The Grail Tree Read Online Free

done in the form of a solid acorn. It stood, throbbing life, in a corner cabinet among some Silesian-stemmed glasses and managed to convey the appearance of having been there since it was made in 1700. The cabinet and its contents were three times as valuable as my cottage, with my tatty furniture chucked in. I dragged my eyes away and paid attention.
    ‘Do sit down.’
    ‘Er . . .’ There was only the Sheraton. It was like being told to sit on a kneeling bishop. I sank my bum reverently on to it, trying hard to contract my muscles and minimize the weight.
    ‘You were very definite about the sword,’ she began.
    I hoped she wasn’t the sulky kind. Some of the honest old public – a right swarm of barracudas – become very funny when their dreams are shattered.
    ‘You obviously think it’s a forgery.’
    ‘A good one,’ I said, anxious to please. ‘Very good, in fact.’
    ‘But still a forgery?’ she said with careful insistence.
    ‘Er, well.’ There was no way out. ‘Yes. A good guess.’
    ‘I think not,’ she said. We sat in silence digesting this.
    She sat opposite, definitely in possession. Bright, too. A really resilient character who’d seen a few unheavals in her time. I began to wonder where all her wealth had come from. We were both being quite pleasant but wary with it.
    ‘The point is, Lovejoy,’ she resumed, ‘the sword has deceived the most expert authorities in its time.’
    ‘That means you know the faker.’ I tried to turn it into a question at the last minute and didn’t manage it.
    ‘Yes.’ More pause, with me wondering how to ask straight out. ‘Your friend,’ she continued. ‘He told me you’re one of those special people who just . . . know.’
    Friend? She must mean Tinker Dill. Good old blabbermouth. ‘He means well,’ I said lamely.
    ‘A . . . a divvie?’ The word was unused to her.
    Silence.
    ‘Are you one, Lovejoy?’ She seemed fascinated, full of interest. ‘If there’s a fee for revealing this . . .’
    I drew in that lovely luscious aroma of money.
    ‘All right. I’ll tell you. No.’ I stopped her reaching for her handbag. ‘I only charge for work done.’ I swallowed, nervous as a cat. ‘Yes, I’m a divvie.’
    She examined me as one does a specimen, head tilted, eyes everywhere. I felt uncomfortable. My shirt cuffs are always a bit frayed. If I’d known I was visiting posh I’d have hurried back to the cottage and pressed my one good pair of trousers.
    ‘I’d heard there were such people but never expected to meet one. What actually happens?’
    ‘I don’t know. Honest.’ I’m always nervous talkingabout myself. ‘Saying you’ve a gift sounds like bragging, because it’s so special. A divvie just . . . well, knows.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘I don’t understand it myself.’ I struggled to explain. ‘Think of a woman who just knows when the colours in a redecorated room are exactly right. That’s a sort of gift, too.’
    ‘It’s also common sense, Lovejoy.’ A reprimand.
    ‘No, it isn’t,’ I countered. ‘It’s a gift. Some have a gift for handling dogs, for designing clothes. Or take to the piano like – like Franz Liszt. Some have it for finding water with a bit of twisted stick –’
    ‘Water-diviner!’ she exclaimed. ‘Divvie. I see.’
    ‘Everybody’s a divvie,’ I added. ‘Nobody’s left absolutely without some special gift. For
knowing
the feel of a true diamond. For knowing straight away which horse will run fastest, which boat will balance right. There are divvies everywhere, for everything. For knowing next year’s weather. Which bushes will grow. What musical notes will hold the imagination of millions. Even for knowing what’ll happen.’ I didn’t mean to become so enthusiastic, but it’s true. Nobody’s left out. You as well, dear reader. You might be the world’s greatest living divvie for antique Sumerian gold. Find out quickly what your special gift is, for heaven’s sake, or you’re being thrown to