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

‘Josephine must have been very capable.’

‘I shouldn’t think she could take much credit for it. The software comes already packaged – you just have to put the information in.’

‘Even so,’ Simmy argued, ‘I imagine plenty of people make a mess of doing that.’

‘It must be a nice one to work with – I mean, there’s something very straightforward about it all, and yet there’s so much variety in the things they sell. I never wondered about the descriptions, until now. Everything hinges on that, when you think about it.’

The conversation was disjointed, as Simmy drove southwards to Windermere. They passed the outskirts of Grasmere and Banerigg where Simmy had been handed a small baby, just at the very start of her pregnancy. Superstitiously, she credited that infant with the successful implantation of the fertilised egg that became Robin. A surge of hormones just at the right moment seemed to her a perfectly rational assumption. Then they were into Ambleside, which had numerous associations with murder and malice. Having Ben as a passenger heightened and focused the memories. There had also been Hawkshead and Coniston and Staveley, all of them bringing her and Ben together in the contemplation of violent crime.

‘Bonnie must be feeling a bit left out,’ Simmy said. ‘Stuck there in the shop all the time with only Verity to talk to.’

‘Yeah, she does. Don’t forget my bike,’ he warned, as they approached the first of three possible turnings up to Troutbeck. ‘This is the quickest way.’

More reminiscences gripped Simmy as she did as directed. She had lived in Troutbeck since moving up to the Lakes, and selling her cottage there had been a wrench. It had not been given enough time to fully adopt her personality, the garden still a long way from perfect, and she felt an occasional foolish shame for abandoning it as she did. Christopher and Robin had diverted her expected trajectory, to the point where she had almost forgotten the Troutbeck interlude. The sudden appearance of Moxon the day before had swamped similar feelings of nostalgia.

The road was steep and well filled with tourist traffic. ‘What are you going to do next?’ she asked.

‘Go home and start that algorithm. I’ll need to ask you more questions, I expect. The Petrock chap, for example. Quite a lot keeps coming back to him. I’ll do a bit more googling, see if I can unearth any more about Hilda and her family. Today’s moving too fast – we’re dropping things that we should be thinking about. There’s a whole armful of clues, if we just slow down and really look at it intelligently.’

‘Right,’ said Simmy, hoping she was being sufficiently intelligent for his purposes. ‘So I guess you’re on your own for the rest of the afternoon. I’ll be out delivering flowers until half past three or so, and then I expect I’ll go to Beck View and give my poor baby some attention. Thank goodness we’re not trying to stick to any sort of schedule. All that seems to have gone out of the window.’

‘My mother always says they thrive on neglect.’

‘She’s probably right, but maybe it’s just slightly too soon to experiment. If he has even the mildest mental health issues in later life, I’m going to blame myself for neglecting him when he was tiny.’

‘Phooey to that,’ said Ben.

Chapter Eighteen

Bonnie was being stoical in the face of adversity when Simmy finally reached the shop, having weaved the baby buggy in and out of groups of tourists who were looking for something to do in Windermere. Just go down to Bowness, why don’t you? she silently shouted at them. For many of them, this was the last day of their holiday, and they were probably checking out Windermere just in case they’d missed something.

There were three customers waiting for Bonnie’s attention, presumably wanting flowers for the weekend. Simmy experienced a strong sense of déjà vu. ‘Haven’t you got any irises?’ the one at the head of the queue was demanding. ‘What about freesias?’

‘Irises no, freesias yes,’ said Bonnie patiently. ‘And scented roses that came in this morning.’

‘You can’t put roses with freesias,’ said the woman, as if this was one of the Ten Commandments.

Simmy pushed forward, and addressed the second person in the line. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I just wanted this,’ said the meek, middle-aged woman, who had the air of spending most of her life waiting in a queue. She proffered a large fern in a pot. ‘I’ve been looking for one like it for a long time now.’

‘It’s lovely, isn’t it. Where will you put it?’

‘In the bathroom. They like moist air, don’t they?’

‘They do,’ Simmy confirmed. She then had to wait for Bonnie to finish at the till before she could take the customer’s money. She sometimes wondered why it was that people buying flowers so often paid with cash, rather than a card. Were they embarrassed at having the purchase show up on their statements – or what?

The third person waiting was suddenly receiving double attention, as the way cleared. Simmy automatically waved him forward, before catching herself and looking at Bonnie. ‘All yours,’ she said.

The man was straightforward, wanting a nice colourful bunch for his wife and paying shamelessly with a card. Simmy and Bonnie both knew him as a regular. ‘Sorry you had to wait,’ said Bonnie.

‘No problem. I’m earlier than usual. We’ve got a new thing at work, where we can knock off at three on a Friday. It’s meant to help us get ahead of the rush, but if anything it’s worse.’

‘You’ve got all the school people as well,’ smiled Bonnie.

‘Right.’ The man was in his late fifties and had probably forgotten all about school schedules.

At last the shop was empty. ‘Phew!’ gasped Bonnie. ‘It’s no fun trying to do this on your own. Am I minding Robin while you do the deliveries?’ She looked worried.

‘Well … that was the idea. But he’s going to get hungry