The Ullswater Undertaking

by Rebecca Tope

  Simmy felt a powerful mixture of reactions. A wish to co-operate and drive anywhere Ben wanted to go fought against an instinct to stay secure and snug somewhere with her baby. ‘I’ll have to go home and get spare nappies, and have a drink first,’ she prevaricated. ‘But I suppose it’s possible. Not that I see much point in it, I have to say.’

  ‘Come on then,’ he urged, seizing the moment. ‘Do you want me to wave you out?’ He was offering to check for oncoming traffic as she reversed onto the main road.

  ‘No, it’ll be all right,’ she decided. The manoeuvre really wasn’t so hazardous, after all. ‘Just keep an eye out for anything coming on your side.’

  It was accomplished with only a minor bump as Simmy drove over a stone on the corner, and they were quickly back in Hartsop. Robin woke when they came to a stop and began to wail. ‘I’d better feed and change him,’ she said. ‘And he might need a jacket.’ She tried to think through the requirements for taking a young child out in a car for an unspecified length of time. ‘This is still all very new to me,’ she whined. ‘I know I’ll forget something.’

  ‘I can’t see that much can go wrong,’ said Ben blithely. ‘So long as I can get back to my bike at some point.’

  It was half past eleven before they were heading northwards again, this time to turn off the road and cut through Dockray before reaching the A66. Simmy’s mind was far from clear, and she repeatedly asked herself what she thought she was doing. Ben’s insistence that it was vitally relevant was a familiar force that she had often failed to resist. Generally it had turned out to be based on sound sense, with favourable outcomes. But not always. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ she asked him, twice. ‘It all feels really flimsy to me. Those boxes were obviously just handy when Josie wanted them to take junk to the tip or something. I can’t believe there’s anything interesting about them.’

  ‘I admit that’s possible, but on the other hand it could be a brilliant clue.’

  ‘I’m sure there are things I ought to be telling you. For a start, I saw Moxon yesterday. He’s seen at least some of the file on Josephine, but isn’t directly involved in the investigation. Oh – and he wants me to try and talk to a neighbour. Gosh, I forgot that, as well.’

  ‘As well as what?’

  ‘Whatever baby equipment I’m sure I need to have with me. You see women with these enormous bags of stuff, and all I’ve got is a spare nappy and my purse.’

  ‘Who’s this neighbour woman, then? Can we see her now?’

  ‘What? Oh! Well, Christopher thinks it’s daft. He more or less talked me out of it. I can’t even remember why Moxon thought it might help.’

  ‘Neighbours see things. They get a feeling for what’s going on beneath the surface. They watch each other. What’s her name?’

  ‘Mrs Harriman. Christopher knows someone with that name, but thinks it’s a different person.’

  ‘We should give it a try. What’s the address?’

  ‘He wrote it down. I think it’s in my bag.’ She indicated the shoulder bag she’d slung on the back seat next to Robin. ‘I can’t imagine how we could do it. Just knock on the door and say we knew Josie? Which we didn’t. The woman’s a sort of childminder, according to Moxon. She’ll be knee-deep in toddlers.’

  ‘Perfect! You can say you’re looking for somebody to mind your Robin.’

  The thought sent a sharp pang through Simmy’s heart. How anyone could even contemplate leaving their baby with someone other than close family was entirely beyond her. But it seemed to be a viable plan, looked at from Ben’s perspective. ‘So who do we say you are, then?’

  ‘Why say anything? You can tell her I’m a hitchhiker you just picked up, for all it matters.’

  ‘If you were a hitchhiker, you’d stay in the car and let me go in by myself. Instead, you can do all the talking. And we don’t want to tell any lies. That always ends badly.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a lie to say you were going to need a minder, would it? Or is your mother taking him on full time?’

  ‘He’s three weeks old, Ben. He’s not going anywhere.’

  Ben sighed and shook his head at her obstinacy. ‘I don’t know why we’re arguing about it. I’ll be your stepson then, if I have to be anything.’

  ‘I can’t see why you need to explain yourself.’

  ‘You never know. People can be suspicious. I can say I’m worried about my dad because he was terribly upset about Josephine. That might be enough to get her going.’

