The Grasmere Grudge

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘My omelette wasn’t bad,’ said Bonnie.

  ‘My salad was nothing special, but I wouldn’t complain about it,’ agreed Simmy.

  ‘I didn’t even notice,’ admitted Christopher. ‘But I’m no gourmet.’

  Ben was writing in his notebook, waiting for the food talk to stop. ‘Well?’ he prompted the older man.

  ‘I really have no idea what he was doing. His van was parked in the cul-de-sac – that doesn’t mean he meant to collect anything. It was his only means of transport. Jon phoned me on Monday morning and said would I come and meet him at the house, because it couldn’t be much longer before the all-clear, and he wanted to be ahead of any competition. He was never one to hang about.’

  Ben wrote busily. ‘How did he get in?’

  ‘He knew where there was still a spare key.’

  Ben raised his eyebrows. ‘So that proves he was known to Mrs Leeson last year. Why are you trying to make us think otherwise?’

  Christopher sat back, glaring at the boy. ‘I’m not doing any such thing All I’m trying to do is stick to the facts, without making wild guesses.’

  ‘Jonathan called you on Sunday,’ Simmy said suddenly. ‘In a state about something. The business with Nick – right?’

  Ben winced at this hijacking of his interrogation but made no attempt to interrupt. He merely waved his pencil in reluctant encouragement.

  Christopher, however, seemed glad of her question. ‘Nick was miles away, all day Monday. No way could it have been him.’

  ‘But you gave his name to the police, didn’t you?’ said Bonnie. ‘Because he had some grudge against Jonathan.’

  ‘Yes, I did. But since then I’ve heard that Nick was way over in Leeds, all day Monday. He’s in the clear.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ben made a note. ‘His alibi will have been checked by now, then.’

  Christopher addressed Simmy. ‘Jon was worried about Nick being pissed off with him. That was mostly what he called about on Sunday. When the cops asked me straight out whether I knew of any trouble, I didn’t see any option but to tell them. Somebody else would have, if I hadn’t. It wasn’t exactly a secret. And now it doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s got nothing to do with Jon being killed.’

  Nobody seemed sure where to go after that. A silence fell. ‘Have we finished?’ Ben asked, indicating the empty plates. ‘Or does anybody want pudding?’

  ‘What about the tapestry thing?’ Simmy said, having taken on Ben’s role as prompter. She was the link between Chris and the other two, or perhaps a conduit. She had passed on what she could remember of the events of Sunday and Monday, risking her fiancé’s wrath at her disclosures.

  Christopher sighed again. ‘Stumpwork,’ he corrected. ‘It’s nothing like a tapestry. Or needlepoint, come to that – which is the correct term for what people call tapestries these days. I could explain, but it’s really not relevant.’

  Ben waved his pencil again.

  ‘It sold for umpteen thousand pounds, while we were away,’ Simmy elaborated. ‘Chris’s auction house sold it for Jonathan. My mum saw it in the paper and asked me about it.’

  ‘Aha!’ said Ben. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. What happens to the money, now Jonathan’s dead?’

  ‘He’s got a wife,’ said Christopher, to everyone’s surprise. ‘She’s called Valerie and lives in Carlisle. He left her about five years ago, but I don’t think there was ever a divorce. I met her a while ago, actually. They’re fairly amicable – just can’t live together. I think there’s a new boyfriend moved in. Jon wasn’t too happy about that.’

  ‘Men!’ tutted Bonnie. ‘They always want to have their cake and eat it.’

  ‘Sounds like a quote from Corinne,’ smiled Ben. ‘In this case, I’d say it’s more a matter of dog in the manger. There’s no logic to it, but it’s very common.’

  ‘So, Valerie gets the money,’ Simmy said. ‘Does that make her a suspect? Is she big and strong?’

  ‘She is, quite. But there’s no way she’d kill him.’ Christopher was emphatic.

  ‘Oh!’ Simmy’s sudden cry made everyone jump. ‘There’s Flo,’ she went on, before getting up from her seat. ‘Hey – hello again!’

