The Cipher Garden

by Martin Edwards

  Yes, she had to cling to that. It couldn’t be true.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Miranda asked as Daniel kept his eyes on the winding road. ‘I mean, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want. Isn’t she, darling?’

  ‘That’s very generous of you.’ Louise, curled up in the back of the car, spoke over Daniel’s muttered assent. ‘I’m so grateful for your hospitality, so glad I came. But I ought to get back home. Term will be starting soon.’

  ‘You’re going back to the college?’

  ‘It’s what I’m paid for. And I need to prepare.’

  ‘Well, if your mind’s made up…’

  ‘I just need to check the train times.’

  ‘All right, if you insist. But you will come back and see us again soon?’

  ‘Promise.’

  Daniel gripped the steering wheel tight. He sensed Miranda relaxing beside him and stole a glance at her. A sleek smile of contentment played on her lips.

  Hannah’s mobile trilled the opening bars of ‘I Say A Little Prayer’ as Les wandered out of the office. Her home number showed up on the tiny screen. She couldn’t resist a frisson of apprehension. Marc rarely called her at work.

  ‘I wanted to let you know, I’ll be out till late this evening,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He sounded puzzled. ‘Remember I told you that Leigh’s looking to change the decor in the cafeteria? When I’ve locked up, we’ll be setting off for Morecambe to meet the designer. Don’t wait up.’

  We’re always too busy for each other, she thought. Usually it’s my fault. But tonight of all nights…

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes. There’s – just something I want to discuss with you, that’s all.’

  ‘It can keep till tomorrow, can’t it?’

  ‘I’d rather we had a word tonight.’

  He didn’t quite manage to suppress a sigh. ‘OK. I’ll aim to be back by eleven at the latest. You haven’t got to go away on another weekend management course, have you?’

  ‘See you later.’ She switched off the phone before he could ask any more questions.

  * * *

  Daniel achieved his aim of arriving early at The Heights and the bar was empty when they walked in. Bel Jenner bustled out to confirm the table reservation and did a double take when she saw him. Another tribute to the reach of television. She’d caught a couple of his programmes, she told him. History had always fascinated her, it was her favourite subject at school, not that she was much of a one for studying.

  Oliver was duly brought out for introductions to be performed and he insisted that the first round of drinks was on the house. Bel joined Daniel and Louise on the sofas in the lobby by the restaurant while Miranda indulged in a jokey flirtation with Oliver across the bar counter. The headache had vanished, Daniel noticed. She was back in control and soon her laughter was ringing across the room, drowing the dulcet tones of Astrud Gilberto singing Jobim classics. Louise didn’t have much to say, or perhaps she simply struggled to get a word in edgeways. Bel loved to chat and within a quarter of an hour Daniel had learned more about The Heights, Old Sawrey and the local populace than he could have picked up in a hundred Internet searches.

  Hannah would be proud of me. Maybe so would Dad.

  He mentioned working on the cottage garden and consulting a local firm. ‘Flint Howe Garden Design. Do you know them?’

  ‘Everyone knows everyone round here, Daniel. Compared to Old Sawrey, Brack is Los Angeles. Tina Howe’s daughter Kirsty works for us as a waitress. Lovely girl. You’ll meet her later, I hope. She rang an hour ago to say that she’s feeling off colour but she still hopes to come in. I told her not to worry, and make sure she gets herself right, but she absolutely insisted. A touch of the sun, I suppose, but that’s the kind of person Kirsty is, she hates to let anyone down.’

  ‘I met her brother through Peter Flint.’

  Bel pursed her lips. ‘Yes, Sam’s a bright boy, though you wouldn’t necessarily guess it from speaking to him. As Kirsty says, he does like to pretend he’s a closer relative of the ape family than the rest of us. He made a mess of his exams and left school at the first opportunity, though if you listen to his mother, he had the brains to go to university. But working for Peter isn’t necessarily a waste of talent. You can make decent money out of gardening these days. Nearly as lucrative as plumbing if you’re any good. I know when the seal on our upstairs shower perished and the water was trickling down the…’

  Unwilling to be diverted into reminiscences about rapacious tradesmen, Daniel said, ‘You’ve known the Howes a long time?’

