The Crooked Shore

by Martin Edwards

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Anyone would think you’re trying to get rid of me.’ His tone was breezy, but he was studying her. Not that she ever gave much away. Was she getting bored with him? ‘Not met someone charming yourself, have you? This Kit Gleadall, for instance?’

  ‘You know perfectly well, I never mix business with pleasure.’

  She was right. This, he was sure, explained why her involvement with his father had never progressed beyond close friendship. All the same, her asperity suggested that he’d touched a nerve.

  He took a sip of coffee. In America, he’d got into the habit of spending the end of a day alone in expensive hotel rooms with all the atmosphere and personality of luxuriously furnished prison cells. He’d watch old films on television and think about Hannah. The two of them cared so much about their work and devoted so much time and energy to it that weeks and months slipped by with astonishing speed. They’d eased into a routine of seeing each other frequently and sleeping together from time to time, but not making a fuss if other commitments meant they couldn’t get together for a while. Public appearances took him around Britain as well as much further afield, and although she usually worked within the county boundaries, she’d never be a nine-to-fiver. What troubled him was the prospect of their relationship becoming a fall-back, a comfort zone.

  ‘Hannah …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Whilst I’ve been in the States, I’ve done some thinking. About you and me. And the future.’

  She looked across the table. Their eyes met.

  ‘Today’s been fun,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, it has.’

  ‘You know, we’ve always been honest with each other.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He couldn’t guess what was coming.

  ‘I love days like today. Spending time with you. But I’m not in the mood for deep, meaningful conversation. Specially not after a couple of glasses of wine.’ She drew a breath. ‘Are you wondering whether I’m upset that Marc’s getting married?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘Leigh is welcome to him. She can cope with his occasional hissy-fits. They work together, so there’s not a constant tension between her job and his. Me, I’m a senior police officer. Right now, that’s good enough for me. Ask Louise. The days when working women felt afraid of being left on the shelf are gone.’

  He winced. ‘I didn’t mean …’

  ‘Listen to me, Daniel.’ She leant across the table. ‘You’re a high achiever. Always have been, always will be. You’ve so much drive, it’s easy to kid yourself that life should be measured in milestones. Don’t worry, I’m a big girl, I can look after myself. I won’t turn into some kind of raving bunny-boiler if you hook up with your pretty actress, or anyone else for that matter.’

  He stared at her, unable to imagine anyone less like a bunny-boiler.

  ‘Why are you talking this way? I don’t want to hook up with anyone else.’

  The lights were low, but even if she’d been illuminated by a searchlight, he couldn’t have interpreted the quizzical look on her face.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  At two in the morning, Hannah was alone in her bed and wide awake. If invited, Daniel would have come back to the flat like a shot, she was sure, but she’d not given him the chance. She’d said the exercise and the fresh air had tired her out, and she was desperate for a good night’s sleep. It was a feeble excuse, and he was bound to see through it, but she hadn’t felt in the mood to take him to her bed.

  Now it was too late, she’d changed her mind. She’d made a mistake thanks to her determination to parade her independence. Why bother, given that Daniel was more enlightened than the overwhelming majority of men she’d met, certainly much more than his father? Was she trying to create a protective shield because she was afraid of being hurt again? And was her unhappiness about Marc’s habitual infidelity causing her to doubt Daniel? She had no idea what he got up to on his travels, and she didn’t want to find out. He was an attractive man; it was inevitable that other women be tempted. He’d be less than human if he wasn’t tempted too.

  The time had come to be honest, ruthlessly honest. In the privacy of her bedroom she could admit to herself that she wasn’t as dismayed by Kit Gleadall’s evident interest in her as she pretended. His confidence appealed to her, and so did his intelligence. She liked men who were good at what they did.

  It was no use; she was as wide awake as ever. Might as well get up.

  She padded into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water. Something tempted her to go into the spare room, which she used as an office. She switched on her laptop and googled Alex Samaras.

