Over breakfast the next morning, Guy felt a calm that not even Mariah Carey warbling from the transistor radio could disturb. Calling the journalist had been tough, but courage had brought him peace of mind. He’d slept without dreaming and done justice to a full English breakfast guaranteed to fur the arteries. Sarah had cooked mushrooms, as a little treat. With a conspiratorial wink she indicated that this was to celebrate the departure of the German couple. They’d been up at the crack of dawn, feasting on toast and marmalade before setting off back to Heidelberg.
‘I’m not sure I’ll advertise vacancies until it’s time for you to leave. It’s been non-stop for the past fortnight and I fancy putting my feet up for a few days.’
‘You deserve a break.’ He considered the bags under her eyes. ‘You look tired, you must be working too hard.’
She shook her head. ‘My own fault. I spend too much time upstairs on the computer.’
He tutted. ‘All work and no play? You need to grab a bit of enjoyment as well as looking after your guests. Mind, you’d better be careful. You may not get rid of me as easily as all that. I’ve made myself so comfortable here that I was wondering …’
‘Yes?’
She leaned across the table and he caught a fragrance that revived memories of a happy few months in Paris three years back. Chanel Number Five. So she was making a special effort. He could scarcely resist the urge to preen.
‘I might like to stick around for a while. If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘Trouble? Nothing of the kind, it’s an absolute pleasure. How long would you like to stay?’
‘Depends on arrangements with my associates in Geneva.’ He sighed, a fast-moving executive at the mercy of tedious colleagues. ‘You’ll have to promise to kick me out the moment you want a bit of peace and quiet!’
‘No danger of that.’ As she reached over for the teapot, her hand grazed his. ‘Two’s company, as they say.’
He allowed her to pour him a second cup. In time you could acclimatise to anything, even Co-op tea bags. He was a man at ease with himself, as relaxed as though he’d been luxuriating in a jacuzzi. As it happened, the water heater in the basement was on the blink, but never mind. His luck was on the turn. Maybe tonight he’d be bathing upstairs, together with Sarah.
Guy recalled Megan, head lifted as she announced her ultimatum. If he wanted any more of her cash, things would have to change. They would get engaged, start behaving like a normal couple. If he didn’t like it, he could lump it. And repay what she’d lent him. And, and, and … well, he’d stopped listening. At last he saw Megan for what she was, a self-righteous young woman with a scrawny neck. For a fleeting moment he’d been tempted to put his hands around the pale pink flesh. It would be so easy to squeeze the breath out of her.
If she could see him now. Sarah was much more accommodating, in every sense. He deserved a bit of good fortune. As a boy in the Home, he’d imagined himself as a prince, immensely popular and possessed of untold wealth, yet condemned to penury and loneliness through a spell cast by a jealous wizard. The fantasy stayed with him for years, but when at last he was granted the freedom and riches he’d yearned for, all too soon he’d frittered them away.
He was ready for a second crack at the good life. By calling Tony Di Venuto, he’d done the right thing. Paid his dues. The authorities would set wheels in motion. He was hazy about official procedures, but before long Emma’s body would be found and she could be given a belated Christian burial. Karen Erskine could get on with the rest of her life while the journalist earned kudos for breaking the story. Leaving Guy to make the most of his new life in which everybody was a winner.
Just like the endings to the stories he’d made up as a kid. Happy ever after.
Inchmore Hall, home to Cumbria’s Museum of Myth and Legend, stood on the edge of the village in grounds extending over six acres, up to the lower reaches of Wetherlam. The hall was a grey monstrosity of Victorian Gothic, boasting turrets, tall chimneys, and black and white gables, the whole edifice surmounted by an extravagant tower with a copper top. Blinds were drawn at the ground floor windows, protecting the exhibits from non-existent sunlight. Copper beeches and dank rhododendron bushes masked the curving drive. A signboard beside the stone gateposts cautioned that during the winter season, opening hours were by appointment only. Hannah parked outside the canopied front door and ran up a flight of worn stone steps to ring the bell.
‘Yes?’
The woman framed in the doorway wore a black trouser suit, so simple and chic that it must have cost a mint. Short dark hair contrasted with luminous skin. Her forehead was high, her chin sharp. She wore dangly sun and moon ear-rings and a crucifix of ebony and silver hung from her neck. Alexandra Clough’s signed statement suggested intelligence and a calm reluctance to give more away than she wished to reveal. So did her unflickering gaze as Hannah flourished her ID.
