The Ullswater Undertaking by Rebecca Tope (read dune .TXT) 📕

out of it. Never told me anything very personal. She did say once that she wanted to remember me as I was as a lad, and that she’d heard I was something of an invalid these days. That was a thing with her – she was phobic about illness and disability. We all thought it must have come from things she saw in the war and afterwards. Soldiers with eyes and limbs missing – that sort of thing.’

‘You mean she actually said she didn’t want to see you again?’ asked Simmy incredulously.

‘More or less. So I never got a chance to find out who was getting her things when she died. You can’t just ask somebody if they’d remembered you in their will, can you? She mentioned it when I was about twenty-five, and that was it. Said my mother had been badly treated, and she’d make sure I was all right when the time came. I guess I took that as gospel, and never bothered to check it out. Then she died and left the house to someone who’s not even related.’

‘Can’t you contest the will?’ asked Simmy, who as a general rule did not approve of people doing that. Some perverse spirit made her want to challenge everything this man said.

‘No,’ said Fabian shortly. ‘Nobody would think I had a reasonable claim. I’ve got two uncles and two cousins who could make an argument every bit as good.’

Simmy charged on with her interrogation, aware that Christopher was trying to say something, but not wanting to let the man off the hook. ‘So you’re saying that a garbled message delivered by a total stranger after you’d apparently died in Africa would have made her love you best, even if it was rather late by then?’ The scepticism was nakedly evident. ‘And then you didn’t die – and sent her a few postcards, and expected a nice big Lakeland house to fall into your lap as a result? Have I got that right?’

‘She had to leave it to someone,’ he said sulkily.

‘Wait, wait.’ She held up her hand. ‘This isn’t logical. If you thought you were dying, why would it be so important to remind Aunt Hilda that you were thinking of her at the end?’

Christopher belatedly interposed himself. ‘It’s not illogical at all,’ he said crossly. ‘Crickers actually did love his aunt. She was the primary person he thought of when he was so ill. Of course he would want her to know that. When she never got the message, she thought he didn’t care and changed her mind about leaving him the house. Makes sense to me.’

‘Thank you,’ said Fabian Crick, with a lopsided smile.

‘Oh, yes, I see now,’ said Simmy, subsiding unhappily. ‘Ignore me – it’s not my business anyway.’

Christopher gave her a kind look and turned the conversation to Fabian’s current situation. ‘So what’re you doing now?’ he asked.

‘Not a lot. I came up for the funeral just before Easter and decided to stay for a bit. I’ve had enough of city life for the time being. It’s nice up here, even without any cash. The air seems to be doing me good. I’ve not had a blackout for nearly a month now. And the family are all still here. I’m catching up with some of them.’

‘Are you staying with them?’

‘No, no. That wouldn’t work. I told you – I’ve got a little place in Glenridding.’ He waved away details of his accommodation as irrelevant. Then he took a deep breath and spoke to Simmy. ‘If you’ve got things to be doing, don’t feel you have to stay and listen to me.’

‘There isn’t really anywhere to go, as you might have noticed. We’ve got the builders in, finishing the conversion. We only moved in here at the end of February.’

‘Brave. With the little’un and everything.’

‘We were lucky. It’s all worked out beautifully.’ She frowned at her own tone. Why, she wondered, did she need to justify herself to this man and make him think everything in their lives was perfect?

‘Nice place to grow up, anyway,’ Fabian Crick agreed. He turned to Christopher. ‘By the way, it’s not “Crickers” any more. I never did like that. It’s “Fabian” now, okay?’

‘Right,’ said Christopher. ‘No problem. If I remember, it was what you told us to call you on the first day of the trip.’

‘Very likely. But that chap’s long gone – as I said.’

‘But you still want Chris to do something for you?’ Simmy challenged, losing patience. ‘Isn’t that right?’

‘Did I say that?’ The man narrowed his eyes and his jaw jutted forward aggressively. ‘When did I say that?’ He looked from one to the other.

‘It’s obvious, surely. You must have gone to some trouble to track us down. We’ve only been here a month or two. You called the landline, which is a brand-new number. You were coming here just now, when Christopher coincided with you on the corner. And whatever you might say, you clearly haven’t forgotten the promise he made to you ten years ago.’

‘Sim …’ said Christopher warningly. ‘No need to be like that.’

‘No, no.’ Fabian held up his hands. ‘She’s perfectly within her rights. Fair’s fair. Cards on the table. First off, I found you by the simple method of asking my friend in Keswick for your number. Turns out you work with her – Josephine, right? Bet that’s a surprise. She and I go back a long way, as it happens. A lifetime, very near. I was a year or two ahead of her at school. Then I left the area, and my parents retired to Morecambe Bay. I used to come back every few months to see Aunt Hilda, and Josie was still living in Grasmere with her mum and dad. Had a bit of a fling, if you must know. Kept in touch with Christmas cards and so forth, ever since.’ His delivery was almost as spasmodic as his muscles, words tumbling out in short groups.

‘Josephine?’ Christopher was poleaxed. ‘You’ve