  Simmy was thoroughly unconvinced. ‘I don’t understand how we get from knocking on her door to talking about your dad – who you’d have to say is Christopher, and that’s a lie that could very easily come back to bite us. Everybody knows him.’

  ‘Let’s just do it, okay? It might turn out to be really easy.’

  Ben had found the address, and asked his phone to direct them to the house. They drove to it without difficulty, only to see a middle-aged woman escorting two children out of the front gate. ‘There!’ said Ben. ‘Couldn’t be simpler. Park up the road a bit, and we can get out and go to meet her. How long does it take to get Robin into his buggy?’

  ‘Ages. Christopher says it’s like a Transformer he had as a child. All the baby stuff’s like that.’

  ‘Keep going to the end of the road then, to give us a bit of time.’

  ‘Honestly, Ben, this is ridiculous.’ But she parked alongside the pavement as instructed.

  ‘It’s not, though. Leave it to me. You’ll see this is going to work perfectly.’

  He sauntered ahead of her, leaving her to assemble Robin’s transport. The baby took exception to being disturbed and protested vigorously. Ben turned back and gave a discreet thumb’s up sign, as if to suggest that Simmy had deliberately upset her child in order to attract the attention they wanted. Outrage at this idea combined with resentment at the complexity of the buggy’s mechanism to effectively increase Robin’s distress. With a final bad-tempered thrust of the seat into the wheeled frame, Simmy got the flanges and sprockets to click as they were intended, and began to follow Ben. Robin’s cries filled the air.

  ‘Oh, that poor baby! What’s the matter with him?’ cried the woman they hoped was Mrs Harriman. ‘Are they with you?’ she asked Ben. ‘Why aren’t you helping your mother? See what a pickle she’s in. That blanket’s going to catch in the wheels, look.’

  Without another word, she bent over the buggy, straightening the covering and cooing over the furious infant. ‘Would you mind terribly if I got him out?’ she asked Simmy. ‘I am very good with babies. Stay there, you two,’ she ordered the toddlers in her charge. ‘Don’t go into the road.’

  Everyone was quickly organised with military precision, and Robin subsided gratefully onto his new friend’s shoulder. ‘Thanks,’ said Simmy on his behalf. ‘He didn’t like being woken up, that’s all.’

  The two small children edged closer for a look at the baby. Simmy smiled at them. ‘He’s called Robin,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a bird,’ said the older child. ‘Like Lark. She’s called Lark.’ He indicated his little companion. ‘She’s my sister. I’m three and she’s two. This is our nanna. We come here because Mummy goes to work.’

  ‘Lark,’ breathed Simmy. ‘Gosh!’ Names never ceased to fascinate her, given how original her own was.

  ‘They must be a handful,’ said Ben to the woman. ‘Do you have them every day?’

  ‘Not quite,’ came the brusque reply. It appeared that questions from young men were regarded as impertinence.

  ‘Well, thanks for sorting the baby out,’ said Simmy, reaching out to take him back. Seeing him on a strange person’s shoulder was unsettling. ‘We should get on.’ Ignoring Ben’s small hiss of protest, she retrieved Robin, and began to settle him back into his buggy.

  ‘How old is he?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Three and a half weeks. I feel as if I’ve had him for ever.’

  ‘You’re doing well. Nice and confident. Seems as if you’re e
njoying it, unlike most.’ She sighed and glanced at her grandchildren. ‘For myself, I can’t get enough of them. I had five, you know.’ She smiled proudly.

  ‘Like my mum, then,’ said Ben, unthinkingly. Simmy gave him a wide-eyed look of reproach.

  ‘Oh?’ The woman looked from face to face. ‘Robin’s your fifth, is he?’

  It was tempting to let the assumption lie uncorrected. But that carried too much risk. ‘No. It’s a bit complicated. He’s my second, actually, but the first one died.’ It was the first time she had given this information to a casual stranger, and it gave rise to a tidal wave of emotion that came quite out of the blue. ‘She was stillborn,’ she added, wanting to give Edith a clearer identity. ‘Quite a few years ago now.’

  ‘That’s very sad,’ said Mrs Harriman in a tone that struck precisely the right unsentimental note. ‘Lucky this one’s a boy,’ she added without further explanation. Ben made a sound expressing confusion, but Simmy understood.

