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

telly, maybe.’ The flatscreen TV had been a cheap purchase at the auction. Perfectly good sets went for ten pounds or less at most of the sales. It worked perfectly when connected to the Wi-Fi, but for normal terrestrial channels it was useless. ‘We’ll have to get a proper aerial put up,’ Christopher said, every few days. ‘I might want to watch a documentary sometime. I like documentaries.’

Simmy sighed. ‘You’ll wake me up if you don’t go to bed at the same time as me.’

‘I’ll be really quiet. Once you’re asleep, you won’t hear a thing. Besides, I’ve got to do the washing-up, put the bin out, water the ferns and get some meat out for tomorrow. A housewife’s work is never done, you know.’

‘I think the term is “house husband” in your case.’

‘Nope,’ he disagreed. ‘That’s only for people who are married. Which reminds me—’

‘Stop!’ Simmy interrupted. ‘No way am I going to talk about weddings now. There’s too much else going on.’

‘June the first,’ he said, more loudly. ‘No ifs, no buts. We can’t go on like this. It’s not decent. All you have to do is put something respectable on and sign some bits of paper. I’ll organise everything.’

‘That’s a lovely date,’ she conceded. ‘But it’s much too soon. There’s far too much to do.’

‘Wrong. It’ll work beautifully, just you see. Bonnie can do the flowers. Ben can write the speeches. Your father can … find something useful to do.’

‘Stop,’ said Simmy again, more weakly this time. ‘It makes me feel tired just to think about it.’

‘But you’re not vetoing it?’

‘No,’ she said, meeting his gaze. ‘No, I’m not vetoing it. I’ll be very happy to marry you on June the first – assuming I can stay awake long enough to make my vows.’

Tuesday brought grey skies and feelings of apprehension. Christopher’s mobile presented him with a text message, requesting his presence at the incident room that had been set up in Keswick no later than ten o’clock. ‘Well, that’s a first,’ he said. ‘Fancy summoning me by text.’

‘Quick, cheap and efficient,’ said Simmy. ‘I don’t expect they’ll keep you very long.’

‘Let’s hope not. What are you doing today?’

‘I’ll be in Windermere for most of it. I’m calling in at the shop, and then having lunch at Beck View. I’m quite likely to be there till teatime. I can tell Ben about everything, can’t I?’

‘Everything?’

‘You know what I mean. Fabian Crick and Josephine and the missing uncle. If the girls are busy in the shop, I might even go round to the Harknesses and talk to him there – although Bonnie wouldn’t like that. Helen might want to see the baby, though.’ Simmy assumed, rightly or wrongly, that everyone in the world was eager to admire young Robin.

Christopher rolled his eyes. ‘Why ask me? It’s not my story.’

‘Isn’t it? I think it sort of is, actually. It all goes back to that promise you made – your undertaking to Fabian. He’d never have tracked you down like he did, if it hadn’t been for that. I admit it’s very vague, but he obviously does want something from you.’

‘All my own stupid fault, then. But there was always going to be the Josephine connection, wasn’t there? When he saw that picture of me in the reception area, he’d have put two and two together even if he wasn’t pursuing me for vengeance – or whatever he’s doing. Even without that, he might have looked me up for old times’ sake. He probably realised that I thought he was dead.’

She gave him a searching look. ‘You do feel guilty about it, don’t you? You say you don’t, but you really do.’

‘I wouldn’t call it guilty, exactly. Uneasy, perhaps. It’s more a matter of how Fabian feels about it. After Sunday evening, I get the strong impression he was checking me out, testing to see if I was still under a sense of obligation to him.’ He frowned. ‘And that’s what makes it so weird to imagine him killing Josephine. It doesn’t fit with anything I thought I’d worked out about him.’

‘I know. I was thinking the same thing. Let’s hope that by the end of today we’ll be better informed. You’ll have some idea about the time she died, and how, and all that. I’d better bustle now. I’m not sure I’ve got any clean clothes. All the washing seems to be baby things these days.’

In the event, she was ready just after nine, the baby strapped into his car seat, a small bag of nappies and spare clothes beside him. Driving with neurotic care, especially on the stretch up to the Kirkstone Pass, she was still parking the cumbersome stroller outside Persimmon Petals in Windermere by nine forty-five. Bonnie came flying out to greet her, peering at Robin’s little face and making idiotic chirping noises. ‘No need for that,’ said Simmy. ‘You saw him only two days ago. It’s fine with me if you think he’s boring.’

‘I don’t think that. I think he’s very sweet, and I want him to be my friend when he’s a bit older. It’s great that you’re so together you can get the two of you here so early. I’m impressed.’

‘I impressed myself,’ Simmy agreed. ‘Especially as we were both wide awake at two o’clock this morning. His routine’s got all muddled up, for some reason.’

‘Oh, routines,’ said Bonnie airily. ‘You should hear Corinne on that subject.’

Simmy could well imagine what Bonnie’s hippyish foster mother might say. Compared to Corinne, Angie Straw was almost conventional. ‘They do make life easier,’ she remarked mildly. ‘But I wouldn’t claim to be obsessive about it. Do you know – the district nurse told me there were apps for monitoring how long they sleep and how many wet nappies there are? And all sorts of other stuff. I mean – why? What’s the point?’

‘Search me,’ said Bonnie. ‘Come on in, anyway.’ She watched as Simmy deftly detached the seat from the rest of the vehicle and carried