The Hawkshead Hostage (20 page)

‘I’ll wait while you go and see what they want you to do,’ she said. ‘No rush.’ She tried not to think of people trying the door of the shop and finding it locked. The lost business would be minimal, she assured herself. It was a warm, dry day. They’d all be walking up Wansfell and Kirkstone and the Old Man of Coniston. Nobody would want to buy flowers on a day like this.

Without thinking, she got out of the car along with Melanie. It would be too warm to sit inside the vehicle for long. ‘I’ll just potter about in the garden,’ she said.

It was forty-eight hours since she had last been there,
or a bit less. Moxon had kept her waiting for much of Tuesday afternoon, she remembered. Her time had been wasted. Her presence had been overlooked and forgotten. The only person to refer to her part in what had happened was Bonnie, and she probably blamed Simmy for taking Ben there in the first place. It was little wonder she felt so remote from everything. It was obviously everyone else’s opinion as well. Melanie was using her as a free taxi, and nobody else was thinking about her at all.

The day was turning very warm, which was sure to get people talking in terms of a heatwave. Three nice days in a row was something to be celebrated. Meandering around the side of the hotel she got a panoramic view of Esthwaite and the dozen or so small boats strewn upon the surface. The water looked utterly calm, more like a pond than a lake. The idea that the most extreme act of violence had been committed on its banks was almost inconceivable.

‘Doesn’t seem possible, does it?’ said a man behind her.

She turned to face the bearded hotel guest she had first seen on Tuesday. ‘Ferguson,’ he said. ‘Forgive me if I startled you.’

It was a line from a bygone time, probably before even this elderly gent was born. It made her smile. ‘Persimmon Brown,’ she replied. ‘I’m the florist. I saw you earlier in the week.’

‘I remember. And you found the body of the unfortunate Mr Yates. It surprises me to see you here again, when the place must hold such unpleasant associations. But of course, life goes on, and there will be more flowers to arrange.’

There was a slight foreignness to his accent and something strange about his tone. ‘You’ve stayed on, then,’
she said. ‘I gather quite a lot of people left early, and others have cancelled their stay here.’

‘I believe in getting my money’s worth,’ he said gravely. ‘And I have not found myself particularly incommoded by the dramatic events. In fact, I have been a model citizen and conveyed to the police what I hope has been useful information.’

‘Really?’

He made a rueful face. ‘It seems I blundered a little. I reported a conversation I overheard between two guests, which appeared to suggest suspicious behaviour. On closer examination, it turns out that I was mistaken.’

‘I’m sure they were grateful to you, all the same.’

‘I doubt if they were. They were obliged to bring me back here from Windermere, after my interview, and that was inconvenient.’

‘So why not interview you here? Wasn’t there an incident room set up for that very purpose?’

‘They did not wish to draw attention to the fact that I was giving information. I like to think that was due to a concern for my safety.’ He shook his head. ‘The whole experience was profoundly interesting, I must say.’

Simmy was confused. It seemed to her that Moxon could easily have asked this man to repeat the overheard conversation as part of routine interviewing of staff and guests. Taking him away in a police car, and then bringing him back the same way, would surely attract considerably more attention. She could hear Ben’s ghostly voice, hypothesising that this had been Moxon’s intention all along. ‘Flushing them out,’ he would say. ‘Making them nervous that old Fergy had seen something he shouldn’t.’

‘Who were the two guests?’ she asked him. ‘The ones you overheard.’

‘Two men, who have American accents, but look Hispanic to me. That is, of Mexican or Central American origin. They were staying here, looking very conspicuous, but this morning I hear they’ve gone again.’ He worked his shoulders irritably. ‘I only wish everyone else would do the same. That Appleyard woman and her child are a constant aggravation, and the Lillywhite couple show no signs of enjoying themselves at all. They stay out all day long, and then come back with stony faces, not saying a word. Definitely not my idea of a holiday.’

‘Did that smart woman come back? The one who was here on Tuesday – do you remember? She was in a bad mood because nobody was attending to her.’

