The Cipher Garden

by Martin Edwards

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he hissed. ‘There’s nothing to know.’

  She squeezed his hand. So far, so predictable. He never wanted to hear a word against Bel. Of course, that was half the trouble: he was in denial. Loyal and faithful to a fault, he couldn’t help still caring for her. He’d never be able to see through her unless she made him understand.

  ‘It’s the anonymous letter. I’ve been thinking about who could have sent it. We’ve both behaved so discreetly. We’ve never been anywhere together, we only ever see each other here. Yet the letter told me to keep my hands off you.’

  The moon came out again and she could see him, rubbing his beaky nose in bafflement. ‘Anyone could have written that. Some spiteful person who saw us chatting together, who knew we were friends. Someone who felt you took too long serving the main course, whatever.’

  ‘No, no, don’t you see? There have been other letters, two that I know of for sure. One to my mother, another to Sam. Both of them talking about Dad’s murder. Whoever wrote those letters knows our family, Oliver. And wants to hurts us. Me in particular.’

  He pulled his hand away and took a step backwards into the shadow. ‘You seriously think Bel sent those letters? It’s mad, Kirsty. She’d never do it. There isn’t a malicious bone in her body.’

  Leaves rustled. A squirrel, or more likely a fox. Kirsty swallowed hard. ‘She’s crazy about you, Oliver. A middle-aged woman clinging on to a much younger man, she’ll do anything. You’ve never married, you’re not exactly Mr Commitment. She’s afraid she’s going to be left on her own, and she can’t cope with the prospect. Look at how she chased after you within weeks of burying her husband. The stuff about Dad was a blind. I’m the target.’

  ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’

  She reached out and gripped his wrist. ‘Listen to me, Oliver, no other explanation makes sense. I’m not angry with her, I sympathise…’

  ‘No!’ He shook her off, like a celebrity detaching himself from an over-familiar fan. ‘Kirsty, God knows, I don’t want to hurt you, but you must see sense.’

  ‘All I want to see is you,’ she said.

  ‘Look, I’m very fond of you, seriously I am.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Much more than you could ever imagine.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘But we’re just friends, that’s as far as it goes.’

  ‘No! We can—’

  ‘Listen to me! You say Bel’s crazy about me. What you don’t seem to understand is this. I’m absolutely crazy about her.’

  She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. The moon came out again and she could see his white face, skin taut over those high cheekbones. He was breathing hard, in the way she’d imagined he might when they were making love. But if he meant what he said, they would never make love.

  The rusty hinges of the back door screeched. Veselka in sullen mood, bringing rubbish out to put in the bin. She was bound to see them, but Kirsty no longer cared. Oliver was lying, or at least she prayed he was, but he would never admit it. And if he was telling the truth, she no longer cared about anything.

  Louise joined Daniel in the kitchen as he took the stopper out of the wine bottle. The smell of chicken curry lingered in the air. The clock on the oven said ten to midnight, but you would never have guessed. This was the hottest night so far.

  ‘Is Miranda OK?’

  ‘She has a migraine, that’s all.’

  Miranda had been tetchy and monosyllabic all evening. He’d kept quiet, hoping to avoid a row, but in the end she’d gone up to bed, leaving Louise to watch a Julia Roberts DVD while he browsed through a stack of books about the Lakes, searching in vain for clues to the mystery of the garden. Even with the window open, there wasn’t a breath of air. He felt like an aged miner, hacking coal out of a poor seam. In the end he gave up and decided to finish off the Sancerre with Louise.

  ‘She blames the weather, but there’s more to it than that, isn’t there? All day she’s been tense and fidgety. Even working out in the gym didn’t help.’

  ‘That’s Miranda for you.’

  ‘She’s missing London, she said so.’

  ‘I don’t know why. Whenever she isn’t flogging down there on the train, she and the people at the magazine are firing emails back and forth.’

  ‘While we were out, she took a couple of long private calls. From her editor, she said.’

  He poured the last of the wine. ‘No offence, Louise, but if I wanted relationship counselling, I wouldn’t come knocking on your door. Miranda and I are fine.’

