by Val McDermid
But now, a couple of hours later, the first exhilaration of beauty was past and she was feeling the miles in her legs. She found a flat rock and sat down to rest, marvelling yet again at how empty this place was. Grasmere had been busy with tourists, but once she was about ten minutes’ walk from the village, it was as if she’d left humanity behind. Tenille had never had so much space to herself. She’d only passed two other people on their way down. They’d been upon her before she had time to take evasive action and she’d been astonished when they’d smiled at her and said, ‘Grand day for it, isn’t it?’
She’d ducked her head in reply, unsure what the deal was in situations like this. How was she supposed to respond? If she spoke, would they take that as an invitation to conversation? But they were already past her, boots crunching on the loose stones at the edge of the path. Now, she was alone again, apart from the odd bird circling overhead. Tenille studied the map and tried to figure out where she was. Gradually, she began to make correlations between the representation and the reality. There was a small rise ahead of her. Once she breasted that, she should be able to see Fellhead below her.
She stuffed the map back into her backpack. She was hot now and wished she had had enough money left to buy some water and something to eat. But she was down to her last few quid and she hadn’t wanted to spend it. She’d passed a stream earlier and had thought about drinking from it, but she’d been scared it wouldn’t be clean. There could be a dead sheep further upstream for all she knew. There was a reason why they put chemicals in the water before they let you drink it.
Wearily, Tenille got to her feet and set off to scramble up the short incline that would bring her a view of Fellhead and Jane’s home. As she rounded a rocky outcropping at the summit, she saw a figure standing on the path a short distance below her. He had binoculars to his eyes and he was staring down into the valley. She stopped, reluctant to draw attention to herself.
The man took the binoculars away from his eyes and Tenille gasped. She wasn’t the only person who had followed Jane back to the Lake District. But what the hell was Jake doing, spying on his ex-girlfriend?
Jane strode up the hill, fizzing with a mixture of anger and delight. Diane had of course sprung to Matthew’s defence. His class assignment had been under way well before Jane had arrived back home. There was no reason why he should remember one name out of hundreds that featured in the family tree project. Obviously, Matthew had separated out those two cases in particular because they had a common ancestor. If he’d intended to keep this information from her, why would he have left the papers lying on the table for anyone to see? Jane was paranoid. Matthew would never deliberately try to scupper her research and it was horrible of Jane to suggest that he was planning to usurp her work. How could she even think her own brother would go behind her back and try to discover the missing manuscript for himself?
In one sense, Diane was right. It should be unthinkable. But where Matthew was concerned, Jane found it all too easy to imagine her brother hugging his knowledge to himself then taking advantage of it to conduct his own search. If he wasn’t planning a double-cross, why keep the knowledge about Dorcas Mason to himself?
Jane had tried not to vent her fury on Diane, but it had seeped out round the edges. The Pimms had failed to materialise and Jane had insisted on copying the relevant family trees before she left. It was true that the children had concentrated on their direct lines of descent. But with the material she had gleaned from Matthew’s pupils’ efforts, she could go back to Barbara Field and see whether they could trace all Dorcas’s extant descendants. Then she could start the slow process of interviewing them to see what she could discover.
Even this positive thought wasn’t enough to restore Jane’s even temper. But the sight that greeted her when she turned into the farmyard put Matthew’s duplicity out of her mind for the time being. Sitting on the bench that stood against the farmhouse wall, head back and basking in the sunshine, was the last person she expected to see. She stopped in her tracks.
‘Dan! What on earth are you doing here?’ Jane said.
Dan straightened up and grinned. ‘Two heads are better than one, even when they’re butting against a brick wall,’ he said. ‘I thought we could brainstorm together, see if we could figure out a plan of action since I’ve let you down.’ He got to his feet and they met in the middle of the yard, arms round each other in a warm hug. Jane suddenly felt restored. Maybe her brother was a useless waste of space, but she had friends who loved her enough to put themselves out for her.
‘So where’s the car?’ Jane asked.
‘I left it down at the village pub. I didn’t want to presume on your parents’ hospitality so I booked in there.’
‘Idiot. Of course you’re staying here. We’ll unbook you as soon as we’ve had lunch.’ They walked to the farmhouse, Dan’s arm over Jane’s shoulders. ‘You didn’t let me down, you know. I’m just grateful you tried. I am so pleased to see you,’ she said. ‘Especially right now. You’re never going to believe what I just found.’
Dan’s eyes widened, his handsome face sharpened with shock. ‘Not the manuscript?’
Jane snorted scornfully. ‘No such luck. No, I found out why you didn’t have any luck with Family Records.’
‘What do you mean?’
She stopped in mid-stride and produced her copies of Sam and Jonathan’s family trees. ‘Because somebody couldn’t spell.’ She pointed to the line on the family tree. ‘Mayson, not Mason.’
Dan looked astonished. ‘But that’s fantastic, Jane. How did you find that out?’
Briefly, she outlined Matthew’s treachery.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, his face tight with anger, sharp lines cutting either side of his mouth.
‘Believe it. But I’ve got what I need. It’ll be easy to fill in any blanks now.’
