by Rebecca Tope
Christopher gave a soft moan. ‘Tragic,’ he mumbled.
‘Right. But the family all survived and couldn’t wait to get cracking on starting all over again. Even Hilda, who was barely more than a child at the time. She never cared so much for antiques as such, but she was passionate about old papers. Anything you auctioneers might call “memorabilia”. She bought rare letters and diaries, the oldest books she could find, early photos. All fairly bonkers, in that she didn’t care who the things came from. She just seemed to have this compulsion.’
‘So when did she buy the house that now belongs to my colleague?’ asked Christopher, who persistently tried to turn the conversation back to Josephine.
‘Twenty, twenty-five years ago, maybe. Why does that matter?’
‘Just trying to get the whole picture.’ He frowned. ‘Which still is nothing like clear, I’m sorry to say. One minute we’re in 1940 and the next you’re wanting me to smooth things down between you and your uncle. Maybe I should just ask Josephine to explain it all.’
Fabian mumbled a response that sounded like, ‘Do what you want,’ and then seemed to slump into a doze.
‘God, Chris, he’s fainting,’ Simmy protested. ‘He should have gone home ages ago. It’s practically dark. Are you allowed to use one of those scooters at night?’
‘I’m going to have to drive him – but there’s no way I can get that thing in the car. Maybe he can come back for it tomorrow, on the bus or something.’
‘No, no,’ Fabian breathed. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll go now. Thanks for the coffee and everything. I’ve put my address here, see. With Richmond’s name. Just hope that battery holds out.’
Simmy was handsomely excused from further worry by Robin suddenly waking and noticing that his supper was late. Christopher was forced to let Fabian go, having watched him start his vehicle and chug determinedly towards the main road. He went back indoors and followed Simmy upstairs.
‘They make those things much sturdier these days,’ he said, obviously trying to reassure himself. ‘And it’s not really dark once you’re out there.’
‘Has it got lights?’
‘I suspect not.’
‘He’ll be killed,’ she said fatalistically.
After he’d gone and Robin was despatched for the night, Simmy and Christopher still had only one topic of conversation. Fabian had left countless intriguing questions dangling for them to pore over. ‘How old did you say he’d be now?’ Simmy asked.
‘Pushing sixty, wouldn’t you think? It’s hard to be sure. He seemed somewhere in his forties in Africa.’
‘He’s awfully pathetic and I know I should feel sorry for him, but I really don’t like him. He’s creepy and I’d never trust him.’ She clung to her original impression that the man was not to be encouraged. She doubted his honesty and suspected he could easily become an incubus. She was also unsure of his mental competence. His rambling explanation of his family troubles had never reached a clear conclusion. There was obviously a lot more he could have told them. No definite request had been made, on which Christopher could work, even if he wanted to. Find Uncle Richmond was not enough on its own – not by a long way.
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I wonder. He’s pushed in here, dumped all that family rubbish on us and now wants you to act as a family counsellor with this missing uncle. It’s outrageous when you think about it.’
‘All my own fault,’ sighed Christopher. ‘What if I did lose him that house? It sounds as if that would have turned his life around rather nicely.’
‘He never said where it is. Did you notice?’
‘It’s here somewhere. Ullswater. I remember that much, although technically there’s no such place as Ullswater – it’s just a lake. It’s got to be one of the villages adjoining the lake.’ He moaned gently.
‘Are you going to track down Uncle Richmond, then? If so, what’ll you say to him?’
‘I can try and find his phone number, maybe. Or I could just ask Josephine to fill me in on the whole lot of them. That’s the obvious thing to do. She might warn me not to touch any of them with a bargepole.’
‘Fancy her inheriting the house!’ Simmy marvelled for the third or fourth time. It kept hitting her all over again that the apparently unremarkable woman must have hidden and unsuspected depths. ‘They must have been really good friends.’
Christopher shrugged. ‘That’s another thing I can ask her. I’m quite looking forward to hearing all about it.’