  In her dream, Hannah was sitting in her car up the lane from Keepsake Cottage, obscured from view by willow trees. Nick Lowther’s Mondeo appeared from round the bend, sun glinting on its bonnet, and turned into the drive. He hadn’t seen her, but through the leaves she watched him park and jump out. He was in shirt-sleeves and had taken off his tie. The front door opened to reveal Roz Gleave in a well-filled black lace gown. Grey hair, freckled skin, dark eyes and brows. A strong woman, confident of her subtle allure. They embraced and then she took his hand and led him inside. The door shut behind them and Hannah looked up towards the bedroom window. Moments later, she glimpsed two shadows, intertwining.

  When she woke up she was sweating. The red digits of the bedside alarm clock blinked at her, as if in reproach. Four-twenty; another broken night. She had a tight feeling in her abdomen and her head was throbbing. Marc murmured something unintelligible before rolling over in his sleep. They were both naked. Earlier, they’d made love, but she’d been exhausted and his face had betrayed dismay at her lack of ecstasy. He wasn’t to blame for her mind being elsewhere.

  She needed to scrub Daniel Kind out of her mind; she should never have said yes to his suggestion of a drink. It was a mistake, a seeking out of fun and excitement, and a change in fortune, and it was doomed from the start. If she wasn’t careful, it might lead to something dangerous, and she didn’t want that. At least she didn’t think she did.

  And then there was Nick. Surely he wasn’t having an affair with Roz, surely it was absurd to imagine for one second that he might be covering up the truth about the murder of Warren Howe. He deserved her trust, as Marc deserved her undivided attention. She was letting down the people she cared for most.

  She padded downstairs and toasted a couple of slices of bread to assuage pangs of hunger. Catching a glimpse of her pale flesh in the hall mirror didn’t make her feel better. Not quite such a pretty sight these days, she thought, whatever Marc might say when he was in the mood for love. She was so accustomed to feeling young and fit and capable of anything, but the years were slipping by. Perhaps she’d risen too fast in the force and hit the ceiling too soon. There was a question she’d regularly asked other people in promotion interviews, but right now she’d hate to have to answer it herself.

  Where do you see yourself in ten years’ time?

  When Kirsty came downstairs, she found her mother and Sam at the breakfast bar. Tina was wearing nothing but a cotton top that scarcely covered her modesty. Unsuitable for a woman her age, in Kirsty’s opinion, especially in front of her own son. Kirsty was careful to keep her bits covered when Sam was around, because he wasn’t above getting an eyeful, even of his own sister. But she knew that if she said anything, her mother wouldn’t be angry, she’d just turn the tables on her and mock her prudishness.

  Tina was tucking into milk-drenched cornflakes, but she’d cooked bacon, sausage and eggs for her son. She wouldn’t do that for me, Kirsty thought, she’d expect me to look after myself. She’s always favoured Sam, and not thanks to anything he’s ever bothered to do for her. It’s because he’s a boy. She’s never had much time for her own sex, it’s men that matter to her.

  ‘You’ll need to make fresh coffee,’ Tina said. ‘We’re almost out of paper filters, by the way, you’d better pick some up from the shop. I didn’t fill the machine, it’s not like you to grace us with your presence this early.’

  ‘I had a bad night. Couldn’t sleep properly.�
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  ‘It’s the heat.’ Tina indulged in an elaborate stretch. Kirsty could see the swell of her breasts straining against the thin cotton. Sam was looking up from his motorcycling magazine to take in the view as well. ‘Peter’s the same, he’s as restless as I don’t know what. Anyone would think he had a guilty conscience. That’s why I came over here last night, to get a bit of shut-eye. Best not complain about the weather, though. Any day now we’ll be soaked to the skin by a thunderstorm. Not that you’ll be sorry if it pours down, will you, Sam? He was telling me, Kirsty, when he was digging yesterday it was like trying to drill into Scafell Pike, the ground was that hard.’

  Another example of how close they were. He never talked to his sister about his work, not even to grumble. Kirsty reached for the fruit bowl and picked out a banana. At this time of day, healthy eating was easy. It was nibbling at Oliver’s chocolate fudge cake during her shift that ruined every attempt at a diet.

  ‘Still going skydiving tomorrow, Kirsty?’

  ‘Yes, why do you ask?’