Alex led the way with dainty, precise steps into a galleried entrance hall. The ground floor was crowded with pots of dusty palms and aspidistras. Carved pitch panelling covered the walls and an arch-shaped stained-glass window at the far end of the hall depicted a purple sunset over brooding fells. The air was so cold that Hannah expected to see icicles on the huge brass candle-holders. She shivered.
‘Sorry we don’t keep the heating on when we’re not open to the public. We don’t receive any funding from the council, so we need to make economies.’ Alex unlocked a heavy door. ‘We can talk in my office. It’s a little warmer there.’
Only by a couple of degrees, Hannah discovered. Alex waved her into a leather-backed chair and sat behind a desk large enough to massage the ego of a tycoon. The electric reading lamp and computer squatting in front of her was the only concession to the twenty-first century. Bookcases stuffed with calfskin-bound tomes lined the walls, two gilt-framed oil-paintings occupied the corner alcoves behind her. A middle-aged man with a clipped moustache leaned on a walking stick in one picture. He wore a pin-striped suit and a frown suggesting that he didn’t suffer portrait painters gladly. In the other, a young woman with high cheekbones and an evening dress of pale blue tulle displaying plump milky-white breasts. Was it mere fancy to detect a resemblance between this woman and Alex Clough?
Alex Clough caught Hannah’s gaze. ‘My grandparents, Chief Inspector. Armstrong and Betty Clough. She was rather beautiful, don’t you agree?’
Hannah nodded. ‘Did you know her?’
‘Oh yes. My grandfather died soon after I was born, but she lived until she was eighty-six. A remarkable woman, we were very close. Now, you are reviewing Emma’s disappearance. How can I help?’
Hannah shifted in her chair. It was old and uncomfortable, like everything she’d seen of Inchmore Hall. ‘I’d be grateful if you could tell me about your relationship with her. How it began, why it ended.’
Alex took a breath and Hannah guessed that she’d rehearsed her answer. ‘She joined us twelve months before she vanished. At this time of year, we look to recruit in good time for the season. Apart from temporary staff and maintenance people, we only have one clerical post. Our previous administrator deserted us for a better paid job in Carlisle and so there was a vacancy. Emma had flitted from job to job. At one point she was employed on a short-term contract at the Liverpool Museum. Inchmore is scarcely in that league, but at least she had relevant experience and my father liked that.’
‘It was his decision to take her on?’
‘Then, as now, I was the manager here. But my father created this museum, Chief Inspector. He remains passionately committed to it and I consult him on all business matters. If you are wondering whether I recruited Emma because I was attracted to her, the answer is no.’
‘Growing up in the countryside, she thought she was missing out on the bright lights. When the lights stopped dazzling her, she saw all the urban grime. Eventually she realised that the grass really was greener back home in the Lakes.’
‘Did she keep in touch with anyone in Merseyside?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Emma never kept up with people she went to school with, either. She didn’t make friends easily.’
‘Even so, the two of you became close. How did that come about?’
‘How do these things ever come about?’
Hannah glared at her watch. She was in no mood for fencing.
Alex fiddled with her earrings. ‘I suppose … Emma excited my curiosity.’
‘Well, this is a museum. A place to study exhibits.’
Tiny teeth showed in a mirthless smile. ‘Do I sound cold-blooded? I’m paying you the compliment of telling the truth, rather than fobbing you off with a self-serving lie. On first acquaintance, Emma seemed quiet and timid. I thought she was pretty, but she lacked confidence. When she was a teenager, she put on puppy fat and she used to say that she only had to look at a bar of chocolate to put on weight.’
Hannah thought of Emma’s puzzled look, captured by the photographer. ‘She was unsure of herself.’
‘Yes, her self-image was poor. She compared her looks unfavourably with her sister’s and her solution was to fade into the background. Yet the more I got to know her, the more I became convinced she was as capable of passion as my father. The difference was that she’d never found anything to become passionate about.’
‘Did she care about her work here?’
