‘And lucky old Natasha found herself a cushy billet with a millionaire property dealer.’
‘Maybe Gabrielle had the same idea. Let’s face it, there are plenty of potential sugar daddies in the big villas overlooking Windermere. Whatever the truth, I’d bet the key that unlocks this case is here in the Lakes.’
‘It may have been buried with Barrie Gilpin,’ Nick said.
‘Unless our mystery caller has it.’
‘Jean Allardyce is Dowling’s cousin. Possibly she has something on him, something she’s ready to share with us.’
‘Or on her husband.’
‘What if their marriage has just gone pear-shaped?’ Nick suggested. ‘She might be more willing to talk to us this time.’
‘We’ll find out soon enough.’
They turned into a narrow lane marked with a worn board proclaiming Brack Hall Farm only: no public right of way. As their route meandered through well-kept fields in the direction of the farmhouse, Hannah wrinkled her nose. No matter how long she lived in the countryside, she would never learn to love the smell of manure.
The sound of the car engine set a dog barking. From behind one of the out-buildings, a collie appeared, in belligerent mood. More evidence, she reflected, that animals reflect the personalities of their owners. As they neared the farmhouse, they could see Tom Allardyce, in waterproof jacket and gumboots, washing his Land Rover in the cobbled yard. When he caught sight of them, he spat on the ground.
Nick pulled up alongside the Land Rover and they both jumped out. The air was rank with the smells of sheep and dogs and disinfectant. Allardyce put down his bucket of dirty, foaming water and nailed them with a long hard stare.
‘You’re early.’
‘Sorry, Mr Allardyce,’ Nick said. ‘We’ll sit and wait, if you’re busy. Or perhaps it would be convenient to have a word with your wife?’
‘What do you want to speak to her for?’
‘Oh, you know. Background.’
‘Hard luck,’ Allardyce said sourly. ‘You’ll have to try another day.’
‘Isn’t she around?’
Allardyce shook his head and started buffing the nearside front door.
‘We can wait, if she won’t be long. When will she be back?’
‘No idea.’
‘Has she gone far?’
‘Dunno.’
Hannah said urgently, ‘Can you tell us where your wife is, Mr Allardyce?’
He didn’t even face her as he said in a negligent tone, ‘Search me.’
‘No, I’m not searching you. I’m asking you. Where is she?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’m not her keeper. She’s gone away.’
‘Gone away? Don’t you know more than that?’ Hannah stepped forward to eyeball him. ‘What sort of a husband do you call yourself?’
He gave her a crooked grin and said, ‘Long-suffering?’
Chapter Fifteen
After parting from Hannah Scarlett, Daniel had a sandwich lunch at a café in the Master’s House before returning to the library. This time he was searching out archive materials about Lakeland corpse roads that might provide background for the article he’d suggested to the editor of Contemporary Historian. For the best part of three hours, he lost himself in research. He hadn’t brought his laptop: a conscious decision. It had remained locked in its case and hidden under a pile of magazines at the bottom of a cupboard ever since his arrival at Tarn Cottage. Instead of tapping details into his computer in the manner that had become second nature, he jotted longhand notes in a school exercise book he’d picked up at the branch of WH Smith just down the road, much as he had when revising for his A Levels. It was a nostalgic indulgence, but when he checked his watch and realised that he’d spent longer than he’d intended, it dawned on him how much he’d enjoyed his afternoon’s work. Enjoyment. He’d yearned for it during his sabbatical and been disappointed. In Oxford it had eluded him but here, in a modest provincial library possessing a fraction of the resources available in the Bod, he’d rediscovered the pleasure of historical research for its own sake. At last he wasn’t racing against a deadline for a script or a book, or trying to find a new way of presenting old facts for a tutorial or seminar. He felt as though by chance he’d bumped into a childhood sweetheart and found that she was as much fun to be with as when they were both seventeen and first in love.