Simmy felt another surge of dislike for Fabian. ‘Well, don’t let them drag you in too deep, will you? We’ve got a young baby, remember. I need you here every minute you’re not at work. And it seems to me you can’t possibly have caused him to get written out of his aunt’s will. She must have realised what a slimeball he is and changed her mind – probably five minutes after she told him he was going to be her heir. I don’t think you owe him anything at all.’
‘Well, I beg to differ on that,’ said Christopher with a sigh.
‘We’re going to regret this,’ she warned him. ‘I can feel it in my bones.’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ he grovelled. ‘But what could I do about it? You saw what he was like.’
‘I know. It’s not your fault. But what happens now? He’s going to keep coming back and it’ll be the same thing, over and over again. We’ve probably got him for life. And we don’t even know in any proper detail what he wants us to do.’
‘“Us”?’ echoed Christopher, with an uneasy smile.
‘Yes. You wouldn’t know where to start – and you’ve got plenty of other things to think about. But I’ve got Ben and Bonnie, and Tanya and even Melanie to call on. It’s ages since I’ve seen her. She might have a bit of spare time.’ Melanie Todd was Bonnie’s predecessor in the flower shop. She had moved on to work in a hotel, ambitiously climbing a promising career ladder.
‘Simmy …’ Christopher said warningly, before clamping his lips together. There was nothing he could safely say.
Simmy went on blithely, ‘If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it’s Ben. And Ben’s going to like the story. Fabian Crick won’t know what’s hit him, if I set Ben onto him and his Uncle Richmond.’
‘Serve him right,’ said Christopher, with another cautious smile.
Over breakfast next day, they went back to the subject. ‘I was thinking about it in the night,’ said Simmy. ‘While I was doing the four o’clock feed. Don’t you think that might have just been an opening salvo sort of thing? Checking us out, feeling his way, before he told us anything really important?’
‘Could be. I was thinking about it, too. I need to find out from Josephine just what I might be letting myself in for if I contact the uncle. I’ll have to tread carefully, or she’ll think I’m annoyed with her for giving him my address and number.’
‘Aren’t you?’
‘Surprised more than annoyed. It never occurred to me she might have an interesting past, with boyfriends and dodgy relationships.’
Simmy had refrained from disclosing her own impressions about Josephine. Having met her precisely four times, she was utterly convinced that the woman was besotted with Christopher. She had been working at the auction house for close to twenty years, installing new systems, introducing online bidding, juggling all the buyers and vendors and their complex interactions. Oliver had been the head man for all that time, conducting all the auctions personally, and second to none in his skill at valuations. Right up to the present day, Christopher maintained that Oliver was the object of Josephine’s adoring loyalty, a devotion both safe and misplaced, since Oliver never had any interest in women as love objects. On the arrival of a new young man, eager to learn and thoroughly presentable as a junior auctioneer, Josephine’s affections had very obviously been transferred. Only Christopher himself remained stubbornly oblivious to the fact.
‘Sounds as if she’s useful both ways, if you see what I mean,’ she said. ‘If she’s telling Fabian about you, she can tell you a
bout the whole lot of them.’
‘She’ll probably like that,’ he nodded. ‘It’ll make her feel important. She enjoys being the pivotal person. At least, I think she does. I’m starting to wonder if I know her at all.’
‘Well, at least find out why he’s living in Glenridding, and what it is he wants to happen next.’ She faced him squarely. ‘Do you really feel you owe him anything? Have you any intention of helping him with this weird family mystery?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said frankly. ‘So far, there doesn’t seem to be anything specific I could do, even if I wanted to.’
‘He must have been softening you up, testing the water. After all, he probably realises he hardly knows you at all. Everything cuts both ways, remember. That’s what Ben would say.’
The Monday following a Saturday auction was always busy with buyers collecting their purchases, involving carriers with vans and trailers loading up the larger items, and the more distant online bidders making various arrangements for the delivery of their goods. While the team was quite capable of handling all that, Christopher needed to be there in the interest of public relations. He was in demand on all sides, for chats with a number of regulars about prices, condition and provenance. New buyers wanted to make themselves known to him. And there would often be disputes to resolve, when someone had gone off with the wrong thing, either by accident or design.
