Bess stood up, pulled down the window and left the room. The gamble had paid off. Foxden Hotel had opened as planned on New Year’s Eve. Dave Sutherland turning up was a blot on the celebrations, but thankfully he hadn’t shown his face since.
Bess took two of the four copies of the Advertiser from the reception desk and ran upstairs, depositing one in the library and the other in the smoking lounge. Returning with a bounce in her step, she left reception’s copy on the desk and took the remaining copy into the office.
‘As we’d hoped,’ Frank said, greeting Bess with a smile. ‘Bookings are up on February. The rest of March is looking good and Easter weekend is almost full.’
Bess dropped the paper on the chair by the fire and walked round Frank’s desk. She looked over his shoulder and read the figures he was working on. She exhaled with relief and gave Frank’s shoulders a squeeze.
A loud knock at the door took Bess’s attention. Maeve entered without waiting to be asked. ‘Excuse me, one of the anglers is asking to see you. He says it’s urgent.’
‘Thank you, Maeve. Show him in, will you?’
Frank groaned. ‘What now? The last day of the fishing season and someone’s complaining.’
There was a huffing and a puffing outside the door and a second later Harry Shaw, a local man from the village of Woodcote who had fished the lake since he was a boy, blustered into the room. He was as white as the hotel’s bed linen. ‘There’s a b-b-body,’ he stuttered, ‘in the lake.’
Bess and Frank stood up simultaneously. Bess shot Frank a stunned look, then quickly edged her way from behind the desk to assist the old gentleman. She pulled out the chair from under Frank’s desk. ‘Sit down, Mr Shaw.’ Bess waited while the old man shuffled to the front of the chair, her arms outstretched ready to catch him if he fell. He lowered himself onto the seat. ‘I’ll get someone to bring you a cup of tea,’ she said, going back to the door and poking her head out.
‘Maeve? Would you get one of the kitchen staff to make a pot of tea for three, please? As quickly as you can.’
‘You’re certain it was a body, Mr Shaw?’ Bess asked, when she returned to her seat. ‘It couldn’t have been a log, or--?’
‘What I saw weren’t no log, Mrs Donnelly. My legs might be going a bit, but there’s nowt wrong with my eyes. It were a body all right! It were floating sideways. Like a whale, it was.’ Harry looked from Bess to Frank.
Frank glanced at the clock. It wasn’t quite seven. ‘With a bit of luck the other anglers won’t be here yet. You’re early, aren’t you, Mr Shaw?’
‘I’m down there sometimes as soon as it’s light, so as I get the same spot. Up near the hotel can be noisy with the holiday folk coming and going, and the east side’s too open. I like plenty of cover, where it’s a bit overgrown, as you might say. Serves to keep the March wind off.’
Bess looked at Frank. She knew the answer to the question she was about to ask. She asked it anyway. ‘And where exactly is it that you fish, Mr Shaw?’
‘South of the lake. This side, where there’s long reeds. The fish get caught in them, and you can sometimes net ‘em. I like it down there with Shaft Hill spinney behind me. Gives a bit of shelter see.’
Frank laid his hand on Bess’s arm and she looked up at him. His pale face and lined forehead mirrored what she imagined her own face to look like. ‘I’d better telephone the police station and tell Sergeant McGann what Mr Shaw has told us. I’ll do it from reception, and then go down to the lake, stop any other fishermen setting up near the body.’
‘Sergeant McGann might not want any part of the lake fishing today,’ Bess said. ‘At least, not until he’s seen the body and had it taken away. Even then I expect he’ll have policemen searching the grounds. Tell the anglers that there’s been an accident and ask them to come back tomorrow.’
‘If it is a body, McGann won’t want anyone near the lake until his men have done poking about. I’ll tell them to come back on Monday. The police should be finished by then.’
‘Poor blighter. Drowning’s a terrible way to go,’ Harry Shaw said. ‘I saw a lot of men die that way in the Royal Navy.’ He sat upright and stuck out his chin. ‘The Great War!’ he said, with pride. ‘Watched one of my mates drown in the North Sea.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘That was the coldest and the cruellest stretch of water... He froze to death in seconds, well afore he drowned.’ Tears filled the old man’s eyes. He took a large grey handkerchief from the pocket of his sou’wester and mopped his face.
Frank got to his feet. ‘I’d better get down there. We don’t want anyone else seeing the body.’ He kissed Bess on the cheek, and as he passed the old man patted him on the shoulder.
‘I’ll see where your tea has got to, Mr Shaw. I won’t be a minute.’ Bess followed her husband out to reception. ‘Maeve, I’ll look after things here. Would you pop to the kitchen and ask how long the tea will be? Mr Shaw’s had a terrible shock.’
Maeve left reception straightaway and Frank picked up the telephone. ‘Do you think it’s him?’ Bess whispered. ‘Sutherland?’
‘Why would it be him? If there is a
