The Dead Wife

by Sue Fortin

  ‘Ah, so we’re now two down on housekeeping,’ said Harry.

  ‘I’m afraid so and I won’t be able to get anyone in at short notice for the weekend. I could try an agency and see if they’ve got anyone, or I’ll have to advertise, and it’s going to take a couple of weeks to sift through the applications, interview and appoint.’

  ‘I know Dominic prefers not to have agency staff,’ said Harry. ‘It costs us a lot of money long-term to have temping staff in.’

  ‘I can get an ad on the website first thing Monday morning,’ said Heidi. ‘And I can go through the list of applicants we had when we advertised last month. See if any are suitable and if they are still looking for a job.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Harry. ‘It’s a shame it couldn’t have been next week when we haven’t got all these reporters here, analysing our every move.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Heidi flicked through a file. ‘I’ll give a couple of the girls a call who weren’t rostered to work this weekend. Hopefully one of them can come in.’

  ‘OK. Thanks. I’ll check in with you later and see how you’ve got on.’

  Harry spent the next hour and a half checking his watch and milling about the main house making sure everything was running smoothly and all the guests had everything they needed. It was the personal touch which he hoped they would appreciate, although really it should be Owen or Dominic making themselves more accessible – they were, after all, the ones who were going to be running the show.

  Although the weather had been good the past week, the forecast today wasn’t looking so promising, and Harry nipped back to his lodge and grabbed his hiking jacket and boots. He had a small rucksack with him containing bottled water and some protein snack bars, together with his phone and binoculars. There was a lot of wildlife to be found up by the lake and he hoped they’d be lucky today and he could show Steph some of the natural inhabitants.

  Steph arrived promptly at ten. ‘Someone’s keen,’ she said as she approached.

  ‘I’m always early,’ replied Harry. ‘I hate being late for anything.’

  Steph looked at her watch. ‘Good job I’m dead on time, then.’

  Harry was pleased to see she had dressed appropriately for a hike down to the lake. ‘It’s only a twenty-minute walk,’ he said as Steph fell into step beside him. ‘But if we’re going around the north side, we’ve got to allow for a good ninety minutes. Or we could go somewhere else if you prefer a shorter walk.’

  ‘Not at all. It sounds great,’ she replied without hesitation.

  ‘Did you bring your camera?’

  ‘Yep. It’s in my rucksack,’ said Steph. ‘I can’t wait to get up there and take some shots.’

  ‘How long have you been into photography?’ Harry asked, genuinely interested.

  ‘It’s been a passion of mine since I was about twelve years old and my dad bought me a camera,’ said Steph. ‘He was into photography too. Not on the scale I am, but he always loved taking photos and in those days it was a traditional film which had to be developed. He had a dark room set up in the garage and I was sometimes allowed to go in there and watch him develop the pictures. It was like magic.’

  ‘What sort of things did he take pictures of?’ Harry noticed how her eyes lit up as she spoke.

  ‘He loved birds. He’d go out and sit for hours in a hide, just waiting to capture a picture of one particular type of bird. He took an amazing photograph of a kingfisher diving into the water once and it actually won an award in a national magazine. I have that photo in a frame at home.’

  ‘Does your dad still take photos?’ He noticed the light in her eyes disappear and a sadness take its place.

  ‘No, he passed away a few years ago,’ she said.

  Shit. He wanted to kick himself for being so clumsy. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  ‘It’s OK. You didn’t know, and yes, it does still make me sad, you know, catches me out now and again, but I like to talk about him. It makes me feel close to him, like he’s not forgotten.’ She smiled at him.

  ‘You’re lucky to have such nice memories of your father.’

  ‘You say that as though you don’t.’ Her voice was soft and there was no accusation in her tone.

  Harry gave a shrug. ‘I wasn’t that close to my father,’ he said simply.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Steph.

