An April Shroud dap-4

by Reginald Hill

  She didn't reply. Dalziel helped himself to a mug (Bertie's again, he suspected) and poured coffee from the jug she had placed on a tray.

  'You're an early bird,' he said after a scalding mouthful. 'And it's a long walk. What's wrong with them shiny new kitchens down there?'

  'They're for cooking chickens, hunks of meat, a hundred portions at a time,' she said. 'Want a piece of toast?'

  'Thanks,' he said, interested by this sudden thawing. Her dressing-gown was loosely belted and as she bent forward to butter the toast for him, he saw she was wearing nothing underneath.

  He took another more careful sip of coffee and said, 'Careful you don't spill something.'

  'You needn't look,' she said indifferently passing him the toast.

  'Why not? There's no charge, is there?' he said.

  'What the hell do you mean?' she snapped angrily.

  'Nothing. Nothing. How long have you been here with your father, Mrs Greave?'

  She sat down opposite and watched him chew on his toast.

  'Six months, maybe seven,' she said.

  'Six, maybe seven. I see. This marmalade's good. Do you make it yourself, Mrs Greave?'

  'No. ‘Pity. I like home-made stuff. But you've done a bit of cooking in your time. Those sausages last night. Grand! I bet you kept Mr Greave happy.'

  'Pardon?'

  'Mr Greave. Your husband,' said Dalziel. 'What happened? Died, did he?'

  'Yes,' she said.

  'I'm sorry. Poor fellow. What was it? Road accident? Coronary? Now Mrs Fielding did mention it last night, but I can't quite recall.'

  He looked at her expectantly, his expression sympathetic but hopeful like a person's at a funeral.

  'I'd rather not talk about it.'

  'Of course not. Then after the unhappy event, Mr Papworth, your dad, found you a place here.'

  'They needed a cook-housekeeper. And they'll need help when the restaurant opens.'

  'True,' said Dalziel. 'Then you'll be able to use all that lovely shiny equipment. Mind you, things look a bit dicey just now.'

  'I don't know anything of that,' she said, rising. 'I'm just the paid help. Excuse me. I'd better go and get dressed.'

  She made for the door.

  'Don't forget your tray,' called Dalziel.

  She stopped, then slowly returned, picked up the tray and left. Someone spoke to her outside the door and a second later Louisa came into the room. She was wearing a short flowered tunic from which her thin white legs forked with, for Dalziel, all the provocative power of a couple of pipe-cleaners. But tastes differed, he was willing to concede, and he suspected she thought she was the sexiest thing since co-education.

  'That was pretty nosy,' she said as she headed for the stove.

  'You were listening,' he accused.

  'I didn't like to butt in,' she said. 'All that about the way she was widowed. It was embarrassing.'

  Dalziel laughed derisively.

  'What's that mean?' she asked.

  'It means I don't think either of you were embarrassed,' he answered.

  She left the stove, came to the other side of the table, put her hands on it and leaned towards him.

  She'd have to stand on her head and waggle her legs in the air to be interesting, thought Dalziel.

  'Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?' she demanded.

  'I'm a man you punched on the nose without explanation or apology,' he retorted. 'That gives me rights.'

  She decided to postpone confrontation and grinned.

  'You want me to say I'm sorry? Well, I suppose I was later. Hitting a stranger's not like hitting someone you know. But since I've met you again, I'm not certain whether I'm sorry or not. And if you talk to me like you talked to Mrs Greave, I might just punch you again.'

  'Mrs Greave didn't punch me,' said Dalziel. 'And your kettle's boiling.'

  'It's easy to intimidate servants,' she called from the back kitchen. 'If she tells Pappy, you watch out. He's no respecter of persons.'

  'Aye. I doubt if he respects Mrs Greave's person much,' grunted Dalziel.

  'What do you mean?' said Louisa, returning with a mug of coffee.

  'Come on, love,' said Dalziel. 'You're not all blind innocents here, are you? There were two cups on that tray. And a couple of doughnuts as well as toast.'

  'So she's got a sweet tooth and she's giving her old dad his breakfast in bed. I like that,' said Louisa.