  There wasn’t much to be found. To avoid confusion with other actors with similar names, she was known professionally as Allie Samaras, formerly Alexandra Rowan. She’d appeared in a handful of minor productions in London and the south east. Half a dozen photographs of her were online. In every single one she looked beautiful. At least Daniel hadn’t pretended otherwise. Even so, Hannah’s heart lurched.

  And then there was the woman’s suggestion that the police had let Ben Kind and his family down by failing to trace the driver responsible for his death. Was this unfair? Chances were that the driver had been drunk and panicked. Hannah hadn’t been involved in the enquiry, but she’d heard there was simply nothing for the investigating officers to go on. It happened, but it wasn’t good. Was there any mileage in treating his death as a sort of cold case? Should she try to do some digging, to see if by some miracle she could find some evidence to bring the perpetrator to justice, at last?

  The thought had never crossed her mind before. Was she trying to compete with Alex Samaras? Were they really rivals?

  The regular tick-tock of the clock on the wall sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. And something else was bothering her, an insistent voice nagging away inside her head, no matter how hard she strove to silence it. This had been going on for weeks now. She couldn’t keep hiding from the truth, couldn’t keep the voice quiet any longer.

  I want a baby. A baby who survives this time, a child of my own. Before it’s too late.

  ‘Would you carry out your threat?’ Logan Prentice asked. ‘I mean, to report Kingsley to the police?’

  He and Tory were spending their Sunday afternoon sunbathing by the lake in the grounds of Strandbeck Manor. They had the place to themselves. Tory was lying on a lounger next to the jetty, showing lots of flesh in her pink bikini. Logan, wearing tiny blue speedos, was applying suntan lotion to his face.

  ‘Only as a last resort,’ she said.

  ‘He’s not well,’ Logan said, ‘Yes, he’s a crazy fantasist, but bringing in the cops might tip him over the edge.’

  ‘Considering what he’s accused you of, you’re very merciful. In your shoes, I’d be out for blood.’

  ‘What I don’t like,’ he said, ‘is the thought of him lurking around here like the Phantom of the Opera. Spying on us, making a nuisance of himself.’

  ‘He’d better not try.’

  ‘Kingsley’s weak but stubborn. He won’t let you go without a fight. Why not ask Greengables if he can be transferred elsewhere?’

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ she said. ‘There must be other properties for him to market. Not that he’s had much joy selling flats in the manor.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t want to live here?’ Logan’s wave encompassed the expanse of lawn, the well-tended rose-beds and shrubbery, the lake with its lily pads and the oaks and copper beeches. ‘Not another human being in sight, and the only sound is the humming of the bees. We might be sole owners. Lord and Lady Strandbeck.’

  She touched his knee. ‘Happy?’

  ‘This is the life. I could get used to la dolce vita.’

  ‘You will get used to it.’ A faraway look came into her eyes. ‘When I was young, I dreamt that one day I’d have it all.’

  ‘And now you do.’

  She exhaled. ‘I fancy a gin and tonic.’

  ‘Perfect.’ He
stood up. ‘Let me wait on you.’

  ‘If only we had a butler. Kingsley did have his uses. My mistake was fraternising with the servant class. I gave him the wrong idea about staff relations.’

  Logan sniggered. ‘Every Paradise has its serpent.’

  ‘Yes, but the time has come for him to slither away. I hate anyone messing me about. I won’t stand for it.’

  ‘I’d better behave myself, then.’

  ‘No,’ she said, reaching out and pulling him back down beside her. ‘I don’t want you to behave yourself.’

  ‘Anyone at home?’

  Louise had wandered into the grounds of Tarn Cottage and was standing in the shadow of a damson tree. This secluded sanctuary was Daniel’s retreat. There was a barn, a bothy, and a tarn. In the middle distance loomed a fell with its very own coffin trail. He was stripped to the waist, hacking at the brambles sprawling over the circuitous paths of the garden. Out of reach of his desk, his laptop, his phone. He was working off his frustration about the way his day with Hannah had fizzled out. After so long apart, he’d hoped – and assumed – they would spend the night together. When would he learn never to make assumptions where she was concerned? And why, after so long apart, was she so determined to keep him at arm’s length? To teach him a lesson? And if so, what did he need to learn?

