by Mona Marple
“Wow, you look great Penelope. Off somewhere nice?” Sandy said.
“I’m due in the city to see the accountants but the darn taxi hasn’t arrived. I thought you were him.”
“I could be.” Sandy offered.
“Pardon?”
“I could take you where you need to get.”
Penelope furrowed her eyebrows and looked at the expensive watch on her slender wrist. “Would you mind? I wouldn’t ask but I really can’t be late.”
“Of course not, it’s fine.” Sandy said.
Penelope nodded and left the Manor without so much as a backwards glance. She followed Sandy across the gravel to her old Land Rover, a car that Sandy guessed Penelope would actually feel at home in.
She quickly cleared her sunglasses case and the mystery novel she was reading from the passenger side of the car to allow Penelope to sit down.
“Do you find much time to read?” Penelope asked, noticing the book that Sandy carefully placed on the back seat.
“Always.” Sandy admitted. “Five minutes in traffic, ten minutes at lunch, a few pages at bed time. I’m always making time to read. Where are we going?”
“I’m getting the train from Buxton, could you run me to the station there?”
“Of course.” Sandy said. She had nothing else to do so early in the morning, and the confined quarters of the car might help the conversation flow. “Headed to London?”
Penelope nodded. “Benedict usually does these things but he’s dreadfully ill.”
“Oh no. What’s wrong?” Sandy asked, instinctively wondering if it could be food poisoning from her buffet. It was one of the problems of seeing her customers so regularly; whenever one of them commented on having had a sickness bug or a spate of diarrhoea (why such things were public conversations, Sandy would never understand), Sandy had a moment of queasiness while she calculated when the person had last ate her food.
“He came down with a migraine after the wake, awfully sudden, and far too short notice to rearrange the meeting. So, here I am, off to do the job myself.”
“Well, I hope it goes well.” Sandy said.
“What were you knocking for? It’s awfully early for a visit.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I wanted to catch you on your own.”
“Oh?” Penelope asked, an eyebrow raised.
“I’m worried about you.” Sandy admitted. “You haven’t seemed yourself for a while. You missed story time last week, and that’s fine, if you’re too busy or whatever I really would understand… but you haven’t mentioned it since so it’s like you don’t…”
“Don’t realise I missed it at all.” Penelope said. “Quite.”
“Is everything okay?”
Penelope let out a breath as she flexed her slender fingers. “No, Sandy, it’s not.”
Sandy nodded, gaze on the road, hoping her silence would encourage Penelope to continue talking.
“I don’t know how but my spark for life has up and gone.” Penelope said, her voice cheery, as if she was curious and entertained by the problem. “Some days, I don’t even make it out of bed. Benedict says it’s my age, that I’m enjoying some well-earnt rest, but I can’t believe that. My life has hardly been one of physical labour, what have I done to earn a rest?”
“A lot’s happened recently, though, with the…”
“The murders.” Penelope finished. “Of course. And I’m sure this is a little slump that will disappear as soon as it arrived.”
“It must be nice to have Sebastian home.” Sandy said.
“You can’t imagine the worry, Sandy. Knowing he was out in the other side of the world, hours away by plane if he needed us. Of course, it’s not the same. He’s come home a man. Won’t even let me make him a hot cocoa at bed time any more. I loved that routine, always did it myself instead of asking the help.”
“I used to love hot cocoa.” Sandy admitted.
“I hate the stuff.” Penelope said with a laugh. “And it tasted foul when I made it, so I can’t blame Sebastian really. I always burnt the milk or didn’t put the right amount of cocoa in. So darn complicated.”
Sandy laughed.
“I’m awfully sorry I missed story time.”
“Oh, no, I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you.”
“Yes… yes. I am too.”
The words hung in the air for a few moments, Sandy considering the weight of them, the bare honesty of them.
Penelope gazed out of the window, lost in her thoughts, then pulled her handkerchief out of her pocket and wiped her eyes, real tears this time.
