The Grasmere Grudge

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘What’s her name?’ asked Simmy.

  ‘Daphne. She lives at Rydal. She was after Philip for years when his wife died. She’s quite a bit younger than him. He would never agree to live with her, but they’re quite pally. There was some sort of incident between her and Kathleen a while ago now. Fighting over Philip, Corinne says.’

  ‘Wow!’ Ben’s excitement was palpable. ‘There’s scope for a good grudge there, then. Though we’d have to work out where Jonathan fitted in.’

  Bonnie’s face went blank, and she shrugged. ‘No idea about that.’

  ‘Something to do with Kathleen’s things going off to auction,’ said Ben. ‘Must be. And that drags Christopher into it.’ He was quiet for a moment, before saying, ‘You know, Christopher really didn’t want to tell us much, did he? There must be more connections than he told us about.’

  Simmy felt stirrings of an excitement to match Ben’s, combined with defensiveness on Christopher’s behalf. ‘That stumpwork thing! What if somebody thought they ought to have had it, for some reason? That’s the linking element, surely? Jonathan getting all the money for something that should never have been his. And we still don’t know where he got it.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Ben raised a hand. ‘What does that have to do with Philip or Kathleen?’

  ‘Um … nothing, I suppose. It just jumped into my mind when you said something about connections. Won’t the police think it’s relevant, once they find out it was Jonathan who sold it?’

  ‘It adds a nice extra layer for investigation,’ said Ben happily. ‘And well done, Bonnie, for remembering about the Daphne person.’

  Bonnie smiled modestly. ‘And Simmy can get the whole story out of Corinne tomorrow evening, can’t she? They’re going off for a girlie natter somewhere.’

  Simmy had forgotten about her date with Bonnie’s foster mother. ‘So I am,’ she said. ‘But I still don’t know where.’ They were almost in Windermere. ‘Where do you want me to drop you?’ she asked Bonnie. ‘Yours or Ben’s?’

  ‘Ben’s,’ said Bonnie. ‘Listen – Corinne’s going to text you. I think she’s got somewhere in Ambleside in mind for your meet.’

  Thursday was still not as sunny as it might have been. The middle of June, with the farmers striving to gather in their hay, ought always to be bright and warm. Flaming June, as Russell Straw observed every year, was almost certainly an example of good British irony. June almost never flamed. It drizzled and floundered in varying degrees of cloud.

  Simmy got to the shop in a wary mood. The four-way conversations of the previous evening had raised far more questions than they resolved. The murder of Jonathan felt much more of a threat to her own personal hopes and dreams than she had initially imagined. Ben and Bonnie would require her to remain centrally involved, as they examined every detail they could ascertain from Christopher and the Internet. Not that she was anywhere near as reluctant to participate as she had been on earlier occasions. This time, she felt needed. Christopher was made uneasy, even frightened, by many of the implications. His nature was that of a maverick, where rules went ignored if they didn’t suit him – not too unlike his own description of Jonathan, she realised. Christopher disliked the police with the same instinctive response as Angie Straw’s. He regarded them as bad news, to be avoided as much as possible. Simmy understood that his afternoon in Penrith, being interviewed as a potential suspect in a murder, must have been deeply unpleasant. So much so, that he still hadn’t told her anything about it. Ben’s comment on the dearth of real information from Christopher recurred to her, with fresh impact. Was there something he was deliberately concealing, or did he just hate talking about it?

  The wariness, she realised, was more on behalf of Chris than for herself. Her role was to protect and console him as far as she could. There was a sense that he might be in danger; that he might know the person who had killed his friend, and who just might have reason to kill Chris as well. This thought had come to her during the night, loud and clear, but also illogical. Whatever the motive for the murder, she could see no credible way that it could extend to her fiancé. And yet … there were so many aspects to the story that she didn’t understand. Even the relationship between the auctioneer and the house clearer was obscure. It could not be very long-standing, since Chris had only lived in the area for three years. Jonathan had a wife, albeit estranged. He spent much of his time in a big blue van, crossing the country in search of valuables. There had to be a dozen auctioneers he dealt with regularly, who probably regarded themselves as his friends, just as Christopher had. He must know scores of people. And any one of them could have wanted him dead for their own impenetrable reasons.

