The Orkney Scroll Read Free Page B

ribs.
    “Well, I knew it was a tree.”
    “Is that Desmond Crane?” Rob said. “The lawyer who competes with Baldwin to get the most slime off on technicalities? It is Crane, isn’t it?”
    It was. On Dez’s arm was his wife Leanna, who was tipsy as usual. The two lawyers’ dislike for each other both in court and out didn’t stop Blair from inviting him and Dez from showing up.
    “I can’t believe you’ve brought me here,” Rob said. Usually he is very amiable about the social events I ask him to accompany me to, finding something interesting in all of them to talk about later. Now he sounded grumpy.
    “I came to that Christmas party at one of your police pal’s home, you know, the one where the host looked down the front of my dress the whole time, and some young kid drank so much he almost puked on my suede shoes. You were perhaps thinking I would accompany you again this year?”
    “Great party,” he said, giving my waist a little squeeze. “I think I’ll go and have some shrimp if that sleazeball left any for the rest of us.”
    Dez steered his wife over to the writing cabinet, where they both looked at it carefully, or at least he did. “Nice,” he said to Trevor, sending a cheery wave in my direction. For some reason I expected more than that, Dez being almost as competitive and arrogant as Blair. Perhaps he was determined not to show his disappointment at being bested by Baldwin. So unperturbed by the Mackintosh being in his rival’s hands was Dez that I found myself wondering if the telephone call to Trevor at the very moment Blair was deciding whether or not to purchase the cabinet had been faked, with someone else entirely on the line. Faked or not it had had the desired effect on Blair. There didn’t seem to be any way that I could ask Dez, and it didn’t really make any difference anyway. Blair was going to buy the cabinet that day no matter what it cost. I was also very curious to know what Blair had paid for it, but I didn’t know how to ask that question directly either, and my subtle attempts to find out from both Trevor and Blair had been roundly ignored.
    In truth, most people paid the writing cabinet scant attention, being more interested in the food, drink, and company. It caught my eye often, though. There was something about it that bothered me, a feeling that I put down to my ambivalence on the subject of ownership of such a beautiful piece. While I’d love to sell just about anybody an antique for any reason at all, should my advice be asked, it will always be to buy something you like and something you’ll use. You wouldn’t catch me slapping my laptop and coffee mug down on a one-point-five million writing cabinet, believe me. Perhaps more importantly, while Blair was obviously enthralled and that was nice, I always feel that something of this quality, created by the hand of a master like Mackintosh, really belongs to everyone, not just one bazillionaire. I was hoping that after he’d had it for a while, Blair could be persuaded to donate it to an art museum. I was sure there would be many who would prize it.
    One who clearly was not only interested but also covetous was the curator of the furniture galleries at the Cottingham Museum. Blair was either rubbing Stanfield Roberts’s nose in it, since the Cottingham was probably eager to have such a piece in its collection, or he was genuinely pleased to show off his acquisition to a man who would certainly agree with me that the Mackintosh belonged in a museum. Stanfield had barely had time to blurt out the required social niceties in the entrance hall before he rocketed right over to the writing cabinet. He posed, there is no other word for it, looking very artistic and interested, his chin resting on his left hand, while the elbow was supported by his right. Finally, after a few minutes of contemplation, he approached the cabinet and had a much closer look. After examining it carefully, he stepped back with a very slight