The sun made a belated appearance as he started back to the cottage. His mood was light and he followed a roundabout route along leafy back lanes, catching glimpses of Windermere every now and then, and of the chain-guided car ferry chugging across from Bowness to Sawrey. Low branches kept caressing the roof of his Audi. Whenever a vehicle approached from the other direction, one or other of them had to reverse as far as the nearest passing place. But the peacefulness of the Lakes amply compensated for any trivial inconveniences. He could understand why his father had fallen in love with this place, just as he could understand why the old man had liked Hannah so much. He liked her too; he felt sure he could trust her. With a little prompting, she would help him to get a handle on his father’s life after leaving home and to understand at last what had made the man tick.
Turning into Tarn Fold, he saw a flash of yellow shining through the trees. Tash Dumelow’s car was parked close to where he and Miranda had stopped that very first morning when they had found that Tarn Cottage was up for sale. The Alfa came into full view a moment later. It was carelessly parked, making it difficult for him to pass, and it was empty. She’d left the driver’s door open.
What had happened to her?
Puzzled, he pulled up behind the Alfa and jumped out. He had a half-formed idea of going in search, but maybe he was overreacting. Besides, he didn’t know which way to head.
Might she have left the car here and set off on foot for the cottage?
The sun had disappeared again and he felt a chill on his back as he wandered beneath the canopy formed by the trees, trying to decide what do for the best. He heard a rustling and then footsteps, coming from behind.
‘Hi, Daniel, how are things?’
He spun around and saw Tash emerging from a path that led between the trees and down to the beck. An artist’s pad was in her hand. Relief flooded through him.
‘Are you okay?’
She was breathing hard, as though from the exertion of the climb. As she approached, he was conscious of her perfume. Although she was casually dressed in white T-shirt and blue jeans, a second glance revealed that, despite the lateness of the afternoon, they both looked as crisp and freshly laundered as if she’d just put them on. It may have been a long time since Tash Dumelow went slinking on the catwalk, but old habits died hard. Even when she came out to do a little sketching on her own in an unfrequented corner of the valley, she took care to keep up appearances.
‘I’m fine, how are you?’
Rather than answer directly, she asked, ‘Stopping for a stroll along the banks of the beck?’
He pointed to the open car door. ‘Curious, that’s all.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.’ She gave him a teasing smile, but he thought he could detect tiredness and strain behind it. ‘I should have taken more care to park prettily and lock the car up. But one of the nice things about this part of the world is that there’s so little crime. In the pay-and-displays at Bowness or Ambleside it’s different, but I don’t think many car thieves venture this far off the beaten track.’
‘You’re here to paint a picture?’
‘Not today. I’m just working up an idea for my next exhibition. Even though it’s on my own doorstep, I’ve never tackled the old corn mill. I’ve been wandering up and down and on both sides of the beck, trying to decide on the best viewpoint. Thinking out the composition, seeing how the shadows of the trees fall on the brickwork. On second thoughts, I ought to come back early tomorrow morning, catch the freshness of the light when the sun first comes out.’
‘I never realised watercolouring was so complicat
ed.’
‘Well, sketching out a scene soothes my nerves whenever I’m a bit flustered. Some people chill out with music, others with sport. For me, the ideal escape involves heading off alone with just a few sheets of paper and a piece of charcoal for company.’
‘You don’t look flustered to me.’
‘Thanks.’ A brief smile faded. ‘It’s nothing, really.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ Instinct told him that she wanted to say more, but was holding back. She shifted from one foot to another and he was reminded of his time in college, when students wavered before confessing their latest cause for angst.
‘As a matter of fact, I’m worried about a friend of mine.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ He wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to encourage a confidence. Especially from an attractive and very married woman. But he could hardly walk away without another word. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’
‘I hope not. With any luck, I’m over-reacting, making a fuss over nothing.’ Head bowed, she seemed to be deliberating whether to say more. ‘Actually, it’s Jean. You know, Jean Allardyce? She may work for us, but she’s also one of my closest friends. I rely on her a lot. She’s a lovely lady.’
