by Simon Brett
At the time the discovery had caused a huge media furore, which had subsequently died away from lack of information. According to Carole’s archive, the identity of the Lady in the Lake had never been established. Which made finding out what had happened to her an almost impossible task.
And Carole Seddon couldn’t think of anything better to shake her out of her current torpor than an impossible task.
She also realized that she had collected her clippings on the case back in the now-unimaginable days when she hadn’t had a laptop. She had never even Googled the Fedborough Lady in the Lake. How times had changed. Carole, for many years having pooh-poohed the very idea of computers, had now become addicted to the new technology. There was in her personality an obsessive strand — some people who knew her might even have described it as obsessive-compulsive. Along with her paranoia about dirt and untidiness, she suffered from a meticulous attention to detail. . except of course, being Carole Seddon, she wouldn’t have seen it as suffering.
She had entered the words ‘Fedborough Lady in the Lake’ into the search engine without much optimism. The trail must long have gone cold. She anticipated finding a few references to old newspaper reports, the clippings she already had in hard copy form, but not a lot else.
She had, however, underestimated the tenacity of the curious. It soon became apparent that, to a lot of people, the Lady in the Lake case was still very much alive. And if she herself had obsessive tendencies, they paled into insignificance when compared to some of the people out in the blogosphere.
It took some time before Carole got to the personal stuff. As she had expected, the first few hundred entries in Google were just newspaper reportage of the case. But eventually she reached the postings of unqualified individuals, and it soon became clear that some of the more extreme views had to be discounted. Venting their opinions online offered a wonderful new platform to the kind of letter-writers who used to use green ink with a lot of capital letters and exclamation marks. But once Carole had weeded out the seriously unhinged, she found some ideas that were worthy of consideration.
A lot of the postings were very sad. As she read them, Carole became aware of how dreadful it must be when a family member or friend simply vanishes without a trace. In some of the online writers there was a desperation. The hope of seeing the missing person alive again was long gone, all the bereaved asked for was a kind of closure, the confirmation of their worst fears. A surprising number of people wanted to claim the Lady in the Lake as their own.
Carole had opened up a Word file and was starting to make some notes on her findings when she heard the front doorbell ring. She consulted her watch and was surprised to see that nearly three hours had passed since she first sat down in front of the laptop. And that meant three hours during which she had avoided self-pity and recrimination.
Those two emotions, however, returned forcibly when Carole Seddon opened the front door of High Tor. Because standing in front of it was Jude.
‘Oh, I hadn’t really noticed you’d been away,’ said Carole with studied insouciance.
They were sitting in the bar of the Crown and Anchor. In one of the alcoves, each facing a large glass of Chilean Chardonnay. At first Carole had demurred at the suggestion of going for a late lunch at the pub, but Jude had been at her persuasive best and, besides, Carole was desperately curious to know where her neighbour had been for the previous two weeks.
As she was travelling down on the train from Victoria, Jude had decided that her approach would be very simple. It wasn’t in her nature to play games. She would tell Carole straight away about her new relationship, and resign herself to whatever fence-mending and bridge-building efforts then became necessary.
But actually being with Carole didn’t make it easy to carry out that plan. Jude felt an uncharacteristic upsurge of guilt. Now she was away from Piers Targett, it seemed inconceivable that during the last two weeks she hadn’t found a moment to pick up her mobile and call her neighbour. Where had the time gone?
‘And you’ve been all right, have you, Carole?’ she asked. ‘You know, since I last saw you?’
‘Oh yes, never anything wrong with me,’ came the brisk, lying reply. ‘You know how it is. I’ve been busy, busy, busy.’
Someone else might have asked what she’d been busy doing, but Jude was too sensitive to do that. She knew about the deep-frozen loneliness that lay at the centre of her neighbour’s heart. ‘Have you seen Stephen and family?’
‘No, I told you,’ Carole replied sharply. ‘They’re in California.’
