A Well Kept Secret (25 page)

“No, not exactly.”

“I’m sorry; I’m not sure I’m with you?”

“I was having a drink in the bar last night when I met George, you know, George Dawkins who does your garden for you?”

“Yes, an excellent worker from what I’ve seen so far.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that. Anyway, I was chatting to him, and he mentioned this bloke that had come up to Springwater House looking for someone.”

“That’s right, he told me about it; I think he was looking for someone called Mrs Collins?”

“Exactly!”

“I’m still not with you on this Mr Perkins.”

“Well, from what George was saying, it seemed to me that this fellow was giving your place the 'once-over'. I don’t think that idea had occurred to George, he’s such an honest chap he never suspects anything about anybody, but it seemed pretty obvious to me.”

“What exactly was obvious?”

“Well, it was his description of the man and what he said that aroused my suspicions; it had to be this same man that I warned you about. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, only something about the whole business kept niggling at me. It was only this morning that the penny finally dropped; when that man was in the pub he was asking if anyone knew of a Mrs Collins just like he asked George.”

“There is nobody of that name here, Dawkins told the man that. Why should this be of interest to me?”

“Because,” said his informant slowly and meaningfully, “it so happens that I was walking behind a woman in the shopping centre a couple of months back, and she accidentally dropped an envelope from her bag. I thought it was a letter at first, and when I picked it up I realised it was only the empty envelope. She hadn’t noticed that she had dropped it, possibly because she seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. Anyway, I picked it up and passed it back to her.”

“And?”

“I just happened to notice that the envelope was addressed to a Mrs Collins.”

“So you gave this Mrs Collins’ letter back to her. Maybe she is the woman the man in the pub has been looking for? I still don’t see why it is so important that you should tell me about it?”

“I just thought that you ought to know that the woman who dropped the letter was Mrs Brent.”

As Martin replaced the phone he heard a tap on the door and, on glancing up, he saw June Brent coming in.

“If you have the time,” she said, “we can make a start on sifting through the stuff in the store rooms upstairs?”

Looking at her, as she stood framed in the doorway, Martin found it difficult to accept that she was anything other than she purported to be. The constant hostile expression had now faded into the background, and she looked almost relaxed in his presence. Somewhere along the line she had also managed to shed a few years, and the idea that she could be a criminal released with a false identity, or a protected witness to a major crime seemed absurd. It was the sort of thing that happened in lurid television dramas, and not in real life. Surely the suspicions conjured up in his mind by what he had just heard were just a fantasy? The woman had a right to her privacy, and even if she was in reality ‘Mrs Collins’ it was none of his business. Maybe, if at some future date he felt matters warranted it, he would simply ask her.

“Why not?” he agreed. “I’m finished here, and I have nothing further planned for today.”

“It seemed a good opportunity,” she added. “The girls are away on their bikes, George is back from lunch, and the mad butterfly-hunter is still hard at work somewhere down the far end of the grounds.”

“Excellent,” he said, rising from behind the desk, “let us 'away to our duties' while we still have the chance.”

They ascended the stairs, keeping up an easy casual conversation, yet all the time Martin was wondering about the business of her true identity. He justified his continuing interest by deciding that it wasn’t so much that he needed to personally know who she really was, it was the thought that some unknown man appeared to be trying to find her. If Perkins was to be believed, the individual who had been asking after her was not a particularly savoury character. Working on the thesis for a moment that she was on the witness protection programme, could he afford to ignore the possibility that there was someone in the vicinity who was out to exact some sort of retribution from her? The notion was fanciful and difficult to accept, yet to his way of thinking it was not impossible that this same person had already tried, and been foiled when attempting to break in to Springwater House. Coincidence? Possibly it was, and if only he could be sure that he was not simply creating a mystery where one did not exist maybe he would feel happier. On the other hand, he couldn't quite forget the reaction he had observed when June had heard is description of the man that George had seen enquiring at the gate.