  ‘As long as I can remember. Kirsty’s a super girl. Brave, too. She loves skydiving, she’s jumping for charity tomorrow, as it happens. I suppose she felt that if she wasn’t fit this evening, I might be cross if she was well enough to fling herself out of an aeroplane tomorrow afternoon. But really, I said to her, if you’re not up to working, that’s fine. Waitressing isn’t an easy job, Daniel. You need your wits about you. As well as doing the work with a smile on your face and making sure you keep your customers satisfied.’

  ‘I gather her father died in – terrible circumstances.’

  Bel flushed. ‘Did Peter mention that?’

  ‘What happened?’ Louise asked.

  ‘He was murdered,’ Daniel said, keeping his eyes on Bel. ‘Hacked to pieces with his own scythe whilst he was working on a client’s garden.’

  ‘Jesus. Not the best advertisement.’

  ‘It was a very unhappy time.’ Bel’s head was bowed, her tone mournful and subdued, as though she were whispering during prayers. ‘You read about that sort of thing in the papers, you might expect it in cities like Leeds or Manchester, I suppose. You never imagine it happening on your own doorstep.’

  ‘You knew Mr Howe?’

  ‘We grew up together.’ She paused, for once disinclined to yield information. ‘For a while we were friendly, then we drifted apart. You know how it is.’

  ‘He married a local girl?’

  ‘Tina grew up in Hawkshead.’

  She made it sound like hailing from Gomorrah. More a reflection of her opinion of Tina Howe than of the pretty little tourist trap, Daniel presumed. He went through a pantomime of working things out in his head.

  ‘Tina? I spoke to her when I booked the appointment. So she works in the office to this day, she’s Peter’s partner?’

  ‘In both senses, yes.’

  ‘Ah.’ Daniel wondered how to keep the conversation going, scrabbled round in his mind for a sentiment that might appeal to Bel. ‘She found happiness in the end, then?’

  ‘You could say that. Peter’s ex-wife might have different ideas. Poor Gail, she’s in the wine trade; we’re business colleagues as well as friends.’

  ‘He left her for Tina?’

  ‘Oh, Gail wanted a divorce once she saw the writing on the wall.’ She leaned over the table and whispered like a conspirator. ‘But I don’t believe she’s ever got over him. I keep saying, she should forget about him and find someone else. She’s a lovely-looking woman, but her confidence has been shot to pieces. It’s so sad.’

  Louise finished her gin and tonic. ‘Men, eh?’

  Bel looked across to the bar and Daniel’s eyes followed hers. Miranda was in full flow, telling her life story by the look of it, but Oliver’s gaze had strayed. He exchanged a glance with Bel before concentrating on Miranda again. Daniel guessed she hadn’t even realised she’d lost her audience’s attention.

  ‘I suppose I’m lucky.’ Bel started humming along to ‘The Girl from Ipanema’. ‘How many men can you really trust? Well, lovely to have a chat. Let me get you the menus.’

  As she moved away, Louise muttered, ‘What are you playing at?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Come on, you can’t fool me. You were pumping her for information. What’s going on?’

  ‘Just taking an interest in the everyday lives of rural fo
lk.’

  ‘Lying toad. That innocent expression may work a treat with most ladies, but I’ve seen it before, remember? You wear it to disguise your ulterior motives.’

  ‘Men, eh?’ he mimicked.

  She laughed. ‘You bastard. For some funny reason I’m going to miss you when I go back home.’

  Hannah’s dinner consisted of a takeaway Margharita pizza and a glass of Buxton water. Where was the pleasure in cooking for one? She decided against washing it down with half a bottle of wine. For several reasons, not least the need to keep a clear head. Sprawled on the sofa, dressed only in the cotton shirt she sometimes wore in bed, she flicked the television remote control, searching in vain for escape. Escape from Marc, from Nick, from crime, from everything.

