by Jo Allen
When he turned over the Four of Swords he sat back, as if to indicate his disengagement. The battle between the two of them went on, she trying to persuade him of the benefits of alternative thinking, he resisting. ‘Sit back and think,’ she said, looking at the image of a god stretched out, eyes closed with the cat in contented slumber beside it. ‘Don’t rush anything. Let the answers come to you.’
‘I wish it were that easy.’ But he turned over the next card without any prompting. ‘The Eight of Wands. And that tells us?’
Ashleigh frowned at it, though the cat in the corner, bemused by eight flies buzzing round its head, amused her. Sometimes the cards didn’t deliver and this looked to be the case, but it was almost judgemental to say that. The whole objective, as she kept telling him, was to focus your thinking. ‘This card tells you the importance of identifying the missing link, the key piece of information. It’s about making the right choice of many.’
‘That cat looks just like Holmes,’ said Jude, with a chuckle.
‘How does Holmes choose the right fly to snatch at?’
‘The biggest and the loudest, usually. Though I grant you that isn’t necessarily the right one. So maybe the cards are on the right track there.’
Ashleigh picked the cards up and shuffled them into the pack before fanning the whole lot out and sorting through. ‘This one is the Seven of Swords.’
He looked at it, at the furtive young man scampering away with an armful of weapons. ‘That’s the name of the Neilsons’ boat, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Miranda Neilson said she got the idea from a fortune teller but I think it’s a very strange card for someone to identify with. It’s all about lies and deceit.’
‘I remember you telling me once that you identify with the Fool, and I’d say you were anything but a fool.’
‘Yes. But people choose a card and identify with it, and it isn’t always the one that other people would choose for them, though it tells you a lot about the way they see themselves. You’re right about me and the Fool. And I always think of Scott as the Three of Swords, which is about love and broken hearts and so on. But he would never in a million years see himself in that card.’
‘So who does he think he is?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jude, to Ashleigh’s mind, was the Emperor, stern and just. Earlier, Becca had come into the conversation and now Ashleigh herself had, unintentionally, brought Scott in to join her. She wasn’t surprised by his next question.
‘Do you hear from him much?’
There was a reason Ashleigh hadn’t been put out that Jude hadn’t told her of his encounter with Becca. She’d kept things from him in her turn. Now was the time for them to come out. ‘I spoke to him last week, and he called me again this evening. He’s applied for Summer’s job and he’s coming up at the weekend for an interview.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Seriously that he’s coming up for an interview, but do I think he’ll take it if he gets it? No. He’d hate it.’ Scott was born for the sun and the good life. She could only hope he had enough sense to remember that.
‘Will you see him when he’s here?’
‘I’ve said I’ll meet him for lunch, but only for old times’ sake.’
‘Right.’
The scepticism of that single word niggled at her. ‘I know what you think.’
‘I know you still have feelings for him. You told me.’
‘You still have feelings for Becca.’
‘Not right now, I don’t. Not after what happened this morning.’ He folded his lips into a thin line, took the cards and picked out the Seven of Swords. ‘That’s probably the one useful thing I’ve learned in all the times I’ve let you lead me astray. Subliminally or otherwise, Miranda Neilson sees herself as someone who’s a deceiver and a manipulator, or else the victim of deceit and manipulation.’
She smiled as he slid the deck back into its box. ‘You see? You’re starting to see the way to enlightenment. And if you want me to lead you astray there are plenty of other ways I can do it.’ And then she took the cards off him, slid her arms round him and leaned in to receive his offered kiss.
Seventeen
Luke Helmsley had never loved Summer and lacked both emotional and academic intelligence, but he wasn’t stupid. He had an animal cunning, an instinct for wrongdoing in others that was accompanied by a sneaking admiration, even envy, of it. He’d lived in Martindale all his life and had no desire to go anywhere else, and he saw its comings and goings just as George had, only without the level of open interest. Some things intrigued him, though, and the sudden death of the old man was one of them — so soon after Miranda Neilson had been in to see him, so soon after Luke himself had revealed to George that he’d seen her in the dale when she shouldn’t have been there.
He topped out the piece of wall he’d been working on and stepped back to look at it. It was grand piece of work. Left to himself he’d spend his whole life dry stone walling, but at some stage his boss would decide that the job was done and there would be something less satisfying for him to do — fencing, or shifting stock from A to B and back again.
In the meantime, there was still the matter of Summer and the Neilsons. He wished he’d paid more attention when she’d wittered on about going to talk to Miranda about something. That would have put him in a position of greater strength than he thought he already was. But he knew enough to turn it to his benefit.
Miranda had been driving up the dale at a time when she said she wasn’t, he was sure of that. If she denied it, it would come down to her word against his and nobody would believe him, but maybe it wouldn’t come to that. If he thought she’d killed Summer it might have been worth taking it to the police, because after all he had a basic sense of justice and while a fight in a pub was something that should just be left to those involved, murder was different. He couldn’t see how, or why, Miranda could have done it so there was no need to dirty his hands by turning her in to the police.