Mr Ferguson brightened. ‘Oh yes! She comes every day, but doesn’t stay. Her name is Sheila. I think she’s trying to organise some event in the big room on the first floor. The one with balconies overlooking the mere. And nobody ever has time to discuss it with her. I have her down as some kind of businesswoman, offering seminars in how to be more successful, hoping to hire the room over the winter.’

‘But it would have been Dan Yates’s job to sort it all out with her?’

‘So it would seem. And Miss Todd has been absent, too. I imagine she might have managed to agree some details.’

‘How do you know all this?’ she blurted.

‘Simply by sitting behind a newspaper in the lounge for an hour every morning. I have heard a great many conversations that way.’

She laughed. ‘No wonder Inspector Moxon wanted to
talk to you,’ she said. ‘He must think you’re very useful.’

‘And I disappointed him,’ sighed the old man. ‘It was ever thus.’

‘What do you think of Penny, the receptionist?’ Simmy asked, after a quick glance around. It belatedly occurred to her that it could be embarrassing if this conversation were to be overheard.

‘Far too thin for comfort,’ he responded. ‘But much less unbalanced than she appears at first sight. All she wants is to ensure the guests have their needs met, and she does a sterling job in that respect. I have learnt very little about her personal life, but I detect a severe degree of trouble.’

‘She must have anorexia, surely,’ said Simmy, thinking of Bonnie.

‘I fancy not. I have an impression of a physical disorder. In fact, I should not be surprised if she has a lethal tumour, and knows her time is limited.’

‘Heavens! Would she still be working if that was the case?’

‘If that
were
the case, then she might well welcome the distraction from her woes,’ he said, reminding Simmy powerfully of her father’s insistence on the correct use of the subjunctive case.

‘Do you think she’s in pain?’ The idea was growing increasingly alarming. ‘How sure are you about this?’

He waved a hand, sweeping her questions aside. ‘Pure supposition,’ he said. ‘Think no more about it.’

What an annoying man
, she thought. Eavesdropping, gossiping, jumping to conclusions. Sneaking up on her the way he had, and forcing her to talk to him. Thinking about it, she wasn’t sure she could believe a word he’d said.

‘Well, I must get on,’ she said firmly. ‘I just came over here for a look at the view.’

He bowed his head and gave her a look that suggested he was unconvinced of her veracity. She wished she could find Moxon and ask him for his opinion of Mr Ferguson. Something about him was decidedly disconcerting. Perhaps he knew who had killed Dan – even the whereabouts of the missing Ben.

Perhaps, she thought wildly, he was a murderer and a kidnapper, posing as a harmless old holidaymaker.

Melanie was coming out of the front entrance when Simmy returned to her car. ‘It’s okay,’ the girl called. ‘You can go. I’ll be here until nine this evening. He wants me to do some extra time, to make up for yesterday.’ Simmy waited for the resentment that this would surely occasion, but it never came. ‘It’s fair enough, I suppose,’ came the surprising comment.

‘Hardly,’ she protested. ‘You were in a state of shock.’

‘I could have worked if I’d wanted to. Anyway, it’s okay now. I’ll have plenty to do.’

‘I’ve been talking to Mr Ferguson. He’s a very odd man, don’t you think?’

Melanie looked blank. ‘Not that I’ve noticed. What did he say?’

‘Lots of things. That woman in the suit – did you see her on Tuesday? Apparently she’s trying to arrange some sort of weekend in the big room upstairs. Maybe you can
do that for her? She’s annoyed, he says, because there was nobody to deal with her.’

Melanie’s blankness deepened. ‘What smart woman? I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Maybe you didn’t see her. She was trying to get some attention on reception in the middle of all the chaos after we found Dan. He said she’s been back every day, and still hasn’t got any satisfaction. You wouldn’t think it could be all that difficult,’ she finished.

‘It might, if she wants rooms and food and equipment. Somebody would have to sit down with her and go through every detail, with costs and so forth. That room holds a hundred people. If they all want feeding, that’s a big deal.’

