by Rebecca Tope
George’s face grew red and mottled. ‘What do you know about my family?’ he demanded. ‘You … you …’
‘Careful,’ warned Simmy. ‘Ben’s been following the case of your father’s death quite closely, actually.’
Ben went on. ‘It’s a great story, when you think about it. The way I read it, Cain pretends to be as his father wants, in order to get the inheritance. Abel’s rather slow and dim, unambitious as well. He doesn’t deserve to be the one to carry on the line. But I can’t remember what happens next.’ he frowned. ‘Something about the children of Cain, but I think that’s just the title of a movie.’
‘He was marked by God and was a fugitive and a nomad all his life,’ said George. ‘The implication is that he was indeed the ancestor of all mankind, and they all carried his bad blood, capable of murder and lying and all the horrible things people do.’
‘Fascinating,’ Ben enthused. ‘I love Bible stories.’
Simmy was undecided as to whether all this was a diversion, or a crucial insight into what had happened to Kit. Both, probably, she concluded. Diversions did, after all, end up taking you to the place you needed to be.
George was plainly reassessing the young man in front of him. ‘Are you a person of faith, then?’ he asked, with a dubious tilt of his head.
‘What? Oh – well, no. Really not at all. Sorry. But I don’t think you can properly be a part of this culture if you’re not familiar with the Bible.’
‘Almost no one of your generation would agree with you,’ said George, while Simmy also took exception to the remark. She had very little idea of who anybody was in the Old Testament, and even less in the New. In fact, she wasn’t sure she could correctly identify material as coming from one rather than the other.
‘You are, then?’ she asked the man.
‘I am,’ he said, with due gravity. ‘As I would have thought you’d remember from our earlier association.’
‘You mean when you were thirteen? Is that what was going on? I don’t think I ever realised.’ She reviewed her memories of the solitary teenager, obviously tormented and enraged by turn. None of his behaviour had come across as noticeably Christian. ‘Did you go to church when we were on holiday? I don’t remember that.’
‘They wouldn’t let me,’ he said tightly. ‘And anyway, there wasn’t a church that would suit me anywhere near. Wales is very Low Church,’ he added with a sniff.
‘Smells and bells?’ said Ben obscurely. ‘Isn’t that what they called you in the olden days?’
‘Possibly – about a century ago. Nobody cares enough to cast aspersions now.’
‘Was Kit religious?’ Simmy asked suddenly.
‘Not a bit. Didn’t I just say they tried to stop me? They both behaved as if it was a sort of illness, right to the end.’
The pain in his face rendered even Ben silent for a minute. Simmy acknowledged yet again how much he had grown up since she’d met him. A year ago he might well have asked excruciating questions about whether George thought his parents were in heaven or hell now, and would it work to pray for people who didn’t believe in God. She wondered briefly at her own naivety when it came to matters of religion, given that she never gave the subject any attention at all. When her baby had died, there was no flicker of an idea that the poor little unborn soul might be surviving in some numinous realm, waiting to meet her in fifty years’ time.
The silence inevitably led to a review of George’s reasons for being there in the first place. Considering he could not have known that Ben would be there, it seemed fair to assume that he had wanted to speak to Christopher about something, having taken Hannah to be saying that their brother was liable to be tracked down in Troutbeck.
‘You wanted to talk to Christopher, didn’t you?’ she said. ‘That’s why you came up here. It must have been something important.’
‘I didn’t like feeling left out – again.’
Simmy blew out her cheeks at this. ‘It’s your own fault, you idiot. You keep going off by yourself, not talking to anybody. You leave yourself out. You always did.’
‘Not any more. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to hide. I’m tired of being belittled and made fun of because of what I believe. I’m free now, and I’m going to follow my own convictions with my head high.’
‘They’ll be watching you, though, won’t they?’ said Ben, shattering Simmy’s confidence in his new maturity. ‘Your parents, up in heaven – they’ll still be keeping an eye on you.’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ said George stiffly. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I know what Christians are supposed to believe. It’s all pretty simple, as far as I can see.’
