Fear in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

‘Probably,’ said Thea vaguely, wondering which piece of news she ought to disclose next. ‘So you’re having a good time, are you?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ breathed Lucy. ‘Total bliss. I’m sorry you’ve got the hassle of snow, but if I’m honest I have to say it convinces me I did the right thing. I could never see the attraction of snow, and you sound as if you rather enjoy it.’

  Stifling the flash of resentment this caused, Thea merely laughed. ‘I expect the novelty will soon wear off,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, it’ll all be gone in a day or two. Like we said last week – snow never lasts for long in England.’

  Stop tempting fate, Thea wanted to shout at her, but all she did was laugh again, before drawing breath to say, A man died and the rabbit had babies.

  ‘Oh, gosh, I’ll have to go,’ Lucy hissed suddenly. ‘There’s a man I’m trying to avoid, and he’s just come round the corner. Thanks a million, Thea. I’ll call again soon.’

  All Thea could do was bid Lucy goodbye.

  She did not really regret her failure to tell Lucy about the man in the snowy field. It was ingrained habit to shield her employers from bad or disturbing news, for as long as she could. Terrible things happened, sometimes even to the creatures left in her care, but she had come to the conclusion that bad news could generally wait, and it was kinder to leave it until the people came back, and had to take up the reins again. It had not been her fault that Lucy rang off before there was a chance to get everything said.

  But she did feel a mild sorrow at the missed opportunity to share the experience of the baby rabbits. That was the sort of news liable to bring amusement and pleasure, surely. So much more difficult to talk about death, with the response entirely unpredictable. What if Lucy had said, ‘Oh yes, that must have been Kevin. He’s always doing that – drinking himself into a stupor, so everybody thinks he’s dead. Why…there was even a woman a year or two ago who called 999, thinking she’d found a body.’ How reassuring that would have been – and how unlikely!

  Outside again, muffled in hat, scarf, gloves and one of Lucy’s thick coats, she was aware of a dilemma as to which direction to take. To the left was Old Kate’s farm, where all was still and silent, as far as Thea could tell. To the right was the road, and people, and the prospect of rescue from the growing feeling of being trapped.

  There was no real contest. With impeccable logic, she persuaded herself that even if Old Kate was in difficulties, there would need to be a way forged out to the road, and Thea needed to work out for herself what was feasible. She followed the trail made by the four men the day before, noting with amusement a place where they had obviously followed each other onto the side of the track, where a low stone wall was completely covered with snow, to the point of invisibility. Somebody had apparently fallen over it, sweeping the snow away and exposing some of the mossy stones. Footprints mingled and circled close by, and then led back to the middle of the lane.

  She had Hepzie with her, the lead in her pocket for when they reached the road, which just might have traffic passing. Although she suspected that anybody wanting to drive in and out of Hampnett would use the other approach, which was much closer to a main road. Even so, she expected to see tyre marks and slush and other signs of near normality.

  Emerging from the lane with aching legs and a very cold nose, the first thing she saw was three figures walking towards her from the direction of the village. One much taller than the others. A woman and two children. She fastened the lead to Hepzie’s collar and went to meet them.

  ‘Hello, again,’ she said to Janina-from-Bulgaria. ‘These must be Nicholas and…’ She had forgotten the other boy’s name.

  ‘Benjamin,’ said the older boy with a scowl. ‘I’m Benjamin.’ It was instantly obvious how much more prepossessing the younger boy was. Dark hair and long eyelashes above deep soulful eyes made him the sort of child that everyone wanted to hug. His brother was very different – a long face, with mud-coloured eyes set too close together, and a discontented expression.

  How unfair, thought Thea. ‘Well, I’m pleased to meet you,’ she said. ‘I suppose you’re having a bit of a holiday, with the schools being closed.’

  Three unsmiling faces stared at her as if she was mad.

  ‘Mummy’s gone,’ said Nicholas, with a wide-eyed look. Thea found herself wondering for a crazy moment whether the body she knew she had seen had been the apparently stupid Bunny, and not some disreputable man, as she’d assumed. She looked at Janina for an explanation.