  ‘Don’t be. I’m not.’ Harry was surprised at his candour. He didn’t usually speak to anyone about his relationship with his father, and here he was, swapping stories with a woman he barely knew. Make that a reporter he barely knew.

  Harry pulled his zip up higher as they walked. The wind had picked up and the track they were taking was more open to the elements.

  ‘Looks like we might get wet,’ said Steph, looking up at a grey cloud above them.

  ‘There is a hide at the lake – we might be able to get there before it rains.’

  ‘That’s on the north side, isn’t it?’

  ‘You’ve been doing your homework.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t check things out beforehand,’ said Steph.

  ‘You say you’re a feature writer,’ he said. ‘Have you done any other sort of reporting?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Investigative journalism?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing serious,’ she said. ‘I did move to Carlisle and take up a job with the local newspaper. In those days, I had high hopes of one day moving to London and working for someone like the BBC, but it never really happened. Anyway, I saw the job I’m doing now advertised and, on a whim, fuelled mainly by the thought of living by the sea, I applied and got the gig with Vacation Staycation based in Brighton. That’s where I met my friend, Ria, who frames and sells my pictures for me.’

  He was surprised, but also impressed. ‘You must be pretty good at it.’

  ‘Thanks. I’m hoping she’s managed to sell a couple this month, as the money would come in very handy right now.’

  ‘I suppose the income can vary a lot each month.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s very unpredictable.’

  ‘I find that with the design work I do in France. Feast or famine.’

  ‘What exactly do you do out there?’

  ‘Graphic design mostly. Most of my customers are UK based, but because it’s all digital these days I can work anywhere I want.’

  ‘Have you always been interested in design?’

  ‘Very much so, especially when I was younger, but it wasn’t something I pursued as an adult.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  Harry cast her a sideways look. ‘You ask a lot of questions.’

  ‘I’m interested, that’s all,’ she replied with a smile.

  ‘It wasn’t something I was encouraged to do. My career was already mapped out for me … here, at Conmere.’ He thought back to his father telling him design work was all right for a hobby but it wouldn’t make him any money. It was one of the few occasions he’d wished his father were still alive so he could prove the old man wrong.

  ‘Do you have a portfolio?’ asked Harry, moving the conversation on and away from memories of his father.

  ‘Back home, not with me,’ she replied. ‘But I do have some on my camera.’

  ‘I’d like to have a look. I might be able to put some business your way.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like to get some local scenes printed and framed up. I was thinking this morning that the breakfast room might be a nice place to have some.’ He hadn’t been thinking that at all, but as he said it, it did sound like a good idea. ‘I’ll pay you properly, of course,’ he added, wanting to be sure she saw this as a business opportunity.

  They chatted for a while about what sort of pictures he was looking for and Steph agreed to take some for him to look at. ‘The only thing is,’ she said, ‘would you mind not mentioning this to my boss at Vacation Staycation? He might want to take a percentage, as technically I am working for him thi
s weekend.’

  ‘Sure. No problem. We’ll keep this just between the two of us,’ agreed Harry.

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate that.’

  They walked on along the track, gradually leaving the organised and landscaped area of the resort behind them.

  ‘It’s certainly beautiful scenery here,’ said Steph as they walked through a bank of trees and out into the more open landscape, where Conmere Lake was just ahead of them.

  As they walked, Harry pointed out some of the landmarks and gave a brief history of the place.

  ‘The lake is nearly ten square kilometres, one of the largest in the Lake District. It’s not very well known though because it’s in the private grounds of Conmere House. The largest lake and probably the most well-known is Windermere. That’s over ten miles long.’ He waved his hand out towards the trees. ‘Woodland covers about twelve per cent of the Lake District.’

  ‘You sound like you really love this place,’ said Steph. ‘Or is that just your sales patter?’

  Harry gave a wry smile. ‘You’ve caught me out,’ he admitted. He stopped himself from saying how he’d used to love the scenery but now he couldn’t see any beauty in it, not since it had claimed Elizabeth’s life. Now it was a place he associated with dark memories and death.