‘Oh yes, sorry, I forgot.’
‘Taking Lily to various Disney theme parks.’ She couldn’t keep the disapproval out of her voice. Nor could she prevent herself from adding, ‘For which I’m sure she’ll be far too young. But then, of course, children aren’t allowed to have a proper childhood any more, are they?’
There were some pronouncements from Carole with which, Jude had learned over the years of their friendship, it was just not worth taking issue. So she just said, ‘No.’
A silence was suspended between them. Which was unusual. Though Carole could be spiky at times, they rarely had a problem finding things to talk about.
Eventually Jude said, ‘I was introduced to real tennis on Sunday.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Real tennis. The game. Precursor of lawn tennis. Been around for centuries. You know, Hampton Court. . saggy net. . King Henry VIII. .’
‘Oh yes, I’ve heard of it. How on earth did you get involved?’ Carole looked beadily at her neighbour. ‘Was it because of some man?’
There was never going to be a better cue than that and Jude was about to explain everything when she was interrupted by the arrival of the Crown and Anchor’s landlord, Ted Crisp, bearing the piled-up plates of their lunch. Both had ordered the dish of the day, smoked haddock with bubble and squeak and a poached egg on top.
Unkempt as ever, bearded, haystack-haired, Ted put the plates down in front of them. ‘You’ll like this,’ he said. ‘Chef’s best. Haven’t seen you two for a while.’
‘Jude’s been away,’ Carole responded tartly. ‘Somewhere.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Well, I. .’ Jude found herself blushing. And she never blushed.
‘Never mind, your secret’s safe with me. Anyway, just heard this new joke. .’
‘Oh dear,’ said Carole.
‘What’s E.T. short for?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jude came back at him in music hall style. ‘What is E.T. short for?’
‘Because he’s got little legs!’ Ted Crisp replied with a loud guffaw, and then went off to serve at the bar.
Jude laughed and then explained the joke to Carole, who didn’t find it funny even when she understood it.
Then they got involved in eating their lunch, which was excellent. Ed Pollack, the Crown and Anchor’s chef, really was going from strength to strength.
The two women ate in silence, which was not unusual but was uncomfortable for Jude. She normally felt so serene, so secure in her own skin, that she wasn’t used to the sensations of a simpering schoolgirl. She found herself wishing that when their conversation did finally resume, Carole would have forgotten the point where it had broken off.
It was, however, evident as her neighbour finished the last scrapings of her lunch, laid knife and fork strictly parallel on her plate, dabbed at her mouth with her paper napkin and asked pointedly, ‘So who was it who introduced you to real tennis?’
‘Well, it was-’
At that moment Jude’s mobile rang. She snatched it out of her pocket and saw that the call came from Piers Targett. ‘I must just get this,’ she said, abruptly standing up and moving towards the pub door.
‘There’s a perfectly good signal in here,’ Carole called after her, and as Jude moved outside she could feel her neighbour’s reproachful eyes boring into her back.
FIVE
‘Hello, Jude love. I’ve missed you,’ said Piers’
voice. ‘We’ve been apart now for. . what? Getting on for four hours, got to be. Don’t you ever leave me for so long again.’
‘You are such a smoothie, Piers. And your chat-up lines are cheesier than a month-old Gorgonzola.’
‘I know. Amazing that they still work, isn’t it?’
‘Amazing.’ Jude giggled. ‘I’ve missed you too.’
‘Well, don’t worry. I have arranged our next encounter.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Yes. We will meet next on Wednesday morning.’
‘Will we?’ Jude was quite relieved. She would have liked to see him sooner, but she really needed the next day to get some kind of normality back into her life. Though the cleaning regime she imposed on Woodside Cottage was minimal — certainly compared to the scouring to which Carole subjected High Tor on a daily basis — it still had to be done. And there were messages on her answering machine that needed responses. Clients who depended on her, needed her services.
‘So where are we going to meet?’ she asked.