‘I’d better be going,’ he said, at half past eight. ‘I won’t be late home.’
Simmy waved as he drove away and went to gather up her baby so she could forget all about lost uncles and unreliable commitments. Humphrey and a youth Simmy hadn’t seen before arrived at nine and began quietly getting on with their conversions upstairs, after a brief salutation. ‘He’s grown since Saturday,’ Humphrey said, having paused to admire the baby.
‘You’re only saying that to please me,’ she accused.
‘Not at all. His cheeks are fuller. Definitely.’
Robin was lying wakeful in his basket, while Simmy sat with a coffee and watched him adoringly. The peaceful interlude lasted barely half an hour before Fabian Crick pushed himself back into her thoughts. Had he deliberately given her and Christopher just enough to guarantee curiosity, while withholding any specific details? How could anybody talk on a subject for two hours or more and still leave his listeners in almost total ignorance? He had described his great-aunt as a person, dwelling on her younger days and her attitude to her relations. He had also described the Ullswater house, but not disclosed its exact location. There had been implications in plenty, but almost nothing concrete. On the other hand, it could be that Fabian’s near-death experience in Africa had damaged his brain somehow and rendered him incapable of sustained logical thought. His rambling presentation of his story supported that theory but did nothing to make the situation easier. The word ‘craven’ found its way into her head, as a fitting description of him. He had wanted something but had not found a way to fully articulate what it was.
She was going to have to run the whole thing past Bonnie next day and see what happened then. There was no discernible reason not to do so – Fabian had raised no objection when hints had been made about Ben and his skill at solving mysteries. He had made it clear that he was aware of Simmy’s little team of amateur sleuths, and – it occurred to her now – there was every chance he had approached Christopher with that knowledge in mind all along.
Robin then occupied the whole of the remainder of the morning by breaking with routine to such an extent that Simmy was thrown into panic. He participated in a little playtime, and then screamed when she tried to put him down at ten; fed heartily at least an hour earlier than usual and then still refused to fall asleep. Could it be the result of his late bedtime the night before, she wondered. He had woken only slightly later that morning, so it seemed an unlikely theory. She wrapped him in the sling and walked as far as the car park at the end of the tiny road that ran through the village. He was quiet but wakeful, wriggling and resisting instead of dozing as he normally did. Back at home, he violently objected to his nappy change and then finally accepted another feed, with a resentful scowl creasing his little face. And still he wouldn’t sleep. It was as if the fairies had crept in and left a completely different baby in his crib.
‘Growth spurt,’ said Angie, when Simmy phoned her in despair soon after midday. ‘Weren’t we expecting something like this?’
‘It’s awfully sudden.’
‘Hm. So what’s changed? Babies are very quick to detect an atmosphere, you know.’
‘We did have a visitor last night – but I wouldn’t say that did anything to the atmosphere. Robin just won’t go to sleep, even in the sling.’
‘Take him for a drive. That always works.’
‘Yes, but what’s the matter with him? He must be ill. Something hurts somewhere.’
‘Did you eat onions? Or whatever the other things are that they say upset a baby’s digestion?’
‘I didn’t eat anything much,’ Simmy remembered. ‘Christopher did a very boring thing with pasta and the visitor ate most of it. It did have onions in – but I’ve had them plenty of times before and Robin’s been fine.’
‘Well, just keep feeding him and make sure you get a good meal. Two good meals would be even better.’
The advice was rather more helpful than Simmy might have expected. Her mother had not enjoyed Simmy’s own baby stage and refused to contemplate further children. Could it be that she was secretly reading books or blogs or things on YouTube about the care of infants? It was not entirely impossible and Simmy felt warmed by the idea. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said. ‘I expect he’ll crash out eventually and sleep for ages. Not that I mind if he doesn’t sleep, but he seems so miserable.’
‘Are you on your own?’
‘No. The builders are here. Humphrey seems to be quite good with babies, actually. I’ll go now and make myself a big cheese sandwich.’
