The Hawkshead Hostage

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘I’ve done that. I’ve done it religiously since Tuesday. I’m worn out with it, because it doesn’t seem to be helping anything.’

  ‘I think you’re tired because of the effort to keep a lid on it,’ said Melanie. ‘We all know how much you love Ben. I think you’re scared stiff that he’s been hurt or worse. So you just shut it all off, and try to carry on as usual.’

  ‘Thanks very much,’ Simmy muttered, fighting against tears. ‘I didn’t realise I needed a psychiatrist.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Just don’t pretend everything’s okay. It’s not fooling anybody. It looks cowardly to me, if you want the truth.’

  ‘Who said I wanted the truth? Look, there it is.’ She pointed ahead, over the busy Lake Road, to a small white car just visible in a side street. ‘I knew it was near the library.’

  They drove in near silence, Simmy wrestling with a mass of wounded feelings and confusions. Melanie was right, of course. Reared in a family where emotions were all too readily expressed, where nothing felt safe and nobody could be relied upon, the girl had acquired a wisdom that Simmy could barely aspire to. Hadn’t Ninian assured her that Melanie was essentially tough? Her traumatic encounter with a dead body might have rocked her back for a day or so, but it hadn’t flattened her.

  ‘You know, I’m more concerned about my job than anything else,’ Melanie confessed, shortly before they reached Hawkshead. ‘That makes me cold-blooded and selfish. So I’m not saying you’re any worse than me. I didn’t even mean to criticise. I just thought you were fooling yourself. Okay?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s okay. I am a coward. I know I am. I always have been.’

  ‘You’ve got a right to be. After your baby died, I would think any danger of something terrible like that happening again would be scary. Terrifying. And Ben’s a bit like your kid sometimes, isn’t he? So that would count. If you see what I mean. It’d be like putting your hand into a fire, knowing already how much it’d hurt.’

  ‘I do love Ben,’ Simmy said huskily. ‘But there are people with much more claim to him than I have.’

  ‘It’s not about claim, is it? That’s not how it works. You’re allowed to love him as much as you want. And you can be as panicked about him as the rest. They’ll be glad if you are. It makes them feel better.’

  ‘And what about you and Dan?’

  ‘That’s different,’ said Melanie quickly. ‘Absolutely different. The main thing about Dan is that if they catch his killer, they’ll most likely find Ben at the same time.’

  ‘I know. So I have to pull myself together and see if I can be of any use in catching the killer, then. Not that I see much scope for that. Whoever did it has probably left the area completely by now.’

  ‘I doubt it. I doubt it very much. That’d be like confessing to it. And if they’ve got Ben, that’ll just make it more difficult. Unless the people Ninian saw really were them, of course.’

  ‘In that case, they were driving northwards on Tuesday evening. They could be in Inverness by now. Or anywhere.’

  ‘So why would Bonnie be looking for him here?’

  ‘Wishful thinking. Or maybe they were just taking him somewhere discreet to buy him a pair of trousers.’

  ‘What?’

  Simmy told the story, along with some of her theories as to how it might be significant. ‘Bonnie got very excited about it,’ she concluded.

  ‘It can’t have been him in the car, then,’ said Melanie after such a long pause that they were driving up to the hotel before she spoke. ‘Because he was in Hawkshead yesterday.’

  ‘Doesn’t follow. They might have brought him back again. Here you are, then. Should I come in with you, do you think?’

  ‘Oh!’ Melanie gave a startled laugh. ‘I never gave that a thought. How will I get back again, if you leave me here?’

  ‘Get the bus, like I said before. They run all evening.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Melanie without enthusiasm.

  ‘Or make Gary come for you.’

  ‘Not likely. I’m not having him coming here the way he looks. Have you seen him lately? He’s got a nose stud that went septic. His face is like a horror movie.’

  ‘Yuk!’

  ‘Yuk’s not the word. He might have to have a whole piece cut out if it doesn’t clear up soon. He’ll be way weirder to look at than me, at that rate.’

  Simmy knew better than to offer glib reassurance, even though Melanie’s eye was not weird. Most people barely even noticed it.

  ‘I’ll hang about then, I suppose,’ she offered. ‘How long will you be? You’re not here for a full shift, are you?’

