The Ullswater Undertaking

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Christopher. ‘As Simmy said, we all want the same thing. And we’re all a bit overwrought, with everything that’s happened.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Oliver managed a forgiving smile. ‘Pity poor Fiona, trying to revive a murdered woman slumped between all those filing cabinets.’

  Before Simmy could pick him up on this new detail, Christopher interrupted with some comment about coffee. Then Oliver’s phone rang and he turned away for a brief conversation. Simmy felt weak. She was discovering how little affection she felt towards Oliver. She did not like being snapped at for making perfectly reasonable remarks. Luckily, her baby son was impressively telepathic and began an insistent whimpering on Christopher’s shoulder, bobbing his heavy head up and down, and stiffening his back.

  ‘He’s bored,’ she said. ‘Nobody’s paying him any attention.’

  This was handsomely rectified, not only by the doting parents, but a strange woman who crossed the room to croon and exclaim over the adorable little darling. Oliver sat back, giving an eerie impression of a neglected baby himself. The meal was obviously over, and they took their leave after a few more minutes. Christopher made a token objection to having it paid for by his partner, but Oliver was adamant. Simmy could see that it fed his self-image nicely to be seen as a man of largesse and tried to convey to her fiancé that he did no good by protesting.

  In the car, with Robin far from happy to be squashed back into his uncomfortable seat, Simmy remembered her promise to Pattie. ‘Can we go back to the auction house for a bit?’ she asked. ‘If that Pattie person is still there, she can play with Robin.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ Christopher agreed. ‘Oliver won’t be there, which is just as well. Seems to me you’ve had enough of him for one day. And I dare say the feeling’s mutual. You didn’t make much effort to charm him, did you?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But he’s not my type of man. Much too pleased with himself. Do you like him?’ she wondered. ‘I’ve never heard you say anything against him.’

  ‘He’s been good to me, so I feel grateful to him. The fact is, we don’t coincide much. He only comes in a couple of days a week now. I know he hasn’t given up with business completely, but much of what he does is outside. He goes all over the place, doing valuations mostly. He’s in big demand as an expert, spotting fakes and all that.’

  ‘You mean pictures?’

  ‘Not so much. More along the lines of ivory and tortoiseshell, I think. It’s illegal to buy anything made since 1947, so there’s big business in making things look older than they are. Oliver’s got a very good eye for that. He’s been asked to give opinions on old documents as well. There must be similar clues, I guess – rubbing cold tea into things, and using the wrong ink.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound very scientific,’ she teased.

  ‘No, well – it’s completely beyond my pay grade. I can spot hairline cracks and the wrong sort of screws, but it doesn’t go much further than that.’

  ‘And Oliver cares, does he? I mean, he thinks the rule about ivory and so forth is a good one?’

  ‘I couldn’t say how he feels about it. But it’s bad for business if a lot of wrong stuff gets through. Undermines confidence, so it gets to the point where nobody’s going to touch even the genuine things. If you press me, I’d say what he really likes is the reputation of being an expert. Does wonders for his image – and pays pretty well, if it’s something important. I gather he’s darn good at it. Those Hitler diaries would never have got past him, if anybody had asked his opinion.’

  They were at the auction house, which was showing little sign of life. ‘Most of them have gone home, by the look of it,’ said Christopher. ‘But Pattie’s still here – that’s her car.’

  Simmy extracted Robin from his seat and followed Christopher into the reception area, feeling self-conscious. She could see the main saleroom through a glass-panelled door and thought back to the handful of times she had attended a sale there. The shelves and tables were almost empty now, waiting for fresh deliveries of goods the following day. ‘Why are there things there already?’ she asked.

  ‘Left over from last time. Some of the regular vendors have an arrangement to let stuff go through again. Officially they’re all meant to take it away, but we make some exceptions.’

  She wasn’t sure she quite followed this explanation. ‘You mean if nobody bidded for it?’

  ‘Mostly, yes. It’s not exactly that simple, but you don’t need to know all the details.’ He was speaking over his shoulder as he peered into first one office and then another. ‘Where is everybody?’ he called.