‘Stop it, Ben,’ ordered Simmy. ‘It’s his own business what he believes.’
In spite of himself, George looked glad of the intervention. ‘I’d be happy to explain it all to you sometime,’ he said. ‘But now I think there are more urgent issues. Until the person who murdered my father is caught and punished, none of us can get on with our lives. Each one of the five of us will have suspicion and gossip following us everywhere we go. There’ll be sly looks and subtle digs, probably for years, unless the police come up with the actual killer.’
‘If that’s all you’ve got to say, it’s hard to see why you came all this way,’ said Ben, with a mulish glance at Simmy. ‘It’s pretty much self-evident, surely?’
Simmy resisted the urge to chastise him again. He was right, after all. George seemed to be pointlessly blathering, further obscuring his real reason for being there.
‘I told you – I was looking for Christopher.’
‘And we don’t believe you, because you’d have phoned him, and found out he wasn’t here, before coming in person. You didn’t know I’d be here, so it’s my guess – based on very sound deduction – that you came hoping to find Simmy alone. That suggests you had something to ask her or tell her that wasn’t for anybody else to hear. And now, because I’m in your way, you’re just wittering on, hoping that I’ll leave before you do. Am I right?’
George gave him a dark scowl. ‘It’s certainly true that none of this is your business.’
‘You know,’ said Ben thoughtfully, ‘when people say that it usually means they’ve got something they want to keep secret. And one of the many things I’ve learnt about murder investigations is that there aren’t any secrets that can be kept. Definitely not one that has to do with the dead person – or people. Everything’s fair game, even though it doesn’t seem fair, I know. There’s something yukky about it, but it’s true, just the same.’
‘I’ve got no secrets,’ growled George.
‘How boring it must be to be you, then,’ flashed Ben.
Simmy had stood enough. ‘Listen,’ she said loudly. ‘George – if you want to speak to me without Ben, we can go into the kitchen. Ben – play with your phone or something for a bit, okay. This isn’t getting anybody anywhere, is it?’
Both men meekly did as bidden, despite Ben’s umbrage at being told to ‘play’ and George effectively being accused of wasting her time. She almost pushed him onto an upright chair, taking the only other seat for herself. ‘So get on with it,’ she ordered.
‘Well … it probably isn’t anything much. The thing is, Hannah told me she saw you at Christopher’s auction yesterday, and it came out that she was with that Wetherton bloke. When I asked Lynn if that seemed strange to her, she got very agitated, and said that was sure to set all sorts of tongues wagging, and what was Hannah thinking of.’
Simmy waited, assuming she was going to be asked not to spread unfounded rumours about his sister. It felt feeble and irrelevant, and mildly insulting, if that was all he’d wanted to say to her. She tried to phrase a response that would convey this without hostility, but he spoke again before she could get any words out.
‘But that’s not the important thing. It’s that blasted book my mother left you that’s really niggling us. All of us, apart perhaps fro
m Eddie. Even Christopher can’t see why she did it. I mean – the thing’s so completely worthless. Why couldn’t she just give it to you herself, months ago? She could have dropped it off at your shop or handed it to your mother at any time. But she made such a big thing of it, putting it in her will like that and leaving you that letter. Then, for good measure, she even puts it into the last-minute list she wrote for Dad.’
Simmy was thoroughly disarmed. ‘I feel the same,’ she said, thereby doing some disarming of her own. ‘It really is quite peculiar.’
‘The list is extremely peculiar. It’s impossible to imagine my mother giving that sort of instruction to Dad. Not while she was alive, anyway. And yet they say he was holding it, when … when he died. The police obviously think it’s connected with his murder. They showed it to us, one by one. I’d never seen it before, and the others all say they hadn’t either. Where did it come from? Why wasn’t it attached to the will somehow? There’s an implication that whoever killed Dad took it to the house and showed it to him – and that makes all of us suspect each other. Even the solicitor could be in the frame, if she asked him to deliver it.’ He barked a sudden laugh. ‘That’d be a new one, wouldn’t it?’