“Oh!” Sandy exclaimed, as if she hadn’t practiced the unplanned tone of voice. "I found one of your handkerchiefs.”
Penelope looked at her as Sandy pulled the handkerchief from her cardigan pocket. She passed it across to Penelope as they sat at a red light.
“I didn’t expect to see this again.” Penelope said, holding the delicate object in her hand with fascination.
“How did it get there?” Sandy asked. “Seems like a beautiful item to lose, so I thought I’d save it for you.”
“Oh, I didn’t lose it.” Penelope said. “I gave it away.”
“Gave it away?”
Penelope nodded. “Where did you find it?”
“At Black Rock. I’ve been investigating… Gurdip’s widow is convinced it wasn’t an accident.”
Penelope swallowed. “The police closed the case.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, they never opened it really. Just a sad accident, they said.”
“Sad indeed.” Penelope murmured.
“Who did you give it to?” Sandy asked. “The handkerchief? There’s a chance, since it was found at Black Rock, that person could be involved.”
“Well, I can’t really help you there.” Penelope said. “I don’t know who I gave it to.”
“So you just gave an embossed handkerchief to a stranger?” Sandy asked with a laugh, hoping her question sounded less aggressive out loud than the thought preceding it had been.
“I saw a woman in distress, of course I gave her my handkerchief. As I say, I didn’t expect to see it again.”
“How did it end up at Black Rock, then? That’s what I need to try and figure out.”
“Well, it’s fairly straightforward really. Black Rock was where I saw her, where I gave it to her.”
“A mysterious woman distressed at Black Rock.” Sandy said, with a shake of her head. “Cass was right, I’m looking for connections to Gurdip where there aren’t any. I should just accept that Anastasia’s in denial. It was clearly an accident.”
“I can’t comment on that, but if you’re looking for a connection to Gurdip, you’ve found one.”
“I have?”
“Of course. The woman, the distressed woman, she was with Gurdip. On the night he died.”
Sandy shook her head in disbelief, forcing her attention to remain on the road. “You’re kidding. I need you to tell me everything you can about what you saw.”
“Oh, Sandy. It had no significance to me, I didn’t really pay attention.”
“Please try.” Sandy pleaded.
“Okay. She was young, very young, and incredibly attractive. I was on my way back from checking on Mr Dent, and I came across them in some kind of tryst. This lady and Gurdip, not Mr Dent, I can’t imagine he’s been anywhere near a tryst in quite some time, poor fellow. Anyway, Gurdip had his arms around her and she was clinging to him. I, of course, looked away, but then I heard her crying, and I do believe that women should stick together, so I marched over and asked if she was okay. If she was safe, you know. She was such a beautiful mess, thick dark lashes, and a bindi on her forehead, quite intoxicating. But dreadfully upset.”
“Wow.” Sandy breathed.
“She was embarrassed, of course, so I offered her my handkerchief and carried on my way. That’s really all I can tell you.”
“You’ve not seen the woman before? Or since?”
Penelope shook her he
ad. They were approaching Buxton and the roads were growing busier as they entered the town and joined commuters on their way to work.
“I’d remember her.” Penelope said. “Such a beautiful girl. A sad, beautiful girl. It felt like she was falling apart on the outside just like I feel like I am on the inside sometimes.”
“Oh, Penelope.” Sandy said. “I’m so sorry, I should have spoke to you sooner. What can I do to help?”
“Well.” Penelope said, and her voice returned to the light, cheery one Sandy was used to. She was returning to business mode, aware that they would arrive at the train station in a few minutes. “If I don’t turn up for story time again, I demand that you come across to the Manor and drag me from my bed for starters.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of, how can I be kind to you?”
“No need for that sort of talk, thank you very much.” Penelope said. “Nobody’s ever had to tiptoe around me in my life and I don’t want it to start now. No, just forget we had this little talk, that’s the best thing you can do for me.”
“If you insist.” Sandy said as she pulled up at the train station. “Now, do you have a lift home sorted or do you want me to come back? It’s no trouble.”
