can use a pair of callipers to make sure the new one matches the intact one. If they’ve both broken off – poor Venus de Milo isn’t the only woman with problems – then you have to remember that a hand is a little shorter from finger to wrist than the face from brow to chin. And it takes two hands to cover the whole face. Easy. OK, it’s easier on crude Staffordshire figures, but not so satisfying.
I’d almost finished rubbing down any roughness between the fingers when Griff came in, popping a cup of tea on my worktable.
‘Another nice day,’ he declared. ‘And the forecast’s good. I think we’ll go to Oxford for this Thursday’s fair.’
‘But it’s mainly a craft fair. And you don’t like craft fairs.’ I found them useful because they often included a stall selling specialist paint brushes – I like best quality sable 00’s for this type of work – but our sales never really justified the trip.
‘All the same,’ he said, picking up my tea and drinking it before drifting away. At least he took the cup, too. Cup, not mug. Cup complete with saucer. Typical 1920s, nothing special, but pretty.
There was no question of my arguing or letting Griff go off on his own on the grounds that I’d be more useful either in the shop or at home working on china. I’d seen his driving, and I’d seen Oxford traffic. For better or worse I had to go. It would have made him veryunhappy if he’d known I’d turned down a drink with a lad from the village to go with him so I said nothing. To be honest, I was quite glad of the excuse. What would a girl like me have to say to a bloke who was well on the way to being a psychologist? Not a lot, except as a subject for his research or as a guinea pig. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be either. At least the Marcuses of this world took me at face value. Took me, or to be more accurate, left me. On what Griff was desperate not to call the shelf.
We went up on Wednesday evening, staying overnight with more of Griff’s friends. Not being very tall I was happy to fetch up on the sofa, where I was joined by a cat like a feline teddy bear, the sort of bear that pushes its bed-mate on to the floor, not the other way round. So I was a mite grumpy and surprisingly stiff when we set out, the cat smiling graciously and waving a Queen-like paw in farewell. We were heading for Gloucester Green, just by the coach station, so at least I could follow signposts and didn’t have to rely on Griff’s map reading.
It didn’t take long to set up.
‘There,’ he said, standing back to admire our handiwork, ‘we may be nearer the bric-à-brac end of the range than I like, but horses for courses, Lina. Always remember that: horses for courses.’
I nodded at his sage advice. OK, I’d heard it a hundred times before, but it would upset him if I told him I had. And he had enough to upset him. It was another slow day. Very slow. And because it was focused on crafts, not many of our mates were there to talk to. I drifted off to do some shopping, but it didn’t take melong to buy the brushes and gold leaf I needed.
‘Now,’ Griff said, handing me the Thermos as I returned, ‘there’s no point in both of us hanging round like spare dinners. Off you go to the Bodleian.’
‘The Bodleian?’ I repeated, sounding stupid even to my own ears.
‘The Bodleian Library. They have a copy of
Natura Rerum
.’
‘How do you know?’
Looking horribly smug and patronising, he touched the side of his nose.
Think anger management. I breathed out hard and remembered I really needed the answer to something else. ‘You mean you can just go in and ask for it?’ That was better.
But it wasn’t – I’d somehow upset Griff. He flushed and looked at his feet. ‘I should imagine they won’t just point to a shelf and tell you to take a look. Oh, there’ll be some sort of system, dear heart, but don’t ask me what it is. We poor Thespians had little need of scholarship in my day: you
I’d almost finished rubbing down any roughness between the fingers when Griff came in, popping a cup of tea on my worktable.
‘Another nice day,’ he declared. ‘And the forecast’s good. I think we’ll go to Oxford for this Thursday’s fair.’
‘But it’s mainly a craft fair. And you don’t like craft fairs.’ I found them useful because they often included a stall selling specialist paint brushes – I like best quality sable 00’s for this type of work – but our sales never really justified the trip.
‘All the same,’ he said, picking up my tea and drinking it before drifting away. At least he took the cup, too. Cup, not mug. Cup complete with saucer. Typical 1920s, nothing special, but pretty.
There was no question of my arguing or letting Griff go off on his own on the grounds that I’d be more useful either in the shop or at home working on china. I’d seen his driving, and I’d seen Oxford traffic. For better or worse I had to go. It would have made him veryunhappy if he’d known I’d turned down a drink with a lad from the village to go with him so I said nothing. To be honest, I was quite glad of the excuse. What would a girl like me have to say to a bloke who was well on the way to being a psychologist? Not a lot, except as a subject for his research or as a guinea pig. And I sure as hell didn’t want to be either. At least the Marcuses of this world took me at face value. Took me, or to be more accurate, left me. On what Griff was desperate not to call the shelf.
We went up on Wednesday evening, staying overnight with more of Griff’s friends. Not being very tall I was happy to fetch up on the sofa, where I was joined by a cat like a feline teddy bear, the sort of bear that pushes its bed-mate on to the floor, not the other way round. So I was a mite grumpy and surprisingly stiff when we set out, the cat smiling graciously and waving a Queen-like paw in farewell. We were heading for Gloucester Green, just by the coach station, so at least I could follow signposts and didn’t have to rely on Griff’s map reading.
It didn’t take long to set up.
‘There,’ he said, standing back to admire our handiwork, ‘we may be nearer the bric-à-brac end of the range than I like, but horses for courses, Lina. Always remember that: horses for courses.’
I nodded at his sage advice. OK, I’d heard it a hundred times before, but it would upset him if I told him I had. And he had enough to upset him. It was another slow day. Very slow. And because it was focused on crafts, not many of our mates were there to talk to. I drifted off to do some shopping, but it didn’t take melong to buy the brushes and gold leaf I needed.
‘Now,’ Griff said, handing me the Thermos as I returned, ‘there’s no point in both of us hanging round like spare dinners. Off you go to the Bodleian.’
‘The Bodleian?’ I repeated, sounding stupid even to my own ears.
‘The Bodleian Library. They have a copy of
Natura Rerum
.’
‘How do you know?’
Looking horribly smug and patronising, he touched the side of his nose.
Think anger management. I breathed out hard and remembered I really needed the answer to something else. ‘You mean you can just go in and ask for it?’ That was better.
But it wasn’t – I’d somehow upset Griff. He flushed and looked at his feet. ‘I should imagine they won’t just point to a shelf and tell you to take a look. Oh, there’ll be some sort of system, dear heart, but don’t ask me what it is. We poor Thespians had little need of scholarship in my day: you
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