  ‘It's not all she's giving him,' said Dalziel. ‘It's plain as the nose on your face. I know a scrubber when I see one.'

  'Clearly I haven't had your educational advantages,' said the girl. 'But if what you say is right, and she's Pappy's fancy bit, what's it matter? He's old enough and conventional enough to feel he needs a cover story, that's all. Your generation's made quite an art of hypocrisy.'

  'What are you, Miss Fielding?' asked Dalziel suddenly. She was taken aback and locked at him in puzzlement.

  'I mean, all the others seem to be something, to have done something. You, though. How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen? Twenty? What do you do?'

  'Haven't you heard?' she said, recovered. 'I've got shares in a restaurant. You might say, I own it. Or will do.'

  'What? Oh, the house. You're hoping to live off your inheritance, are you? It's always the way. What one generation makes, the next spends.'

  'No one asks to be born, Mr Dalziel,' she said.

  'Not many return the gift,' Dalziel said. He was trying to remember what it was like when he was nineteen. The girls he knew hadn't been like this but was that just a difference of class rather than of time? A bit of both. Time marched on, but you could always make allowances. The class thing was different. Dalziel liked a fairly rigid class structure. A sense of social level made people easier to deal with – to manipulate, if you spelled it out. That was also what his job was about. But more importantly it gave a man a sense of what he was, whereas these young sods didn't seem to worry about being anything in particular. And it was catching if you weren't careful. You could wake up and feel the numbness of self-doubt spreading to the heart.

  He rose and went into the back kitchen to boil the kettle once more.

  The girl sat still, inhaling the steam from her cup. She might have been twelve or thirteen, he thought, glancing at her narrow shoulders from behind.

  Suddenly something about her age struck him, something so obvious he couldn't understand how he'd missed it before.

  'How old's Bertie?' he asked, putting a spoonful of instant coffee into his mug.

  'Twenty-four. Why?'

  'And Nigel's fifteen. And they're your step-brothers?'

  He made a business of pouring out the water and looking for the milk. From the outer room came a laugh.

  'Oh, I see. You've just noticed. Yes, Bonnie had Bertie shortly after meeting Conrad for the first time. I think she fell for his Army uniform. She likes men in uniform, you know. She was bringing Bertie up herself when she met my father. They got married. Later I appeared. Then Daddy died and who should turn up again but Conrad. This time she was wise enough, or stupid enough, to get him to the altar. And after fifteen years of intermittent marriage, here we all are. Happy Family.'

  'I see,' said Dalziel.

  ‘It took you long enough,' she said, raising her voice. 'I thought everyone could see at a glance that Bertie was a bastard.'

  When he rejoined her, he saw the reason for the change in tone. Bertie was standing in the doorway. Dalziel looked at his watch. It was still only seven o'clock. They really were early risers here; Bertie was fully clothed and from the look of his shoes, he had been outside.

  'Don't let me interrupt,' said the fat youth, walking through the kitchen. He shot a malignant glance at Dalziel's mug as he passed but said nothing.

  'Morning,' said Dalziel. 'What's it like out? Cold?'

  'Why don't you try it?' said Bertie from the other room.

  'Later. This restaurant was your idea, your mam says.'

  Bertie ret
urned with some coffee and looked insolently at Dalziel.

  'What's it to you?' he asked.

  'Nothing much,' said Dalziel. 'I was just hearing about your financial troubles. Wondering if it was worth pouring good money after bad, that's all.'

  He was quite proud of that. The statement went no further than a general comment but obviously from the glance the other two exchanged it was the particular application that had been made.

  Bertie's voice was definitely politer when he replied.

  'I don't know what my mother's been saying, Mr Dalziel, but you mustn't get hold of the wrong end of the stick. The work's nearly finished as you can see. A token payment of a couple of thousand would get the contractors back in twenty-four hours. There's no question of long-term difficulty. Any finance house would be keen to advance money once they saw the state of the project. It's just a matter of time.'

  'Oh. If that's all… well, I'm glad to hear it,' said Dalziel. 'I must have mistaken Mrs Fielding. Would anyone mind if I fried myself an egg?'