‘At first, yes. Even if she did leave school at sixteen with few qualifications to her name, she was bright. I’m afraid our universities these days are overflowing with students with far less native intelligence than Emma. The trouble was, she had a lazy streak. Once she lost interest, she didn’t put in the effort. She gave up too easily, that was why she kept changing jobs. She was looking for something she could commit to, long term. Something special.’ Alex sighed. ‘But with Emma, nothing lasted. Her moods kept swinging.’
‘When did the two of you first get together?’
‘Within a month of her starting. She was helping me one night with an application for a grant towards our running costs. Tiresome, long-winded form-filling, but important. The upkeep of this building costs an arm and a leg and the paying customers contribute buttons towards our overheads. Any scraps of outside funding are welcome. The cleaners had finished for the day and Father was speaking at a black tie dinner in Leeds. I told Emma how as a young man he’d dreamed of creating a museum to celebrate his fascination with the legends that swirl around the Lakes like fog. It was our first intimate conversation. Once we’d finalised the figures, I dug a bottle of rather nice wine out of Father’s private cellar. He and I have our quarters upstairs and in those days my grandmother lived here too. After I invited her to my sitting room, one thing duly led to another.’
Hannah glanced at the portrait of Armstrong Clough. For a moment she fancied she caught him scowling at the way feckless young women behave nowadays. His demeanour suggested it would have been different in his day. Poor, pretty Betty probably led a dog’s life.
‘You weren’t in a relationship at the time?’
Alex shook her head. ‘After a couple of years of living like a nun, all the pent-up emotion came flooding out. For Emma it was much the same that night, I think. When she told me that she had very little experience of sex, I believed her. Let me speak bluntly, Chief Inspector. There was a – a clumsy innocence about her love-making that I found captivating. Her enthusiasm compensated for any lack of sophistication.’
‘Did she speak about her own previous relationships?’
‘Never. We assured each other that there hadn’t been anyone serious before and that was all that mattered. For myself, it was true. I suspect it was the same for Emma.’
‘Had she ever had a boyfriend?’
‘She’d experimented with boys in her teens. Because it was the done thing, rather than from genuine lust. No one lit her fire.’
‘Except you?’
A smile as frosty as February. ‘I should not flatter myself, Chief Inspector. I thought we had a match made in heaven, but this time I was the naïve one. I’m not sure Emma was cut out for relationships. At first she was intensely possessive, wanted to be with me every hour of every day. But that soon waned and before long she was happier with her own company. Sex mattered even less to her than to me. I lost the ability to excite her.’
‘And how did you react to that?’
‘Looking back, I see the mistakes I made. When an affair is crumbling around your ears, it’s difficult to be objective. We worked side by side all day, every day, and it wasn’t healthy. It is possible to be too close, don’t you agree?’
Hannah said nothing, waited for her to continue.
‘I pushed too hard, and soon she was keeping me at arm’s length. On good days she was delightful company, but she could be moody and uncommunicative. It hurt that she’d rather scuttle off back to her rented room than stay here with me, in my marvellous home.’
Hannah could understand what drove Emma off to the sanctuary of Thurston Water House. Inchmore might be marvellous, but it was also dark, vast and intimidating. The architect must have read too many Gothic novels. After a day closeted in here, a rented room surrounded by people who made no demands might become a longed-for haven.
‘Did you remain friends?’
‘I couldn’t accept that our affair had passed its sell-by date. Working so closely together made matters worse. Each day I was giving her instructions, and she wanted to be left to her own devices. It was bound to end in tears.’
‘And did it?’
Alex Clough said softly, ‘The last day she worked here, she cried her heart out.’
She hadn’t mentioned this during the original inquiry. That was an upside of cold case work. Interviewed after a gap of years, people forgot past evasions, as well as details of the lies they had told.
‘Why?’
‘She’d taken a couple of days off sick and was falling behind with her jobs. I asked if she was working to rule. Not very witty, but I was shocked when she burst into tears, and devastated when she accused me of bullying her because our affair had hit the buffers. I was sure she didn’t mean what she said, and I tried not to let my feelings show. I told her to go home and get over it. She never came back’
‘How did your father take all this?’
‘We didn’t discuss the situation. Too embarrassing. But he understood what I was going through and he was always sweet to Emma. There was never a cross word between them.’
‘She went off sick with stress.’
