by Val McDermid
Please God, let him not form an inkling that she was hiding Tenille. He’d shop them both to the police without a second thought. And of course, that was the next problem. What was she going to do about Tenille? She couldn’t think of a way to penetrate that adamantine determination to protect the Hammer. It wasn’t as if Tenille didn’t understand the risks involved in her current strategy. She wasn’t being stupid, just stubborn. But something had to give sooner or later. The present arrangement couldn’t be more than a holding pattern till Jane could come up with the resolution that was beyond Tenille right now. It couldn’t go on. Harbouring a fugitive who happened to be the daughter of a man who would apparently stop at nothing to protect her was bad enough, but lying to the police and her parents had her awake all night worrying about what was going to happen next.
And then there was Jake. What the hell was that all about? She had to believe Tenille. There was no reason for the girl to lie. She stared into her hot chocolate, as if there were answers to be found in its dark depths.
She was startled back into consciousness by the sound of the chair opposite being pulled back. But the man with his hand on the chair-back wasn’t the one she was expecting. ‘Mind if I join you?’ Jake said.
‘So you are stalking me,’ Jane said, her voice surprisingly steady and cool.
Jake recoiled slightly, consternation on his face. ‘What do you mean, stalking you?’
‘Spying on me, following me. You should be grateful I’ve not called the police,’ Jane said, enjoying the adrenaline rush that came with indignation.
Jake held his hands palms outwards, a gesture of surrender. ‘Whoa. Can we just back up there? I came to see you, Jane. To talk to you. To tell you I made a mistake.’ He looked contrite. ‘Please, can I sit down? People are staring.’
Jane became aware that they had indeed become the focus of attention in the tearoom. She’d had enough of other people’s stares that morning. ‘Sit down if you must,’ she said through tight lips.
The waitress approached, undisguised avidity on her face. ‘I’ll have–’ Jake began before Jane cut across him.
‘He’s not stopping,’ she said firmly. The waitress drifted off, casting a couple of backward glances as she went. ‘What the hell is going on with you?’ Jane demanded.
Jake sighed and stared down at the tablecloth. ‘Just hear me out, please. I came back because I missed you. I realise I’ve been stupid. I wanted to see if there was still a chance for us. To try again.’ He glanced up quickly.
‘So why didn’t you just call me?’
‘Because it would have been too easy for you to hang up on me.’
It was hard not to be melted by his piteous expression. But Jane was determined to cling to her dignity. ‘So you thought you’d spy on me instead?’
‘I called the university and they said you were up here. So I thought I would come up and try to get you on your own. So yes, I guess you could call it stalking. But all it was about was getting a one-to-one with you.’ He looked hangdog. ‘I suppose it wasn’t very bright, but I couldn’t think of any other way to do it. I didn’t mean to scare you.’
‘I wasn’t scared, Jake. Just pissed off. So what happened in Crete? Did she kick you out?’
Jake looked hurt. ‘No, Jane. It’s like I said. I realised I’d fucked up big time and I wanted to try to make things right between us. What we had was special. And I was stupid enough to throw it away.’
‘So you’re saying you woke up one morning in Crete and suddenly thought, “Oh my God, I’ve made a terrible mistake”?’
Jake picked up a teaspoon and fiddled with it. She remembered the feel of those long fingers on her skin and tried not to show how weak it made her feel. ‘It was a bit more complicated than that.’
‘So let me hear the tale.’
‘I…uh, I saw a story in the papers. About the body in the bog. And I remembered how excited you would get, telling me your theory about Willy and Fletcher.’ He met her eyes directly, without flinching or blinking. ‘And I remembered how much more fun that was than any amount of messing around in Crete. So I packed my bags and came home.’
She didn’t know what to think. He sounded sincere. He looked sincere. She wanted him to be sincere. But he was good at sincere. She knew that of old. She cocked her head to one side, considering. ‘Did you come home for me or did you come home for first crack at the manuscript, if I managed to find it?’
‘Why would I think you’re even looking for it?’ he asked. ‘You’ve been talking about it for as long as I’ve known you. But you’ve never been actively hunting for it. Is that what you’re doing? Have you picked up a trail? Is that why you’re back here?’
‘Would it make a difference if I said no? Would you suddenly lose interest?’
Jake shook his head. ‘It’s you I came back for, Jane. Not some pie-in-the-sky manuscript which probably doesn’t even exist.’
She wanted to believe him. But he’d hurt her too badly for that to be an easy option. ‘Why would I want to try again?’ she said sadly. ‘You hurt me, you lied to me and you left me.’
‘I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I love you, Jane.’
‘Are you still working for her?’
‘Caroline? Yes. I don’t have any option, I need a job. But I’ll be looking for other work.’ He shrugged.
‘I’ve been a fool. Jane, please give me a chance.’