  The man who functioned as a general dogsbody appeared at the main door, through which Simmy and her family had just entered. ‘Hello again,’ he said chirpily. ‘Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.’

  ‘Pattie wanted to see the baby when he was awake,’ said Christopher. ‘Oliver’s gone off for now. Back to normal tomorrow, then?’

  ‘Seems like,’ nodded the man, who Simmy remembered was called Jack. ‘Won’t be like normal without Josie, though.’ He sniffed with a sudden naked emotion. ‘Poor old girl. What a thing to happen. What a thing, eh?’

  His gnomish little face contorted and Simmy wondered whether everyone had overlooked him in the general confusion. ‘Had you known her a long time?’ she asked.

  ‘Man and boy,’ he said, with an attempt at a smile. ‘Must be close on forty years.’

  ‘Don’t tell us you went to school with her as well,’ said Christopher, a trifle impatiently.

  ‘Lived in the same road. Her dad and mine were best mates. She’s ten years younger’n me, but yeah, we went to the same school. Everyone did. Big comprehensive, where else are we going to go?’

  ‘Right,’ said Christopher. ‘Have you seen Pattie anywhere?’

  ‘It was Josie who got me this job, you know. I’d been knocking about doing this and that, nothing regular, and then one day she said she could have a word with Oliver and see if he’d take me on. Been here ever since.’ He sighed. ‘Won’t be the same now.’

  ‘Pattie?’ Christopher prompted.

  ‘Upstairs with the pictures, last I saw her.’

  ‘I’ll go and call her, then.’

  Simmy was carrying the baby on her shoulder instead of lugging him in his seat – which he had been keen to escape. It was by far his favourite position, whichever parent adopted it. It gave him a good view of the world, while being warm and secure. For Simmy, the little head against her neck was bliss. It made her feel connected to him as no other arrangement did, other than feeding. Sometimes she forgot he was there, having a free hand and no cumbersome equipment.

  ‘Seems a contented little chap,’ said Jack, who was hovering behind her. ‘Looks like his dad.’

  ‘Do you think so? Most people say he takes after Christopher’s father.’

  ‘Hm,’ said Jack vaguely. ‘Here’s Pattie, look.’

  The girl came rattling down the little staircase from the upper level where pictures were displayed. Simmy had never been up there and had little idea of what it was like. The building was a converted warehouse, as most auction houses seemed to be. There were odd additions such as half-floors and small side rooms, but almost all the action took place in the huge central space. ‘Is he awake?’ Pattie demanded eagerly. ‘Can I hold him?’

  Simmy was still not comfortable with handing him over to anyone but Christopher and her parents. Helen Harkness had given her no choice and had in the process forced her to relax a little. But she had never met this Pattie person before and could have no confidence that she wouldn’t drop him or squeeze him too tightly.

  ‘Course you can,’ said Christopher firmly, and plucked little Robin out of his mother’s grasp. ‘We only came back so you could have a bit of baby-worship.’ He handed the infant over, and Pattie seized him joyfully. Simmy was left with a cooling place on her neck and a clamouring inner voice saying What if she’s got a cold? Or something worse?


  ‘Did you have a good lunch?’ Jack asked, still hovering.

  ‘Pretty good. Oliver’s cut up about Josephine, of course. It’s going to be bedlam here tomorrow, with everyone trying to figure out the system.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ said Pattie, not looking up from Robin’s little face. ‘Josie wasn’t nearly as indispensable as people keep saying. But we will need a replacement, of course. We can’t do everything with one person missing.’

  Christopher gave a small laugh. ‘Looking for promotion, then?’

  She did look up then. ‘Well, somebody’s got to be manager. I’ve been here as long as any of the others – except Jack,’ she added with an expression that said it certainly wasn’t going to be him.

  ‘What about Fiona?’ Simmy asked.

  ‘She’s got different skills,’ said Pattie tightly. ‘And the others are all part-time. They only work twenty-five hours a week, when you average it out. Even less in one or two cases.’