  ‘Well … I might be. Let me go and ask. If I’m on until the evening, could you come back for me after work, maybe?’

  ‘Try to find someone to take you to the ferry. That’s the easiest way.’

  ‘There won’t be anybody.’ The girl forced a smile. ‘That’s why it was so simple just to stay over with Dan.’

  ‘I’ll wait while you go and see what they want you to do,’ she said. ‘No rush.’ She tried not to think of people trying the door of the shop and finding it locked. The lost business would be minimal, she assured herself. It was a warm, dry day. They’d all be walking up Wansfell and Kirkstone and the Old Man of Coniston. Nobody would want to buy flowers on a day like this.

  Without thinking, she got out of the car along with Melanie. It would be too warm to sit inside the vehicle for long. ‘I’ll just potter about in the garden,’ she said.

  It was forty-eight hours since she had last been there, or a bit less. Moxon had kept her waiting for much of Tuesday afternoon, she remembered. Her time had been wasted. Her presence had been overlooked and forgotten. The only person to refer to her part in what had happened was Bonnie, and she probably blamed Simmy for taking Ben there in the first place. It was little wonder she felt so remote from everything. It was obviously everyone else’s opinion as well. Melanie was using her as a free taxi, and nobody else was thinking about her at all.

  The day was turning very warm, which was sure to get people talking in terms of a heatwave. Three nice days in a row was something to be celebrated. Meandering around the side of the hotel she got a panoramic view of Esthwaite and the dozen or so small boats strewn upon the surface. The water looked utterly calm, more like a pond than a lake. The idea that the most extreme act of violence had been committed on its banks was almost inconceivable.

  ‘Doesn’t seem possible, does it?’ said a man behind her.

  She turned to face the bearded hotel guest she had first seen on Tuesday. ‘Ferguson,’ he said. ‘Forgive me if I startled you.’

  It was a line from a bygone time, probably before even this elderly gent was born. It made her smile. ‘Persimmon Brown,’ she replied. ‘I’m the florist. I saw you earlier in the week.’

  ‘I remember. And you found the body of the unfortunate Mr Yates. It surprises me to see you here again, when the place must hold such unpleasant associations. But of course, life goes on, and there will be more flowers to arrange.’

  There was a slight foreignness to his accent and something strange about his tone. ‘You’ve stayed on, then,’ she said. ‘I gather quite a lot of people left early, and others have cancelled their stay here.’

  ‘I believe in getting my money’s worth,’ he said gravely. ‘And I have not found myself particularly incommoded by the dramatic events. In fact, I have been a model citizen and conveyed to the police what I hope has been useful information.’

  ‘Really?’

  He made a rueful face. ‘It seems I blundered a little. I reported a conversation I overheard between two guests, which appeared to suggest suspicious behaviour. On closer examination, it turns out that I was mistaken.’

  ‘I’m sure they were grateful to you, all the same.’

  ‘I doubt if they were. They were obliged to bring me back here from Windermere, after my interview, and that was inconvenient.’

  ‘So why not interview you here? Wasn’t there an incid
ent room set up for that very purpose?’

  ‘They did not wish to draw attention to the fact that I was giving information. I like to think that was due to a concern for my safety.’ He shook his head. ‘The whole experience was profoundly interesting, I must say.’

  Simmy was confused. It seemed to her that Moxon could easily have asked this man to repeat the overheard conversation as part of routine interviewing of staff and guests. Taking him away in a police car, and then bringing him back the same way, would surely attract considerably more attention. She could hear Ben’s ghostly voice, hypothesising that this had been Moxon’s intention all along. ‘Flushing them out,’ he would say. ‘Making them nervous that old Fergy had seen something he shouldn’t.’

  ‘Who were the two guests?’ she asked him. ‘The ones you overheard.’

  ‘Two men, who have American accents, but look Hispanic to me. That is, of Mexican or Central American origin. They were staying here, looking very conspicuous, but this morning I hear they’ve gone again.’ He worked his shoulders irritably. ‘I only wish everyone else would do the same. That Appleyard woman and her child are a constant aggravation, and the Lillywhite couple show no signs of enjoying themselves at all. They stay out all day long, and then come back with stony faces, not saying a word. Definitely not my idea of a holiday.’