‘According to the doctor’s certificate.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
‘Come on, Chief Inspector. How difficult is it to get a busy GP to sign you off if you don’t fancy turning in for work?’
‘You think she was shooting you a line?’
Alex shifted uncomfortably. ‘If Emma was suffering from stress, it wasn’t my fault. There was no question of my victimising her because she didn’t want to sleep with me any more.
‘She was off work for half a year. That must have caused you enormous difficulty. Not to mention cost.’
‘You exaggerate. As for expense, I’m afraid our sick pay scheme is not exactly generous. We pay the statutory minimum. A temp came in from an agency and Father and I put in long hours to make sure the museum wasn’t affected by Emma’s absence. I won’t pretend it was ideal, but we got by.’
‘I read in your statement that you asked her to undergo an independent medical examination.’
‘I didn’t want her to feel under pressure to rush back before she was better, so for months I was patient. But how long could I be expected to wait? In the end, I wrote to Emma, suggesting we pay for a check-up. Before that, I’d phoned the Goddards more than once and asked if I could arrange to visit her, but they said Emma had asked not to see me. That hurt, all I was interested in was her welfare. Vanessa was apologetic and said she and her husband still hoped Emma would come round.’
‘But she didn’t.’
‘On one occasion I spoke to Francis and suggested that Emma consult a psychiatrist. I didn’t doubt that, as a nurse, he was caring well for her, but I was sure she needed specialist help. To his credit, Francis agreed. He said he’d already persuaded Emma to see someone. But before an appointment could be arranged, I received a letter from her, tendering her resignation and proffering apologies for having messed me about. I gave a copy to your colleague who interviewed me.’
‘So you didn’t have to pay her any compensation?’
‘Compensation for what?’
Hannah shrugged. ‘Constructive dismissal, sexual harassment, damage to emotional well-being. Employing people is a minefield, isn’t it?’
‘We’ve never had a problem.’ The temperature in the room was dropping with every sentence. ‘Not with Emma and not in the ten years since. I hear there’s a compensation culture in the police service, but the private sector is different. Small employers like the museum don’t fork out large sums to pacify disgruntled workers, they can’t afford it.’
‘Litigation lawyers conjure claims out of nothing.’ Hannah chose a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger smile. ‘A boss who has an affair with a worker that turns sour is vulnerable to all kinds of unfounded allegations.’
Alex clenched the computer mouse as if it were a stress ball. ‘It’s academic. Emma never threatened legal action. We paid her up to the end of her notice period as a goodwill gesture, that’s all.’
‘No golden handshake?’
‘Not a penny more than she was due.’
‘Then where did she get the cash to buy a house and car and start her own business?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘She told different tales. An inheritance, a lottery win. Neither was true.’
‘She said to Father it was lottery money. I knew she picked the same numbers each week, it was the closest she came to a religious ritual. When I heard it had paid off, I was genuinely thrilled for her.’
‘No bitterness?’
‘Like my father, I adhere to the philosophy of Edith Piaf. No regrets. Yes, I was bruised, but I got over it. After Emma resigned, we stayed in touch. Which is why your theory that she held us to ransom over an employment claim is absurd. The flame may have died, but there was no ill will between us.’
‘When did you last see her?’
‘I visited her bungalow a couple of days before she disappeared. She seemed fully recovered. I was so glad to see her happy. I told her I hadn’t been sleeping well and she lectured me on herbalism, holistic therapies and maintaining the body’s natural equilibrium. Guff, perhaps, but she was brimming with zest. It reminded me of her early days at the museum.’
‘You went for a massage?’
‘Please don’t look so prim, Chief Inspector, I’m sure you’ve encountered more shocking confessions. She offered me a free initial consultation and we both kept our knickers on.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Hannah had worked out that Alex’s conversational m.o. was to use frankness as a weapon. Was the candour more apparent than real, a device to conceal what was really going on in her head?
‘Emma applied pressure to my feet with her hands. She was good at it. I always loved to be touched by her, but of course nothing sexual took place.’
‘Were you disappointed?’
Alex Clough shuffled a couple of sheets of paper on her desk, aligning their corners so that they were neat and tidy. Without looking up, she said in a voice of infinite calm, ‘On the contrary, I had a glow of well-being and relaxation. You should try it, Chief Inspector.’