  He didn't wait for an answer but set about the business with the expertise of a man long used to living alone. There was some bacon in the fridge, nice thick-cut rashers which looked as if the pig had seen the light of day in the recent past. He kept his mind off the contents of the foil wrapped package which he had found here yesterday.

  'Anyone else?' he called.

  ‘I’ll try one,' Louisa said, joining him at the stove. 'I can't cook for toffee.'

  'I bet your mam can,' said Dalziel.

  'When she wants,' said the girl. She lowered her voice. 'Don't take any notice of Bertie. He thinks all big businessmen talk like that.'

  'Tell lies, you mean?' said Dalziel, cracking another egg one-handed and draining it through his fingers into the pan.

  'Don't worry, love,' he went on. 'I know you can't even refund the Bowls Club their money. God knows what else I don't know about! No. If I was a finance house, I wouldn't lend you your bus-fare home.'

  'Up you, then,' said Louisa angrily.

  'But I am not a finance house. You know what? I'm going to have mine in a sandwich. It can be messy, but what's life without risks?'

  There was no need for him to be talking like this. The first hint that he might be interested in the project had been justifiable. Even then you had to pretend there was some kind of case and he was investigating it. But this was just economic prick-teasing. He tried to retrieve his position.

  ‘If a couple of thousand's all that's needed. I can't see your problem,' he said, carefully organizing his montage of egg and bacon on a slice of thick-cut bread. 'Your grandfather's got this Gumboot thing coming; how much? Fifteen thousand dollars? Won't he chip in?'

  'Not bloody likely,' said Louisa, eating her egg more conventionally, albeit straight from the pan. 'He's been against the project right from the start. He's got a little bit of money from his writing, enough to pay his way in the house, and there's not much he can do with the Gumbelow money at his age. But he'd rather flush it down the loo than let Bertie get his hands on it. That's how he sees the business, you see. Always has. Bertie's balls-up. They don't get on, you may have noticed. And now Herrie thinks Conrad would still be alive if it weren't for the business.'

  ‘Is that right?' said Dalziel.

  'So any knight in shining armour willing to take a small risk for a short time would be gratefully received and bounteously recompensed.'

  She looked seriously at him and ran her tongue along the prongs of her fork.

  ‘Is that right?' said Dalziel again. 'Short time.'

  He bit into his sandwich. The egg burst, spread, overflowed faster than his mouth could take it in and ran down his chin.

  'I said it could be messy,' said Dalziel.

  8

  Family History

  As soon as it was a reasonable working hour, Dalziel rang the garage.

  Yes, they remembered talking to Mrs Fielding. Yes they hoped to send someone out for the car that day. No, they didn't think it would take long to put it right, just a drying-out job. In fact if they'd realized it was so urgent, they'd have brought it in yesterday afternoon. Of course (full of rural indignation) their breakdown truck could get through the floods if it had to.

  Dalziel arranged to ring them later in the day and replaced the phone thoughtfully. At that rate, he could be on his way by tea-time. In fact it sounded as if he could have been on his way the previous day.

  He was in Hereward Fielding's room and as he left the old man met him at the door.

  'I was just using the phone,' Dalziel felt constrained to explain.

  'There are other phones in the house,' snapped the old man. 'But feel free. Feel free. It's Liberty Hall here.'

  'Are you better?' asked Dalziel.

  'Better than what? I was never unwell, if that's what you mean. I've been wet before, I'll be wet again before I go. You'll see.'

  'There you are, Herrie. Why on earth have you got out of bed? You are being very silly.'

  It was Bonnie, looking very stern and disciplinarian.

  'You must allow me to judge what is best,' said Fielding. 'I am perfectly well. In any case those Gumbelow people are likely to turn up today and I've no intention of letting a lot of damned Americans find me in bed.'

  'They may not come,' said Bonnie. 'Even if they do, you could have waited till they'd rung and said definitely.'

  'The phones in this house are in such constant use that it may prove impossible for them to get through,' said Fielding, glowering at Dalziel.

  'Well, sit down in here. I'll put the electric fire on and get Mrs Greave to bring you some breakfast.'

  'Coffee only and a slice of toast,' said Fielding. 'That woman's not to be trusted with anything else. That meal last night. Vile!'