  Such musings quickly ran into trouble, though. The house in Grasmere was too obviously part of the reason for the killing. It was a local matter, and that meant Christopher would know the people concerned. They would know him and have theories about his role in the whole business.

  ‘You don’t look very happy,’ Bonnie observed, half an hour after the shop opened. ‘I thought we made brilliant progress last night. Christopher didn’t seem to mind all the questions – did he?’

  ‘As far as I know he was okay with it.’

  ‘We thought he might never want to go to Grasmere again, after Monday. It takes some people that way, you know. I mean – finding a dead body like that. The trauma stays with them for years. But he seems pretty well balanced. Ben was impressed.’

  ‘He wants us to live in Grasmere. There’s not really anywhere else that would work, so if we’re both to carry on with what we’re doing now, it’s more or less got to be there.’

  Bonnie nodded. ‘It’s a nice place, except for all the tourists.’

  ‘We’ve got tourists here in Windermere.’

  Bonnie gave her a look. ‘Hardly. Not compared to all that Wordsworth stuff. It never stops. Great coachloads of them. And not one capable of quoting a single line of his poetry. Ludicrous, when you think about it.’

  ‘Must be the same in Stratford. They all go there but haven’t any idea about Shakespeare.’

  ‘Corinne went to London last month – did I say? She walked across Westminster Bridge, to get to Waterloo Station, and said it was absolutely thick with people taking photos of Big Ben. Hundreds of them, all going home with the same picture. Makes you wonder what they think they’re doing.’

  ‘Talking of Corinne, she still hasn’t said what’s happening this evening. Are we supposed to be having a meal, as well as a drink?’

  ‘Not sure. I’d guess just a drink and a packet of crisps.’

  ‘If she hasn’t texted or phoned by lunchtime, I’ll call her.’

  Bonnie seemed uneasy at being a go-between, which Simmy found irritating, since the initial message had come from her. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t seen Corinne since yesterday morning, so I don’t know what she’s thinking, okay? You should call her. That’s the best idea.’

  ‘I will,’ said Simmy, before three customers all came in together and the phone rang. New orders appeared on the computer, and Simmy realised she had to devote a considerable amount of time to making funeral tributes for the following day. The morning passed in a blur. ‘Should I order extra flowers for Saturday?’ she wondered aloud.

  ‘Oh!’ Bonnie clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘I forgot. Ben wants to go to the auction in Keswick. He was hoping you could take him.’

  ‘What – all day?’

  ‘If possible. We thought Tanya and I could probably manage the shop. The thing is, he thinks he needs to see how it all works if he’s to get any proper understanding of the people involved in the murder. He wants to watch it all in action.’

  Tanya was Ben’s younger sister, only fourteen, but impressively capable. She had helped out during the Mother’s Day rush, making a great difference to the workload. She’d come in again during the May half-term. ‘Well …’ said Simmy.

  ‘She’d love to do it. And it would be a nice break for you.’<
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  ‘I’ve just had a break. I was in the Canary Islands for a week, remember.’

  ‘Well, we’re happy to hold the fort on Saturdays, every now and then. Tanya’s good company and she can cope with most of the work.’

  ‘It’s tempting,’ said Simmy, with a rush of good cheer at the prospect of regular free Saturdays, if the two girls really could manage. ‘I’d love to spend all day at the auction.’

  ‘Do it, then. What time does it start?’

  ‘Ten. But we need to look at all the things for sale, for at least an hour beforehand. We ought to leave here soon after eight, if we can manage it.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Bonnie, fishing out her phone to inform her boyfriend of his good luck.

  ‘I’ve just remembered something,’ said Simmy, with a shock. ‘Talking about the auction – I’m supposed to be going to some little village hall sale with Chris this evening. In Kirkby Lonsdale. I think he must have forgotten as well. We were going to have to leave here soon after three. You would have had to close up for me.’

