‘It’s my favourite De Quincey quote. Though he wrote so many wonderful lines. Remember how he bemoans the way people will not submit to having their throats cut quietly, but will run and kick and bite? “Whilst the portrait painter often has to complain of too much torpor in his subject, the artist, in our line, is generally embarrassed by too much animation”? Masterly. Is any other writer of genius so
‘Except here in the Lakes?’
‘Especially here in the Lakes! We hear more than flesh and blood can bear about William Wordsworth, and plenty about Coleridge. Even Southey, and not forgetting dear old John Ruskin. Poor De Quincey scarcely gets a look in. I hope our Festival will change all that. I’d love people to realise there is so much more to De Quincey than eating opium and living in Dove Cottage. Who knows? The Festival may be the start of something big. Next stop, a De Quincey Trail across the county? He could be the Lakes’ new Beatrix Potter.’ The long lashes fluttered conspiratorially, encouraging Daniel to share the joke. ‘In the meantime, believe me, I can’t wait to read your lecture.’
‘Right now, I’ll be thrilled to finish the first draft.’
Arlo chortled. ‘Good to hear that even Daniel Kind sometimes struggles to string a few paragraphs together. When I was an undergraduate, my ambition was to write a novel, but I never made it past the first five thousand words. Now I satisfy my creative energies through writing press releases about literary festivals. It’s not quite the same.’
‘Enjoying your new job?’
‘The chance to return to the Lakes was a dream come true. Trust me, I didn’t come for the money. But the people here have been marvellous…well, mostly.’
He paused, like a born gossip hoping to provoke curiosity.
‘My sister said she met you at Stuart Wagg’s party.’
‘Louise, yes. Such a lovely lady. She’ll have told you about the little…contretemps?’
‘The woman who threw wine over you? Yeah, she did mention it.’
‘I bet.’ Arlo uttered a theatrical sigh, but Daniel guessed he relished his fifteen minutes of fame. ‘Not back in the Lakes five minutes and already I’m making waves. Not my own choice, I can assure you.’
Years spent negotiating the minefield of Oxford college politics had taught Daniel the value of discretion. Adopting a sympathetic expression, he clamped his mouth shut. If Arlo wanted to natter about the incident with Wanda Safell, that was up to him.
‘You’ll have heard that her husband died before Christmas?’
‘Burnt to death, Louise told me.’
Arlo squirmed in his chair. ‘Yes, horrible.’
‘His boathouse went up in flames?’
‘By all accounts, it wasn’t your average boathouse. A place where he kept his rare books, apparently, a bolt- hole up on Ullswater. Wanda was his second wife and I dare say he found her a handful. I met them at the first event I attended, a few days after I took up my post. She’d had a few drinks and…well, she made it clear that it wasn’t just the Festival she was interested in. Very flattering, but needless to say I made my excuses and left.’
Arlo did his best to look embarrassed, but Daniel wasn’t convinced. Maybe he wasn’t gay, and the faintly camp manner was just a pose. Or a defence mechanism.
‘Tricky.’
‘Next thing I knew, she was on the phone every other day. She runs a small printing press and produces the occasional limited edition. Including a new book of poetry by a friend of hers that focuses on De Quincey, which she was keen to promote. I was happy to help, but she misread the signals.’
‘And then her husband died?’
‘Such a shocking tragedy. I thought Wanda would cool down, but on Christmas Eve she called me again. I suppose I was abrupt with her. I didn’t mean to be rude, but she caught me at a bad moment. When I saw her at the party, I wanted to apologise, but she wasn’t in the mood for a rapprochement. She’d obviously got stuck into the booze at home before she set off for the party. Understandable, I suppose. Perhaps she felt guilty about her husband.’
Daniel stared. ‘You’re not suggesting she had anything to do with his death?’
Arlo paused before saying, ‘Heavens, no. I mean, guilty about having flirted with another man when her husband didn’t have long to live.’
‘Was the fire an accident?’
‘Rumours are flying around that it was started deliberately.’
‘By Saffell himself? An insurance scam that got out of hand?’
‘He didn’t need the money. Wanda told me he sold his business at the top of the market. Maybe someone wanted him dead. When I met him, he seemed a decent sort, but he was an estate agent, after all, and they aren’t universally popular.’
‘You don’t kill someone because they messed up your house move.’
Arlo gave a mischievous grin, and Daniel guessed that when it came to murder cases, he was as much of a voyeur as Thomas De Quincey. ‘Who knows what people may do when driven to extremes? Anyway, I’m sorry Wanda interrupted my conversation with Louise. Such a glamorous lady.’
Daniel never thought of Louise as glamorous. She was his sister and he always pigeonholed her as a starchy lawyer.
‘She mentioned that she’d met you.’
‘I hadn’t realised that she and Stuart Wagg…’
‘They got to know each other at a legal seminar. She teaches corporate law.’
‘Whirlwind romance, by the sound of it. Stuart’s a very successful lawyer, the sort of man you want on your side.’
‘How do you mean?’
Arlo lowered his voice, as if afraid of eavesdroppers. ‘He has a reputation for ruthlessness. A good friend, and a bad enemy, or so people say. Personally, I find him very civilised. It’s wonderful that his firm is sponsoring the Festival. They’ve even printed a brochure,
‘Like George Saffell.’
‘Funny, in other respects you couldn’t find two more different characters. George was reserved, nothing like as charismatic as Stuart. Of course, Stuart is younger.’
The phone rang and Daniel reached for the receiver.
‘Is that you, Daniel?’
‘Louise?’
Her voice was barely recognisable. It wasn’t just that she was out of breath. She sounded frightened. He squeezed the receiver tight in hand, as Arlo Denstone leant forward in his chair, alerted by Daniel’s anxious question to the fact that something was amiss.
‘I’m in a lay-by near Windermere. Thank God you’re at home. Can I come to the cottage right now?’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s Stuart.’
‘What about him?’
Daniel shot Arlo a glance. He was trying to conceal his inquisitiveness, but his ears were flapping, no mistake.
‘We’ve had a terrible row. It’s like nothing I’ve-’
‘What sort of row?’
‘Daniel.’ He could hear her starting to cry. ‘He’s-’
‘Yes?’
‘It’s over.’ She stifled a sob. ‘Dead.’