  ‘No need to bite my head off. You always complain I don’t show enough of an interest. It’s for charity, isn’t it? Peter and I thought we might come along and watch. How about you, Sam?’

  Keeping his gaze on a photograph of a semi-naked blonde astride a gleaming Suzuki, he mumbled with his mouth full. ‘If I’ve nothing better to do.’

  ‘Don’t feel you have to turn up on my account,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘We’d love to,’ her mother said. ‘I said to Peter, I’ll be scared witless, watching you float through mid-air. But he told me it will be wonderful.’

  Mum’s buttering me up, Kirsty thought. Trying to persuade me that Peter’s a regular guy and we can break the habit of a lifetime and become one big happy family. Perhaps the anonymous letter has brought them even closer together. For God’s sake, what if they’ve decided to get married?

  She peeled the banana. There was only one way to push the worries out of her mind. Thinking about Oliver didn’t work these days; he was just one more thing to worry about. Freedom wasn’t down here on earth, you only found it up in the clear blue sky. Staring up at the ceiling, she recalled her first tandem dive.

  Ten people, packed like sardines in the tiny plane. Shuffling into position at 10,000 feet and planting her backside in the lap of her partner, a complete stranger, a man who smelled of tobacco and whom she had to trust, because there was no choice. Tightening her harness and remembering a boyfriend who’d tried in vain to persuade her to get into bondage. This was the closest she’d ever come to it. Checking her goggles and hat, waiting for the magic 12,000 to hit on the altimeter.

  The door opening. Putting her legs over the side, experiencing the exhilaration as she saw the sky below. Saying a silent prayer as she jumped.

  Floating through a cloud, with fluffy whiteness all around. Fighting for breath and freezing cold, yet alive in a way she’d never known before. Alive with excitement and sweet, sweet fear.

  Bel Jenner had said on the phone that she and Oliver would meet Hannah at The Heights, rather than in the couple’s house next door. Hannah recognised a technique for keeping the investigation at arm’s length. No doubt that by now everyone in Old Sawrey knew about the cold case review. The grapevine in a Lakeland village works faster than the latest broadband.

  Oliver led them into the bar area, guiding her towards one of a pair of two-seater sofas facing each other across a table with a mosaic top. The place exuded comfort and contentment. The walls were covered with Lake District scenes and in the background Perry Como crooned about magic moments. Oliver waited as his partner took a seat, deferential as a courtier. It wasn’t what Hannah expected when a couple had been together for years. What was the old joke – you start by sinking into his arms and end with your arms in his sink?

  According to the file, Oliver was fifteen years younger than Bel, but he was as attentive as a man in the first flush of infatuation. To talk to her, Bel was Mrs Ordinary, yet her life had been anything but. In her time, she’d hooked a rich older husband and a sexy young lover. To say nothing of having a teenage fling with a man who was stabbed to death at the home of her oldest friend. Nor was there anything ordinary about her appearance. Posh clothes, lustrous hair and cheekbones to die for. Hannah suppressed a stirring of envy.

  ‘Why the Boggle Bar?’ she asked, focusing on the sign above the arch linking the bar with the restaurant.

  ‘After the story of the Waterside Boggle,’ Bel said. ‘At night a strange creature used to roam by the lake. Some said it resembled a calf, some a dog. Others said it was a beast akin to a donkey. It vanished whenever a passer-by approached, and the only trace of its presence was a sound like a cartload of stones being emptied into Esthwaite Water.’

  ‘Years ago an old man from Far Sawrey told us it wasn’t a boggle but a barghest,’ Oliver said. ‘A much scarier apparition. The sight of a barghest is supposed to foretell a death.’

  Bel flashed a nervous smile and said, ‘You can see why we prefer to call this the Boggle Bar, Chief Inspector. The Barghest Bar would be rather frightening.’

  Oliver stroked her hand with long, slender fingers. Charm seeped out of his every pore. And not only was he fanciable, he could cook. No man ought to be so gorgeous. Hannah consoled herself that he wasn’t her type. Good looks and good manners weren’t enough. Though she could hear her friend Terri whispering in her ear: but they’re a bloody good start.

  ‘Let me organise coffee,’ he said. ‘Plain filter or cappuccino, Chief Inspector?’

