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

Oliver initially took charge of the lunch, treating it as a real occasion, insisting on wine and apologising for the limited menu. ‘They actually do a much better spread in the evening,’ he explained. But Simmy and Christopher ignored him, being far too much engrossed in the fact that there was nowhere to feed the baby, who had woken up hungry and cross. ‘I’m going to just sit here and do it, and eat with one hand,’ Simmy said. ‘Whether people like it or not.’ She awkwardly manipulated her clothing for minimal exposure and tried to stay calm. There were only a few other people present anyway, and they all discreetly averted their gaze.

‘You’ll soon get used to this,’ said Christopher. ‘I’m sure it’s easier these days than it used to be.’

‘I thought I was used to it,’ she moaned. ‘But this isn’t like the local pub.’

‘We need to talk about Josephine,’ Oliver began, looking rather pink. ‘And how we’re going to get along without her.’

‘Isn’t it a bit soon?’ Christopher demurred. ‘We haven’t even had the funeral yet. They don’t know who killed her, or why. It’s only been a few days, after all.’

‘Yes, of course. Of course that’s all true. But you and I are running a business, remember. And like it or not, poor Josie was the one person who held it all together.’

Christopher pouted a little at that, indicating a level of disagreement. ‘I think we’ll find it’s all there on the computer if we look. Everyone’s got their own job – logging stuff in, tracking the bids, despatching stuff to the online buyers. We all know the system, if we put our heads together. You especially – after all, you started the whole business in the first place. It must be second nature to you after all this time.’

‘It was. But I have to confess there are aspects of those confounded databases that floor me completely. I never have been too great at numbers, if I’m honest.’

Simmy listened to this with some impatience. Here was the head of the company and senior partner, who had performed the central auctioneering role for twenty years before handing it over to Christopher, claiming ignorance as to how his own business worked. ‘It’s not so much numbers as logic,’ she corrected him. ‘Surely the databases are basically just lists of buyers and sellers, and hammer prices? All logically arranged so anybody can understand them.’

Oliver widened his eyes in shock at such straight talking. Christopher cleared his throat. Robin smacked his lips and burped lavishly.

‘There are guide prices, reserves, commissions, fees on top of all that,’ Christopher said. ‘It’s really not at all simple. Everything has to be inputted, then checked and rationalised. Fiona can do most of it – she’s the one who records every lot as it’s sold and tallies up who owes what at the end of the sale. But she doesn’t have the same grasp as Josephine had.’

‘Well, it sounds to me as if you’re getting much too bogged down in all that, when you should be thinking far more about what happened to Josephine. Did you get any sense of what the police might be thinking when they interviewed you? What possible motive can there be, for a start?’ Simmy was channelling Ben, as she often did, bringing the men back to the central point.

Again, Oliver looked startled, as if a menial was stepping over a line. But I’m the boss seemed to be the unspoken subtext. You shouldn’t speak to me like this.

‘Well?’ she challenged him with a bold look. ‘Surely that’s the most important thing?’

‘Well …’ Oliver echoed, glancing at Christopher for rescue. ‘I don’t quite see …’

Christopher attempted an amused laugh. ‘Hey, Sim – it’s not fair to attack him with a baby at your breast. Gives you an advantage. Here – he’s had enough for now. Pass him to me for a bit.’

She understood that he was exaggerating his parental role for Oliver’s edification, for which she was grateful. Without a murmur she handed Robin over and buttoned herself up, trying to order her wits at the same time.

Oliver straightened his shoulders. ‘I wouldn’t say that motive is the most important thing, no. It comes very much second to who did it. Who killed a harmless middle-aged woman who never hurt a fly and deserved nothing but admiration?’ The words came out in a stream that sounded rehearsed to Simmy. Probably he had said them several times already.

‘I didn’t mean motive specifically, but the whole business. All the same, it would be useful to know whether anybody had anything to gain from killing her. Christopher has told me she had a nice collection of antiques, but we don’t know if any of it was taken. What did Fiona say she found there, when you sent her to look for Josephine?’

Oliver swallowed. ‘I haven’t asked her for details. All I know is that she couldn’t get in because the door was locked but went round the back and saw Josie in a room there, when she peered through the window.’

‘So she called the police?’

‘Not immediately. She tried the back door and found it wasn’t locked or damaged. Josie most likely never bothered to lock it – people don’t around here. Fiona wasn’t very clear, but I assume she felt she ought to go in, in case she could save Josie somehow. She did say there was rather a lot of blood.’ He spoke faintly, his head turned away.

‘Which must have been completely congealed by that time,’ said Simmy, having learnt more than she really wanted to about how blood behaves when it leaves its rightful channels.

‘Simmy!’ Christopher was yet again attempting to silence her. ‘We’re trying to eat.’

‘I know – but surely we all want the same thing? If we talk it through, we might find a clue that’s been missed. You two have both spoken to the police – you must have some