  Then, as if Providence felt the need to move things along, a big square van pulled up outside a house further down the street. ‘Oh, Lord – more police people,’ said the woman. ‘There’s no end to it.’

  ‘Is that where someone was murdered?’ Simmy asked quickly. ‘I knew her slightly. Terrible business.’

  ‘You knew Josephine?’ Suspicion was plain on her face. ‘Is that why you came here?’

  ‘Er …’ said Simmy. Where had she gone wrong, she asked herself. If there had been a cover story planned, she’d forgotten it.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ben boldly. ‘It’s awful of us, I know. But sometimes you just can’t resist. We were going into Keswick for some shopping and decided to take a detour to look at the house. It’s funny, isn’t it – the way we all criticise the public for gawping at accidents or murder scenes, and then we do it ourselves. Nobody’s exempt from the herd, when it comes to it.’

  ‘Um …’ said Mrs Harriman. ‘Well …’

  Lark and her brother were getting restive, hopping around each other and looking quite likely to run off in another few moments.

  ‘Did you know her?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Of course. She came and helped me with these two, once in a while. Told me a lot about herself, as it happens.’ Again, a look of complacent pride. ‘Quite a clever lady, as I expect you know. Up half the night with her researches. I could see her computer screen flickering from my bedroom. Kept me awake a few times, though I never complained. My own fault for liking to keep the curtains open.’

  ‘She was clever,’ said Simmy. ‘A real expert, in fact.’

  ‘What was she researching?’ asked Ben, with another of his annoying direct questions. It occurred to Simmy that his interview technique was sorely lacking in finesse.

  ‘Don’t ask me. History, I think. Something about the war and the people around Churchill. She never gave me any details. Struck me as a bit dry, to be honest. And then all those filing cabinets arrived. Whatever’s going to happen to all that stuff now, I wonder?’

  ‘Was she writing a book or something?’ asked Ben.

  ‘That’s what I presumed, but she never said so exactly. All I can say is she enjoyed a walk with the kiddies, and she was very good with them for a maiden lady. Told them little stories and made up games.’ Her eyes suddenly turned pink around the rims. ‘And to think some monster killed her! It’s beyond all belief. It’s given me a real turn, I can tell you. Can’t settle in my own house for thinking about it. That’s why we’re off again now. Taking them to the cafe down the road for some lunch. I’m not a gawper, like you,’ she concluded crossly. ‘All I want is to get away from the whole horrible business.’

  It was all they could hope for. ‘Well, nice talking to you,’ said Ben, holding out his hand. ‘My name’s Ben, by the way.’ He looked down at the children. ‘And I won’t forget that I met a little girl called Lark.’

  ‘And I’m Chrissie Harriman,’ said the woman.

  They drove to the auction house in a state of some excitement. In the back, Robin was whimpering softly, as if trying to decide on which mood to opt for.

  ‘That was Chrissie Harriman,’ said Simmy, more than once, still not quite able to believe it. ‘Christopher knows her. She’s a regular at the auction. He said this person couldn’t be her.’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘It closes the circle. Or at least makes the whole circle smaller. Everyone’s more tightly connected than we thought. I’m glad I didn’t tell her who I was. That might have got seriously complicated.’

  ‘It went well, though,’ said Ben with satisfaction. ‘Even talking about Churchill! She’s probably got Winston and Randolph confused, but that doesn’t matter. Just the fact that Josephine mentioned the name clinches it – I must have been right about the politician in the scandal. Amazing, the way we got all the questions answered so easily – in about four minutes. Fancy calling that poor child “Lark”. I wonder what the boy’s called.’

  ‘I’m hungry,’ she realised. ‘Do you think we could find some food? A garden with a pub would be nice.’ She laughed. ‘I mean a pub with a garden. What’s happening to my brain? I could probably feed Robin at the same time.’

  ‘Does that child never stop eating?’

  ‘Don’t say things like that,’ she flashed at him. ‘I’m warning you. If you can’t say something positive, don’t say anything at all.’

