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

Is that true?’ She knew she was crossing a line, but all her patience had evaporated. She could see no reason to hold back, having got this far.

‘That’s no secret,’ said Fabian, astonishingly. ‘They told him the full story when he was eighteen, but he never wanted to have anything to do with her. They both agreed that things should stay as they were, once he’d been told the truth.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s got nothing to do with anything now.’

‘Yes, but—’ Simmy wrestled her thoughts into some kind of order. ‘You all call him “Uncle”. He’s got your surname.’

‘So what? All that was long before my time,’ he said irritably. ‘And I’m telling you – it’s got nothing to do with what we’re talking about.’

‘Of course it has,’ interrupted Christopher, who had finally gone to sit on the sofa, leaving Simmy to handle the conversation. ‘It’s the whole reason for everything.’

Fabian almost choked and Simmy belatedly pointed him to the armchair by the sofa. ‘What?’ he gasped.

‘Who was his father? Isn’t that where all this leads?’

Simmy closed her eyes, rerunning all the talk she’d had with Ben and Christopher and the Armitage family. She could not recall her fiancé paying much attention to Ben’s findings about Hilda’s child. When she opened her eyes again, both men were looking at her.

Fabian gave a croaking sort of laugh. ‘You need to ask Petrock about that, as well as your boss, bloody Oliver West, who’s meant to be such an expert on everything. Giving poor old Josie the runaround, making life hell for Richmond, always looking for the main chance. That girl – Fiona – she’ll tell you.’

Again, there was astonishment. But neither Simmy nor Christopher could face listening to yet more of Fabian’s utterances. ‘I guess that’s for another day,’ said Christopher stiffly. ‘Now, could you please leave? And don’t come here again. We’ve had a long day, and there’s nothing more to be gained now. Remember – you came to us in the first place, and every time since. We’ve been very patient, but enough’s enough. As I see it, you’re nothing more than a mischief-maker with too much time on your hands. And none of it is our problem.’

Fabian’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Simmy struggled against a surge of pity for him. ‘Go home,’ she said quietly. ‘And we’ll see you at Josephine’s funeral.’

‘Point taken,’ said Fabian nastily. ‘Sorry to waste your time.’

‘Just go, will you?’ said Christopher. ‘You’ve had your say, and we admit we haven’t been very helpful where the police are concerned. But if it’s true that none of you Armitages have anything to feel guilty about, then it’ll be over soon enough. It’s always like this when they’re investigating a murder. People feel insecure, anxious, even offended. Their lives are picked apart and nasty stuff gets exposed to the light of day. Believe me, I know what it’s like. I dare say it’ll only be a few more days now.’

Fabian went meekly and with very few more words. Simmy noted that his expression was very thoughtful as he turned to go. Some new idea appeared to be preoccupying him – as it was her. Faint flutterings began in her stomach. There were inescapable connections to be made, if only she could stay awake to make them. But she was hopelessly tired, it was dark outside, and she and Christopher had a long list of things to talk about. So did she and Ben. And she and Moxon. Fabian had told them something crucial and all they’d done was send him home without properly listening.

‘Errghh,’ she groaned, when Fabian had finally gone. ‘This is too much. I don’t want to do it any more. I’m so tired I don’t even care who killed who or why.’

Her fiancé wrapped an arm around her shoulders. ‘Leave it till the morning. Nothing’s going to happen tonight. Fabian’s a real case, isn’t he. I thought he’d totally lost the plot when he started on poor old Oliver. Why drag him into it?’

Simmy only yawned.

Saturday morning dawned as usual with Robin wanting his early feed to coincide with the rising of the sun. The two events really did coincide this time, as the feed was nearly an hour later than usual and the sunrise was getting slightly earlier every day. Simmy sat watching it and thinking about the previous day. From the moment she and Ben had found the boxes in Hilda’s garage, there had been clues falling like ripe peaches into her lap. Odd remarks, sudden connections, database revelations – she knew that the whole picture was concealed amongst them somehow – probably not even very hard to find, if she just applied herself.

Her first duty was to call Moxon and claim his approval for going to see Mrs Harriman as requested. Whether or not she would have anything fresh to tell him remained to be seen. It was entirely likely that the police already knew at least as much as Simmy and Ben did. More, in fact. They could have identified other areas of Josephine’s life that caused her to be a murder victim. Or they could have established beyond doubt that she had been killed by a manic burglar, panicked by her unexpected presence as he stuffed her collection of china and porcelain into his bag.

As usual, she went back to bed after the feed, with Robin cuddled close, drifting in and out of sleep until past eight o’clock. ‘Are you sure it’s all right to do that?’ Christopher asked her, when he brought the morning tea. ‘I get the impression it’s virtually illegal.’

‘Are you going to report me?’

‘Only if you don’t let me have a turn sometimes. It looks blissful.’

‘It is. And unless you weigh twenty stone or are dead drunk, there’s absolutely no danger whatsoever. At least, there’s probably the same danger as dropping him out of a window or falling downstairs carrying him. Things happen, but that’s no reason to live