“I think,” said June as they reached the upper landing and stood on the threshold of the first of the rooms they had decided to sort through, “that we need to approach this in a logical way.”

“Meaning,” he responded in a light-hearted manner, “that as a mere male, I’m incapable of such a thing?”

“Meaning,” she countered at once, but with just a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth, “that as an experienced housekeeper I have learnt how to minimise the labour required of any domestic task. Just as I would have very little idea how to do what you do in running a business, I doubt you know as much about tackling this sort of thing efficiently as someone who has done little else in life?”

“How right you are,” he agreed with a sigh. “OK, this afternoon, you’re the boss!”

“Good, then may I suggest that we use this room as the base for operations? In here we will put everything that has a degree of value, but which you have no desire to retain. This can be auctioned or disposed of in some other way later, depending on what you decide. We will temporarily store rubbish on the far side of the landing prior to removing it to the ground floor for disposal. Things that you feel you need to keep for personal reasons, or perhaps require closer examination, we can store temporarily in that far recess.”

“Seems reasonable to me!”

“Good; in anticipation of this work you will see that I have already placed a supply of black waste bags on that small wash stand ready for smaller items that need disposing of, and there are plenty of boxes lying around that we can put to good use for bigger things.”

“I see them,” he said, looking in the direction she indicated, “and do you know what? I think your efficiency is wasted here; maybe I will have to employ you as my personal assistant so that you can teach my staff how to avoid wasting time and effort.”

“Somehow,” she laughed, “I cannot see those people taking very kindly to Mrs Mop telling them how to do their jobs.”

“Maybe, if I introduced you as Mary Poppins?”

“Sorry, I don’t own an umbrella,” she said promptly, and he was pleased to see that the light-hearted banter was continuing to thaw her natural reserve, “and in any case, I doubt you have many children lurking in your place of business.”

“Oh well,” he sighed in mock resignation, “it was worth a try.”

“Good,” she said, but with a pleasing twinkle in her eye as she gradually allowed herself to respond more naturally to his light hearted approach, “I’m glad that is out of the way, perhaps we should begin before you change your opinion of me?”

Although completely unaccustomed to such menial work, Martin found it oddly relaxing and he was impressed with the speed and natural skill June exhibited as she flung herself into the task. She seemed to have limitless energy, and order appeared amongst chaos almost before he was aware of it. No end of smaller items of no conceivable value to anyone disappeared into the bags she had provided, others that might have saleable value were packed neatly into the half empty boxes she rescued from amongst the miscellany of things packed in the room. Furniture was moved and stacked to take the minimum of space once the newly cleared floor-space had been swept, and sundry cobwebs efficiently disposed of. Within the space of an hour the whole room was clean and tidy, with plenty of spare accommodation for the additional material that would undoubtedly come to light in the remaining rooms.

Martin eased his back after he finished moving a Victorian hall-stand into position against a wall alongside an equally ancient wardrobe. He had to admit to himself that without June’s help and expertise he would probably have given up the task of sorting through that jumble of furniture and bric-a-brac as being hopeless long since. Somehow, she seemed to have everything under control with the minimum of effort and a job that might have taken him forever was fast being dealt with. Already there was a considerable pile of rubbish, most of it in boxes or neatly bagged up, awaiting removal, and up to that point nothing had come to light that he felt particularly worthy of personal retention should the property be sold.

“Have you thought any more about what you may wish to do with Springwater House?” she asked as they entered the next room and surveyed the general state of chaos that faced them. “I mean, this is a pretty old place; I expect it needs re-wiring, and I know there is at least one leak in the roof that needs attention. On the other hand it has history, character, and a lot going for it in many other ways. I wondered if, with a bit of money invested in it, it might make a small hotel or perhaps even a nursing home.”