  ‘Did that smart woman come back? The one who was here on Tuesday – do you remember? She was in a bad mood because nobody was attending to her.’

  Mr Ferguson brightened. ‘Oh yes! She comes every day, but doesn’t stay. Her name is Sheila. I think she’s trying to organise some event in the big room on the first floor. The one with balconies overlooking the mere. And nobody ever has time to discuss it with her. I have her down as some kind of businesswoman, offering seminars in how to be more successful, hoping to hire the room over the winter.’

  ‘But it would have been Dan Yates’s job to sort it all out with her?’

  ‘So it would seem. And Miss Todd has been absent, too. I imagine she might have managed to agree some details.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’ she blurted.

  ‘Simply by sitting behind a newspaper in the lounge for an hour every morning. I have heard a great many conversations that way.’

  She laughed. ‘No wonder Inspector Moxon wanted to talk to you,’ she said. ‘He must think you’re very useful.’

  ‘And I disappointed him,’ sighed the old man. ‘It was ever thus.’

  ‘What do you think of Penny, the receptionist?’ Simmy asked, after a quick glance around. It belatedly occurred to her that it could be embarrassing if this conversation were to be overheard.

  ‘Far too thin for comfort,’ he responded. ‘But much less unbalanced than she appears at first sight. All she wants is to ensure the guests have their needs met, and she does a sterling job in that respect. I have learnt very little about her personal life, but I detect a severe degree of trouble.’

  ‘She must have anorexia, surely,’ said Simmy, thinking of Bonnie.

  ‘I fancy not. I have an impression of a physical disorder. In fact, I should not be surprised if she has a lethal tumour, and knows her time is limited.’

  ‘Heavens! Would she still be working if that was the case?’

  ‘If that were the case, then she might well welcome the distraction from her woes,’ he said, reminding Simmy powerfully of her father’s insistence on the correct use of the subjunctive case.

  ‘Do you think she’s in pain?’ The idea was growing increasingly alarming. ‘How sure are you about this?’

  He waved a hand, sweeping her questions aside. ‘Pure supposition,’ he said. ‘Think no more about it.’

  What an annoying man, she thought. Eavesdropping, gossiping, jumping to conclusions. Sneaking up on her the way he had, and forcing her to talk to him. Thinking about it, she wasn’t sure she could believe a word he’d said.

  ‘Well, I must get on,’ she said firmly. ‘I just came over here for a look at the view.’

  He bowed his head and gave her a look that suggested he was unconvinced of her veracity. She wished she could find Moxon and ask him for his opinion of Mr Ferguson. Something about him was decidedly disconcerting. Perhaps he knew who had killed Dan – even the whereabouts of the missing Ben.

  Perhaps, she thought wildly, he was a murderer and a kidnapper, posing as a harmless old holidaymaker.

  Chapter Twenty

  Melanie was coming out of the front entrance when Simmy returned to her car. ‘It’s okay,’ the girl called. ‘You can go. I’ll be here until nine this evening. He wants me to do some extra time, to make up for yesterday.’ Simmy waited for the resentment that this would surely occasion, but it never came. ‘It’s fair enough, I suppose,’ came the surprising comment.

  ‘Hardly,’ she protested. ‘You were in a state of shock.’

  ‘I could have worked if I’d wanted to. Anyway, it’s okay now. I’ll have plenty to do.’

  ‘I’ve been talking to Mr Ferguson. He’s a very odd man, don’t you think?’

  Melanie looked blank. ‘Not that I’ve noticed. What did he say?’

  ‘Lots of things. That woman in the suit – did you see her on Tuesday? Apparently she’s trying to arrange some sort of weekend in the big room upstairs. Maybe you can do that for her? She’s annoyed, he says, because there was nobody to deal with her.’

  Melanie’s blankness deepened. ‘What smart woman? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Maybe you didn’t see her. She was trying to get some attention on reception in the middle of all the chaos after we found Dan. He said she’s been back every day, and still hasn’t got any satisfaction. You wouldn’t think it could be all that difficult,’ she finished.