‘As it happens, I saw her again yesterday. I’d been walking along the old coffin trail and she gave me a lift into the village.’
‘Of course, I saw you both. She and I had a cup of coffee in the baker’s after she’d dropped you off.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’
Tash glanced over her shoulder, as if anxious that someone might overhear. But they were alone, and Tarn Fold was peaceful and silent. Daniel couldn’t even hear the sound of distant hammering from the cottage.
‘She’s – well, she’s gone.’
‘Gone?’
‘Left home. At least, that’s the way it seems. We haven’t seen her at the Hall since this morning. She’d said she wanted to have a private word with me about something and we’d arranged to get together at one o’clock, but she never showed up.’
‘Perhaps she forgot?’
Tash shook her head. ‘One thing about Jean, she never forgets.’
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
‘Mmmm…’ Tash was plainly unconvinced. ‘I waited for three-quarters of an hour. By that time, I was very concerned. It was so out of character. I walked over to the farmhouse, but there was no sign of her, inside or out. Tom wasn’t there, either. When eventually I tracked him down, he denied all knowledge of where she might be.’
‘Maybe she’s set off on another shopping trip.’
‘I don’t think so. She’s due to go to the supermarket tomorrow to stock up.’
‘There are other shops besides supermarkets.’
‘But she hasn’t taken the Land Rover and Jean wouldn’t even walk to Brack, let alone any further. She’s suffering from an ingrowing toenail… And there’s something else.’
Gently, he said, ‘Tell me.’
‘When we were in the house, I saw a suitcase, stashed behind the umbrella stand. It bulged as though she’d filled it to overflowing.’
‘It may have been there for ages.’
‘Maybe.’ Plainly she was unconvinced.
‘What did Allardyce have to say about the suitcase?’
‘I – I bottled out of asking him.’
‘But why?’
‘He may be our tenant farmer,’ she said slowly, ‘but he’s his own man. And he has a dreadful temper, not just violent but irrational. He’s always been like that, but lately, he’s seemed worse than ever. You should hear him ranting when Simon complains about the fencing or the fact that the covering on the sheep dipper wouldn’t pass muster with the health and safety people. I keep expecting him to burst a blood vessel. God knows how he’d react if I suggested that his wife might have been preparing to move out. He’s – on the edge.’
He remembered his conversation with Jean Allardyce the day before. ‘She kept a stack of tourist brochures in the Land Rover. Only yesterday she was telling me that she’d like to travel.’
‘Did she give away any clues?’ Tash’s tone was urgent. ‘What else did she say to you?’
‘Very little.’
‘Think back. Was there anything? Anything that might explain what’s happened?’
‘I gathered she was discontented, but I didn’t pick up any reason why she’d choose this particular time to leave home.’
‘You’re sure?’ When he shook his head, she gave a lavish sigh. ‘Thank God for that. I’m sorry, Daniel. I shouldn’t have loaded this on to you, and for no good reason. After all, we hardly know each other.’
‘It’s not a problem.’
‘I have this awful feeling I’ve led you and Tom on a wild goose chase. I suppose Jean will turn up any minute now, safe and sound, wondering what all the fuss has been about. Much to my embarrassment. What’s the betting, she’s back at the farm already?’
‘She’s your friend,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s only natural that you should be concerned. Especially given Tom’s reputation.’
A wary look came into Tash Dumelow’s eyes. ‘That’s not fair. Don’t forget, Jean’s stuck by him all these years. Deep down, he’s not really an ogre. She always said, his time in Northern Ireland cut him up very badly.’
‘But?’
‘No buts,’ she insisted. ‘I’m really grateful for your support, Daniel. You’ve helped to set my mind at rest.’