  'The sausages weren't bad,' said Dalziel.

  'You had sausages? I was given some nauseating stew of a kind hitherto undescribed in prose or poetry, unless on the occasion that Dr Henry Spooner recited the opening lines of "The Burial of Sir John Moore".'

  'It was chicken fricassee and it came out of a tin,' said Bonnie. 'Now go and sit down.'

  She spoke in a stern schoolmistressy tone and Fielding obeyed. Dalziel felt he too might have obeyed if addressed in such a way, but her voice when she spoke to him after closing the door behind her father-in-law was humorously long-suffering.

  'No wonder Herrie and Nigel got on so well! They're both at the awkward age.'

  'Don't you think you ought to try to find where the boy went?' suggested Dalziel diffidently.

  'I'll make some discreet enquiries round his friends,' she answered with an unworried smile. 'Boys of that age are very contrary. Any hint of a search would just make him burrow deeper. Did Herrie say you'd been telephoning?'

  Dalziel considered.

  'No. No, he didn't,' he said. 'But I have. I rang the garage.'

  'What do they think?' she asked.

  'They're not certain. I'm going to ring later.' The lie came easily.

  'Well, you're welcome to stay as long as you need to,' said Bonnie, if you can stick us, that is.'

  'I'll bear it,' said Dalziel. 'Tell you what. I'd like to go into Orburn if anyone's going that way. One or two things I'd like to get.'

  'There's a shop in the village,' said the woman.

  'Do they make up prescriptions?' asked Dalziel.

  'No.'

  'Well then. Perhaps I can phone a taxi if no one's going that way.'

  'Don't be silly. I'll drive you myself. There's always some shopping to get.'

  Any hopes Dalziel had of another solitary excursion with Bonnie disappeared when he met the car outside the house at the prearranged time of nine-thirty. It was an old Rover with what looked like the remnants of a nest in the radiator grille. In the front passenger seat was Tillotson and when Dalziel opened the rear door he found himself looking at Mavis Uniff.

  Bonnie drove with considerable panache, passing through the flooded bottom end of the drive with an angel's wing
of water arcing away on either side. Dalziel hoped the undercarriage was in better repair than the bodywork, but no harm seemed to be done. The suspension felt as if it had given its best and was now in decline, a state understandable if corners were always taken like this. The humped railway bridge where they had stood the previous night provided another interesting obstacle, but the Rover took it like a thoroughbred 'chaser which was more than Dalziel's stomach did.

  They slowed to a sedate fifty to pass through Low Fold village, which was a cluster of cottages, a Post Office, a pub and a church. A thought occurred to Dalziel as they passed this last building.

  'Why didn't they bury him there?' he asked Mavis sotto voce.

  'I don't know,' she replied and, leaning forward to tap Bonnie on the shoulder, asked, 'He wants to know why you didn't bury Conrad in Low Fold?'

  Dalziel shook his head reprovingly at the girl but Bonnie seemed happy to answer.

  'Lake House dead have always been buried in High Fold churchyard. You see, Low Fold's high and High Fold's low, if you follow me. Mike, my first husband's, there as well, so it's convenient for all the family.'

  Dalziel glanced surreptitiously at his companion but no one seemed to find the comment either amusing or odd. He scratched his left armpit thoughtfully and the rest of the journey was completed in silence.

  Orburn appeared to him as a town he'd visited many years ago in his youth rather than one he had left just the previous morning. The main street widened into a kind of square, or rather an ovoid, as if someone had pressed his thumb on the narrow thoroughfares which ran out of it and the street had blebbed to four times its normal width. At one end of the bleb was the Lady Hamilton. Bonnie parked a little farther along, next to a marble statue which age or modesty seemed to have rendered anonymous.

  'There's a chemist's over there,' said Bonnie. 'I'll make for the supermarket first, I think. What are you two going to do? Labour for me or your own thing?'

  Tillotson and Mavis seemed uncertain of their respective plans and in the end Bonnie said to Dalziel, 'See that baker's over the road? There's a little cafe behind it. We'll have a coffee there in about forty-five minutes. All right?'