  She’d scarcely given Daniel a thought all day. Without knowing it, he’d become a sort of crutch; whenever she was unhappy, she let her imagination roam. In her head they conversed about his father and he listened with his customary intensity as she explained what it was like to work alongside the man who had taught her everything about detecting crime. Today, for the first time, it wasn’t enough. She needed to get to grips with reality, remind herself that he had Miranda; her man was Marc.

  The television was rubbish. Celebrity mud-wrestling, a sitcom about AIDS, an hour-long documentary about babysitters from hell. Marc had bought her a DVD of a Dionne Warwick concert in Syracuse, but she wasn’t in the mood. She lifted a framed photograph from the mantelpiece, trying not to think when she’d last dusted the surface. In the picture, Marc’s arm wrapped around her as they boarded the liner at Nice. She could still feel the pressure on her shoulder; impossible to believe it was five years since that cruise round the Med. She’d loved going to sleep in one place and waking up in another. They’d lazed around the pool, wandered off on excursions to Taormina and Pompeii. In those days, she’d believed in everlasting love.

  Was he up to something with Leigh Moffat? Was this meeting with the designer simply a blind? He’d slept with her sister, after all. Dale was younger and prettier, Leigh more of an enigma. Hannah had known the woman for years but still hadn’t a clue what went on inside her mind. Perhaps there was nothing personal between them, perhaps Leigh just shared Marc’s determination to keep the shop afloat. Then again…

  Before she knew it, she was sobbing. She hated herself for showing weakness, even when there was nobody to witness it. Thank God Marc was late, she still had time to compose herself. She wanted to swallow a couple of pills to calm her nerves, but she couldn’t do it, she’d have to tough it out. Even though she could no longer dodge the truth. She was frightened that this was the night when she’d lose him forever.

  Kirsty served their meals with a smile so bright, so fixed, so forced, that Daniel knew she must be unhappy. Either that or she was one of the Stepford Waitresses. Yes, she assured him, she was fully recovered. No harm done. She’d spent too long in the sun without a hat, more fool her, that was the top and bottom of it. Yes, she was keen on skydiving, and she was doing a jump for charity tomorrow afternoon. But when he said that he’d spoken to her mum on the phone and met her brother, a hunted look came into her eyes and she fled back to the kitchen without another word.

  ‘She only wanted to know whether you wanted anything else with your fish.’ Miranda spoke more loudly than usual. By Daniel’s calculation, she was on her third large glass of wine. ‘It wasn’t the opening gambit in a conversation. She’s got work to do. Just because her boss can talk for England, it doesn’t mean all the staff love a gossip.’

  ‘You seemed to be getting on well with Oliver,’ Louise said.

  Miranda gave a dreamy smile. ‘He’s rather nice. We have things in common.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Daniel said. ‘He’s into self-help manuals and aromatherapy.’

  She kicked him under the table. ‘Jealous?’

  ‘Madly.’

  She laughed so raucously that an old woman on the next table looked round in alarm. Louise caught Daniel’s eye and flashed a wicked grin. He wished she wasn’t about to leave him. Without her, he’d feel alone.

  ‘You stayed up, then?’

  Marc kicked off his shoes as he walked into the living room. He smelled faintly of old books. Hannah glanced at the clock. Ten to midnight. He was later than expected and she’d had all evening to rehearse, but she hadn’t prepared a word of the little speech she meant to make. Her bones were weary, but she was on edge and there’d never been any danger she would fall asleep.

  ‘I said on the phone, I wanted to tell you something.’

  ‘Can’t it wait? I’m dog tired, there was a hold-up on the road. Overturned lorry. Ambulance, fire engines, the works.’

  ‘Sit down.’

  He stared, then slowly moved to the armchair facing her. ‘What?’

  ‘This is important, Marc.’

  ‘The build-up is daunting enough. You’ve got me shaking in my socks.’

  ‘I’m not in the mood, Marc.’

  He screwed up his face, as if trying to read mirror writing. ‘You’re upset.’

  ‘Not exactly. No, I’m just – wound up, that’s all.’

  ‘Go on, then. Tell me.’

  Her throat was dry. She couldn’t think of an alternative to blurting out her secret.