‘I’m glad.’ He was tempted to clasp her hand, but thought better of it. ‘I only want to help. If Jean isn’t…’
‘No, don’t say another word.’ She tossed her sketching book on to the Alfa’s passenger seat and pulled the ignition key out of the back pocket of her jeans. ‘You’ve been very kind. And so patient. It’s something we women do, isn’t it? Simon’s always saying I worry unnecessarily. Until we started talking, I’d persuaded myself that something dreadful had happened to Jean.’
‘We still don’t know where she is.’
But Tash had climbed into her car. As she switched on the engine, he realised that he was talking to himself.
* * *
‘What is she like?’ It was half an hour later.
‘Who?’ Daniel wanted a few more seconds to compose his answer. He hadn’t told Miranda about his meeting with Tash Dumelow, but he’d been speculating about Jean Allardyce’s unexplained absence and why Tash was quite so concerned about it.
‘You know. Hannah Scarlett.’
‘Oh. Pleasant enough.’
‘Is that all?’
A suitably neutral adjective occurred to him ‘Business-like, I’d say. Yes, definitely business-like.’
‘Did she help you to fill in the gaps about your father?’
‘Sort of. She said he was a decent detective, but I didn’t learn much more. She was pressed for time.’
‘Pity.’
‘I gave her my number. She said she might be willing to meet up again for another chat. In the meantime, she’ll mull over the questions I’ve asked, see what she can do to give me chapter and verse.’
‘I see.’ Miranda took another sip of wine. ‘Well, do you think there was a romance between her and your father?’
‘She said not.’
They were lazing out on the paved area, glasses at their elbows, watching a kingfisher that had become bold enough to emerge from its home in the vegetation on the far side of the tarn. It perched on a low branch of the willow that stretched its claws over the water. Every now and then the bird took flight, skimming over the surface of the tarn in a dazzle of blue and green before flying in a circle around the trees and returning to land on its perch. There it remained, undisturbed by intermittent outbreaks of Eddie’s hammering, a joyless clatter suggestive of sporadic bursts of gunfire in the face of an overwhelming enemy.
‘You mean, you actually asked her?’
‘No, she volunteered it. Perhaps she read my thoughts.’
‘Interesting. Doth the lady protest too m
uch?’
‘She struck me as honest,’ he said icily.
‘Darling, she’s a police officer. They are trained to gather information, not to give it away. And not above telling a few porkies when it suits them. Trust me, I’m a journalist.’
Stung, he almost retorted: Hannah isn’t like that. But really, how would he know?
‘You were never a crime reporter.’
Miranda raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Daniel, I don’t need an apprenticeship in the magistrates’ courts to have an inkling about how the police behave.’
‘Don’t forget, my father was a policeman.’
‘You rarely give me a chance to forget it,’ she retorted. ‘But you never saw him again after you were twelve. As for me, my first boyfriend after university was a DC in the Met.’
‘I never knew that.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ she snapped. ‘Or me about you, for that matter. Anyway, Iain and I had been going out for a fortnight before I discovered he was married. Not just involved, actually married to another woman.’
‘God,’ he said softly. But what really struck him was Miranda’s choice of words. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Or me about you. They’d made a new life together on a whim. It was so out of character for him, he couldn’t quite believe he’d taken things so far. Thank God their love for each other was so strong.
‘Anyone at home?’
Leigh Moffat was peeping over the makeshift barricade created by the tarpaulin-covered pile of timber, destined for the bothy, that Eddie had dumped at the side of the cottage. To Daniel, her auburn hair seemed to have lost its lustre and her earnest features were pale and drawn, as if she’d missed out on a good night’s sleep.
‘I did ring the bell, and knock at the front door,’ she said apologetically, ‘but…’
A renewed onslaught with the hammer finished the sentence for her. ‘Can you squeeze past the stuff?’ Daniel waved at his glass. ‘I’ve just opened a bottle of Rioja. Care to join us?’
The Coffin Trail Page 19