  ‘Do you miss not living close to your family?’ she asked. He was grateful for the tactful sidestep in conversation, although he wasn’t altogether pleased with the new direction.

  ‘You’re not afraid of a direct question, are you?’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘I see I’m going to have to watch what I say.’

  ‘Sorry, wasn’t prying. Just interested,’ said Steph, and she looked down at her feet as they walked. ‘I was just asking because I’m always fascinated by other people’s relationships with their immediate family. I don’t get on with my mum that well. What I mean is, we get on OK, but there’s no big display of affection or any talk of feelings. I always feel we’re holding each other at arm’s length.’

  He was touched by her openness and genuinely interested. ‘Do you live near to your mum?’

  ‘No. She lives up here in the Lakes, actually. Kendalton.’

  ‘Are you from here originally?’

  ‘Yes. I moved away when I was eighteen to go to uni.’

  ‘And you’ve never come back to live?’

  ‘No, not in Kendalton anyway. Nothing to come back for. As I said, me and my mum aren’t exactly close. I used to come back more often when my dad was alive.’

  ‘You were closer to your dad?’

  ‘Yeah. I miss him a lot.’ She gave a big sigh. ‘What about you and your dad? Were you close?’

  ‘Not especially,’ Harry found himself confessing. ‘And all this is off the record, right?’

  ‘Of course! Like I said last night, I have my own personal integrity and I’m not here to report on your relationship with your dad. You have to trust me or, if you can’t, then change the subject. We can talk about the scenery again, if you like – it’s a safe subject and at least you can’t sue me.’

  Harry gave a laugh. ‘OK, I do trust you.’ He wasn’t sure if he should trust her, but he realised he actually did. Maybe it was her honesty about her own difficult relationship with her mother and the easy nature of their conversation. ‘Like you and your mother, my father and I didn’t have a great relationship. I didn’t fit into the Sinclair mould. Fortunately, I had an older brother who did and a younger brother who wanted to, and, largely, I could slip by without too much attention.’

  ‘So, what made it not great?’

  ‘I’m not some privileged silver-spoon kid who is just stamping his feet.’

  ‘I didn’t say you were.’

  ‘But you were thinking it.’

  ‘Make me think differently, if, hypothetically speaking, I was.’

  Harry had a whole fund of examples, and he tossed a few around in his mind. There was the time his father had made him stand outside and eat his dinner at the patio table for being ten minutes late home one evening, which in itself would have been fine, but it was pouring down with rain at the time. There was also the time when Max had heard him telling Dominic to fuck off. He had been thirteen and totally fed up with his brother for teasing him about a girl at school. Max had dragged him to the bathroom and washed his mouth out with soap. There were many occasions like that but the one which stayed with Harry the most was the time when he was ten and they had this gorgeous Labrador puppy. Owen was always making a fuss of it and one day had forgotten to close the kitchen door properly. The puppy had got into Max’s study and chewed the leg of a chair and crapped under Max’s desk. Owen had been told plenty of times before about letting the dog out, and after discovering the damage Max had been furious. Owen had been so scared of his father that when they heard Max shouting Owen had peed himself. Harry had taken the decision to take the blame for the puppy and gone straight down to his father to confess.

  Max Sinclair wasn’t a stupid man and not easily fooled. He had listened to Harry and spoken to Owen, who was too scared to say anything different.

  ‘So it was definitely Harry who let the dog out and not you?’

  Owen had nodded, barely able to speak, let alone look at his father.

  ‘It was definitely me,’ Harry had insisted, although he could hear the waver of fear in his own voice.

  ‘Right,’ their father had said. ‘Owen, what’s your favourite toy?’

  Owen had looked confused, and he’d shot a look at Harry, who had given the slightest of shrugs. He’d had no idea why his father was asking him that.

  ‘My model plane,’ Owen had stammered.

