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

some of the time. People running museums and archives never seem to have much cash. He’s not short of a penny, anyway. Nobody who knows as much as he does about antiques could fail to be nicely off.’

‘Oh good,’ said Simmy sleepily. ‘That’ll be you, then, in a few years’ time.’

‘We can always dream. Anyway, the point is, I won’t be late home. Most likely I’ll be back soon after you, depending on how long you take at the clinic. Then we can have a lovely, lazy weekend. The forecast is almost too good to be true. Blue skies, no wind. Perfect for a stroll round a lake with a baby. All we need to make it perfect is a dog.’

‘Go away,’ said Simmy.

There had been a note left on the kitchen table from Humphrey saying: See you on Monday. Starting on the back bedroom. Will need to turn electrics off at some point, if Elliott shows up. Simmy had rapidly learnt that there was no such thing as an all-purpose builder any more. You had to have separate specialists for plumbing, wiring, plastering, roofing. Humphrey did carpentry, stonework, floors and walls and would paint his woodwork if requested. He attached skirting boards and created windows. Elliott had installed essential wiring before Simmy and Christopher had moved in, but there were many more details to be finished off. Sockets for televisions and computers, a smoke alarm and numerous complexities that were apparently necessary for modern living. ‘Even if you don’t use them, the house should have them,’ Humphrey had insisted. ‘There are all kinds of regulations. You’d never be able to sell the place if you weren’t compliant.’ In vain did Simmy assure him she was never going to want to sell it. He merely raised an eyebrow as such unwarranted certainty.

For the moment, however, she had the house to herself. No need to get dressed all morning, if she didn’t feel like it. Except – what had happened to that sense of being uncomfortably busy? Were there not a dozen things she was supposed to be doing? People to talk to, questions to ask, mysteries to solve. Ben would be expecting her to phone, as would Bonnie, and probably her parents. There was nothing to actually do in the house, other than stuff a number of little outfits into the washing machine and then hang them out to dry. Christopher had left the kitchen impressively clean and tidy. Except the squirrel! She had forgotten it yet again. Christopher had said it was alive, and therefore she had a duty to attend to it. The box it was in was no good as a permanent home. It should perhaps have a little enclosure in the small garden shed. The website she had consulted had been stern about the keeping of wild animals as pets, so she ought to give it freedom as soon as it was safe to do so. With the wonky leg it might never cope, though.

She went for a look. The little thing was actually sitting up in a corner of its box looking a lot brighter than the day before. The water level in the little glass pot had gone down and there were scraps of chewed apple strewn about. ‘Well done!’ she applauded. ‘What a clever boy!’

She supplied dried raisins and a small nut from the muesli box for its breakfast and promised fresh quarters before long. The shed – which had been originally used as a small shelter for distressed sheep – was cobwebby and cluttered. The task of finding a habitable corner felt too much just at the moment.

She realised she had been foolish to tell Ben there wouldn’t be time to take him to see Aunt Hilda’s house. The suggestion of cycling to Troutbeck and being collected from there would have been entirely feasible, after all. And still was, of course. She had until half past one entirely free, and anything to distract her from the terrors of the baby clinic would be welcome. The thought of it had been so dominant that she had somehow assumed the whole day would be taken up with it – which she now realised was ridiculous. She had imagined herself getting Robin immaculately presentable for the nurse person, fed and clean and smiling. She would make a few notes about their routine and how he was at night and then ask a few bland questions about his spots. But none of that seemed rational now. It would probably cause tension between herself and the baby, which she was learning could be disastrous. She should carry on as normal all morning, doing what she wanted to do, letting Robin fit into her activities as best he could. That was the healthy way, she told herself. Like a mother cat or dog, she would be there to keep him warm and safe and fed, while she attended to her own requirements as well.

So, feeling gratifyingly grown-up and sensible, she texted Ben to say she could spare him some time after all if he still wanted to come and see the Ullswater house. He replied ninety seconds later to say of course he did and would be at Troutbeck by ten, waiting outside the Mortal Man. Okay, Simmy texted back.

Then she phoned Bonnie to check that all was well at the shop. ‘I’ll try to come in tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Will Tanya be there?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Bonnie fervently. ‘She’d better be. I need a break from Verity. Although she hasn’t arrived yet – it’s not like her to be late.’ The temporary stand-in would only undertake to work Monday to Friday, with Ben’s sister taking her place on Saturdays. The relief this brought the stoical Bonnie was palpable.

Simmy laughed. ‘It’s only quarter past nine. She probably thinks you can manage for a bit without her.’

‘She probably guesses I prefer it this way.’

‘You’re a hero,’ Simmy said. ‘Will you be able to bear it for a few more months?’

‘How