She didn’t want people to know where she’d been, though. Maybe it was her husband she was worried about. He grinned. Miranda was a good-looking woman and Robert was away a lot, so a fancy man wasn’t out of the question. That had to be worth a few grand for his silence and even if that wasn’t the reason and she’d nothing to fear from her husband, the police wouldn’t be happy she’d lied to them. Maybe he could short-circuit the whole process, avoid putting her through the hassle and feather his nest into the bargain.
It was almost noon and he’d seen Robert driving away down Martindale earlier that morning. It was a good opportunity to have a chat with Miranda. He crossed the bridge below St Peter’s Church. The beck below it was full from the cloudbursts that had punctuated the week, foaming up to the banks as he headed towards Waterside Lodge.
The electric gates across the main drive were closed and, out of devilment, he ignored the latched pedestrian gate beside them and vaulted the low wall. It was badly built, and a few of the stones slithered out of it under his boot. Maybe if Miranda turned down his business proposal she’d let him rebuild it for her, for a fee of course.
The sun crept out, looked down on Martindale and crept back in again as the Ullswater steamer ploughed back from Glenridding, bumping over the choppy surface. On the doorstep, Luke paused in awe. He’d never had cause to come this near to the place before, never been invited, and the dealings he’d had with its residents had been distant, infrequent and always conducted off the premises. The picture windows, the neat lawns, the sleek silver bullet that Miranda drove and that was impossible to mistake for anything else, conspired to make him feel inferior.
Money didn’t make you better than anyone else, he reminded himself; just more comfortable. With that thought to inspire him, he raised his hand to the doorbell.
There was no movement inside the glass door. He rang a second time, and a third, before his doubts overcame him. Miranda must be in, and the twins too, because their cars were there, and yet no-one was answering. After fiv
e minutes standing like a fool on the doorstep he gave up and crept away. They’d be laughing at him. That was the most bitter thought of all.
Emboldened by his determination not to feel inferior, he ambled across the wide paved forecourt to the the side of the house. The dinghy bobbed against the landing stage, the ornamental trees that dotted the lawn rustled in the rising wind, but no-one was in sight. ‘Anyone there?’ he called into the garden, but no-one answered and he dared go no further.
He’d come back. Luke was anything but a patient man, but there would be another time when Robert would be out. The police had passed Summer’s death to the coroner and nothing more would be done about it, but what he knew of Miranda’s lie would keep for as long as she was afraid of having it come out. He strolled back along the drive towards the crumbling wall, and the electric gates slid noiselessly open as he approached.
Luke was a man without imagination, but it made him jump. He looked around to the left and the right and saw no-one, but when he went through the gates they closed noiselessly behind him. Like a horror film, he said to himself.
Laughter interrupted him. He turned to the source of it and found himself face to face with the Neilson twins as they emerged from behind a bush vibrant with elderflower. ‘Gotcha!’ said one of them, and the other one, half a yard behind him, laughed.
‘Looking for someone were you?’ the second twin asked.
Luke would have hated the twins, if only because he never knew which was Will and which was Ollie, but there was plenty more reason than that to hate. It wasn’t just the money but the casual way they treated it, and their failure to understand how hard the likes of him had to work to get a fraction of what they could put their hands in their pockets — or rather, their father’s pockets — for, without having to get off their arses for a couple of hours’ work. ‘Nothing to do with you, kiddies. This is business for the grown ups.’
‘It looks to me like you’ve done some damage to our wall,’ one of them said.
‘You might want to put it back,’ the other echoed.
‘Free of charge, eh, Will?’
‘Oh, yeah. We definitely shouldn’t have to pay him for fixing the damage he caused.’
He could smell the malty tang of beer on their breath. Reminding himself he shouldn’t risk antagonising them until he’d spoken to Miranda, Luke dug his clenched fists into his pockets and contented himself with a muttered expletive as he walked past.
‘Whoa.’ One twin ran up to plant himself in the road in front of him. ‘Did I hear what I thought I heard?’
‘Want to say that again to our faces?’ The other joined him and they stood side by side in the road.
Spoiled bastards that they were. Without a drink in him Luke was marginally more rational than otherwise, but no less angry. He marched on, aiming a shoulder at the gap between them, sure they’d give place when he reached them. When they didn’t, the fists came out of his pockets and a wild haymaker of a punch sent one twin sprawling sideways into the road.
To his satisfaction the fight turned into a brawl, and there would only be one winner. As one twin got up, the other hit the deck. The two of them hadn’t the wit to back off and coordinate a bit, and though one them got lucky and landed a punch it was the only damage Luke sustained, and he was more than happy to accept one black eye in payment for the punishment he was handing out.
‘What’s going on? Stop it! Stop it at once!’ From nowhere, Miranda Neilson arrived on the scene, seizing whichever twin had been about to launch himself at Luke and pulling him away. She was in jeans and trainers, a quilted gilet and, he noticed, she had a bunch of cow parsley in her hand. ‘Ollie. Whatever are you thinking?’