She was increasingly out of her depth during this rant. ‘How does any of that involve me?’ she wondered. ‘What do you want me to tell you?’
‘Just whether you’ve come up with any ideas as to what it might all mean. The book has to be a clue of some sort, don’t you think? I thought I could have a look at it again. I haven’t seen it since I was about ten, at Nanna’s house. She used to get it out and show it to us, as proud as anything. That was it, I assume, in the living room just now? Were you showing it to that boy?’
‘I was, as it happens. You’re welcome to have a look. We can’t see anything sinister in it – at least,’ she corrected herself, ‘you could say the whole book is a bit sinister. The colours are all wrong. Was your grandmother colour-blind, do you know?’
‘I have no idea. She was a bit bonkers, in her last years, I remember. Kept wandering off and stealing cats from people. Family legend has it that she lived a very frustrated existence, never being able to do what she wanted. She never showed much interest in our family. My mum was one of three, and the other two were favoured over her, or so she said.’
Simmy made no attempt to delve further. She was tired and confused, and wanted him to go. Moxon had more or less said there was no further concern over the apparently missing jewellery, so there was no sense of obligation to ask George about it. ‘Come and have a look, then,’ she invited. ‘If that’s all you wanted to say.’ Why he couldn’t have said any of it in front of Ben was unclear. Though there had been hints of family scandal, perhaps, and George always had liked to avoid any groups larger than two, she remembered. Mostly his favoured number was one, as she had already pointed out.
He followed her back to the other room, and stood over the table turning the pages of the big book. Nothing appeared to catch his eye, and he thumped it shut with a sigh. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘The colours are weird, but otherwise it can’t possibly have any significance. I never took much interest in it, from the start. But I think it’s nice that you’ve got it now,’ he added generously. ‘You obviously appreciate it.’
‘I do,’ said Simmy.
Ben had been ostentatiously thumbing his phone ever since the others had rejoined him. He went on doing so, without looking up. Simmy realised it was close to five o’clock, and the day effectively over. She waited in silence until George understood that he ought to go.
‘All right. Well …’ he said. ‘I’m not sure that’s got me anywhere, but you’ve been very patient with me. I always did like you, you know. I heard Dad telling Christopher to treat you decently, not take advantage or anything. It was hugely embarrassing, but I was glad he was watching out for you. I wasn’t sure your own father even noticed what was happening.’
‘Nothing was happening.’
‘Until now,’ said Ben, without lifting his head.
Simmy saw her own flushed cheeks reflected in George’s. He obviously didn’t want to know. ‘Shut up, Ben,’ she said. Then, ‘It was good to see you, George, even though it was for a sad reason. I hope you can find your way home all right?’
‘It’s Troutbeck, not Novosibirsk,’ said the incorrigible Ben. ‘Almost impossible to go wrong, I would have thought. Unless you intend to find a quick way through Kirkstone. That might see you upside down in a ditch, admittedly.’
‘I’ll be perfectly all right,’ said George.
It occurred to Simmy that she could save herself the bother of taking Ben home if she got George to do it instead. She wasn’t sure where he lived, but even if it was to the north, the detour to Bowness would only take him an extra fifteen minutes at most. She opened her mouth to make the suggestion, but was quickly forestalled by the youngster. ‘Don’t ask him to take me home,’ he said. ‘I can call someone, if you don’t want to do it. My mum texted to say she can’t come until seven.’
‘Why – where do you live?’ asked George.
‘Bowness. Just a little way from where your parents were. But it’s okay. I’m in no rush.’
‘Well, I could,’ said the man. ‘But I was actually going back up to Greystoke. Leonora’s probably waiting for me.’
‘Your new girlfriend?’ said Simmy. ‘She was at the funeral, wasn’t she? I never managed to speak to her – you rushed off so quickly.’
‘Greystoke?’ Ben interrupted. ‘Isn’t that where Tarzan comes from?’