  ‘She has not gone, Nicky,’ she said, shaking his hand gently as it clung to hers. ‘She can’t come home because of the snow. She’s sent you a text, remember?’

  ‘Which he can’t read,’ muttered Benjamin.

  ‘Where is she?’ asked Thea.

  ‘Bristol, she says. The roads are too slippery, she says. She will not risk it.’ Janina’s words were redolent with scorn.

  ‘She’s going to miss my party,’ the younger boy said, fury suddenly seizing him.

  Thea began to give more credence to Janina’s assessment of her employer. ‘It’s today, isn’t it?’

  ‘How do you know that?’ demanded Benjamin.

  ‘I met Janina last week, and she told me. It sounded like a big event.’ She waved an arm at the wilderness of white still masking fields on all sides. ‘But will your friends manage to come?’

  Janina groaned quietly. ‘The phone has been ringing all day, yesterday, with people saying they will try. I think most of them will make it.’

  ‘And you have to organise it all,’ Thea sympathised. ‘Where’s Dad?’ She cocked an enquiring head at the boys.

  ‘He’s…he’s,’ Nicky stammered.

  ‘He’s going to clear all the snow away from the front drive when he gets home from work,’ supplied Benjamin coolly. The air of weary cynicism in a six-year-old was uncomfortable to witness and difficult to respond to.

  ‘That’ll be useful,’ said Thea feebly.

  ‘This country is pathetic,’ Janina said, with much the same tone as her older charge. ‘In Bulgaria we can deal with snow. Here, life comes to a stop.’ She spread her hands in a helpless gesture.

  ‘I know,’ said Thea. ‘I can’t get my car out. Has a snowplough been through the village?’

  Janina shook her head uncertainly. ‘A tractor from the farm by the church pushed it aside, up to the top road. We wanted to see how it was this way, didn’t we, boys?’ The children nodded without enthusiasm. All four let their gaze settle on the inadequately cleared road. A single track ran down the middle, two black lines of dirty crushed snow, with grey ridges on either side, and the road verges still virgin white.

  ‘I like your dog,’ said Ben, who had clearly been eager to embrace the spaniel from the first few moments. His fearlessness endeared him to both Thea and the dog. Janina laughed quietly. ‘His mother says he should not be so friendly with dogs, but he has a special feeling for them.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Thea assured her. ‘She won’t hurt him.’

  ‘I know that. In Bulgaria sometimes they have rabies, but here the dogs are harmless.’

  ‘This one is, anyway,’ said Thea, thinking of bull terriers trained to attack by their inadequate masters, and then to the depressing conversation she had had with Lucy about the endless betrayals of dogs.

  They seemed to have reached a hiatus, and Thea found herself hoping the others wouldn’t abandon her for a few more minutes. ‘I can’t get my car out,’ she told them again. ‘It’ll have to wait until the snow melts, I suppose.’

  ‘Have you got food?’ Janina asked with belated concern. ‘You could walk to Northleach, perhaps.’ She grimaced doubtfully at the prospect.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be fine. There’s plenty of food.’

  She was increasingly desperate to tell the story of the dead man in the snow, the disappearing body and her consequent embarrassment – but she couldn’t broach such a subject in front of children. The prospect of returning to Lucy’s Barn and its disconcerting m
ysteries was less and less attractive as the minutes passed.

  ‘What time is it? The party, I mean.’

  ‘Two o’clock,’ Janina told her.

  ‘There must be a lot to do. How many are coming?’

  ‘Seven or eight. It’s all done. We had a lot of extra time to prepare.’ Janina rolled her eyes expressively, and Thea glimpsed the long snowy days spent trying to keep two young boys amused and reassured in the absence of their mother.

  ‘You can come if you like,’ said Nicky, and Thea almost hugged him.

  ‘Oh! Are you sure? What about my dog?’

  ‘Both of you,’ said the child. His big brown eyes met hers and she wished she could read the thoughts behind them. At four, she wasn’t sure a birthday fully registered, apart from the presents and the fuss. What did ‘being born’ mean to somebody his age, especially if there had been no more babies after him? This anniversary of his birth must seem arbitrary and inexplicable – but still this little boy was rising to the occasion, and asserting his claim to be special at least for a day.