  Simmy was unsure who ‘the others’ were, exactly. There was a stout woman who sat beside Christopher while he conducted the auction, and a small gang of boys who helped to find lots for the buyers at the end of the sale. ‘Well, good luck then,’ she said doubtfully, aware that she could be missing some powerful office politics.

  Robin was treacherously enjoying his new friend. He gazed into her face and worked his mouth as she talked. ‘Look – he’s copying me!’ Pattie cried. She put her tongue out, and miraculously the baby did the same. ‘What a clever boy!’

  ‘They do that,’ said Simmy.

  ‘Do they?’ asked Christopher, who was every bit as impressed as Pattie. ‘I haven’t seen him doing it before.’

  ‘My mother does it with him.’ She was exaggerating, in a confused attempt to diminish Pattie’s triumph. Angie had in fact only once managed to get Robin to open his mouth when she opened hers right in his face. ‘We should get him home,’ she went on. ‘He must be tired by now.’

  ‘Well, thanks for bringing him,’ said Pattie with a frank smile that made Simmy feel churlish all over again, as she had done with Pattie before lunch. ‘He’s an absolute treasure. You’re really lucky.’

  ‘I know,’ said Simmy, taking the baby back. ‘I still can’t entirely believe it.’

  ‘Every baby’s a miracle,’ said Pattie simply.

  For the first time, Simmy noticed a gold cross hanging round the girl’s neck. Suddenly everything fell into place. She was religious – something that seemed unusual and even slightly embarrassing in modern times. It transformed her into a whole other person – still irritating, but somehow innocent and well-intentioned. She really did believe that every baby was a miracle, precious in the sight of God, and to be cherished accordingly. The aura of blithe confidence made sense, too. But where did that leave the violent killing of her colleague? And did she really imagine she could step into Josephine’s shoes and run the business as it had always been run?

  ‘Thanks,’ Simmy said. ‘I’ll bring him again in a few weeks’ time. He likes you,’ she added generously.

  Christopher took her arm gently, as if approving of her words. ‘Better go,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow, Pat. Don’t expect it’ll be much fun. Where did Jack go?’ he wondered, looking around.

  ‘Oh, he sloped off five minutes ago. You know what he’s like.’

  Simmy wondered whether the patronising look Pattie had given the man had been the cause of his withdrawal. Had she hurt his feelings? Was there some sort of history between the two of them? She found herself brimming with questions to ask Christopher in the car.

  Chapter Twelve

  But there was a new distraction when they got back into the car. Simmy’s phone was poking out of her bag and reflexively she switched it on to check for messages, once she’d secured Robin back into his seat. There was a text from Ben. Where are you? What’s happening? I have info about Hilda you should know.

  She replied briefly saying they were driving home from Keswick and she would call him in an hour or so. ‘Ben says he’s found out more about Hilda,’ she reported, as Christopher turned onto the sweeping A66, which was one of Simmy’s least favourite Lakeland roads. It felt alien – too new and brash and hurtling for the region. Once they’d left it for the much smaller lanes down to Patterdale and Hartsop, she felt more at ease. Christopher was an erratic driver, never seeming to fit his speed to the conditions, causing Simmy to look for excuses not to ride with him more than necessary.

  ‘Oh?’ was all he said.

  ‘What’s the matter? Why are you so quiet?’

  ‘Nothing much. Oliver was awfully pompous, wasn’t he? I’ve hardly ever seen him in that sort of context. He’s always very businesslike at work.’

  ‘He was okay,’ she argued, aware that she was contradicting herself. ‘He’s the sort of man who’s uneasy around babies and female flesh. Has he ever had a serious relationship?’

  ‘That’s what everybody wants to know. We all assume he’s gay, but there’s never been a sign of a paramour. If that’s an acceptable word. He’s away a lot, of course. He might have someone tucked away in a town flat somewhere. My guess is he hates to seem like a stereotype, but really he is. Those soft grey waistcoats and girly fingers – did you notice? All ideal for handling delicate antiques and confirming his image as an expert. But there’s more to him than that. He’s no fool.’