‘Lockleigh House tennis court.’
‘Oh?’
‘I am continuing your education, Jude. Yesterday you saw real tennis for the first time. On Wednesday you’re going to play real tennis for the first time.’
‘But I can’t do that.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I’m fat and in my fifties.’
‘Absolutely no bar to playing the game. There were people you saw in the Sec’s Cup yesterday who were carrying a lot more weight than you are.’
That was certainly true, but Jude still felt she had to protest, ‘I haven’t lifted even a proper tennis racket for over twenty years.’
‘Jude,’ said Piers Targett sharply, ‘that is the most offensive thing I have ever heard you say.’
‘Sorry?’
‘A real tennis racket is a proper racket. Real tennis is the proper game. “Lawners” is nothing more than a vulgarian upstart.’
Jude hadn’t heard her lover speak like this before and wasn’t sure whether he was serious or not, so was quite relieved when she heard him giggle from the other end of the phone as he announced, ‘Sorry, Jude, but you must get these things right. If you’re going to be spending a lot of time round Lockleigh House tennis court then there are certain basic points of protocol you must understand.’
‘And who says I’m going to be spending a lot of time round Lockleigh House tennis court?’
‘I do. Anyway, the court’s at seven forty-five, first booking of the day. Under normal circumstances I’d say I’d pick you up, but I’m not quite sure what my movements will be that morning, so could you meet me at the court?’
‘Well, yes, I’m sure I could, but I’m not sure that I want to make a fool of myself in front of lots of-’
‘The only person you will be in front of will be me. The professionals don’t come on duty till nine. And, anyway, you’re far too poised and beautiful a woman ever to make a fool of yourself.’ He was silent. ‘Cheesy again?’
‘Pretty cheesy, yes.’
‘Ah well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to learn to live with my cheesiness, Jude. Just as you will with many other less appealing aspects of my character.’
‘And what are they?’
Piers let out a low whistle of admonition. ‘I’m not going to screw up my chances by enumerating them now. Wait till we know each other a bit better.’
‘As you wish,’ she said. ‘Anyway, what about after the game?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Will you be returning straight to London? Or do we get the chance to spend some time together?’
‘We spend all Wednesday together. Including, if I could impose on your hospitality, Wednesday night.’
‘Sounds good to me. I will introduce you to the delights of Woodside Cottage.’ She was about to suggest an introduction to Carole Seddon as well, but no. Too soon, too soon.
‘I look forward to it, Jude.’
‘And then?’
‘Then?’
‘Sorry, it’s just me being practical. There are some healing sessions I’ve got to book for Thursday, but I don’t want to cut across any mutual plans we might have.’
‘I see what you mean. Well, no, sadly on Thursday morning we face another separation.’
‘Oh?’
‘I have to go to Paris on business for a few days. Back on Sunday, I hope.’
‘And what kind of business is it?’
‘Boring stuff,’ said Piers Targett airily. ‘Money, you know.’
And before Jude could ask for a bit more detail, he went on, ‘So the booking at the court’s seven forty-five am on Wednesday. Arrive a little earlier to give yourself time to change. And the dress code is strictly white.’
‘That was the new man, was it?’ asked Carole as a somewhat shamefaced Jude returned to the bar.
‘Yes. Yes, it was.’
‘The one who introduced you to real tennis?’
‘Mm.’
Carole Seddon was desperate to ask more about the mystery man, but equally desperate not to be seen to be desperate about it. She looked around the crowded pub. ‘Ted certainly seems to be doing good business. Excellent for a weekday, isn’t it?’
Jude was quite organized that afternoon. She cleared the messages on her answering machine and set up a couple of healing sessions for the following day. There was a third she said she might do, depending on how drained she was after the first two.