  ‘Hello. Didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘Spur of the moment decision. When I rang the doorbell and there was no answer, I assumed you must be with Hannah.’

  ‘I saw her yesterday,’ he said shortly.

  ‘Oh, yes? Everything all right between the two of you?’

  ‘Fine.’ He found himself snapping at her. ‘Absolutely fine.’

  Louise folded her arms. ‘Methinks he doth protest too much. Anyway, I’ve brought you a visitor with a special request.’

  ‘A visitor?’

  Louise raised her voice. ‘Alex? Come on, he’s out at the back.’

  Alex Samaras walked through the gate in the trellis separating the path at the side of the cottage from the garden. In her orange ruched crop top, shorts, and trainers, she looked about eighteen.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Daniel.’ She considered him with undisguised interest. ‘I’ve come to beg a favour.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘you can always ask.’

  ‘I called round at Louise’s with a bag of your first editions. I hoped she might persuade you to inscribe them to me sometime when it was convenient. Next thing I knew she was insisting that we call on you. Sorry to interrupt your labours.’

  ‘Any excuse for a break,’ he said, ‘I’m the world’s worst gardener. I’ve already been stung by a bee, nicked by the spikes of the monkey puzzle, and tripped into a patch of nettles. I wouldn’t mind, but the place looks more of a jungle than when I started.’

  Alex looked round. ‘Such a lovely spot. So unusual.’

  ‘The cipher garden,’ Louise said.

  ‘Cipher garden?’

  ‘Long story,’ Daniel said. ‘Louise can tell you while I go inside and wash my hands. Then I can put on the kettle and get the books signed. Sorry I can’t offer lavish refreshments. If I’d known …’

  Alex laughed, a musical sound that serenaded him back into the cottage.

  ‘We need to talk about Ingrid,’ Tory said as she finished her gin.

  ‘She sees the specialist tomorrow,’ Logan said. ‘I keep hoping against hope for better news.’

  ‘Sweetheart, she’s desperately sick.’ He winced. ‘Sorry, but we have to face facts. Whatever the prognosis, it sounds as if she definitely needs this new treatment. And she isn’t going to be able to pay for it by public subscription.’

  ‘Crowdfunding.’ His smartphone had rolled under the lounger. Retrieving it, he brought up a site called For the Love of Ingrid. ‘We hoped for better. Social media is a powerful tool, and American people are naturally open-handed, but perhaps we expected too much. The cost is so high. The medical bills are spiralling out of control.’

  ‘That’s why you must let me help.’

  ‘We’ve been through this before. Darling, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your kindness. My gratitude is beyond words. But the amount of money is so huge, and for a person you’ve never even met.’

  ‘She’s your sister. She’s – what, twenty-nine? So very young. I’ve got the money, she has the need. You owe it to her to allow me to pay those bills.’

  He touched his phone and a photograph of a young woman appeared on the screen. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and she bore a resemblance to Logan. The fair complexion, the blue eyes, the high cheekbones.

  ‘Looks so fit, doesn’t she?’ He groaned. ‘Hard to believe this was taken only a couple of years ago.’

  Tory caught hold of his wrist. ‘You didn’t answer my question.’

  He shaded his eyes against the sun. ‘Imagine how Kingsley Melton would react if he found out. He’d probably subject me to a citizen’s arrest for fraud.’

  ‘We’ve been through this time and again. Forget about Kingsley. He’s history.’

  ‘You make it very hard to say no.’

  ‘Then don’t.’

  He thought for a minute. ‘Tell you what. Let’s wait and see if Ingrid gets more encouraging news tomorrow. We can talk to the specialist. If things are looking up, all well and good. If not, maybe the time has come for me to bury my pride and thank you for your incredible generosity.’

  She nodded. ‘I knew you’d see sense.’

  ‘It would be amazing if you could save her.’

  ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure, sweetheart,’ Tory said. ‘I got another chance of life. I’d love to give your sister the same opportunity to start again.’

  Hannah took advantage of the sun to walk up Beast Banks to the Serpentine Woods on the edge of Kendal. There were plenty of families around, but she told herself to stop fantasising about what might have been. Her family-that-never-was with Marc Amos, or her family-that-might-never-be with Daniel.

  After a snack lunch, and a leisurely stroll along the banks of the Kent, she resorted to her drug of choice when the future became too difficult and depressing to contemplate, and walked to Divisional HQ. She stuffed copies of the statements of the main witnesses interviewed during the Ramona Smith investigation into a briefcase. She’d study them in detail to see if there were any small points that Maggie hadn’t covered in her admirable precis which might spark fresh ideas about the fate of Ramona Smith.

  Back in the flat, she struggled to concentrate. After wrestling with her conscience for half an hour, she dialled Daniel’s number. Might as well apologise, and see if they could make a fresh start.

  No answer. He’d switched off.

  She tried to guess what he might be doing. Off on a hike over the fells? Catching up with Louise? Trying his luck with Alex Samaras?

  He’d made an effort last night. It wasn’t even impossible that he’d intended to propose, yet she’d rebuffed him in an offhand manner and for no good reason. Simply because she’d begun to doubt they had a future as a couple, and she didn’t want them to get any further entangled just because neither of them was brutal enough to bring their relationship to a halt.

  Against her will, she found herself thinking about Kit Gleadall.

  No, don’t go there, she thought. Haven’t I made enough mistakes in my life already?

  Louise and Alex ending up staying for a meal at Tarn Cottage. Daniel dug three pizzas out of the freezer and they dined in the cipher garden, with its tracks that wound back on themselves, false turnings, and dead ends.

  As they ate, he told Alex how he’d uncovered the story of the garden.

  ‘Quite the detective,’ she said.

  ‘Like father, like son,’ Louise said darkly.

  ‘If only Ben could see you now, Daniel.’ Alex shook her head. ‘So this is a garden designed as a sort of symbol of death?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. In olden days there was a vogue for gardens with a message. They
celebrated religious beliefs or mystical revelations. This one was created by a man whose mind was in turmoil. Who wanted to conjure up a living symbol of spiritual anarchy.’

  Alex shuddered. ‘Spooky.’

  ‘Very,’ Louise said. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t given it a total makeover.’

  ‘Put decking all over the place?’ Daniel was amused. ‘I’m a historian. We can’t hide from the past.’

  ‘You’re so right.’ Alex grinned. ‘That’s a line you use more than once in your books, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hey, you weren’t fibbing when you told me you’re a fan,’ Louise said. ‘Stop pandering to his ego. He’ll become even more unbearable.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not totally starry-eyed. Everyone has their faults. Can you cope with choppy waters, Daniel? Ever sailed in a dinghy?’

  ‘Never,’ he admitted.

  ‘There’s nothing better,’ Alex said dreamily. ‘Tell you what I’d like to do. Take the pair of you on a trip in my dinghy.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ Louise said. ‘Are you game, Daniel?’

  ‘Love to.’

  ‘Which lake?’ Louise asked.

  Alex spread her arms. ‘Spoilt for choice, aren’t we? I have a soft spot for Crummock Water.’

  ‘That’s a long trek from here. Why not Grasmere or Coniston?’

  ‘I love the serenity of the quieter lakes. Far away from the tourists.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Louise said. ‘Crummock Water is fabulous.’

  Daniel said, ‘Just make sure you wear a life jacket, Louise. Can’t expect Alex to make a habit of rescuing you from the watery deep.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Kingsley arrived early for his meeting with Annabel. She’d proposed coffee in one of the grand hotels overlooking Windermere. The morning was warm and he walked there from his bungalow, briefcase in hand, the last quarter’s statistics fixed in his mind. Since his disastrous phone conversation with Tory, he’d taken refuge in work. Poring over the figures, depressing as they were, was preferable to imagining the woman he adored as the plaything of a handsome young murderer.