  A woman pushing a baby buggy was passing the open area where the four were sitting, keeping well to the side of the street, which had no pavement. She paused, hearing her name, then smiled. ‘Oh, hello,’ she said.

  Within seconds Simmy was bending over the buggy, where the baby was slumped, fast asleep. ‘How’s she been?’

  ‘She’s fine while we’re in motion. I’ve walked all the way from home. We’re going to see Daddy – beard him in his den, sort of thing.’ Anxiety crossed the woman’s face. ‘But I’m not sure he’ll be very pleased. He might not want to be distracted if he’s in the middle of something.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Why? Where is he?’ Simmy asked.

  ‘He’s got an office in an old converted chapel, just around the corner from here. He said he’d be working late again. Quite honestly, I’ve got rather sick of it. I blame you, really. You made me see how spineless I’ve been since Lucy May was born. She’s his child too – he needs to spend more time with her and take on some of the hassle.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Simmy supportively. At the same time, she found herself all too well aware of the stereotype, in which the wife walks in on a steamy session involving the husband and his secretary. ‘What does he do, anyway?’

  ‘He’s area manager for CaniCare. You know – the charity that rescues dogs and gets vet care for them and finds new homes. It’s a big outfit now. They’ve got shops all over the north-west.’

  ‘Is there one in Grasmere?’

  ‘No.’ Flo looked around herself, with an expression that said, When have you ever seen charity shops in Grasmere? ‘But there’s one in Ambleside, and another in Keswick. It’s only been in existence for two years, and it’s already huge. Everybody loves dogs, you see.’

  ‘But you haven’t got one?’

  The woman laughed. ‘No. I’m not that crazy about them, personally. If they’re big they scare me, and if they’re little they annoy me.’

  ‘I’m a bit the same,’ said Simmy. ‘Oh, sorry – these are my friends. Ben and Bonnie – and Chris. He’s my fiancé. This is Flo – and Lucy May,’ she told the others. Christopher had turned away, apparently examining his left thumbnail with great interest. He gave Flo a quick glance and a nod, saying nothing. She said a general ‘Hello’ to the three of them, and then Simmy started talking again.

  ‘We’re thinking of moving up here, actually. You don’t know any houses for sale, do you? Or rent, I suppose.’

  ‘There’s one or two, I think. I haven’t been taking much notice lately. It’d be nice to have you living close by,’ she added simply.

  Christopher had got to his feet and now approached, holding out his hand for a formal shake. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘How old’s the little one?’

  Flo gave him a thoughtful look before answering, ‘Three and a half weeks. We’ve got to go to a check-up on Friday. I’m dreading it. They’re sure to say she’s not gaining enough weight.’

  ‘Screw ’em,’ he said blithely. ‘What do they know? She looks fine to me.’

  And what do you know? Simmy wondered silently.

  Flo laughed. ‘I’m so glad I bumped into you. I couldn’t bear to waste another evening just sitting about worrying and trying to keep the little beast quiet. I’ll have to keep moving, though, or she’ll start off again. I never expected to become such a slave,’ she wailed, in mock distress. ‘You never think it’ll happen to you, when people tell all those melodramatic stories about new babies.’

  Christopher met Simmy’s eye with a grimace. ‘There must be compensations,’ he said.

  ‘Not many, so far. But I guess it has to get better. Once she starts talking, I’m sure I’ll find her delightful.’

  Ben and Bonnie were still at the table. ‘We haven’t paid,’ Ben called now, wavi
ng a slip of paper that was presumably the bill.

  ‘Oops,’ said Christopher, and went back to the youngsters.

  ‘Bye, then,’ said Flo.

  ‘Phone me,’ said Simmy urgently, walking along with her. ‘The shop’s in Windermere. Persimmon Petals. There was a card with the flowers. That’s got my mobile number on it as well. I’d love to keep in touch.’

  ‘Me too. I can introduce you to a couple of women here, if this is where you’re going to live. And you should meet Scott. He knows practically everybody in town. He grew up here, you see, and spent most of his life here as well.’

  A thought struck Simmy. ‘He didn’t live in that same house, did he? With his previous wife?’