  ‘But I’m not dressed for a party,’ she said, looking down at her old trousers.

  Janina and Nicky both laughed at this. Benjamin looked less amused. ‘The knees are dirty,’ he observed.

  ‘It’s only wet, I think,’ said Thea. ‘I stumbled on the snow and landed on my knees. I could go back and change.’ She cast an unenthusiastic glance at the snow-covered track back to Lucy’s Barn. ‘And catch up with you later.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Janina firmly. ‘Come with us now. We can have a small lunch and you can be a big help with all the coats and boots and stuff like that.’

  Thea dimly remembered children’s parties, and the miraculous mountains of clothes and possessions that accompanied four-year-olds everywhere they went. They would bring presents for Nicky, and even possibly contributions of food, as well as the inevitable outdoor clothes. Hats, gloves and scarves would augment the coats and boots. ‘Right,’ she said.

  Nicky looked up at the au pair. ‘Will George come?’ he asked in a hesitant voice. ‘I want George.’

  Janina squeezed his hand, through two gloves. ‘No, I don’t think so, darling. I haven’t seen him since the snow started. He won’t want to come out.’

  It seemed that the party was to be significantly diminished by the absence of this George, but when Thea raised an enquiring eyebrow at Janina, there was no responding explanation.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The walk to the boys’ house was over half a mile, and Thea found herself relieved that she had Hepzie with her for the return journey, which was likely to be in darkness. Even so, she shivered inwardly at the prospect. Would one of the party parents give her a lift, she wondered? Not down the final leg, obviously – and that was the part she was already starting to dread.

  It was midday when they got there, and she wondered where the morning had gone. Everything took so long, trudging through the snow and stopping to gaze at the transformed landscape every few minutes. Janina’s employers lived in a large detached house, constructed of the ubiquitous Cotswold stone sometime during the nineteenth century, or so she judged from the mellow colour and generous size. Even in the snow, it was obvious the house had had a couple of centuries to settle into place and took whatever the elements threw at it completely in its stride.

  It lay to the west of the church, down a small road which had been comprehensively cleared of snow as far as the boys’ house. Beyond their entrance, there was still a foot or so waiting to be shovelled away. Janina led the way around the back, where everybody ritualistically divested themselves of damp outerwear in a small room boasting a row of coat hooks and racks for boots. ‘How very organised,’ Thea remarked, thinking of a Victorian household with a routine for everything.

  Trooping through the kitchen into a handsome room with a high ceiling and warm terracotta-hued carpet, they encountered a man holding a cloth with which he had apparently been cleaning a window. How about that – a male cleaner, Thea thought with amusement. Then he looked at her, following up quickly with a questioning glance at Janina, and she realised he must be the man of the house.

  ‘This is—’ Janina began, then put a hand to her mouth, with a girlish chuckle. ‘I forgot your name,’ she confessed.

  ‘Thea. Thea Osborne. Pleased to meet you,’ said Thea, proffering a hand.

  The man took it in a dry, gentle grip and smiled into her eyes. ‘How do you do?’ he said with equal formality. ‘I’m Simon Newby.’ He was tall, with Nicky’s dark eyes and Benjamin’s long face. A certain languid air reminded Thea of Janina’s criticisms of him – lazy, beer-drinking. But now she saw them together, it seemed to her that there was a relaxed atmosphere between Simon and the nanny that was at odds with the earlier description.

  ‘Janina and the boys asked me to the party. I’ll try to make myself useful.’

  ‘Do we know you?’ The question was as gentle as his handshake, but he obviously needed to hear the answer.

  ‘No, you don’t. I’m house-sitting for Lucy Sinclair. You probably know her.’

  ‘You saw a dead body in a field yesterday,’ he stated carelessly. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’

  Thea glanced worriedly at the two boys, but they were absorbed in a corner with what had to be Nicky’s new birthday presents, the boxes still in evidence on the floor. Hepzie had joined them, politely watching their faces for any signal as to what was expected of her. ‘Oh?’ Thea said.

