made them both a pot of Earl Grey and put on Bel’s CD of Andy Williams’ greatest hits. Music to soothe girls by. They were sitting next to the window that looked out towards the lake, but neither of them spared it a glance. They had twenty minutes before Bel returned from the shop in Hawkshead, but Arthur and the Croatian girls might show up at any moment.
‘Nothing.’
‘We can’t do nothing!’
She pulled a piece of screwed-up paper out of the waistband of her skirt and laid it on the table and smoothed it out again. Her face was as crumpled as the sheet bearing the stark stencilled words.
She stifled a sob. ‘When I showed it to you this afternoon, you thought it was funny.’
Reading the note he’d laughed wildly, as if shocked beyond reason that anyone could take such an accusation seriously. Thank God Bel and the other staff hadn’t been around. Anger would have been fine, anxiety reasonable. But amazement bordering on disbelief — that cut her to the bone. No wonder she’d wept as she ran out of the restaurant.
‘I’m sorry, Kirsty. I was — well, shocked, I suppose. It seemed…’
‘Ridiculous?’ she asked in a muffled voice.
‘Don’t cry, Kirsty. It’s horrid for you. For both of us. But we mustn’t let it knock us off balance.’
‘You think it is ridiculous.’
‘It’s ridiculous to call you…cruel names.’
‘You think I’m still just a silly kid, don’t you?’
‘No, no. We’ve always been good friends, Kirsty, haven’t we?’ He leaned forward and rested a palm on her shoulder. His cologne smelled of sandalwood. ‘True friends. Friends who care about each other.’
She mopped her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. ‘I suppose so.’
‘You know so. And I hate seeing you upset.’
The directness of his gaze lifted her spirits. When he concentrated his attention on you, it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist. Was this how Bel felt, when he looked straight at her? ‘So what are we going to do? Tell the police?’
He snatched his hand away as if he’d touched a live wire. ‘For goodness’ sake! How can they do anything? You’ve thrown away the envelope, we’ve both handled the message. Even if whoever wrote this left any fingerprints, which I doubt, they will have disappeared by now.’
Her tea had a tang of lemon. She preferred to take milk with it, but Oliver said that ruined the flavour and he was the expert. The song playing in the background was ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, one of Bel’s favourite schmaltzy tracks, yet Oliver had put it on for her. How long would it take to break the spell by which Bel had entranced him? Three times in the past year, he’d kissed her on the cheek by way of greeting or farewell. The kisses were chaste, but each one set her pulse racing.
‘I was wondering…there was this programme on Channel 4 the other day, about investigating crime. What about DNA tests?’
‘This isn’t a hunt for a sniper or a serial killer. The police won’t be interested, Kirsty. Trust me.’
Of course she wanted to trust him, but his reaction baffled her. ‘You’re suggesting we let this…this creature get away with it?’
‘With what? Whoever sent that message wants to upset you. Don’t give him the satisfaction, Kirsty. The best thing you can do — we can do — is to behave as though nothing’s happened. Why should we let some sad person with nothing better to do get under our skin? Let them spin their lies about someone else if they want to spark a reaction.’
She stared at him. ‘As simple as that?’
‘Of course.’ He was breathing hard, as if this meant a lot to him. ‘After all, we know there isn’t a shred of truth in this note, don’t we? You’ve never laid a finger on me, nor me on you. We’re just very good friends — and I swear, we always will be.’
‘So this is Paradise?’
‘An outpost of Virgin Rail, actually,’ Daniel said. ‘Don’t worry. The Lake District gets better.’
Louise arched her eyebrows and stepped aside to allow him to pick up her suitcases. The train had disappeared north on its journey over the high moors to Carlisle and Glasgow beyond and a group of Swedes with bulging rucksacks were scanning the horizon in a baffled search for the vanished sun. The line below the platform was awash with puddles after a sudden cloudburst, the sky was as grey as the stone station waiting room. Daniel considered mentioning that Oxenholme station was designed by the man who built the Bank of England, but thought better of it. Louise’s arrival had been delayed by fifty minutes (engineering works), the on-train buffet had been closed (staff shortages) and she’d spent the journey sharing a table with three Macbeth-like witches who discussed their digestions at the top of their voices (deafness coupled with contempt for the fit and youthful). She wasn’t in the mood to be impressed by local trivia. Not that Louise was often in the mood to be impressed.
As he led his sister down the ramp to the tunnel that linked the parking areas on either side of the station, he stole a sideways glance at her. All at once, her resemblance to their late mother was striking and, as much as he’d loved Mum, he was sorry to recognise the similarities. Gone were the flowing dark tresses, replaced by a severe bob in her natural mousy shade. She’d never liked going out without ‘having her face on’ but now the make-up was confined to a touch of colour in otherwise pallid cheeks. If she seemed tinier than before, it wasn’t merely because of the flat shoes. He guessed she might have lost as much as a stone; there were lines around her mouth that he hadn’t seen before. Not even when she’d suffered from anorexia in her late teens, a phase that persisted until an ardent if acned suitor who lived next door helped her recover her self-esteem. He yearned to put his arm around her, but he knew that if he did, chances were that she’d shrug it off with a furious remark.
He’d left his Audi in a marked space on the brow of the hill above Kendal. As they emerged into the light, she halted on the edge of the pavement and took in the prospect of the fells in the distance.
‘This is where he lived with her, isn’t it, Oxenholme?’
He’d meant to avoid mentioning their father. Her resentment of the old man was excessive, but too deeply ingrained to be smoothed away overnight. He should have known better than to believe that they could gloss over the past.
‘Cheryl’s in Grange-over-Sands now. She’s moved in with someone else.’
‘You looked her up?’
Her voice rose; she was too astonished to be angry. For her, Cheryl was the serpent who had tempted their father into destroying his family’s happiness and he’d been too weak to resist. She’d never met Cheryl, but like her mother, she hated the woman with blind ferocity.
‘I was curious.’
Louise was struggling for calm. ‘You were always too curious for your own good.’
He heaved the suitcases into the car and slammed the boot shut. ‘Believe it or not, I felt sorry for her.’
Louise swore. ‘You’re joking!’
‘She’s not ageing well and the man she lives with is an old misery. He’s obviously planning to spend his retirement looking around for errands she can run for him. Waiting for her to mess up so he has something fresh to complain about.’
‘Serves her right, the selfish bitch.’
‘He used to be her boss.’
Louise grunted. ‘That was her modus operandi, wasn’t it? Seducing men she worked for.’
They drove through the town in silence. As they turned on to the road that led to Brackdale, she said, ‘I know I look a fright.’
‘A bit wan, that’s all.’
‘I’ve lost a bit of weight too.’
‘Not a bad thing.’
‘Still not got any manners, then?’ She hesitated before saying, ‘Thanks for letting me stay with you.’
‘I’m glad you came.’
‘Who knows, in a couple of weeks people might start mistaking me for a country maid, with pig-tails and cheeks like apples.’
He laughed. ‘So this is your first time in the Lakes since that holiday?’
