‘My brother received something yesterday; the handwriting’s identical. And this morning an envelope has arrived for Mum. She wasn’t around to open it, thank goodness.’
His face was ashen. Even in her distress, she felt excitement surging inside her. He was genuinely concerned for her.
‘Oh, Jesus, Kirsty. This is dreadful. What — what does the letter to Sam say?’
‘It accuses him of hating our father.’ Her voice was rising, but she couldn’t help it. ‘Not that Sam can complain, he admits it’s true.’
‘Everything all right?’
Bel’s voice made Kirsty shudder. She’d breezed back in without either of them noticing. When Kirsty mumbled a reply, Bel said, ‘You look a bit off colour.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing. A touch of hay fever, that’s all.’
‘You poor girl. Have you been sneezing? I heard on the radio the pollen count is at an all-time high. I don’t know what’s best for hay fever. Would a paracetamol help?’
Typical, Kirsty thought, as she murmured thanks. Of course Bel didn’t know about hay fever, she’d probably never had a day’s illness in her life. But she believed any problem could be magicked away, that there was a quick and easy solution to everything. For all her little acts of kindness, she had no idea of how other people struggled to cope. Even when the woman had lost her husband, she’d fallen straight into Oliver’s arms. Her whole bloody life was charmed.
Miranda had joined a yoga class in Staveley and she’d persuaded Louise to come along with her. When Miranda talked about getting in touch with her spiritual side, Daniel expected his sister to cringe. Instead, she started asking Miranda about her take on Indian mystic philosophy.
The old Louise, the Louise he’d grown up with, wouldn’t have had any truck with it. She was down to earth, focused, practical. As their lives moved in different directions, they’d exchanged a word on the phone here, an email there. He’d never hit it off with Rodney, so contact dwindled. Maybe over the years his sister changed from the girl he’d known, without his even realising it.
Should he mention that he was going to meet Hannah Scarlett? He was tempted not to say a word. He could see Hannah while Miranda and Louise were assuming the lotus position and they would be none the wiser. But it wasn’t as if he had a guilty secret to conceal.
He broke the news while the three of them walked around the tarn, but Louise wasn’t impressed. ‘Oh, Daniel, why don’t you let it go? This constant harking back, it doesn’t do any good.’
He wondered about reminding her that she’d often spoken of his father’s betrayal, she hadn’t let that go. But he decided against it.
‘I’m a historian,’ he said, picking up a pebble and skimming it over the surface of the water. ‘Harking back is what I do.’
‘Stop being a clever clogs.’ How many times had he heard her say that during his teens? ‘You know exactly what I mean. I don’t mean to seem harsh, Daniel, but Dad is dead. Picking over the past with his old sergeant won’t change anything.’
Shielding her eyes from the sun, Miranda said, ‘I don’t think that’s his only motive for seeing Hannah Scarlett.’
He felt his throat drying, but her expression was amused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s the detective thing, isn’t it? Louise was telling me that before you took up history, you wanted to be a cop, just like your old man.’
‘I was ten years old.’
‘But you’ve never lost it, have you? That’s why you wrote the book. You’re obsessed with doing justice to history. That’s why you’re so keen on talking to a cold case detective. You think her line of business is pretty much the same as yours.’
Louise rolled her eyes. ‘Well, Daniel, is she right?’
He thought about it. ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’
During the dead hours between lunch and dinner, Kirsty’s habit was to hang around at The Heights rather than going home. Any chance to spend time with Oliver was worth seizing and Bel didn’t mind slipping her a few extra quid for making herself useful. Today was different. The Croatian girls were embroiled in a noisy tug of war over some boyfriend, and Bel asked Oliver to nip over to Ambleside to pick up a set of new menu folders.
Kirsty watched from the corridor as Bel patted his rump and then stuck her tongue down his throat as they shared a parting embrace. Oliver didn’t even seem embarrassed, though surely he must be cringing inside. Bel wasn’t young or fresh any more, the skin of her neck was definitely loosening; so sad to see a middle-aged woman pretending she was still in her twenties. Kirsty stifled an urge to sob and set off home.
When she arrived back, her mother’s big black SUV was parked in the drive. Kirsty hesitated on the doorstep. Should she ask about the latest anonymous letter? She didn’t want to tell her mother about the message sent to her. Too embarrassing. Yet how could she sleep, not knowing what the letter-writer had said to Mum? Clenching her fist, she told herself that it would be stupid to keep her mouth shut, for fear of what she might be told.
Tina Howe was sitting on a high stool next to the breakfast bar, munching an apple while she checked her post. Her skirt showed off her bare legs, her top was even more revealing than Kirsty’s waitressing garb. The old, old story: whatever Kirsty tried to do, Mum always did it better.
‘Hello, stranger.’
Tina looked up from a gas bill. ‘Isn’t that what parents are supposed to say to children? Before long, you’ll be complaining that I treat this place like a hotel.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re denying it?’
‘Well…I have been very busy lately.’
‘Oh, yes?’
Tina tossed the apple core into the bin. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t want to be a neglectful parent.’
‘I’m old enough to look after myself.’
‘But?’
Kirsty pointed to the stack of opened mail in front of her mother. ‘Something arrived for you today. An envelope with your name and address printed in capitals. What was it?’
Tina swung her legs back and forth. ‘‘Why do you ask?’
‘It looked — odd. Not the handwriting of any of our friends or relations.’
‘As a matter of fact, it was a piece of horrid anonymous rubbish. Not worth talking about.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Listen, it was vile, you’d only be upset. As soon as I read it, I ripped it into pieces and shoved it down the waste disposal.’
‘What did it say?’
Tina frowned. ‘Look, sweetheart, it’d be best-’
‘Please, Mum. Tell me.’
‘All right. If you really want to know.’ Tina took a breath. ‘It said something like this.
As the words sank in, Kirsty put out a hand to steady herself against the breakfast bar. ‘But that’s nonsense! I thought you were…you told me you’d only been seeing Peter Flint within the last year or so.’
‘Darling, it’s bad enough to open a letter and find a message like that. I don’t want a Spanish Inquisition on top, OK?’ Tina eased off the stool. ‘I’d better be getting back to the office. We’re still trying to catch up after the computer crashed.’
‘Will you be back tonight?’
Tina paused at the kitchen door. ‘I doubt it.’
‘Are you going to tell him about the letter?’
‘Who, Sam?’
‘No.’ The question was disingenuous. ‘Peter.’
‘I don’t want to think about it any more. I wouldn’t have told you if I’d thought you’d make a fuss.’ Tina lifted the keys to the SUV off a rack decorated with little wooden fish and the fading legend ‘Souvenir from Llandudno’. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, all right?’