  ‘The police photographer is my brother. He came over here last night to bring Nicky’s present and he told me the whole story. Pretty pissed off he was, to be honest. Says he’s sure he’s caught a cold from so much standing around in the snow, and was crying off the party. That’s a shame, because the boys are very fond of Uncle Tony. And vice versa – see all the photos to prove it.’ He waved a hand at a wall on which hung eight or ten framed photographs, in sepia and black and white. They were all studies of the two boys, with Benjamin, somewhat to Thea’s surprise, obviously the favoured one. The photographer had caught the less overtly attractive child in quirky, characterful poses: Benjamin eating an ice cream with his face besmirched; the two brothers hand in hand under a big tree; Ben looking back over his shoulder, someone perhaps having just called his name. The word that came to Thea’s mind was innocence. Tony had managed to eradicate the slightest suggestion of unsuitable feelings associated with these images. How brave, she thought, in these paranoid times, to get so carried away with photographing children. Nicky’s long eyelashes and round cheeks made him a natural subject for the cameraman – but Tony had chosen instead to focus on the longer face and smaller eyes of the older boy. Although Nicky had not been entirely ignored; the pictures of him verged on the saccharine almost to the point of parody. There was some sort of message here, she felt – one that perhaps she would rather not probe too deeply.

  ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed. ‘They’re brilliant. He seems to have a lot of talent.’

  She realised that she had not taken a great deal of notice of the photographer in the snowy fields, except to register that he was in his thirties with wavy brown hair and narrow shoulders. Simon was superficially similar, she supposed, and a few years older.

  ‘We think so,’ smiled Simon. ‘But he has difficulty making a living at it. Hence the police work. They pay rather well.’

  ‘Because he has to be on constant call,’ nodded Thea.

  ‘Right. That’s the bit he hadn’t really bargained for. When the mobile went off yesterday, he says he was only half dressed, and in the middle of doing something tricky on the computer. But at least he only had a mile or two to go.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes…he lives just the other side of the A40, at Turkdean.’

  ‘Oh, I know Turkdean,’ said Thea, remembering a brief visit there a year or so before. ‘Well, he probably got there ahead of the others. They came out from Cirencester. What a waste of time it was for all of them, though. I felt really bad about it.’ The
impossible mystery of the vanished body washed over her again, leaving her paralysed for a moment. ‘And very confused,’ she added.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Simon, his attention on his older son, who was sitting on an old armchair, cuddled up with Hepzibah, as if the dog had been his for years. ‘At least, I don’t suppose it was. Tony said there was absolutely nothing there.’ He frowned as if the puzzle were too hard for him, as well.

  ‘I really did see a body,’ she said defensively.

  ‘I believe you. It’s too bizarre to be a complete invention. Even Tony believed you, more or less.’

  ‘It’s not true that there was absolutely nothing, either. There were marks in the snow.’

  ‘Mmm. That was all he had to take pictures of. He was rather looking forward to his first corpse, you see, in a professional way. There’s a whole procedure laid down for getting the picture as accurate and helpful as possible.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, the body might yet turn up, I suppose, and then he’ll be needed again.’

  ‘You’re still sure he was dead, then?’

  The relief of finally being able to talk about it was enervating. She looked for somewhere to sit down for a moment. ‘I certainly don’t see how he could have recovered enough to just walk away,’ she said from the small sofa she’d sunk into.

  ‘Have you ever seen a body before?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And I’m perfectly certain that the man I saw yesterday was just as dead as the others.’

  This, on a raised note, attracted the attention of Benjamin, who turned round and stared at her with very much the same expression as when she had first met him. A look that said he had a distinct impression that she was mad.

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered to Simon. ‘He wasn’t meant to hear that.’

  ‘Lunch!’ Simon clapped his hands in a parody of a children’s television presenter. ‘Come on, everybody, into the kitchen.’ In a low mutter to Thea, he added, ‘That’ll distract him, you see.’

  Benjamin wriggled slowly off the chair, sighing deeply. Not a happy child, Thea diagnosed. Must be missing his mother, she supposed.