‘It’s a big estate near Penrith. I’ve got a cottage there, because I work for the family. The Howards,’ he added portentously. ‘I oversee the maintenance. There are three thousand acres,’ he said. ‘That’s a lot to manage.’
‘That’s a long way from here,’ said Ben.
George sighed and returned to Simmy’s question about Leonora. ‘She’d never met Mum, so it didn’t seem right to stay for the wake. She’s been very supportive, though.’
Simmy remembered talk about George’s liver, and depression, and wondered if this Leonora knew what she was letting herself in for.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Ben loudly. ‘I’m not ready to go yet.’ He gave Simmy a look that quelled any further effort to unload him onto a man who might well be unstable, angry and possibly even a murderer.
She kept her peace and let the visitor go without further interruption. The moment the door closed behind him, Ben flopped back on the sofa, and said, ‘This is turning into quite an afternoon. Who’s going to show up next?’
Privately, Simmy hoped that Christopher might miraculously reappear, before the day was completely finished. Or at least phone her. It felt like a long time since he’d made his precipitate departure, and she wanted to hear his voice. ‘Nobody,’ she said. ‘So get your coat, if you brought one, and let’s go. If you stay any longer I’ll have to feed you, and that’s too much to ask.’
He rolled his eyes and made a big production of getting up and looking for a coat. ‘Did I have one?’ he wondered aloud. ‘I don’t remember.’
‘It’s cold out there, so I hope you did.’ But she knew he’d been dressed in the same clothes she could now see, with no additional layers. ‘You didn’t, though, did you?’
‘Probably not. This is quite warm.’ He plucked at the sweatshirt he was wearing.
‘Come on, then. If you want to talk, we can do it in the car.’
She could see that he very much wanted to talk, and silently wished he wouldn’t. Christopher, Moxon and George had drained her of all ideas or comments concerning the fate of Kit Henderson and his family. Possibly, she and Ben might have got somewhere together, if George had not intruded when he did. But the impetus had been lost and now she wanted no more to do with it.
Ben, as happened a lot, picked up on her mood, and was blessedly quiet for the first couple of miles. Then he said, rather hesitantly, ‘Moxon does seem to have some ideas, this time,’ he said. ‘I ke
ep seeing that expression on his face – as if he knew things that we didn’t, and was quietly confident of getting the job done in his own way. I don’t remember him looking so confident before.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘Well he did. Sort of smug and superior, as well.’ He tapped a front tooth meditatively. ‘I think he thinks there’s something about that book. We were almost onto it, when that man showed up. He’s not very nice, is he? I’m never comfortable with religious people, are you?’
‘Why – because they’re so smug and superior?’
‘Not at all. The opposite, if anything. As if they’re just waiting to be offended and insulted, so they can come over all reproachful and forbearing. Actually, I suppose they can be a bit smug when they’re doing that. All that moral high ground, and insistence that God loves them.’
‘Maybe he does.’
‘Yeah. With some of them, that’s their only chance, isn’t it? Of finding love, I mean.’
‘Hush, Ben. You can’t say things like that.’
‘I certainly can, and I will. Belief in religion is a free choice, a matter of a person’s own will, and that means it’s fine to challenge and question it.’
‘Maybe, but you were making fun.’
‘That too,’ he insisted. ‘It’s fair game. Besides, it’d take more than a few mild insults from me to shift them, wouldn’t it? They’ve got God on their side.’
‘So why bother?’
‘Good question,’ he conceded.
By which time, they were on the outskirts of Windermere, with only five more minutes to go. Simmy found herself musing on the way she was perpetually in the company of people who defied social conventions when it came to the expression of questionable opinions. Her mother would say, of course, that this was because everybody had questionable opinions, and only needed a safe ear into which to pour them. Which perhaps answered the original question. Simmy was unusually non-judgemental, or even passive. She let people say things with only a token protest. Ben hadn’t said anything so bad about religious people, after all. It was the whole subject that chafed at her, with its minefields of offence and associations with ethnicity. Far better to steer clear of the entire business and leave others to wrangle over it.