‘Did you book another appointment?’
‘Yes, it was scheduled for ten days after the first. But by then Emma had disappeared.’
‘Had you hoped to rekindle the affair?’
‘Reflexologists have their own code of conduct, I presume. Emma wouldn’t have behaved unprofessionally’
‘Forgive me, Ms Clough, but that is hardly an answer.’
‘Very well. I wanted to see how she was. We’d been so intimate – I couldn’t pretend to myself that she’d never existed. As for what might happen in the future, I was philosophical. Events must take their course. No pressure, to coin a phrase.’
Oh yeah? Alex Clough was a rich man’s daughter, she’d probably had pretty much everything she’d ever wanted. She was accustomed to being in control, would dread surrendering to the mercy of Fate.
‘And how did she respond?’
‘The only time I put a foot wrong was when I complimented her on how well she looked. It was nothing but the truth. She’d lost weight after the illness, and she was very trim. But she suspected I was having a dig, implying that she hadn’t really been sick. I assured her nothing could have been further from my mind and after that she was fine.’
‘When we interviewed you before, you couldn’t account for Emma’s disappearance. Has anything occurred since then to explain it?’
Alex Clough shook her head. ‘Things were looking up for her. Why would she run away? It makes no sense.’
Ten years back, Hannah had thought the same. Today, trapped in the cage of calendars and chloroformed by bureaucratic routine, she could see the appeal of starting again, somewhere nobody knew a thing about her. She’d even dreamed of it a few nights back, dreamed of waking one morning in a strange hotel room. When she looked in the mirror, she’d gone strawberry blonde, when she went downstairs, the man at the desk greeted her by an unfamiliar name. Everyone spoke a foreign language she couldn’t understand, yet she wasn’t frightened. The weirdness of it was exhilarating. She felt free.
‘What do you think happened to her?’
‘Who knows? An accident?’
‘Or perhaps she was murdered?’
‘By whom?’ Alex Clough wasn’t the sort to let her grammar slip, even when asked about the possible homicide of an ex. ‘And for what reason? Unless she had the bad luck to fall prey to a rapist who throttled her and somehow disposed of the body.’
‘You speak of her in the past tense. Presumably you believe she is dead?’
‘Nothing else makes sense, does it? I did my grieving in private long ago. I have had to move on.’
‘Aren’t you curious about your lover’s fate? Sad that you never had a chance to say goodbye?’
A brisk shake of the head. ‘Like I said, no regrets.’
‘I’m surprised, Ms Clough. Museum folk, they’re supposed to have a thirst for knowledge. Do you really not want to find out what happened?’
Alex Clough folded her thin arms. Her pale face had turned grey. ‘You have your job to do, Chief Inspector, but I’ve decided ignorance is bliss. Some things are too painful. I can only pray that the end, when it came, was quick. That she didn’t suffer.’
‘Your relationship with Emma still means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?’ Hannah said in a quiet voice.
A long pause. Alex Clough bowed her head, but Hannah could still see the single tear trickling down her cheek. When she spoke, she no longer sounded glacial. Just hoarse, and old before her time.
‘Everything. You must understand, Emma Bestwick meant everything to me.’
When the phone trilled, Daniel was in his study, leafing through the correspondence that he’d bought at auction. Letters written by a neighbour of Ruskin who had been an occasional visitor to Brantwood in the years before genius yielded to mental collapse. Already Daniel was regretting his failure to buy more of the lots. The old story. You always regretted the ones that got away.
He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Louise.’
His sister. A corporate lawyer, currently working in academe. Even in a social call, she was as brisk and no-nonsense as a textbook on insider trading. When he explained that Miranda was away in London, she tutted.
‘Not again?’
He pictured her mouth tightening in disapproval. An expression she’d inherited from her mother, worn whenever he made the mistake of mentioning the father who had left them all for another woman.
‘She needs to see her editor face to face.’
‘I’m amazed she can tear herself away. I read her article about how trendy the Lakes have become. “A fantastic destination for the loft and latte set. You may not realise after glancing at the temperature gauge, but the Lake District is hot.”’ The breathless take-off was so accurate that Daniel winced. ‘Haven’t they heard of video conferencing?’