‘He thinks she’s some sort of businesswoman, wanting to run seminars.’

Melanie frowned. ‘What did she look like?’

‘Very well groomed and uptight. She had high heels and a dazzlingly white blouse under a blue jacket. A bit like an accountant, I thought. Or an insurance assessor.’

‘Oh, her. I know who you mean. She’s been coming in and out, talking to Dan about something confidential, for a while now. Fancy you seeing her as well. She’s called Sheila something.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, she can’t be important, if she keeps coming back like that. Ben would call her a red herring.’

Simmy smiled. ‘He would,’ she agreed. ‘So I can go, then, can I? You’ll be able to get the bus back, I assume.’

Melanie’s expression was resigned. ‘If I have to.’ Then she frowned. ‘Why didn’t Ben get the bus back to Bowness
on Tuesday, instead of asking you to fetch him? If he’d done that, we’d have none of this business now. Or less of it, anyway,’ she added with a flinch at her own forgetfulness. ‘I mean, Dan would still be …’

‘Ben said there was some problem with the bus. They’d cancelled the next one, for some reason. And I was coming here anyway, so it all worked nicely. Or we thought it did.’

Without warning, the banked-up anxiety about the boy’s fate came flooding through. ‘Oh, Mel – what can possibly have happened to him? After all this time – where on earth
is
he? We’re just carrying on, when he might be hurt or even …’

‘Dead. We’ve got to say the word. Dead, dead, dead. It sounds better if you keep saying it. Like cancer. It’s daft to be afraid of a word.’

Melanie was crying. Simmy’s throat was thick. They clasped each other in an instinctive hug, like schoolgirls on the TV news after losing one of their classmates. Simmy hoped it was making them both feel better.

Then Melanie pushed them apart. ‘I’ve got to
work
,’ she said. ‘The hotel’s got to get itself back on track, and without Dan nobody’s sure what to do. I know I’ve only been here a month, but I have my uses. Oh – and can you do some more flowers tomorrow?’

‘What? Did the manager tell you to say that?’

‘I asked him and he said of course. We can’t let standards drop now. He wants the weekend to really make a splash. I’ve got a list of websites to contact, to offer some special deals. I’m doing Facebook and Twitter and the rest, as well. We’re really fighting back.’

‘Even before they know who killed Dan,’ murmured Simmy. ‘Seems a bit hasty.’

‘It’s
business
, Sim. If you drop the ball, you never get it back again.’

It was good to see Melanie so energised, Simmy told herself. All her talents were firing up again, after the single day of apathy and self-pity. Hadn’t Ninian predicted something of the sort? And yet there was something heartless about it, too. Dan would be replaced, the evidence of his death covered over and forgotten. Unless, perhaps, it turned out that a prominent and trusted member of the hotel staff had killed him, she thought sourly. Then they might have a much harder struggle before they could redeem themselves.

‘All right. I’ll go and open the shop again,’ she said, feeling heavy and reluctant. ‘And order more flowers for tomorrow.’

‘I’ll call you about that,’ said Melanie. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

Simmy drove slowly down the winding driveway and onto the road into Hawkshead. There were groups of cheerful holidaymakers everywhere she looked. Bare arms and legs, stout walking boots, floppy hats and eager dogs. There was a sense that all these people had been released from a long, cloudy wait, poised to leap outside the moment the sun appeared. They had snatched up their flimsiest clothes and rushed outdoors to make the most of it, because it could surely not last more than another few days. To Simmy’s eyes, there was something faintly grim about it.

The prospect of returning to the empty shop with
no Ben dropping in, no customers, no urgent tasks, was unappealing. Bonnie was off on her own wild adventure; her parents were struggling with troubles that she could not really help with and Moxon had forgotten her. Loneliness had been a lurking enemy ever since her baby died and deprived her of the reliable company she had expected to enjoy for the rest of her life. Her husband had somehow faded away, along with little Edith. The cowardly, almost shameful, return to the bosom of her parents had been an escape from the anguish of that fatally ruined life as a wife and potential mother.