  ‘I didn’t notice the waistcoat or the fingers,’ she admitted. ‘But it was a perfectly nice lunch, and you obviously need to stay on the right side of him.’ And she went on to quiz him about relationships between the saleroom staff, and whether Pattie stood any chance of stepping into Josephine’s shoes.

  ‘Fiona wouldn’t like it,’ he said. ‘But Pattie does have a point. Fiona’s fine with the things and coping with the stressful days when everyone’s running round in circles, but she wouldn’t make a good team leader. I can’t imagine her issuing instructions or trying to teach anybody how to do something. She’s quite driven, I suppose, but only on her own narrow business. She doesn’t do idle chatter and seems uninterested in anyone else’s lives.’

  ‘Was Josephine interested in other people’s lives?’

  ‘Oh yes! She knew the names and birthdays of everyone’s spouse, child and mother-in-law. Not just the staff but most of the vendors and buyers as well. And she had a phenomenal memory for past sales – prices, who bought what, all that stuff. Sometimes it felt as if she imbued the things with a character – a soul, if you like. She’d go all wistful about a bronze figurine we sold twenty years ago. Or if a stray plate showed up, she’d agonise because it could have been matched up with a set that went for six quid back in 2009, because it wasn’t complete. All that sort of thing. She lived and breathed the place. We all wondered whether she had any life at all outside the auction house.’

  This was a new angle on the woman, and Simmy took time to absorb it. ‘She did, though, if she took so much interest in people’s lives. That must have extended beyond her workplace, surely? And what was that about filing cabinets?’

  ‘Say again.’

  ‘Oliver said she was slumped between the filing cabinets – something like that.’

  ‘Did he? Sounds unlikely.’

  ‘It’s definitely what he said.’

  Christopher had nothing more to offer on that topic, so they returned to the question of Josephine’s social life. ‘She did keep up with Fabian, after all,’ said Simmy. ‘And she had a cat.’

  Christopher laughed. ‘Another stereotype, then.’

  ‘You could say that. Maybe anybody who works in the same job for decades turns into a bit of a type. They get stuck in the same routines and are surrounded by the same people every day. Doesn’t that sound sad? A wasted life.’

  Christopher nodded. ‘That’s what I envied about my dad – going to all those different houses, no two days the same. The stories he came home with! It was life’s rich tapestry, all right.’ Kit Henderson had been a carpet fitter for much of his working life.
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  ‘What about you? You’re not trying to tell me you’ll be wanting to move on one of these days, are you? Take up car maintenance or become a postman?’ She was fleetingly concerned that this really might happen. For herself, she had no great argument with a modest number of routines, if they meant she always knew where the next loaf of bread was coming from.

  ‘Definitely not car maintenance. All that horrible oil! And I don’t think a postman’s pay is enough to tempt me.’

  ‘I wonder about Aunt Hilda,’ she went on, thinking of Ben’s message. ‘She must have been open to change and risk, the way she made such a success. Building up a business and then selling it, and going on to something new. It takes courage, especially for a woman.’

  He made a sound that suggested disagreement. ‘I’m not sure we can believe all of it. I mean – we’ve only got Fabian’s word, and he could have been exaggerating. Wouldn’t she be a sort of female Richard Branson, if it’s all true? We would have heard of her.’

  ‘It is true. Ben found most of it online. And she was obviously special if the nephew’s writing her biography. Anyway, Ben wants me to call him. It sounds as if there’s more to tell us.’

  ‘You mean after you’ve fed Young Sir, and checked the post, and listened to whatever Humphrey might have to say, and had a cup of tea?’

  ‘I thought you could do most of that – and I can speak on the phone while feeding. I factored some of that in anyway when I told Ben it might be an hour before I get back to him. I doubt if Robin will want anything for a while, anyway. He’s spark out, look.’ She twisted round to inspect the baby on the back seat. His head flopped awkwardly, almost touching his chest. ‘That seat’s terrible,’ she said. ‘He’d be much better off in a carrycot, like in the olden days.’

  ‘Tell that to the health and safety police. They’d fine you just for thinking it. What if the car rolled over? What if we were in a head-on crash and he shot through the windscreen. What if – um – a horse fell on top of the car?’