Luke, thank God, managed to hold back the right hook that would surely have sent Miranda into the ditch to join the other twin and probably landed him in a police cell. ‘I’m just going about my business and your young thugs ambushed me, that’s what.’
They hung behind their stepmother like a couple of jackals behind the pack leader, waiting for the order to pounce. ‘That’s not what happened, Miranda. We caught him creeping off the property. I think we’d better head up there and check there’s nothing missing, don’t you?’
‘I went to the house because I wanted to talk to you.’ He stuck his hands in his pockets again, fighting the temptation to keep at them and wipe the smirks off their faces.
She stared at him for a moment, twisting the stems of the cow parsley round her fingers. ‘Will. Ollie. Go back to the house and clean yourselves up. And you can spend a few minutes thinking about how you’re going to explain this to your father, because I don’t intend to.’
‘Dad’ll back us up,’ one of them said, though without as much confidence as Luke thought he might have intended.
‘Yeah. He will.’ The other twin dabbed at a split lip and looked down at the blood on his fingers with a look of awe, as if it was a badge of honour.
‘Go,’ Miranda instructed, with a scowl for them. ‘Now.’
They went, and as she turned to watch as if making sure they were out of earshot, Luke began to regret the situation he’d got himself into. Robert, who was someone who would always back up his sons in public whether they were right or wrong, wouldn’t give him any sort of a hearing; and though Miranda had shown her displeasure towards them he wasn’t so stupid as to think it would translate into support for him.
‘All right, Luke.’ She turned back to him, scowling at him in exactly the same way she had at them, as if she had any authority over him. ‘Fighting in the street? What’s this all about?’
‘None of your business.’ He found the courage to spit, but she wasn’t remotely perturbed. She was a tougher bird than he’d thought she was.
‘Who started it?’
‘Your kids started it. They jumped me when I was coming out of the drive.’
‘And what were you doing in the drive?’
‘I’d been up to the house. I said. I wanted to talk to you.’
Her expression wavered, as if it could go either way, as if she was choosing between standing up to him or placating him. She went tough. ‘Fine. Here I am. If you have anything to say to me, you can say it to me now.’
His courage almost failed him. It was only the way she kept twisting the wild flowers in her fingers that gave away her nervousness. ‘Them’s protected. You’re not supposed to pick them.’
She looked down at them with a frown. ‘Oh, God knows there’s enough of these. Is that really what you wanted to say to me? Because if so then I think you’re being vexatious.’
He had no idea what that meant. ‘Picking wild flowers is breaking the law. You don’t want to go breaking the law.’
‘I’m quite sure the police have more important things to do than worry about that, and of course we all know you regard the law as sacrosanct. But if it makes you feel any better…’ She tossed them aside. ‘Happy now?’
It was no wonder the twins had turned out the way they were, with a stuck-up bitch like Miranda to set them an example. ‘Aye, that’s how you people work, isn’t it? You do something wrong and you ditch the evidence and you lie about it.’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘On the day Summer died you came back before you said you did.’
‘I promise you, you’re mistaken. Will and Ollie saw me come back and they’ve already confirmed it to the police.’
‘What if I go to the police and say differently?’
‘What if you do? It won’t make any difference. The matter is closed, and anyway it’s irrelevant. Summer’s death was an a accident. So please leave us in peace and don’t assault my stepsons again, or I’ll be the one calling the police.’ She shrugged her way past him and stalked through the now-open gates.
‘You want to be found drowned too, Mrs?’ he called after her. ‘You’re going the right way about it.’ But she carried on walking, and it wasn’t until she was out of sight that he realised he’d forgotten to ask her
for money.
Back at Waterside Lodge, the first thing Miranda did was call Robert. The encounter with Luke had been a chastening one, but her earlier confession and Robert’s unconditionally positive reaction to it had been a game-changer. Fear flew from her heart like darkness ahead of light and the stroll she’d taken through the dale before stumbling upon the brawl in the road had been the first walk she’d had where fear hadn’t stalked her.
‘Luke threatened me,’ she told him.
‘Young hothead,’ he said, when she’d outlined what had happened. ‘He thinks with his fists. All the Helmsleys do. It’ll just be the boys putting his back up. Nothing to do with the other thing.’
Even at a distance, his voice was reassuring. He was in Newcastle that day, not too far away. Some investment banker had been dispatched up to a regional office at Robert’s behest, to save him from a trip to London. She smiled. ‘When will you be home?’
‘I’ll pick up a sandwich and head straight back. Don’t worry. I can see how it alarmed you, but I’ll go down and speak to him this evening. It won’t happen again.’
‘I’ll see you later on.’
‘Goodbye, darling.’
When she ended the call, comforted by the unfamiliar luxury of being able to tell him anything, there was silence inside the house. The twins had gone to ground, and she had no stomach for chasing them and demanding an explanation. That was something for Robert to do when he came home, because at some stage in the previous month or so playing the stern parent with two such strong personalities had crept beyond her capabilities. She’d always known it would.