‘They’re journalists, not company executives. They’d rather interact face to face.’
‘Well, you know what I think.’
‘Uh-huh.’
Daniel didn’t want to go there. The two women had nothing in common. He hated having to defend Miranda to Louise. Trouble was, his sister was a lawyer to her fingertips. She specialised in chilly logic, and giving unwelcome advice.
‘I mean, I hope it works out for the two of you, but …’
‘It will,’ he interrupted.
‘Let’s face it. You met her when you were bereft after Aimee’s suicide. Oh, she did you good, I don’t deny it. None of us could get through to you until she came along. But the two of you are so very different. You used to be so funny, so laid-back. You’re not cut out for a roller-coaster ride with a drama queen.’
‘She’s not …’
‘You know what I mean. Escaping your old lives suited you both for a time, but you can’t live a dream forever. Passion is fine, but it isn’t enough long term.’
What makes you an expert? he was tempted to ask. But that would be cruel. Louise’s own relationship had fallen apart last summer and he wasn’t sure she was over it even now. She’d never rung him without a reason until she started living on her own. But she’d never admit she was lonely. Too much pride.
‘We’ll be fine.’
‘Listen, you’re not as accustomed to failure as the rest of us. But sometimes it’s better to …’
‘When I want an agony aunt, I’ll give you a ring.’
She gave a have it your way sigh and said, ‘Started that book yet?’
‘You once told me that nobody who writes should ever wait for inspiration.’ A note of curiosity entered her voice. ‘Seen any more of that police officer friend of yours?’
‘No.’ Did he imagine a touch of innuendo in the word friend? ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I just thought … oh, nothing.’
After she’d rung off, he dialled Miranda. Was it selfish to hope she was missing him? She was in a restaurant, surrounded by a wailing saxophone and people laughing. Glasses clinked, someone whistled for a waiter. American football was playing on TV in the background, the commentator shouting himself hoarse. Miranda was joining in the laughter and a couple of times she asked him to repeat what he said. Even when he did, he wasn’t sure she was paying attention.
‘Was there anything particular?’ she asked in the end. ‘The roof isn’t leaking, the electrics haven’t gone up in smoke?’
‘Nothing special,’ he said. ‘Didn’t mean to interrupt.’
‘No problem,’ she assured him. ‘Talk soon. Love you.’
She made a loud kissing noise and the phone went dead.
‘The woman intrigued me.’
Alban Clough was leaning back in his ancient leather chair, eyes shut and hands behind his head. He might have been speaking of an exhibit on display downstairs and not his daughter’s vanished lover.
He’d invited her up to the small sitting room at the top of Inchmore Hall. The only access from the living quarters on the floor below was by a perilous spiral staircase lit by candles in wall-holders that would have a health and safety inspector frothing at the mouth. But Alban Clough clambered up the steps like a mountain goat rather than a man of seventy five with a heart condition. As she followed, Hannah took care not to look down and tried not to think about the cop who feared heights in that Hitchcock movie.
The small table that separated them was piled high with books and foolscap sheets of closely written text, with more papers scattered across the carpet; Alex’s tidiness gene couldn’t have been inherited from her father. Looking through the single mullioned window, Hannah watched slivers of mist curling down from the heights. At least there was one hotspot inside Inchmore Hall. A log fire crackled and the air was heavy with the smell of burning wood.
Alban Clough jerked upright and opened his eyes. As he shifted his weight, the armchair squeaked. ‘She was a sweet girl, but secretive.’
‘What about?’
‘I could not discover that. Which is why I was intrigued.’
‘Her sexuality? The relationship with your daughter?’
He pooh-poohed the suggestions with a flourish of an age-spotted paw. ‘I might claim, Chief Inspector Scarlett, to be worldly wise. It was apparent from our first meeting that Emma was a lesbian. A man of sensitivity and experience can recognise the signs, let me assure you.’
How easy to take a serious dislike to Alban Clough. Six feet three and broad as a bull, with self-esteem to match, he had the unruly white hair, hooked nose and booming voice of a hellfire prophet, but his most profound conviction was evidently of his own infallibility. He didn’t have his daughter’s dress sense; there was a button missing from his cuff, and his shirt wasn’t properly tucked into his elderly slacks. Yet he struck Hannah as a man to be reckoned with.
