Jade is the exception which proves my no-touch rule. Even the funeral pieces from ancient China recover their life and lustre by being fondled. Love, folks, as I said, is making it. Jade tells you that.
I totted up. I'd sell the mote spoon to Helen. That would pay Janie back and, with what I'd got extra from Beck just now, give me the fare to the Isle of Man. As for the rest, I'd just swapped one set of forgeries for another. Right?
Yes, right. But there was a balance, the money Beck had just given for the jade at Gimbert's. He had successfully bid for it against fierce opposition. I was proud of him.
I'd promised to ring Janie and say what I'd decided to do, but then I thought it over.
It'd be better just me against Edward Rink.
I went in to pack.
Early morning and I was on the train to Liverpool.
CHAPTER XVI
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THE TRAIN'S the easy bit.
I like the sea. It's natural, somehow never fraudulent. From the ferry wharf I gazed down the Mersey out to sea.
If Bexon was right, Suetonius had probably sailed from Chester. The more I thought about it the more it fitted. The Roman Second Legion had been stationed in Chester when Boadicea vented her spleen. That's known nearly for absolute certain. The wily Roman had left his harbour base firmly held in strength, the most orthodox of all military moves. He'd hardly have needed it protected this way if he'd sailed from Wales because the powerful Queen Cartimandua, as nasty a piece of work as ever trod land, was too busy ravishing successions of stalwart standard- bearers in Manchester to notice if the political weather outside changed much from day to day.
The ferry was two-thirds full with passengers. I must have expected a few logs loosely lashed together because I gaped at this huge ocean-going boat. It had a funnel and round windows and everything. Cars were streaming aboard, even lorries.
You can get a meal or snacks and there's a bar. The general impression's a bit grubby but a few hours is not for ever. I like wandering about on ships. It being latish September holidaymakers weren't too plentiful, only a few clusters of diehards catching the cheaper rates of early autumn. We were a mixed bunch. There were the usual tribes of businessmen discussing screws and valves over pale ales, hysterical crises over lost infants finally miraculously found again where they'd been left in the first place, and couples snogging uninterruptedly on the side decks. They're my favourite. If Janie had been with me she'd have said not to look at them, then looked herself when we'd gone past. Women do that.
Liverpool began to slide away. I looked everywhere on the ferry for my watcher. Twice I went round the lower decks, strolling among the cars and pretending boredom. No sign. He wasn't on board. I must admit I was rather put out. You eventually feel quite proud, being shadowed. After all, not everybody gets trailed, if that's the right word.
Maybe he'd been laid off. I already knew that good old Edward was of an economic turn of mind. That meant Rink would be flying first class, of course. I just hoped he'd have sense enough to leave Nichole behind. If there was going to be any rough stuff I didn't want her involved.
Seagulls cawed and squawked for nothing. They went and sat floating in our wake a lot. Somebody once told me they can actually drink seawater. They have this gland for handling the sodium or something. We had over a hundred following us out of the Mersey estuary into the open sea. You'd think they'd get tired because they've only got to find their way home again.
Ships are noisy, not just the people but the engines, the sea, the floor, the walls as well. Even the funnels make a racket. Somebody always seems to be ringing bells in the downstairs rooms. I went up into the air though the wind was cutting. A sheepdog came and sat near me by the railings.
'Are you lost?' I asked it. It smiled like they do and edged closer to lean on my leg. We looked at the sea rushing past below us. 'If you're lost, mate, there's not much hope for the rest of us, is there?'
It said nothing back. I bent down and peered. It had nodded off, probably fed up. I knew how it felt. Me without antiques, the dog without a single sheep. I pulled it away from the railings for safety and hauled it next to me on a wooden seat. When you lift dogs up they seem to have so many ribs.
'Some bloody watchdog you are,' I told it. 'What if we were sheep?'
I nodded off too. It's the sea air.
Ships docking unsettle me. I'm not scared but they seem to head towards the walls so fast. Then the whole thing shakes for all it's worth and stops. Some men threw ropes from our front end. Two chaps on land pulled them round a big iron peg set in the stone road, a queer business. Some others did the same at the back end. We all marched up a flat ladder thing and crocodiled up the stone steps to the town of Douglas,' Isle of Man.
'Do you all live on that thing?' I asked the uniformed chap who was seeing us off.
He seemed surprised. 'Where else?' he said.
It's a rum world.
I humped my case along a glass cloister affair and crossed over to the taxis. I spent a few minutes describing Bexon's abode, carefully using the same descriptive terms in Bexon's diary. One taxi-driver nodded finally and took my case.
'Only one place that can be,' he announced. 'Groundle Glen.' I was pleased. Bexon had used that name, though somewhat ambiguously.
The main Douglas beach is rimmed by a wide promenade and a curved road. Houses, shops and hotels gathered parallel for a dense mile or so. Then the hillside begins, suddenly rising to high green fells.
'What's a railway line on the main road for?' I asked him as the north road started to lift out of Douglas town. It