It was her turn to look away, to shield her face from his probing eyes. ‘I don’t feel ready for this, Jake,’ she said slowly. ‘But maybe we can meet again if you’re going to be around for a few days.’ She managed a half-smile. ‘Provided you stop stalking me.’
‘OK. It’s a deal. What about lunch?’
‘I can’t. I’m busy.’
‘Tomorrow?’
After a little persuasion, Jane agreed to meet him at his hotel for lunch. As he got up to leave, he leaned across and kissed the top of her head. A tingle ran through her from head to toe. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said. Then he was gone, leaving her to wonder.
Tenille inspected the contents of the shopping bag, finally pronouncing herself satisfied. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll pay you back when I can.’
‘No need,’ Jane said. ‘Call it a late birthday present. So, how are you doing?’
Tenille picked up one of the paperbacks Jane had bought in the supermarket. ‘Basically I’m bored shitless. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to these.’
‘I’ll bring you some more from the house. Mine are mostly down in London, but my dad has a great collection of old detective novels, if you like those?’
‘Never read any. I guess I can give them a try.’
Jane sat down on the bench next to her. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘How would you feel if I called your dad and explained the situation to him?’
Tenille scowled. ‘I don’t want him thinking you’re asking him to dob himself in.’
‘That hadn’t occurred to me.’
‘Well, it should’ve. Just like I’m loyal to him, he’s loyal to me. I don’t want him to hand himself over to the Bill because of me.’
‘I just thought he might have some ideas about how we get you out of this mess. He’s had more dealings with the law than we have, he might come up with something. Besides, I want him to know I’m no threat to him.’
Tenille looked dubious. ‘Maybe. But how would you get in touch with him? I don’t have no phone number.’
‘I’ll think of something,’ Jane said, her mind a complete blank.
‘Maybe your mad next-door neighbour could get a message to him.’
‘Mrs Gallagher?’ Jane looked baffled. ‘Why her?’
Tenille looked shifty. ‘I just think she’d help, that’s all. She’s always been nice to me, know what I mean?’
‘I’ll think about it.’ Jane stood up. ‘OK, I need to go, Dan’ll be back down from the cottage in a minute then we’ve got to go to Grasmere. Oh, and by th
e way, you were right. Jake is here. And he has been spying on me. He said he wanted to make sure he got me on my own, that’s why he was watching me.’
Tenille scowled. ‘I told you he was up to no good. What’s he after?’
‘He wants us to get back together.’
‘Tell me you’re not going to. You’re way too good for him. I saw how upset you were when he pissed off. Nobody that really cared for you would treat you like that. I tell you, Jane, you should just tell him to piss off back to where he came from.’
Jane couldn’t help smiling at Tenille’s seriousness. Sometimes it was hard to remember she was only thirteen. ‘I appreciate your concern. And I will be careful, I promise you.’ She rubbed a hand over Tenille’s nappy head. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Tillie Swain was next on their list. She had been Edith Clewlow’s sister-in-law but, according to Judy, Tillie and Edith had never got on. Tillie considered that her brother had married beneath him, and the two branches of the family had been as distant as was possible when their homes were a scant half-dozen miles apart as the crow flies. Certainly Jane didn’t remember Jimmy ever talking about his Swain cousins, and she was fairly sure none of the Swains had been at Alice Clewlow’s that morning.
Tillie lived in a bungalow on the southern edge of the village, one of four that made up a little enclave set back from the main road. She’d been widowed in her early fifties when her husband Don had died in a car crash on the notorious Wrynose Pass. Since then, bitterness had settled on her in tandem with crippling arthritis. When she opened the door to Jane, bent and leaning on a stick, she looked up at her with suspicion. ‘Mrs Swain?’ Jane said.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘I’m Jane Gresham. I live up on Langmere Fell, just above Fellhead.’
‘Gresham’s Farm? Judy Gresham’s lass?’
‘That’s right. And this is my colleague Dan Seabourne. I wondered if we might have a word with you?’
‘With me? What about? I’m warning you now, I’ve only got my pension, so there’s no point coming here looking for donations for this, that and the other.’
Jane shook her head. ‘It’s nothing like that.’
Tillie exhaled heavily through her nose. Her eyes screwed up behind her large-framed glasses as she considered. ‘You better come in, I suppose. Save letting all the heat out.’
They followed her into a small over-heated living room which smelled of talcum powder and stale biscuits. The large TV that dominated the room was showing an Australian soap opera. ‘You’ll have to wait a minute,’ Tillie said. ‘I don’t want to miss the end. Brad’s got Ellie pregnant and now he’s going to tell her husband the baby isn’t his.’
‘That’s going to be a heck of a shock for Jason,’ Dan said, perching on the sofa and staring intently at the screen. ‘They’ve been friends for years, him and Brad.’
Tillie’s tight mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘You’re a fan?’