  Flo cast her eyes upwards in a mixture of self-disparagement and resignation. ‘How did you guess? Classic, isn’t it? I redecorated it, and bought new carpets and things, but somehow it still isn’t really mine. It was all very logical, and it’s a lovely house, but …’

  ‘Simmy!’ Christopher was calling her, and she realised she’d walked a hundred yards or so as she talked to Flo.

  ‘Better go,’ she said. ‘Good luck with Scott.’

  ‘Thanks. I might need it.’

  Ben was talking earnestly to Christopher when Simmy rejoined them. ‘This needlework thing – what was it exactly? Where did Jonathan get it from? It sounds like something a person might kill for.’ He seemed very young to Simmy, manifesting his more insensitive geeky side, just when she most wanted him not to. Chris was clearly not inclined to answer the questions being thrown at him.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ said Simmy. ‘I’m sorry I ever mentioned the thing now.’

  ‘Lucky you did,’ said Ben. ‘It’s bound to be relevant.’

  ‘It’s not,’ said Chris.

  ‘Did the police ask you about it? Did they know it was Jonathan’s? It was your auction house that sold it, after all.’

  ‘He brought it in months ago, wanting us to value it. I had no idea, so passed him on to Oliver. He got very excited and said it could fetch five grand on a good day. It was entered for the sale the weekend before last, when Simmy and I were away. I forgot all about it until Monday, when Oliver caught me, and said it’d gone for fourteen thousand. He was feeling a bit silly for undervaluing it – but happy about the commission, of course. And the publicity didn’t hurt.’

  ‘Didn’t Jonathan say where he got it from?’

  ‘He hinted that it was a car boot sale. Picked it up for almost nothing. But he wouldn’t say exactly.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ said Bonnie. ‘People are going to be cross with him.’

  Christopher shook his head. ‘It’s fair game. Happens all the time. I know a man who finds something worth hundreds just about every week, amongst jumbles of junk on some old lady’s stall. Vinaigrettes are the thing, just now. Nobody knew what they were, and they let them go for peanuts. Except, as of a month or so ago, they’ve become popular. There was one on the TV and now everybody recognises them.’

  ‘I don’t know what they are,’ said Simmy. ‘But fourteen thousand is a bit different from hundreds. Didn’t Jonathan have a moral obligation to try to share it with the poor person who innocently sold it to him?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Chris was vehement. ‘I told you – it’s all part of the game. There wouldn’t be any dealers if they weren’t allowed to hope for a big profit once in a while. They have to make a living. He deserved the cash for having recognised the thing for what it was. That’s how it all works.’ He was speaking loudly, attracting attention from people in the street.

  Simmy was still not sure she agreed. She was put in mind of her mother’s abhorrence for agents of any sort. Dealers seemed to fall into the same category. ‘It sounds dodgy to me,’ she said boldly. ‘Dealers are just parasitic middle men, as my mother would say.’

  ‘Vinaigrettes are tiny little objects containing a sponge soaked in vinegar,’ said Ben, informatively. ‘They were used in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries to ameliorate the worst of the smells out in the streets. Made of silver, and sometimes gold. They come in lots of different shapes – animals, boxes, all sorts. People collect them.’

  ‘They sound lovely,’ said Simmy, in wonder, thoroughly distracted.

  ‘They are,’ agreed Chris.

  Ben was fingering his phone and showed Simmy the results. The eBay website displayed a long page of the very things described. It was a revelation. ‘Wow!’ she gasped. ‘I want to collect them.’

  ‘Too late,’ her fiancé advised her. ‘You need to be onto the next thing. Something you can buy for a quid and keep safe until the world wakes up and wants them. The trick is to stay a couple of steps ahead.’

  ‘You’re right. It’s a game,’ said Simmy, thinking again that there was something unsavoury tucked beneath the excitement and competition surrounding the business. ‘Makes you wonder whether people value the things for their own sakes.’

  Chris looked at her as if she’d directly criticised him. His grey eyes seemed to shrink into his head, and lines appeared at the sides of his mouth. ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Sorry. I don’t know anything about it, really.’

  He changed the subject. ‘How are those two getting home?’