  Suddenly he was no longer the schoolboy she still assumed him to be. He had turned into a man when she wasn’t looking – albeit a man who appeared young enough to be her son, in the eyes of passing strangers. Now he gave her the same look that men everywhere gave when a woman stepped over a line. The subtlest automatic glance of offended superiority. Even now, after decades of female aggression, it lurked deep inside. Even when their own powerful mothers did it, they reacted like this. Ben sniffed and muttered ‘Okay, then,’ before changing the subject. ‘There’s a pub along here, I think.’

  They found a table in the agreeable spring sunshine and Simmy gave Ben money to go and order food and drink. ‘Something with plenty of carbs,’ she said. ‘A ploughman’s would be perfect.’

  ‘Ham or cheese?’

  ‘Both, if they’ll do that.’

  He was soon back, carrying two pint glasses of beer. Here was further evidence of his maturity. The Ben she thought she knew had been wary of alcohol. Student life had done its usual trick, she supposed. ‘Food won’t be long,’ he said.

  As she suckled her infant, with a modest cardigan thrown over her nakedness, she tried to analyse the fresh information concerning Josephine. ‘I’m sure Christopher didn’t know anything at all about that researching or whatever it was,’ she said. ‘He never mentioned it.’

  ‘I got the impression it was kept very separate from her day job.’

  ‘Mm.’ She found herself feeling very sleepy again. It had been a short and broken night and a busy morning. The beer wasn’t helping. ‘Gosh, I’m dozing off here,’ she said. ‘Do something to wake me up.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Go over all the connections between Fabian’s family and Josephine, and see if we’ve missed something. There’s a whole lot I haven’t told you about Richmond yet. Did I say he’s only got one arm?’

  They were interrupted by the arrival of their food, the man bringing it showing extreme alarm at the nursing mother in front of him. Ben and Simmy merely smiled their thanks and quickly started to eat.

  Ben spoke with his mouth full. ‘You’ve barely said a word about Richmond so far. We dashed up to Hilda’s house without any proper debriefing. Not that it matters. We can do it now.’

  But they were interrupted after two or three minutes by Ben’s imperious phone, playing a tune that Simmy didn’t recognise. After only a few seconds he handed it to Simmy, saying, ‘Bonnie wants you.’

  ‘I knew he was with you,’ the girl explained. ‘You’re not answering your own phone. I’ve tried about ten times.’

  ‘I’m not even sure I brought it with me,’ Sim
my confessed. ‘We left in a bit of a rush. What’s the matter?’

  ‘The thing is, Verity’s had to go home, so I’m here all on my own and it’s quite busy. She only stayed about an hour and then dashed off. What do you want me to do? There are three deliveries booked for this afternoon, which I can’t possibly do.’

  ‘What’s the matter with Verity?’

  ‘It’s not her. It’s her mother. She fell downstairs or something and they think she might die. It’s all rather a drama.’ Bonnie’s tone was commendably calm and Simmy felt a matching absence of panic. ‘There’s not much point trying to get Tanya – she can’t do deliveries, either. I was wondering if your mum …’

  ‘No, no,’ said Simmy. ‘Listen – I can come in for a bit this afternoon and do the deliveries. We’re having a quick lunch and then going to the auction house. We found something that Ben thinks is exciting this morning and he wants to have a look at the computer in the office there for the archives. We can tell you all about it when we see you.’

  ‘That’s great! You sound quite fired up. How’s the baby?’

  ‘He’s behaving beautifully, even though Ben seems to think he has too many feeds.’ His remark was still rankling, she discovered, to her own shame.

  ‘What does Ben know?’ said Bonnie supportively. ‘He’s only a man.’

  ‘Anyway, give us a couple of hours at most. Ben’s bike is in Troutbeck, which will mean a bit of a detour. There’ll be awful traffic, as well. Where are the deliveries to go to? Did Verity put fuel in the van this week?’

  Bonnie filled her in on the details, and Simmy ended the call on a surprising high. It was deeply satisfying to be needed by her assistant, to be reassured that the shop was still hers, and there were times when only she could deal with its needs. Her identity as a businesswoman and a florist was still intact, just beneath the new role as mother. She bounced Robin on her arm, as if encouraging him to share her foolish elation.

  Ben had gleaned almost everything, including the reference to his tactless comment about the feeding of babies. ‘We’re going back to Windermere, then?’ he said.