‘Love it,’ Dan said.
She nodded. ‘It’s a grand show. Never a dull moment. Reminds me of when I was young.’
Finally, the credits rolled and the anodyne music flowed. Tillie turned the sound down and turned to face them. ‘Besides, it’s the only company I get most days, I don’t like to miss it,’ she said. ‘So what brings you to my door, Jane Gresham?’
Jane had been fully prepared to journey all round the houses before she got to the point of her visit. But she was pretty sure there was no point in attempting small talk with Tillie Swain unless it centred round soap operas, a subject on which her knowledge was manifestly insufficient. And if she set Dan loose on that track, she feared she’d lose the will to live. All she could hope for was to inject a bit of drama into her own quest. ‘I’m on a kind of treasure hunt.’
Tillie snorted. ‘You’ll find no treasure here, lass.’
Dan grinned. ‘Now, Mrs Swain. You’re a connoisseur of the soaps, you should know that treasure turns up in the unlikeliest of places. Just have a listen to what Jane has to say before you dismiss it out of hand.’
‘I’m a Wordsworth scholar,’ Jane said. ‘I have reason to believe that a secret manuscript was entrusted to the care of one of the family servants. A very important manuscript. An undiscovered poem by William Wordsworth. And we’re trying to track it down.’
Now she had Tillie’s attention. ‘Would it be worth something, then?’
‘It would be worth a lot of money, yes. And it would be big news. On the TV and in the papers. Whoever found it and whoever owned it would be famous overnight.’
‘That’s all well and good, but why are you talking to me about some secret manuscript?’
‘The servant who was given the manuscript to take care of was your great-great-grandmother, Dorcas Mason. I wondered if you knew anything about it.’
A series of emotions played across Tillie’s wrinkled face. Greed, desire, frustration. ‘I wish I did,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’d know how to spend any money that came my way.’ She sighed, long and deep. ‘You’re wasting your time here. I never heard tell of such a thing. Not even a whisper.’
Jane recognised the truth. Wearily she stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ she said as Dan also got to his feet.
‘Life’s a bugger, isn’t it?’ said Tillie. ‘This morning, I never knew I could have been rich. And now I feel like something’s been snatched out of my hand.’
‘Believe me, Mrs Swain, you can’t be as sorry as I am.’
Tillie made a small, contemptuous noise. ‘Don’t count on it. You don’t know the meaning of disappointment at your age.’
But I do, Jane thought as they walked back to the car. I so do.
You will doubtless imagine that my heart sank at this apparent failure to locate our haven. But the opposite is the case. If I could not find Pitcairn using the best Admiralty charts & the finest navigational instruments, then neither would anyone else. But the problem remained, viz, how was I to find it if the charts were wrong, isolated as it was among thousands of square miles of empty water? Well, Cartaret first discovered Pitcairn in 1767, four years before the inestimable John Harrison was awarded the Longitude Prize. I deduced therefore that it was most likely that Cartaret got the longitude wrong. So with this in mind I set as our course a generous zigzag tack, along the line of latitude. On 15th January, the island finally broke the horizon & we approached as evening drew on. But our journey was not yet complete. For two more days, we were tossed about by high seas that made landing impossible. It seemed there was only one possible landfall on the island, & when once the seas had subsided, we rowed through the foaming surf. We had come home, whether we liked it or not.
29
Jake was feeling rather more pleased with himself than he had been since he’d left Crete. His meeting with Jane had been sticky, but he’d been expecting worse. It was a pain that she’d found out about him spying on her, but he thought he’d finessed that well. He picked up his phone and called Caroline, happy he had something more interesting to report than the death of a pensioner.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘How are things progressing?’
‘I finally managed to make contact with Jane today’
‘How did it go?’
‘I think I’m on the right track. I’m meeting her for lunch tomorrow.’
‘Did she tell you about her progress?’
‘She hasn’t even told me she’s on a mission yet. She’s playing her cards close to her chest. But I think I can worm my way under her guard.’
‘And there’s always her email,’ Caroline said. ‘You must keep an eye on that. And what about the old dears? Did you hit any more of them today?’
‘I’m going to go and see the next one this evening. Let’s hope this one lasts long enough for me to dig up any family secrets.’
‘Quite. We don’t want any more of them dropping dead before you’ve got everything out of them. Maybe you should try to persuade Jane to take you with her on her interviews now you’re
getting back on her good side. With her local connections and your role as money man you might get further together than apart.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Jake tried not to sound as lukewarm as he felt. Now that he was trying to acquire a manuscript for real rather than theorising about it, he’d come to believe that Jane’s softly-softly approach wouldn’t get the results she was hoping for. People needed more reason to give up their family secrets than wanting to please an academic, whether she came from the next village or not. His was a far better guarantee of results, and he didn’t really want Jane around to witness it.