But she had no wish to go into Hawkshead again, either. What good would that do? She didn’t know anybody there, and was in no mood to sit eating a solitary lunch at one of the cafés. They were probably all full, anyway. She would skirt the little town along its southern edge and retrace her route via the outskirts of Ambleside to Windermere. Except she found herself mistakenly heading southwards again, on the wrong side of Lake Windermere, the signs indicating the Sawreys. Crossly she pulled onto a grass verge and tried to work out where she’d gone wrong. The area was such a maze of little roads, none of them direct. Hawkshead was on an ancient crossroads where you could head for Coniston, Furness, Ambleside and the Sawreys – none of them quite where a novice might expect them to be. No straight lines or level plains. Settlements scattered at random, with the bodies of water forcing lengthy detours – it all led to confusion. She knew she should have acquired a satnav long ago, but somehow it felt like a weakness. She could read a map – but the map was in her van. She could follow directions and work out
the points of the compass from the position of the sun. But in the middle of the day this was not so easy. For a painful moment she very badly wanted her father and his competent good sense.

The only thing to do was to turn round and try again. There would be a sign to Ambleside that she had missed.

She awkwardly turned in the little road and started back. Then, glancing through a gateway she noticed two people sitting on a large granite rock close to a tree, in earnest conversation. One had a very distinctive halo of the palest blonde hair. And the other, for a heart-stopping moment, might have been Ben Harkness. With a lurch, she braked and took a closer look. It was certainly Bonnie, but her companion was a younger, smaller boy than Ben. It was, in fact, the boy who had acted as Ben’s messenger the previous day.

Without even thinking, she was out of the car and pushing at the closed gate in seconds. ‘Bonnie!’ she called. ‘What are you doing?’

The girl looked up slowly, her expression hard to read at such a distance. She did not stand up, and with a gesture, kept the boy where he was, too. ‘Leave me alone,’ she called. ‘I’m perfectly all right. Stop following me.’

Simmy hesitated. She had no right to force herself onto the girl. She showed no sign of distress and there wasn’t the slightest hint of danger. But neither could she simply drive away and leave her. Something dangerous might well be about to happen. If she was searching for Ben, then she could get involved with violent and frightening people.

‘I can’t just go and leave you,’ she shouted back.

‘Yes you can. How did you find me, anyway?’

It was too complicated to explain at top volume across half a field. She pushed again at the gate, which was firmly chained shut.

‘No!’ yelled Bonnie. ‘I don’t want you now. Go away, Simmy. There’s nothing useful you can do. I’ll phone you later on.’

‘Well, make sure you do,’ yelled Simmy, and went back to her car.

She found she was shaking when she tried to start the ignition. The shock of seeing Bonnie and then being rejected so uncompromisingly had been severe. The indecision as to what, if anything, she ought to do; the fear that Bonnie was walking into a situation she couldn’t hope to manage, all combined to render her helpless. Perhaps she should call Corinne, as a first step. She would have a better idea of what Bonnie might do and the best way to keep her safe. It would be a sensible way to pass the buck, at the very least.

But she did not have Corinne’s number in her phone. Somewhere at the shop it was noted down, but she’d never had to use it.

She fought hard to think logically. Bonnie knew Ben best. She had been resourceful enough to ensure she had the Barnaby boy’s number as well as giving him hers. She had once again got herself to Hawkshead from Windermere – most probably on the bus that Melanie had missed, unless she’d hitched again like the day before. The bus took almost an hour, where a vehicle could do it in a third of the time. Part of Simmy was repeating
Good luck to her, then
. Let her do everything she could to find her beloved, because it didn’t seem as if anybody else would manage it.

But she, Simmy, could not persuade herself to simply drive away and leave these youngsters to their fate. If Bonnie wanted her to go away, she would remove herself from sight. But she would not leave Hawkshead. She would perhaps find an inconspicuous spot to park and walk quietly back to keep a protective eye on them. Only then did she think to wonder where Barnaby’s family was.