  ‘I’m pregnant, Marc. We’re going to have a baby.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sam belched and said, ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Come on.’ He pushed aside a coffee mug emblazoned with a picture of a pair of bare buttocks. The odour of last night’s curry masked the smell of burned bacon. ‘You’ve not said a word since you came down.’

  ‘I’m having my breakfast.’

  ‘Doesn’t normally stop you gabbing on. And you’ve got a face on you like…’

  ‘Like what?’ She expected the usual insult, but it could no longer wound her.

  ‘I dunno. Like you’re a stranger here, like you don’t belong any more.’

  She tasted the last of her pineapple juice. Funny he should say that. Was it possible that he was more than an insensitive plank? Too late to find out now. But he was right, she was seeing their home with new eyes. She felt like a traveller wandering through a foreign land without a guidebook. Or even a passport.

  ‘I don’t believe it. You’re not actually concerned about me?’

  ‘Suit yourself.’ The jeering tone reminded her of their father. ‘Wetting yourself about jumping out of that plane, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m looking forward to it.’

  The phone rang. Waiting for her to pick up the receiver, he leaned back on his stool; he had a circus artist’s knack of making it wobble madly, while somehow managing not to fall over. When she didn’t move, the phone kept on – they hadn’t switched on the voicemail – and in the end he gave a long-suffering sigh and answered the call himself.

  ‘Yeah?’ He made a face. ‘Roz? Yeah, she’s here. Just finished her breakfast.’

  Kirsty shook her head vigorously but he stuck his tongue out at her and said, ‘Fine, yeah, I’ll hand you over.’

  She didn’t want a conversation, least of all with Roz, but he’d left the handset on the breakfast bar and she couldn’t leave the woman hanging on. Even now, even after their conversation yesterday and everything that had passed through her mind since then, her instinct was to show good manners. She’d spent so much of her life waiting on people.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Kirsty, thank God! I tried your mobile, but you’ve switched it off. I was so worried about you.’

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Well yes, of course I was. Look, I know it’s dreadful, I know you’re angry and hurting…’

  ‘Sorry, Roz, I have to go now.’

  She’d never heard panic in Roz’s voice, but it was unmistakable. ‘You’re not going to tell anyone, are you? Please say you won’t. Promise?’

  That’s what she cares about, Kirsty thought. More than whether I’m h
urting.

  ‘No, I won’t tell anyone,’ she said and slammed down the phone.

  Saturday was Marc’s busiest day. If he wasn’t in the shop, he’d be exhibiting at a book fair. Today he’d risen before six to load his car and set off for a fair at the Pavilion Gardens in Buxton. Hannah had still been in bed when he bent over her huddled body and she felt his moist lips touch her brow.

  ‘Let’s talk again tonight.’ His voice was hoarse.

  ‘Ummmm.’

  What’s to talk about? she wondered as she picked at a piece of dry toast. Does he think I’ve hoodwinked him, that the pregnancy was no accident? On the rare occasions they’d talked about having children, they’d both agreed they weren’t that bothered. She had her career, he had the bookshop; a screaming baby or two would get in the way. Not that she lacked maternal instincts; when she spent time in the company of friends with young kids, she began to understand the appeal of the small, warm, grubby creatures. She wasn’t like Terri, who made it clear to each husband that she wasn’t a bloody breeding machine. But she always pushed the idea of starting a family to the back of her mind. Plenty of time yet, she used to tell herself. As for Marc, he was like so many men. Wary about fatherhood in the abstract, but once he held his own child in his arms…

  A sick feeling flooded her stomach. Not a symptom of pregnancy, but down to Marc’s reaction. The colour had drained from his face as she broke the news. He’d stammered that’s…that’s wonderful, wearing the look of a man about to walk to the scaffold.

  Face it, she told herself. You want this to strengthen the relationship, make it secure and work long-term. Forget the daydreams about Daniel Kind, Marc is the man you’re with. You’ve never been hung up about having a ring on your finger, but a child is different. You’re committed forever.

  But she wasn’t naïve. This wasn’t guaranteed to finish up happy-ever-after. There could be a dread alternative ending, like those you see as special features on DVD movies, rejected by the producer because they were too dark for the cinema audience’s peace of mind. What if having a baby tore them apart?