  ‘Go and fetch it, so I can see it.’ Max had squeezed Owen’s shoulder and sent the youngster off to get his prized possession. The next few minutes had been almost unbearable as Max had stood looking at Harry with a small smile on his face. Owen had returned a few minutes later with the plane.

  ‘Put it on the floor,’ Max had said, and then without batting an eyelid had stamped on it, crushing the plastic toy.

  ‘No!’ cried Owen, which had only made Max stamp on it again. Owen had known better than to say anything else, but the tears ran down his face.

  Harry had felt sick to the stomach. He knew his father hadn’t believed him and that by punishing Owen he was punishing Harry in a way that was worse than a beating. Harry would recover from the physical pain of a slap or a thrashing with the belt, but he’d find it hard to recover from the hurt inflicted on his brother.

  In the end, Harry opted to tell Steph about the mouth-washing incident as the lesser of the evils.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Steph, not for the first time.

  ‘I don’t want any pity,’ said Harry. ‘I’m long past that stage. In fact, I ought to be grateful to him for being such a bastard.’

  She raised an eyebrow questioningly. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘I now know exactly how not to behave if I ever have any children. Basically, all the tactics my dad employed I shall totally ignore and do the complete opposite. That way my child won’t fear me, won’t hate me, won’t try to avoid me and won’t secretly wish they had been born to another family.’

  ‘Wow. That’s quite a confession.’

  He hadn’t meant to say so much, but somehow she was drawing it out of him with the casualness of her conversation, as if the questions were perfectly normal between two friends who were comfortable with each other, but then, of course, she was a reporter, so maybe it wasn’t surprising.

  They walked on in silence for the next ten minutes and as they rounded the track they got their first glimpse of Conmere Lake.

  They walked down to the edge of the lake and sat on a wooden bench. Harry looked across the water; the breeze was causing small, wave-like ripples across the surface. It was a grey-blue colour today, with the clouds overhead shielding it from the sparkle of the sun. The Con Point Hills on the north side of the lake looked down on them like an oppressive bodyguard, hunched and ready to swoop at the
first sign of danger. Years ago he had nicknamed them Pru, Dominic and Owen. Defenders of the Sinclair name.

  Harry ran a hand down his face. ‘Elizabeth was rescued from the water,’ he said, his thoughts taking him back to that day. ‘It was my mother who first saw her and raised the alarm. Elizabeth was flown to hospital and fought for another forty-eight hours. But she died, surrounded by family, by nursing staff; everything was done to save her, and when we were told there was no way back everything was done to make her comfortable.’

  ‘That must have been so difficult for you.’ Steph rested a hand on his arm.

  Harry gave a slight nod. ‘The most difficult thing I’ve ever had to deal with in my life.’ He closed his eyes to regain some control of his emotions as the memory of those last few days of Elizabeth’s life stung like a scab picked from a healing wound.

  ‘Do you know how she came to be in the water?’

  ‘You’ve read the reports, no doubt. You should know.’ He suddenly felt suspicious of Steph and all her questions.

  Her eyes looked wary. ‘I thought there was a suggestion that she was trying to rescue her dog, but I didn’t know if that’s what was concluded. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  He weighed her up for a moment. She certainly looked sincere. Maybe he was overreacting, but Dominic’s caution whispered in his ear. He had learnt a long time ago not to pay attention to Dominic, the hothead of the brothers, but to trust his own instinct, which oddly enough was sending out ambiguous signals. ‘She’d taken my mum’s dogs for a walk. They were all on the bank when my mum came along, but one of the dogs was wet, so it was assumed that’s what happened. That Daisy – that’s the dog – went into the water first, and Elizabeth went in after her and got into difficulties.’

  ‘I can only imagine how awful that was for you and, no doubt, continues to be,’ said Steph.

  Harry didn’t want to talk about it any more. He could feel his mood sliding and if he dwelled on it for too long it would be a struggle to come back from it. He was relieved when she took out her camera without asking any more questions about Elizabeth.