  As he busied himself with the machine, the women exchanged pleasantries and Hannah asked how long they had been here. Bel explained that Tom Danson, her late husband, had bought The Heights a few years after their marriage. He had his own building company, but sold it on his fiftieth birthday. His first wife had died of leukaemia ten years earlier and he’d thrown himself into the business as a way of getting over it. They’d met when Bel went to work for the firm as a receptionist and he proposed within a fortnight. She wanted him to ease off and encouraged him to pursue the idle dream he’d had for years, of running a little restaurant out in the countryside.

  ‘By the time we took over, The Heights had become a place to eat, more than a pub. There’s more money in selling food than beer. We’d been living in Tom’s old house on the outskirts of Grasmere, but it had too many distressing memories of his wife’s illness. I’m so glad I persuaded him to make a fresh start here. We had the old cottage next door pulled down and a new home built. At least we had a little time together here before he took ill. An inoperable brain tumour.’

  Guilt knifed Hannah. Life hadn’t always been kind to Bel. It was wrong to begrudge her some fun with a toy boy.

  ‘It must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘Yes, we needed help. So I brought in a chef called Jason Goddard.’

  Oliver fidgeted at the mention of the name, Bel smiled and stroked his hand. Hannah kept quiet. In the background, Dusty Spingfield wailed that she just didn’t know what to do with herself.

  ‘Jason introduced an exotic menu. He was desperate for us to get in the Michelin Guide. A delightful young man, but he seemed to believe that to be any good, a chef has to be temperamental. His mood swung like a man on a flying trapeze. What’s more, our customers weren’t keen on the fancy cooking. I was preoccupied with Tom and shortly before he died, Jason recruited Oliver. He said he needed back-up, but there was an ulterior motive.’

  ‘Jason was gay,’ Oliver explained. ‘I’d grown up in Preston, but I’d come up to the Lakes after leaving college. I didn’t have any ties, or any thought of settling down. As a kid, I’d worked in McDonald’s, a country mile from haute cuisine. I wasn’t ambitious, I never wanted to be a celebrity chef. One morning I called here, looking for casual work. Nothing had been advertised, but I ran into Jason and he gave me a job after a five-minute interview. Not long after Tom died, I discovered why.’

  Bel giggled. ‘Jason was an outrageous flirt
and he fancied Oliver like mad. Not that I blame him, but it all became very unpleasant. Of course, Oliver wasn’t interested, but Jason hated being turned down, it wasn’t in the script. He walked out on me and all of a sudden Oliver was in charge of the kitchen. I came to lean on Oliver; he was a tower of strength.’

  I bet, Hannah said to herself. The two of them were sitting as close as possible to each other on the opposite sofa, thighs and legs touching. They seemed to fit each other to perfection. Easy to understand what Jason and Bel saw in Oliver. The bitchy part of Hannah thought it even easier to understand what Oliver had seen in Bel. You only had to sink into this armchair. It clutched you like a lover. Sheer luxury, sheer hedonism, sheer expense. If you were going to stop drifting, where better to drop anchor?

  ‘You said in your original statement that you’d known Warren Howe since you were both young.’

  ‘He was a couple of years older than me, lived a couple of hundred yards away in the cottage covered with Virginia creeper. You must have passed it on your way here. A footballer from Blackburn bought it as a holiday home eighteen months back. Warren was a tearaway, but to an innocent of fourteen, he seemed glamorous and exciting.’ Bel might have been talking to herself as she recalled the past. ‘My parents were strict Methodists, and very old-fashioned Methodists at that. They were both close to forty when I was born and life at home was a bit of a time-warp. They didn’t approve of the Howes and they’d have had heart failure if they’d realised I was seeing Warren. I’m afraid I told a lot of lies. But our romance only lasted a month, then he took up with Roz.’

  ‘You must have been devastated.’

  ‘Oh yes. It was all very traumatic and I took a long time getting over it. Looking back, I suppose I ought to be grateful. He helped me to grow up.’

  ‘You fell out with Roz when she took your boyfriend away from you?’

  Bel smoothed her hair. ‘I didn’t blame her. He decided he wanted her and that was that. I never knew anyone so relentless. For him, it was all about the thrill of the chase. Once Roz succumbed, the only question was how long it would take him to dump her. The answer was six weeks.’