“Oh, goodness, no, you’ve been more than kind. Thank you, Sandy. Now, have a wonderful day!”
Penelope opened the passenger door and jumped out, then gave a mock-salute and walked away into the station.
Sandy sank down in her seat and allowed the conversation to sink in.
And she realised, as she sat with the engine running, that she knew what had happened to Gurdip.
It was time to solve the case.
14
The church was quiet and cold, and Sandy thought it was empty until she saw a slim figure sitting at the front of the pews. She gave out a low cough to announce her presence, and the figure turned, gave a smile towards her but then returned their attention forwards.
Sandy took a seat in the pew behind and gazed at the back of the man’s head.
“Are you okay?” Rob Fields whispered after a few moments.
“I came to ask a favour.” Sandy replied.
Rob turned in his seat, draping his arm across the back of the pew. He met her gaze with a wide smile, an eagerness to help.
“I wondered if I could borrow you.” Sandy began. “I can’t really explain more now.”
“Now?” Rob said. “That should work, I was finished here.”
“Are you sure? You looked… as if you weren’t.”
“I like to spend a few minutes out here with the big guy himself.” Rob said with a wink. “But a friend in need, of course, what do you need me to do?”
“Just come with me, and follow my lead.”
“That I can do.” Rob said. The two stood up and walked back down the aisle and out into the evening sun. Rob locked the big church door after them and then sealed it with a padlock. “Where are we headed?”
“Not far.” Sandy said. She led the way, the silence between her and Rob comfortable. Creating and allowing silence for people was a big part of Rob’s life, Sandy thought, and it perhaps explained how it seemed as though he moved through life at a slower pace, full of calm and reassurance. Apart from in his home, of course, where he lived like a bachelor who really needed to hire a cleaner.
Sandy’s stomach grew nervous as they continued walking. She hadn’t eaten all day, but had hid upstairs in the book shop, serving new and old customers and attempting to finalise her plan. A foolish plan, as the situation could escalate in any number of ways. She took a swallow and tried to steady her breathing.
“Are you ok, Sandy?” Rob asked.
“Nervous.” Sandy admitted.
“But you can’t tell me why.” Rob said. It wasn’t a question. He wasn’t pleading with her to explain, but trusted that she had made the decision already. “Are you in trouble?”
“No…. no, I’m not. But someone is.”
Rob nodded. “In my experience, someone always is. And is it our duty to save them? To help them? That’s one of the questions we deal with in the church.”
“And what’s the answer?”
Rob laughed. “There’s never one answer. People point to the verses that speak to them most.”
“And what’s your opinion?”
“I think it’s quite simple. I’m a simple man really. I think if I can do a kindness, I should.”
“Is that why you hired Olivia?”
“I need the help.” Rob said with a shrug.
Sandy took a deep breath. “Right, we’re here.”
She led Rob down the path and knocked on the door. Silence. A second knock. Silence. A third knock, and the door was flung open, the occupant wild-eyed at the intrusion.
“What do you want?”
“Can we come in?” Sandy asked, her tone pointed. “We need to talk.”
“I guess.” And the door opened, the house darker than the outside, curtains drawn. Sandy walked ahead, seeing herself into the living room, with Rob behind her. She was glad he was there.
“Well?”
“I need you to tell me where you were on the night Gurdip died.” Sandy began. Rob glanced at her, a micro-tilt of his head, then recovered his composure.
The person smiled at her request, actually smiled. A full, relieved, smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”
“You were there, at Black Rock.” Sandy prompted.
“I was.”
“I’ve been trying to work it out but I need your help.” Sandy admitted. The clues didn’t make sense. She couldn’t fit them together, piece by piece, to show the whole image.
“And why is he here?”
“To take your confession.” Sandy said, simply. Rob, to his credit, didn’t react at all.
“He’s not a priest and I’m not a Catholic.” The person said, gazing at Rob Fields.