‘You do that. And don’t be shy to summon Christopher home again. By rights, he ought to be with you all day. It’s not even three weeks yet.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ Simmy said again, a little more briskly.
‘I’ll keep you posted. We’re coming into Windermere tomorrow. You can give me some lunch, if you like.’
Ten minutes later, as she balanced baby, sandwich and large glass of milk, her mobile rang. It was Christopher. Before he could speak, she was pouring out the day’s concerns, while Robin whimpered obligingly as confirmation of his new self. ‘He just won’t stop whingeing,’ Simmy concluded. ‘No matter what I do.’
‘My mother used to put us in a darkened room and leave us to cry,’ he said, with nowhere near enough sympathy. ‘Perhaps he’s overstimulated.’
‘I’ll take him for a drive later on, if he doesn’t settle.’
‘Right. Well, we’ve got troubles of our own up here. Josephine hasn’t shown up for work and isn’t answering her phone. It’s totally out of character. We’ve sent Fiona off to look for her. Something must have happened to her. Just when I wanted to have a good talk with her about Fabian Crick. We’re helpless here without her. Nobody else knows how to organise the online buyers and their purchases. And there was so much I wanted to ask her about Crickers.’
‘Oh.’ Cutting through her worries over Robin came the utter certainty that the something he had referred to was fatal. Thanks to numerous past adventures, both Simmy and Christopher were far too familiar with sudden, violent death. ‘You think she’s been attacked in some way, do you?’
‘I do,’ he said. It seemed, on the face of it, rather a callous act to send the deputy office manager, Fiona Gallagher, to find Josephine. Christopher ought to have gone himself. Or alerted the police and got them to go and see what was happening. Fiona was a quiet, efficient young woman, admittedly, but Simmy’s experience of her was also as a shy and even timid person. Given Christopher’s apprehensions, it was quite surprising that Fiona had agreed to go. Simmy said some of this to him. ‘That’s true, but she�
�s got a brother in the police and she said she could cope. She grew up on a farm, apparently, and is fine with blood and so forth.’
‘Josephine’s probably perfectly all right,’ Simmy reminded him. ‘We’re jumping ahead outrageously.’
‘I hope so. I just can’t come up with a single explanation that would cover the facts, other than something horrible. She has been known to oversleep now and then, but never for this long.’
The obvious and inescapable assumption had to be that Fabian Crick was involved in some way. The connection was too stark to be ignored. He knew Josephine. He was immersed in a strange family mystery and was not entirely stable in a mental sense. Has Fabian killed her then? Was that unspoken question hovering somewhere in the air between Christopher and Simmy?
‘I will grant you that a missing manager trumps a wakeful baby,’ she conceded. ‘But a drop of fatherly concern wouldn’t go amiss, all the same.’
‘Sorry, love. You don’t think he’s ill, do you?’
‘Not really. He isn’t hot and doesn’t seem to be in pain anywhere. My mother says it’s the growth spurt she’s been going on about. I’m sure she’s been looking up baby care on the Internet – which is actually quite unnerving.’
‘More likely to be your dad, don’t you think?’
‘Could be. That’s even more unnerving.’ But she knew better than to belittle her parents to Christopher. He was all too likely to say – You’re lucky to have them. The absence of his own mother and father was a constant background deprivation, which was now filtering through to another generation. Robin ought to have four grandparents, not two, and everybody knew it.
‘Oh – Oliver’s here. Damn it, that must mean bad news. He wasn’t supposed to come in today. Somebody must have phoned him. I’ll have to go.’
‘Okay. Keep me posted, won’t you?’
Oliver West had been the senior auctioneer before stepping down to let Christopher fill the role. He now described himself as semi-retired and no longer conducted auctions but concentrated on valuations and keeping track of the finances. He had recently acquired a property in the Pyrenees, where he intended to build up a collection of French porcelain. ‘One more year and I’ll be out of your way,’ he said. But if one of his employees was in trouble, he was still the first person the police would go to.