Death of a Delft Blue

‘The fence is there to be climbed. The fourth side isn’t all that difficult. People have been down there before and climbed out quite all right. The bushes are fine. If we find Florian’s body, we have only to tell the local gendarmes and leave them to produce block and tackle or whatever it may be,’ said Laura firmly. ‘Besides, who said anything about “we”? Obviously you must stay up top in case you have to run for assistance. According to the map, there are a number of farms not so very far away, and these upland farmers are good at giving help. Not to worry — I shan’t break my neck. I’m much too fond of it.’

‘You are not going to climb down there,’ said Gavin. ‘It needs at least four people and some rope and so on. I don’t intend to be left a widower at my age.’

They eyed one another.

‘I’m going to do it,’ said Laura. ‘It’s been done before, and, if others can do it, so can I.’

‘What about a compromise, then?’

This reasonable suggestion surprised her by its very reasonableness.

‘Such as?’ she enquired militantly.

‘Well, you’ve just pointed out that there are a number of farms around. I can’t spot any of them from here, but — let’s sit down and spread out the map.’

Laura did not attempt to veto this suggestion. She took two plastic squares from the pockets of her anorak, shook them out and spread them on the grass.

‘Turf may be a bit damp at this time of year,’ she remarked. They seated themselves and spread out the map. ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘These three farms seem to be well within reach. What about it?’

‘Just this. Somebody at one of the farms may have spotted Florian or even may have spoken to him. That’s if he has been here, of course. I suggest that we go the rounds and make a few enquiries. If it seems likely that he did climb down this gosh-awful hole, I don’t mind if you go down after him, provided that the farm people or the police or the nearest fire-brigade or someone will come up here to see fair play and haul you out if you find (as I shrewdly suspect) that climbing down, with or without the help of the bushes, is one thing, but climbing up again is quite another. How about it, eh?’

Laura got up, went to the fence and looked over. Gavin knew better than to say any more. Slowly she turned and came back to him.

‘Don’t you really want me to go down?’ she asked. Gavin knew that he had won.

‘I just think it would be damn silly and do no real good,’ he said. ‘And, besides, a nice fool I should look, going to the fire brigade and saying, “Look here, sorry to trouble you and all that, but my wife’s got herself into a hole and I can’t get her out.”’

Laura laughed.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘It seems a pity, though. I’d been looking forward to it. Still, if it’s going to worry you…’

‘Into my grave, darling girl.’

They were lucky at the first farm. A young man, answering to Laura’s description of Florian, had called there ‘a week or two back’ to ask for directions. He wanted to see the Eldon Hole and had asked whether it was possible to explore it. Told that it was a very dangerous place and had a bad reputation and that, in any case, nobody should ever attempt to go into it alone, he had remarked that ‘we shan’t bother, then,’ and had expressed thanks. A nice- mannered young chap and did ought to have been a filmstar with them looks.

Gavin exchanged glances with Laura. She nodded. Gavin said to the farmer’s wife,

‘We thought our friend was alone. Did he — are you sure he said “we”?’

The farmer’s wife was perfectly sure.

‘Then, did you see the others?’

There had been one other, a girl. In the opinion of the farmer’s wife, she ought to have known better than to encourage a young lad to think of climbing down the Eldon Hole. Everybody knew what a dangerous place that could be. Anyway, she had asked the couple whether they would like a cup of tea and they had come into the kitchen and had had one, and a slice of jam-tart, and then the young man had fished out a box of chocolates and had offered it round, but when she had noticed that they were liqueur chocolates, ‘and foreign, at that,’ the farmer’s wife had refused them and they had been put away again.

‘Foreign? Any idea which country?’ Gavin asked. The farmer’s wife could not say with any certainty, but the name reminded her of gin or cherry brandy, she thought, or it might have been that drink with eggs in it. She invited them in for a cup of tea. To Laura’s surprise, Gavin accepted with alacrity and gratitude. He was adept at employing delaying tactics when Laura had formulated any plan of which he did not approve. She always was suspicious of his ruses, but, as in the present instance, it was not easy to catch him out.

Over the strong tea and sponge sandwich provided by the farmer’s wife, he asked whether she knew where the girl had come from. She was a local girl, and was either from the village of Hayfield or possibly from Glossop itself, the farmer’s wife surmised. She had not asked any questions of her guests, but those were the places mentioned.

Gavin passed on — by what conversational alchemy Laura could not decide — to talk about upland farming. Cattle, he supposed, were its mainstay. Yes, they had Frisians. Her husband thought they were the best, but Mr Manns, he thought well of Herefords and was trying a cross with the Highland breed. Of course, there were sheep, too, but no lambing until March, although December would be better for prices. It was the weather made it March.

Gavin passed on to sheep and then, as the sun began to set, he looked at his watch and decided that it was time to make a move. Even Laura, he thought, would not contemplate a descent of Eldon Hole after dark.

At dinner in the hotel, she said:

‘Taking it by and large, I’m beginning to think you’re right.’

‘As how?’ Gavin cautiously enquired.