Free Ring of Guilt by Judith Cutler Page A

also probe away like a dentist at my feelings about my father’s search for Nanny Baird’s descendants, if there even were any.
    Maybe I’d better get a sudden urge to continue the work on Sanditon’s vase.
    No, my head was jumping around too much for me to work on anything so special. I knew as soon as I switched on the lights. But at least I could look at what I’d done so far and decide how much to do the next day. At least I could talk about that when Griff called me down to supper, which he soon did.
    â€˜But I thought, dear heart, in view of her discovery, the very least we could do was invite Mrs Walker to join us. She plainly didn’t fancy driving all the way over here and back again in the dark, and I didn’t want to inflict the same on you. So I suggested that new place the far side of Charing. What do you think about that? We can go in tandem, and then come our separate ways home.’
    â€˜Excellent.’ Griff never tried to talk while I was driving, and while we ate Mrs Walker wouldn’t let us get a word in edgeways, especially if I encouraged her. Then Griff and I could talk about the meal all the way home. Brilliant. I was so pleased I gave Griff an extra big hug.
    Usually if someone contacts me to find out if I’m making progress with a piece I’m either surprised or irritated. Or both. But when Harvey Sanditon emailed me, attaching a picture of the vase’s mate with a label reading
LONELY
round its neck I found myself laughing, because it was somehow exactly what I’d have expected him to do if I’d thought about it.
    I responded by tying a large piece of loo paper round the injured vase handle and sending a photo back, saying, ‘Still in intensive care.’
    For a while I toyed with sending a photo of my ringless finger to Will Kinnersley, but couldn’t quite manage it – the idea, not the actual photo.
    While I was at the computer, I surprised myself by doing another thing: I started looking up the websites of people who would hunt for missing people – folk missing out on legacies, for instance. I printed off contact details and put everything in an envelope to give my father next time I saw him. If he wanted information, let him find it himself. He wasn’t very keen on making efforts; with luck he’d just give up.
    Which left me feeling very ashamed of myself – I didn’t just have my beadies on that Cartier watch, did I? Or – and this was even worse – did I want to keep all his pretty dilute affection for myself? The worst thing of all was that I knew there really was only one person I could rely on for advice: Griff himself. I shoved the envelope right to the bottom of my knickers drawer, with the photo of my grandmother.

SEVEN
    A t long last it was time to summon Griff to examine the vase. So he wouldn’t know where to look for the damage, I turned it round several times so even I couldn’t remember which handle I’d repaired. As for the tiny flake from the painted marble, I’d fixed that ages ago. I’d cook supper for a week if he spotted the scar.
    Funnily enough, I didn’t open the door to the workroom with my customary flourish and a loud
Da-dah
. I just ushered Griff inside.
    He put a loving hand on my shoulder. ‘I know, my sweet one – it’s like finishing a long and exhausting run on the stage. You’re bloody glad it’s over, but you know you’re going to miss it like hell.’
    I glanced at him. It was against his house rule to use strong language before seven o’clock. And why had he sounded so regretful? He was so much of an antique dealer I’d actually forgotten how much of his life he’d spent as an actor, and how much he might miss the theatre.
    Nonetheless it was a dealer’s hands he ran over the handles and over the marbling. When they lingered over a slight defect I had a moment’s panic – then I remembered