“I haven’t really given it much thought as yet,” he confessed, automatically recollecting the mystery attached to the ‘Bremner’ offer. “Certainly your ideas merit consideration. If I was to consider this or a similar project, I suppose I would have to start with getting in a good surveyor. I have noticed what I think is minor settlement on the west wall, and there may well be many other defects that would need attention. I would need to work out the probable outlay and legal requirements to make it a viable concern. Even before I did that, I would need to assess likely market potential. Off the cuff I cannot see it ever paying its way as a hotel; I doubt there is a demand for such a facility in these parts, but a rural retirement or nursing home might perhaps be a possibility worth looking in to.”

“Maybe, if that was to happen,” she said lightly, but with a slight note of tension in her voice, “I could stay on as housekeeper?”

It was patently obvious to Martin that she was still concerned about her future, and no doubt she dreaded hearing him say that such a prospect was definitely not on the cards. It also occurred to him that it was not impossible that this natural concern might at least be part of why she was thawing towards him?

“Who knows?” he commented. “However, before you build your hopes up too high you might like to know that there is already a very keen would-be buyer just waiting for the chance to secure this place.”

She stopped what she was doing, and turned to look at him. “Really?” she echoed. “That does surprise me; I’ve heard nothing about any interest in the place it at work; certainly we have had no enquiries for a property of this nature for more months than I can recall.”

“Well, I have no idea how this individual got wind of the fact that this house might come on the market, yet a firm bid was put in direct to my solicitor long before I came here.”

“How very odd; may I ask if the bid is from someone local?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“I wonder how on earth they found out about you and your solicitor.”

Martin shrugged eloquently. “Your guess is as good as mine,” he said, pulling open the drawers of an old chest, and looking casually at the linen that was folded up within “The bid appears to be genuine, but it is anonymous.”

“A property speculator who is hoping to get the place cheap for a cash offer, and then sell on at a profit no doubt?”

“A notion that crossed my mind, only the offer has recently been increased to something well above what I would consider to be the marketable value of the property.”

“Then perhaps you should take it before whoever it is changes their mind?”

“Maybe,” he said enigmatically as he watched her unpack the drawers he had opened. “On the other hand, I’ve been in business for quite a while, and something about this offer smells fishy to me. Why bid so high, and why remain anonymous?”

“Whoever it is must think that there is something here that is worth it,” she hazarded.

“Obviously, but what?” he agreed. “As far as I have been able to ascertain this is a green belt area, and there seems little likelihood of a large scale building project ever getting planning consent. There are no major road developments planned for this part of the world, no unsuspected mineral resources, so what is it?”

She stopped and looked at him for a moment. “Maybe there is something hidden in this house that the buyer knows about and wants very much to get his hands on,” she remarked slowly. “Like a priceless painting hidden behind a cheap print, or something of that nature?”

He stopped to think about what she had said; it was a possibility he had not considered up to that point.

“You may well be right,” he conceded. “Yes, the more I think about it the more likely it seems. Yes indeed, with that in mind we must scrutinise everything in the house very carefully I’m thinking.”

“Perhaps you should enlist the help of the girls,” she suggested, removing the linen from the next drawer he had opened and packing it away with the rest. “At their age, the idea of a ‘treasure hunt’ can be most appealing.”

“I’ll remember that,” he laughed, “although whether they would recognise a valuable painting or a priceless antique I wouldn’t like to say.”

He turned his attention to a small cabinet which looked as if it had seen better days. At first glance it appeared empty, yet as he crouched down to peer into the double cupboard at the base of the unit he saw something hanging down from behind one of the two drawers at the top. It was just a small corner of what at first he took to be paper. He reached in and eased it down and saw at once that it was an old snapshot. He straightened up and looked at it curiously.

“Found something interesting?” she asked as she pressed on with her own work.

“I’m not sure.”

There were two figures in the picture, one of which he recognised straight away as his uncle, looking very important and upright. Standing alongside him was a much younger man who appeared to be in uniform. He looked closer, and saw that it was a police officer’s uniform, although there was no evidence of the helmet. His official number was just visible on his collar. Judging by the style of clothing worn by Dr Marston, the picture was a good twenty five to thirty years old. He looked at it curiously for some moments, and June finally stopped what she was doing to see what had caught his attention.