But though she felt better for having made the arrangements — and made a desultory gesture towards cleaning Woodside Cottage — she was still uncharacteristically twitchy. She didn’t enjoy every aspect of being in love. Though no one realized it, the serenity she showed to the outer world had been hard won. She had thought her emotional equilibrium was secure. The arrival of Piers Targett in her life had made her conscious of its central fragility.
She was also annoyed with herself for not telling Carole about him. She should just have cut through her neighbour’s assumed lack of interest and given her the facts. Not having done so left Jude feeling guilty; it was not a sensation that she was familiar with. And not one she enjoyed.
These thoughts were circling unhelpfully around her head when the phone rang. She answered it.
‘Oh, hello, it’s Wally.’
‘Sorry?’ She couldn’t immediately place the claret-soaked voice.
‘Wally Edgington-Bewley. We met up at Lockleigh on Sunday.’
‘Oh yes, of course I remember.’
‘You probably also remember that I mentioned a little book I’d written.’
‘Erm. .’ She had no recollection of it, but didn’t want to sound rude.
‘Little, self-published thing. About some of the world’s real tennis courts I’ve visited with some chums. Called Courts in the Act.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Jude vaguely.
‘Anyway, I said on Sunday I’d like to give you a copy.’
‘Of course.’ This time she gave a better impression of knowing what he was talking about.
‘Well, I was wondering how to get the copy to you. .’
‘It shouldn’t be a problem. .’
‘. . and then Piers said he was taking you up to Lockleigh for a knock-around on Wednesday.’ How quickly news spread in the world of real tennis. ‘Which is going to work rather well, because I’ve got to be up at the court tomorrow, so I could leave a copy for you on the table in the club room.’
‘Well, that’s very kind, Wally.’
‘No problem at all. Be in a brown envelope with “Jude” written on the front in my almost-legible scrawl.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Incidentally, I’m very glad to hear you’re going to take up the game.’
‘I’m not absolutely sure that I-’
‘You’ll love it. Takes about ten years to get used to the dimensions of the court and the scoring and what-have-you.’ Exactly what Oenone Playfair had said. ‘After that it’s plain sailing.’
> ‘Well, I’ll certainly do my best to work it all out,’ said Jude.
‘And, incidentally — ’ Wally Edgington-Bewley paused and his voice became deeper, more personal — ‘I’m so glad that Piers has got you. .’
‘Oh?’
‘. . you know, after all he’s been through.’
Which didn’t do a lot to make Jude feel more settled. She was becoming preoccupied with how much she didn’t know about Piers Targett.
SIX
On the Wednesday morning Jude got a cab from Woodside Cottage to Lockleigh House. She could have asked her neighbour for a lift in her Renault and the request would undoubtedly have been granted. Despite her denials, Carole was infinitely curious about Jude’s life and wouldn’t have turned down the chance of a visit to Lockleigh House. . not to mention the possibility of catching a glimpse of Piers Targett.
But for the time being Jude was inclined to play things close to her chest. If her relationship with Piers continued, there would undoubtedly come a moment when his introduction to Carole would have to be made. But Jude was in no hurry to rush that encounter. Carole had met a few of her lovers over the years, but never one about whom she was so serious.
Following Piers’ instructions, Jude had managed to get together a white ensemble suitable for Lockleigh House. It was a while since she’d worn the shorts and she had to breathe in quite severely to get them on. Picking one of many white cheesecloth shirts was less of a problem and the top she chose was voluminous enough to hide her struggling waistline. She also succeeded in tracking down some white socks and a battered pair of whitish trainers. Piers had advised that they’d change at the court, so she packed her kit into a woven straw basket of African origin.
It was a perfect autumn day when the cab dropped her at the gates of Lockleigh House. Though there had been rain during the night, that had gone now. The air felt crisp so early in the morning but with a promise of warmth later. The Victorian mansion looked huge and impressive. The Wardock family must have had many children to fill its fourteen bedrooms, or more likely the space was designed to accommodate all the guests who attended long country weekends. The house looked to Jude like the perfect setting for a game of Cluedo.