  ‘I still can. But what about Corinne? You need to find out what Chris is doing,’ Bonnie advised.

  ‘Yes.’ Simmy reached for her phone. ‘What else have I forgotten? Another thing to do with auctions. There’s too much going on,’ she wailed. ‘My poor head can’t keep up.’

  ‘You should write it all down,’ said the girl complacently. ‘Keep a little notebook.’

  ‘You mean one of those gadgets that tells you where you’re meant to be? Isn’t that an app?’

  ‘No, I mean a real notebook. Ben’s works really well.’

  ‘I’d only lose it or forget to look at it.’ She slapped her head. ‘I know there’s something.’

  ‘Take it a step at a time. Is it some reason why you can’t go on Saturday?’

  ‘It might be … my parents often want me there on Saturday afternoons … got it! I told my dad I’d take him to Keswick again sometime soon. I might even have said it would be this weekend. I’m sure my mother said he was expecting to go on Saturday. But he could well have forgotten. He could come with me and Ben, couldn’t he? I’d better phone and ask him.’

  ‘Phone Christopher first about this evening.’

  ‘Yes, Mum.’

  It turned out that Christopher had indeed forgotten about Kirkby Lonsdale, and no longer wanted to go. Russell Straw had made a rare commitment to a friend to go for a walk from Staveley to Kentmere, expected to take much of Saturday. He too had forgotten his conversation about the auction.

  ‘So that’s all right,’ sighed Simmy, wondering why she didn’t feel more offended at the way people never seemed to want to go anywhere with her.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the event, the arrangement with Corinne was very simply made. They were to go to Ambleside in separate cars and meet at the top of the town (unlike Grasmere, Ambleside really did have a ‘top’), where cafes were available in abundance. While Bowness might have been just as convenient, there was a calmer atmosphere in Ambleside. People would be returning from ambitious fell-top walks, tired and hungry. There were dogs slumped under the outdoor tables and small children struggling to stay awake. While it was still term time, nobody between the ages of five and sixteen would be on holiday, which in itself created a relative tranquillity.

  Corinne had purple hair and often wore clothes to match. When Simmy thought of her, it was in those shades. Even her skin seemed rather reddish at times. She had brown eyes and wide hips. Over twenty years she had fostered dozens of children, but now in her early fifties she wanted to spread her wings and do something different. Only Bonnie and a younger boy remained, and the boy had a grandmother who was preparing to take him on full-time.

  Simmy quickly spotted her, standing in the middle of the paved area by the postbox, as designated. Across the road was the Ambleside Salutation, which Simmy and her father found irresistibly appealing, despite never having been inside, or availed themselves of the spa it provided. The two women kissed briefly, and then stood back awkwardly. ‘We could get pizza at Zeffirellis,’ Corinne suggested. ‘And eat them in the park.’

  ‘Okay.’ Simmy had no wish to argue, despite rating pizza a long way down her list of favourites. ‘What about drink, though?’

  ‘Sorted.’ Corinne showed her the contents of an old-fashioned shopping bag woven from straw. Several cans of fizzy drinks, lager and cider were visible. ‘I went to Tesco just now.’

  It was unorthodox and almost uncivilised compared to the meal of the previous evening, but Simmy was no snob. She enjoyed the other woman’s lack of convention, at least in small doses. ‘Brilliant,’ she said.

  Twenty minutes later they were on a park bench with the makeshift meal laid out between them. A mild breeze was blowing up from the lake, the sky still hazy as it had been all day. ‘They say it’ll rain tomorrow,’ said Simmy, channelling her weather-obsessed father. ‘Bonnie says you want to pick my brains about Lanzarote.’

  ‘Not so much. That’s just what I told her. Really, it’s her I want to talk about – I couldn’t tell her that, though, could I?’ She paused, then took a swig of the canned lager. ‘With Ben going off to Newcastle in a few months, she’s going to be wanting to go with him, don’t you think?’

  ‘Has she said so?’

  ‘Not exactly. She’d have to find a job and somewhere to live. He’ll have a place in a hall or whatever they call it, for the first year. His mother’s insisting on that. But if Bonnie doesn’t go, he’ll be coming back here every weekend, and Helen won’t want that, either.’