“But…” Sandy gaped, amazed by her obvious error.
“I hear confessions regularly.” Rob said, his voice calm, reassuring. “As you know, us Christians can ask forgiveness direct from our Father in prayer, but many of the congregation come to me to share mistakes. We don’t call it confession, but that’s what it is.”
“I think you want to help me.” Sandy said. “Don’t you?”
“No, I want you to help me. I’m scared.”
“Just tell us what happened.” Sandy said, and she lowered her frame down onto a chair, an action Rob copied. Their host took a seat too, and began to cry.
“I knew he was going to Black Rock. I heard the mention of Victor Dent shooing him away and I asked him about it. He denied it. And he never lied, so I knew something was wrong. He had no reason to be on that land.”
Sandy nodded, encouraging.
“That day, he had lunch at home with me, and while he was preparing the food I went through his phone. Found the messages, arranging to meet again that night.”
“An affair?” Sandy asked.
Anastasia shook her head, her fingers rubbing the gold cross like a talisman. “I could have coped with that, I think. Anything but this.”
“He met a woman, didn’t he?”
“A girl.”
“Who was she?”
The question caused Anastasia to sob, and she stood up and moved to the dining table, it’s top covered with half-packed boxes. She picked up a shoe box and returned to her seat with it. Out of the box she pulled a photograph and handed it to Sandy.
The girl - and she was a girl - was beautiful. Dark eyelashes and a bindi spot. The girl from Black Rock.
“Gurdip thought I’d never find out.” Anastasia said. “And with me unable to have children, he thought it was for the best. To hide it. To hide her. She was born here, but lived in India. Then this year she came back, to find him.”
“She’s his daughter.” Sandy breathed, the details finally slotting together.
Anastasia nodded through her tears. “I wanted a daughter more than anything in the world. Gurdip and I, we talked a
bout it on our first date. How mad is that? Didn’t feel mad then. I knew he was the love of my life, and I believe he felt the same about me.”
“Why would he hide that from you?”
Anastasia gulped the tears away, choking to find her next breath. “I had a medical hysterectomy when I was young. One of the youngest cases of cervical cancer ever, I was. At the time it didn’t seem like much to lose. It got rid of the cancer. It was only afterwards, I became a bit obsessed with babies. I was raging at the world really, and I focused on babies - baby girls. I became convinced that I was meant to have a daughter. I told Gurdip all this on our first date because I thought I owed him honesty. I opened up about it all; my illness, the hysterectomy, the fact I’d never have the daughter I wanted so badly. He said we could adopt, but I wanted to carry my own child. That’s what hurt the most - I opened up and he didn’t.”
“He was trying to protect you?” Sandy offered, imagining the turmoil Gurdip must have felt on that date. Wanting to impress a young woman he had just met, or perhaps simply wanting to be sensitive to her loss. He wasn’t there to explain the reasons any more, but he chose to keep quiet.
“Perhaps.” Anastasia admitted. “She was a mistake. An accident. I’ve managed to put bits and pieces together. He’d been visiting family when it happened, just before he started University. He offered to marry the girl and bring her back here but she refused. And so that was that. He sent money, it wasn’t as if he abandoned her completely. I knew he was sending money, of course, but I thought it was for his family. Well, I guess it was.”
“And then she came out here to find him?”
Anastasia nodded. “This photo, she sent it with a letter, to him at the hospital in Leicester. One of his friends rang and told him there was a letter - they’d opened it, of course - a letter he needed to see. I think Gurdip knew then. I think he was always waiting for the moment it would come crashing down around him.”
“Why didn’t he tell you then?” Sandy asked. “You seemed to have such a strong marriage, surely you could have worked through it?”
“No.” Anastasia said, her voice venomous. “How could we? How could I? She’d have been a constant reminder of what I would never have. Can you imagine it? Her coming here, calling him dad and me… well, I’d be nothing at all to her. And she’d be nothing at all to me. Just a cruel reminder.”