  ‘I’ll have to take them.’ She bit back the obviously. In fact, the buses ran frequently enough to be a viable alternative, but she had no intention of abandoning her charges. ‘But we can have an hour or so exploring the town, if you like. They can amuse themselves well enough.’

  Ben heard her and flapped a hand in careless complicity. It was approaching seven-thirty, the sky still as light as midday. ‘We’ll stroll along to the lake and talk everything through,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t feel as if we’ve got anything like the full picture yet. We can go up that lane past the car park. See you at the car at half past eight, okay?’

  ‘Be careful,’ said Simmy, in spite of herself. Ben had found himself in jeopardy on the banks of another lake, less than a year before. Even though he seemed so much older now, there were still moments of vulnerability.

  ‘Simmy!’ Bonnie protested with a squeal.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Simmy again, thinking she must be getting more like her mother than she ever expected to, if people were so affected by things she said.

  The couples separated, one pair heading north and the other south. ‘We could go as far as the cemetery,’ Christopher suggested. ‘There are one or two nice houses along the way. We can imagine how it would be to live here.’

  ‘Lovely,’ she gushed. ‘It does have a nice atmosphere, doesn’t it. My father says Walter Scott was very fond of it.’

  ‘Touristy, though. They get coachloads of Chinese, apparently.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘They go to Dove Cottage and come into town for cream teas. Poor old Jon hated them. Going back to what you said before, he was a dealer who really did appreciate the things for themselves, you know. He would finger them, and bone on about the workmanship, and quality of the materials. He couldn’t stand modern plastic junk. It hurt him the way young people show no respect for good old things. He worried that half of it would just get thrown out over the next fifty years or so. I guess you could say he’s well out of it, as far as that goes.’

  ‘No, you can’t say that. How old was he?’

  ‘Late fifties, I s’pose. Looked more. He’d had a hard life. Never held down a proper job. Lived on his wits. A bit of a type, you could say. The saleroom’s full of them.’

  ‘You liked him,’ she realised.

  ‘I couldn’t help liking him, most of the time. But I still wish he’d called someone else, instead of me.’

  ‘You sounded quite critical of him on Sunday,’ she remarked.

  ‘I don’t think I did,’ he said irritably.

  ‘What’s this street called?’ She looked round for a sign. Yet again she was retreating from sensitive territory, to avoid wounding Christopher’s feelings. She had to stop doing it, she told herself
.

  ‘Broadgate. It goes up to the main road. There aren’t many likely properties this side of the road, though. We’d be extremely lucky to find one for sale. I had a quick google today and found one at half a million quid and a couple of tiny flats. It’s better the other side – they’re building some new ones as well, I notice.’

  ‘What about renting?’ The prospect of selling her Troutbeck house was weighing heavily. Perhaps she could let it out and use the money to fund somewhere in Grasmere. Would that sound silly if she voiced it?

  ‘Or we could rent,’ he agreed easily. ‘That’d be quicker to organise. I doubt there’s anything available, though.’

  ‘It’s lovely here, isn’t it?’ She stood still, gazing all round herself. The landscape was different from that of Troutbeck, the fells more craggy, with more level ground between them. They had passed a small field with a large house on the far side of it, and a steeply rising fell behind it. The church stood at the southern side of the settlement, with large hotels providing the major landmarks. The main business was near the church, with touristy shops and the ubiquitous tea rooms on both sides of the street. They had walked northwards from there, along a fairly wide street with shops along one side and no sign of any ordinary residential houses. Nor could she see any Chinese tourists. All gone back to a big hotel for the night, she assumed. Grasmere had very little by way of night life, as far as she could see. The restaurants she’d paused to inspect all closed at nine o’clock.

  ‘Bonnie was quiet,’ said Christopher suddenly. ‘Doesn’t she like me?’

  Simmy smiled. ‘It’s not that. She’s always ill at ease where food’s concerned. Eating with other people is a strain for her. She had very bad anorexia only a few years ago, and I doubt if she’ll ever be altogether normal about it. Ben’s been fantastically good for her. He’s so gentle and understanding. It makes you want to cry, sometimes.’