Robin, if you insist. As for this little box, let us go on the principle that if someone wants it enough to steal it, it must be worth having. A little homework is called for, isn’t it?’ He topped up my glass. ‘You said you’d shown the snuffbox to your father. You didn’t show him the folio? I thought not. And I think I can guess the reason. You’re afraid it’s one of his forgeries, aren’t you?’ He took my hand, shaking it gently. ‘My dear one, your father specializes in single pages, or pamphlets at most.’
    â€˜Exactly. Just the sort of thing he’d copy!’ I blurted. ‘Tear pages out of a book like this and ruin it – not that there’s much to ruin here, I admit – and then punt forgeries about the place via Titus.’
    â€˜Quite. I know you keep your ears resolutely shut when there’s gossip concerning the discovery of a rare item everyone assumed was lost, but that’s what he does. He sees it as a little part-time job.’ He added with a teasing smile, ‘He’s happy enough to talk about it to me when you go off on one of your divvying expeditions, leaving us alone to while away the hours.’
    I nodded. My father would probably have filled me in on every last forged full-stop. It was just that I didn’t want to know. I’m not sure why. ‘He knew something about the snuffbox,’ I whispered. ‘He didn’t say anything, though.’
    â€˜He was probably afraid you’d snap his head off. But there’s no harm in your asking him, I’m sure. Any more than there is in asking him about this folio, though he’s no expert on furniture.’ He flicked through the smelly pages. ‘Not Chippendale or Sheraton, I’d have thought – the lines aren’t good enough, are they? Heavens, look at this strange Chinaman, with his moustache coming from the side of his nostrils. You know, I’ve a feeling I’ve seen some of this man’s work . . . No, it’s gone. As for the box, I’ll pick a few brains and read a few books. I suspect the Internet is more your thing.’
    It was. And to think I hadn’t been able to switch on a computer, let alone use one, when I met Griff.
    The last ray of sun left the garden. It would never do for Griff to catch cold, so I gathered the china and glasses on to the Victorian papier mâché tray.
    â€˜I only have one regret about giving up smoking,’ he murmured, slapping his arm. ‘A cigarette deals so efficiently with the little blighters who do so ruin a late evening garden. Come on, dear one, before they nibble your dear flesh into horrid red weals. The customers would be too worried about you to buy.’
    â€˜So they would,’ I laughed, tucking my arm in his. ‘Folkestone tomorrow, and I’ve not even packed our crates . . .’

FOUR
    T itus Oates is one of the most invisible people I’ve ever met. He looks so ordinary that no one’d ever be able to do an e-fit of him, or pick him out at an ID parade. He’s also so law-abiding – never drinks and drives, never passes a speed camera without smiling innocently at it, pays all his debts on time, would die on the spot if asked to fence stolen goods – that you’d never think that about a tenth of his dealings are on the iffy side of dodgy, as he puts it. The vast majority are squeaky clean, of course. Which is how he gets away with . . . whatever scam he happens to be involved in at the time, some of which involve my