Dan spread his arms wide then pulled her into a hug. ‘Perfect timing, as it turns out. Now I’m here, we can start doing the interviews together.’
‘Can you stick around?’ Then Jane frowned. ‘But isn’t this your weekend for the hospice?’
Dan raised an eyebrow. ‘Fancy you remembering that. Yes, I should be there, reading to the dying. But I thought the living were more important. I got Seb to cover for me. He owed me a weekend anyway. So everything worked out perfectly.’
‘Except that Harry’s not here,’ Jane said, pushing open the farmhouse door.
Dan gave her his naughty little boy look, head down, eyes looking up from under his brows. ‘I didn’t actually tell Harry I was coming. He thinks you’re chasing rainbows and, frankly, I could do without being scathed this week. Anyway, he’s gone off to Yorkshire for some war game. They’re re-enacting the battle of Marston Moor. Again.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Who knows, maybe it’ll come out different this time.’
‘Honestly, Dan, you love a good conspiracy, don’t you?’ Jane led the way into the kitchen, where Judy was trying to make sense of a pile of invoices at the table. ‘Mum, this is my friend Dan.’
‘We’ve already introduced ourselves,’ Judy said. She pushed the papers together and stood up. ‘Come and sit down, Dan. I was just waiting for Jane to get back to dish up the dinner.’ Over her shoulder, she said to Jane, ‘Your dad’s gone over to Borrowdale to look at a ram. He wants some new blood in the herd. So it’s just the three of us.’ She took a pie from the oven and put it on the table, followed by a dish of roast potatoes and another of mashed swede.
‘Wow,’ Dan said. ‘Do you eat this well at every meal?’
‘Yup,’ Jane said, serving up the pie to Dan and herself. ‘My mother tries to bribe me to stay by feeding me up.’
Dan tasted the steak pie. ‘Oh God, Mrs Gresham, this is heaven on a plate.’
‘Thank you, Dan, it’s always a pleasure to have a guest who appreciates his food. You’ll be stopping, I take it?’ Judy smiled encouragingly.
Dan nodded, chewing frantically before he spoke. ‘If that’s all right. I was
going to go back tomorrow, but now…well, I can stick around for a few days to help Jane.’
‘We’ve got interviews to do.’ Jane smiled grimly. ‘I’ve managed to make some progress where I least expected to. It turns out Matthew knew all along where to find Dorcas Mason’s descendants. He just didn’t bother telling me. Diane asked me to get something from the dining room, and there it was, sitting on the dining table. Two substantial chunks of Dorcas Mason’s family tree. Courtesy of Matthew’s class who are doing a project on genealogy,’ she said, her voice clipped to a sharp edge.
‘What wonderful luck, love,’ her mother said, the warmth of her voice belying the anxiety in her eyes. ‘And how nice of Matthew to sort them out to show you.’
Jane sighed deeply. ‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘But I need to go and see Bossy Barbara again. What I’ve got isn’t complete and I think she’ll be able to help me fill in the gaps. I’ll give her a ring after lunch and see when she’s free.’
‘Be still, my beating heart,’ Dan said.
‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Jane said. ‘At least now I get the chance to show you some of the countryside. We can go up on the fell and I’ll show you my dad’s sheep.’
Dan looked down at his designer trainers. ‘Whoopee. I can hardly wait.’
‘You can borrow a pair of wellies. You’ll love it,’ Jane said.
‘And then can we go and look at Dove Cottage?’
Jane nodded happily. ‘Yes, we can. And if you’re a very good boy, I’ll introduce you to Anthony Catto, the greatest living expert on Wordsworth.’
Dan pretended to look afraid. ‘Great. Now I can be exposed for the literary fraud I am.’
Jane laughed. ‘Don’t worry, he won’t eat you. I promise you, Dan, you’re going to have a visit you won’t forget in a hurry.’
We made landfall in Matavai Bay on Otaheite on 6th June. I was apprehensive about our reception but necessity lends us the abilities we need to survive. I discovered to my surprise that I could lie with such conviction that I would be believed by the natives. I recalled that Bligh had convinced the natives that Captain Cook was still alive & sailing the Pacific yet so I told Chief Teina that I was there under orders from Cook himself to acquire the necessities for founding a new settlement which Bligh had gone ahead with Cook to make a start on. We acquired from the natives 312 pigs, 38 goats, 8 dozen fowls, a bull & a cow. In addition, nine native women elected to join our party, including my own Isabella. Also, eight men & ten boys. Thus we set sail again for Toobouai, where we arrived on 26th June. This time, to my surprise we found an apparent welcome.
24
‘Stop the car, I’m going to be sick.’ There was no arguing with the urgency in Dan’s voice. Jane pulled on to the narrow grass verge, hitting the hazard lights as the car drew to a halt. Even before she had completely stopped, Dan had the passenger door open and he was stumbling out of the car. Almost immediately Jane heard him retch and cough. She leaned across the passenger seat and, by the dim light of the car’s interior lamp, she could see him bent double and heaving.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, realising as she said it how fatuous a question it was.