  ‘No.’ Simmy had been thinking along similar lines for most of the year. ‘I don’t want to lose her from the shop, obviously. But I can see it’s not a long-term prospect for her.’

  ‘No. Well, she seems to think your life’s going to change soon as well. I need to check it out with you – if I persuade her to stay here, she’ll want to hang onto the job with you. Everything depends on that.’

  ‘Does it? Why? She could get something else easily enough.’

  ‘No!’ The word emerged with some force. ‘That’s just it. What else could she do? She’s got no exams worth a shit. She’s not the most reliable kid in the world, either. There’d be nothing but stacking supermarket shelves or telesales. Believe me – I’ve been there. And she’s worth more than that.’

  ‘Of course she is. So, you’re asking me to guarantee her a job for – how long? Three years, until Ben graduates?’

  Corinne laughed. ‘That would be pushing it. Just till Christmas would be a good start.’

  Simmy began to understand why Bonnie had been embarrassed about this meeting. She must have suspected that she was going to be the main topic of conversation. ‘Well, if it helps, I’ve got no intention of changing anything to do with the shop. I might be moving house soon, but that won’t affect my work. Chris Henderson and I are engaged, actually.’

  Corinne nodded. ‘I know. Though I don’t see a ring.’

  ‘We’ll get one soon. It’s all been a bit chaotic. There was this murder in Grasmere—’

  ‘I know all about that,’ Corinne interrupted. ‘There’s a funny old girl called Daphne Schofield, who I see now and then. She called me on Tuesday about it. And, of course, Ben and Bonnie had to get nosing around, didn’t they? Like always.’

  ‘It’s been horrible for Chris.’

  ‘He found the body, right? And he knows Philip, who’s mates with Daphne. Or was. Sounds to me as if he’s not got much longer. She was well out of that, if you ask me. Though she might have ended up with his house, I s’pose. And she’d have loved to give Kathleen Leeson a smack in the eye by stealing her boyfriend.’

  Simmy was becoming aware of a kind of dance in which attractive old houses were increasingly falling empty as their aged inhabitants died off. The question of who inherited them and their contents was not always straightforward. Sometimes, scandalously, they stood empty for months or years on end while matters of inheritance were sorted out.

>   ‘Sounds like a real cat fight.’

  Corinne shrugged. ‘No, not really. All very ladylike and civilised. And Daphne isn’t one to hold a grudge. She’s just lonely, basically. Can’t face life without a man. She doesn’t care about houses, to be fair. She knows what a burden a big house can be. The thing is, these old people live so long that their children are often over seventy, and don’t want the bother of clearing out decades of stuff before they can sell them. You’d think the old parents would have the sense to just pass everything down to the next generation, wouldn’t you? The grandchildren, I mean. They’d have more use for it. But it never seems to happen like that.’ She sighed. ‘So, when are you getting married, then?’

  ‘No date yet. We’ll probably rent a house or flat together in Grasmere, to start with.’

  ‘And keep your Troutbeck place?’

  ‘Rent it out, maybe. Or try to sell it in the autumn. He hasn’t got anything to sell, luckily.’

  Corinne cocked her head. ‘So, you’ve got more behind you than he has. What’s he been doing all this time?’

  ‘Travelling, mainly. Living hand to mouth. But he’s settled down now. Seems to be loving the job with the auction house. He got promoted a few months ago – it could all work out really well. He might end up owning the whole business eventually.’

  ‘Nice. Everybody loves an auction. And you’ll be wanting a baby or two,’ she added without changing gear.

  Simmy swallowed back the automatic evasive reply. It was intrusive, impertinent, insensitive – but kindly meant. There was no doubt that Bonnie gossiped about her, passing on bits of news, reporting conversations, speculations. ‘That would be nice,’ she said faintly.

  ‘And he seems a decent bloke. Good parent and all that, from what I hear. Never seen him myself. Been married before, has he?’

  ‘We both have. But he’s never had kids. I think he’d be good with them. He’s got nieces and nephews.’