  ‘It might, if she wants rooms and food and equipment. Somebody would have to sit down with her and go through every detail, with costs and so forth. That room holds a hundred people. If they all want feeding, that’s a big deal.’

  ‘He thinks she’s some sort of businesswoman, wanting to run seminars.’

  Melanie frowned. ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘Very well groomed and uptight. She had high heels and a dazzlingly white blouse under a blue jacket. A bit like an accountant, I thought. Or an insurance assessor.’

  ‘Oh, her. I know who you mean. She’s been coming in and out, talking to Dan about something confidential, for a while now. Fancy you seeing her as well. She’s called Sheila something.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, she can’t be important, if she keeps coming back like that. Ben would call her a red herring.’

  Simmy smiled. ‘He would,’ she agreed. ‘So I can go, then, can I? You’ll be able to get the bus back, I assume.’

  Melanie’s expression was resigned. ‘If I have to.’ Then she frowned. ‘Why didn’t Ben get the bus back to Bowness on Tuesday, instead of asking you to fetch him? If he’d done that, we’d have none of this business now. Or less of it, anyway,’ she added with a flinch at her own forgetfulness. ‘I mean, Dan would still be …’

  ‘Ben said there was some problem with the bus. They’d cancelled the next one, for some reason. And I was coming here anyway, so it all worked nicely. Or we thought it did.’

  Without warning, the banked-up anxiety about the boy’s fate came flooding through. ‘Oh, Mel – what can possibly have happened to him? After all this time – where on earth is he? We’re just carrying on, when he might be hurt or even …’

  ‘Dead. We’ve got to say the word. Dead, dead, dead. It sounds better if you keep saying it. Like cancer. It’s daft to be afraid of a word.’

  Melanie was crying. Simmy’s throat was thick. They clasped each other in an instinctive hug, like schoolgirls on the TV news after losing one of their classmates. Simmy hoped it was making them both feel better.

  Then Melanie pushed them apart. ‘I’ve got to work,’ she said. ‘The hotel’s got to get itself back on track, and without Dan nobody’s sure what to do. I know I’ve only be
en here a month, but I have my uses. Oh – and can you do some more flowers tomorrow?’

  ‘What? Did the manager tell you to say that?’

  ‘I asked him and he said of course. We can’t let standards drop now. He wants the weekend to really make a splash. I’ve got a list of websites to contact, to offer some special deals. I’m doing Facebook and Twitter and the rest, as well. We’re really fighting back.’

  ‘Even before they know who killed Dan,’ murmured Simmy. ‘Seems a bit hasty.’

  ‘It’s business, Sim. If you drop the ball, you never get it back again.’

  It was good to see Melanie so energised, Simmy told herself. All her talents were firing up again, after the single day of apathy and self-pity. Hadn’t Ninian predicted something of the sort? And yet there was something heartless about it, too. Dan would be replaced, the evidence of his death covered over and forgotten. Unless, perhaps, it turned out that a prominent and trusted member of the hotel staff had killed him, she thought sourly. Then they might have a much harder struggle before they could redeem themselves.

  ‘All right. I’ll go and open the shop again,’ she said, feeling heavy and reluctant. ‘And order more flowers for tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll call you about that,’ said Melanie. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  Simmy drove slowly down the winding driveway and onto the road into Hawkshead. There were groups of cheerful holidaymakers everywhere she looked. Bare arms and legs, stout walking boots, floppy hats and eager dogs. There was a sense that all these people had been released from a long, cloudy wait, poised to leap outside the moment the sun appeared. They had snatched up their flimsiest clothes and rushed outdoors to make the most of it, because it could surely not last more than another few days. To Simmy’s eyes, there was something faintly grim about it.

  The prospect of returning to the empty shop with no Ben dropping in, no customers, no urgent tasks, was unappealing. Bonnie was off on her own wild adventure; her parents were struggling with troubles that she could not really help with and Moxon had forgotten her. Loneliness had been a lurking enemy ever since her baby died and deprived her of the reliable company she had expected to enjoy for the rest of her life. Her husband had somehow faded away, along with little Edith. The cowardly, almost shameful, return to the bosom of her parents had been an escape from the anguish of that fatally ruined life as a wife and potential mother.