‘Oh God,’ he panted, staggering upright and leaning against the car. ‘I thought one of those mussels tasted funny’
‘God, Dan, I’m so sorry’
‘Not your fault,’ he groaned, falling back into his seat. ‘Can’t blame you if the fucking chef can’t tell when his seafood’s off.’
She handed him her water bottle. ‘Have a drink.’
Dan took a couple of sips and shuddered. ‘Sorry’ He wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Christ, I feel like shit.’
‘You need to go to bed. I’ll drop you back at the farm then I’ll go and see Barbara by myself.’
‘But I want to hear what she has to say,’ he protested feebly.
‘You’ll hear all about it in the morning. Trust me, you don’t want to be in Barbara’s house if you’ve got an upset stomach. It’s a shrine to air freshener. I swear the only time she gets aroused is when she sees an advert for a new product. “Make your home smell forest fresh with a battery-operated fan-assisted air-purifying gel,” and she’s slavering. One breath in there and you’ll be heaving. No, best if you take care of yourself. It’ll be nice and quiet–Mum and Dad have gone out to a silver wedding do in Grasmere, they won’t be back till late.’
‘No, I don’t want to go back to the farm. Take me to the pub, I’ll stay there instead. They’ll have an en suite room. I don’t want to be disturbing everybody, getting up in the night to be sick or whatever. And I don’t want to feel self-conscious and embarrassed. Take me to the pub, Jane.’
‘Don’t be daft, Dan. You don’t want to be staying at the pub. It’s too noisy, you’d get no peace. It’ll be fine, nobody’s going to make you feel embarrassed about being ill.’
His face crumpled. ‘It’s not about you or your parents. It’s me. I just feel self-conscious, I’d rather be in the pub.’
‘No. You’re not going there.’ Jane was adamant, her face firmly set. ‘I’ve got a better idea. We’ve got a holiday let up the hill. It’s empty just now. You can stay there. You’ll have all the peace and quiet you need and you can make as much noise as you want. I don’t think the sheep will mind. And your bag’s in the boot already from when we picked it up after lunch.’
‘OK, I haven’t got the strength to argue,’ Dan said weakly, pulling the door closed and winding the window down. ‘Promise me you’ll drive slowly.’
Jane set off at little-old-lady speed, driving through Fellhead and up the lane past the farm, trying to ignore Dan’s groans. Half a mile further up the Langmere Fell, she pulled into a narrow driveway. ‘This is it,’ she said.
Dan followed her into a squat stone building whose single storey was divided into a bedroom, living room, kitchen and bathroom. He made straight for the bathroom while Jane turned on the heating, made up the bed and unlocked the small cupboard where Judy kept a stock of teabags, coffee sachets, sugar and toilet rolls. She knocked on the bathroom door when she was done. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she said.
‘Thanks,’ Dan groaned. ‘I’m sorry.’
It was a fine evening so Jane dropped the car off at the farm and walked back down to Fellhead. Barbara was waiting for her, whisking her straight through to the nerve centre of her genealogy project. ‘No wonder we couldn’t find her if she got married in Yorkshire,’ she said, making it sound as if Dorcas had moved to Tahiti. ‘Not to mention the incorrect spelling. But with this much to go on, it should be a piece of Black Forest gateau. Now, let’s get started.’
It was almost ten when Jane emerged, clutching a sheaf of computer print-outs. A skein of low cloud had obscured the moon while she’d been with Barbara, turning the night gloomy. A stranger would have struggled to negotiate the lane up to the farm, but sure-footed in the darkness Jane made her way along the familiar route without a second thought.
Thanks to Barbara, she now had a full family tree for Dorcas. Perhaps in the morning she could go through it with Dan, assessing which of the surviving family members was most likely to have the manuscript. It would be helpful to have another pair of eyes on the closely printed material. And, selfishly, she was glad to have someone around to occupy her. Since Dan had arrived, she realised, she hadn’t thought once about Geno Marley’s murder.
Rigston’s dream incorporated the strains of Jan Hammer’s ‘Crockett’s Theme’. It took a few seconds for him to realise the sound was real, that his mobile was ringing. He struggled up from sleep, reaching for the phone on the bedside table. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, rubbing his eyes with his other hand. ‘DI Rigston,’ he said. There was a pause, during which he pushed himself upright. ‘Why me? Can’t this wait till the morning?’ he sighed. ‘OK, let me get a pen.’ He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and walked naked to his leather jacket. He wrestled a pen and notebook from the inside pocket and sat down on the end of the bed. ‘OK, let
me have the details…How are you spelling that? OK…Uh huh, I’ll call DI Blair…Right…Fellhead? It’s going to take me a good hour to get over there. OK, tell the Super I’m on my way.’ He ended the call and made a rueful face at River.
‘I’m really sorry, love. I’ve got to go out.’
She squirmed down the bed and stroked his back.
‘Don’t worry, I get it. In your job, there’s no such thing as off duty.’
He shivered at her touch then dialled the number the duty officer had given him. ‘DI Blair?’ he said when the call was answered. ‘This is DI Rigston in Keswick.’
‘You’re going to check on Jane Gresham for me, is that right?’ The woman sounded harassed.