‘Did you approve of the relationship?’
‘For as long as it brought Alexandra pleasure, most certainly. I feared it would not last, but a parent’s lot is to worry about their offspring’s happiness. Do you have children, Chief Inspector? If so, you will understand.’
Hannah let that whistle past. ‘You questioned Emma’s motives?’
‘Because she saw sleeping with my daughter as a passport to a life of comfort of plenty? By no means. I believed her affection for Alexandra to be genuine, though falling short of undying devotion. In my presence, she was good-natured and deferential.’
I bet, Hannah thought. Emma might be an elusive character, but she was no fool.
‘Then what?’
‘My daughter is a highly intelligent and remarkably sensible woman, but in personal relationships apt to wear her heart on her sleeve. That wasn’t Emma’s way. It seemed significant to me that her only other friend was the woman from whom she rented a room.’
‘Not her sister?’
‘Karen Erskine and her husband visited the museum, I suspect out of curiosity rather than any deeply felt interest in my life’s work. Jeremy Erskine made it clear that a history master at Grizedale College could not approve the unsourced speculation in which I indulge concerning the origins of local myths and legends. Alexandra took pains to make them welcome, but Emma had little in common with Karen. I speculated that Erskine had taken a shine to Emma, and that was a cause of froideur. If so, he was wasting his time.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. Emma was not interested in men.’
For a wild moment, Hannah wondered if Alban Clough had first-hand experience of rejection by Emma. Or maybe it wasn’t so wild? The way he’d considered her appearance when his daughter introduced them downstairs verged on the lascivious. An age gap of thirty-five years might not have deterred a man in the habit of getting his own way. Hannah’s closest friend, Terri, had decided after three failed marriages to try her luck with internet dating and she’d reported with glee that one of the men she’d met, though old enough to be her father, had the stamina and lust of a nineteen-year-old. He also turned out to be an undischarged bankrupt with three convictions for false accounting.
Suppose Alban had propositioned Emma after she’d broken up with Alex, that might account for the stress she’d suffered. What if they’d had a surreptitious affair? And if Emma had indulged in a little quiet blackmail …
‘What about Tom Inchmore, did he realise that?’
‘Alas, poor Thomas. To adopt the modern idiom, he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the block. He took a shine to Emma while she worked here, she was always very good with him. As you may be aware, he’s dead now, so he cannot defend himself. But let me say this on his behalf. He may have been a Peeping Tommy, but he was no murderer.’
‘Suppose he made overtures which she rejected. It’s a situation that often leads to violence.’
‘Your colleagues explored that hypothesis in – shall we say, considerable depth? – ten years ago. Frankly, I was surprised that they failed to thrash a confession out of him. He was pitifully weak. That he steadfastly denied guilt proved that he found the notion of harming Emma horrific.’
‘I presume he was descended from whoever built this place?’
‘Indeed.’ Alban puffed out his cheeks and Hannah realised that she was in for a lecture. Presumably in winter he pined for the chance to pontificate to tourists with time on their hands. ‘During the nineteenth century, Clifford Inchmore ran a successful business, mining the Coniston Fells and earning a knighthood to accompany his fortune. My great-grandfather, Albert Clough, joined the firm as a young man and rose to become a partner in the firm. But Clifford’s son, George, was not cut from the same cloth. Albert left to set up on his own and George set about squandering his inheritance with unwise commercial ventures. Long before the influenza epidemic of 1919 carried off Albert, George had been made bankrupt. He lived long enough to suffer the indignity of seeing his son William go cap in hand to Albert’s grandson for work. Armstrong Clough, my father, took him on and was rewarded by William absconding after the war ended. He stole one thousand pounds, and we heard he died in Crete five years later without a penny to his name. Nonetheless, my mother insisted that we had a duty towards the family that gave Albert his first opportunity in life.’
‘That’s remarkably forbearing.’
‘My mother was a remarkable lady.’
‘So you gave Tom Inchmore a job out of the goodness of your heart?’
‘Because my mother had a good heart, which is not quite the same. Tom’s parents both died young, in a car crash twenty-five years ago, and from then on he was looked after by his grandmother, William’s wife. Edith Inchmore was herself a formidable woman. She died only last year at the age of ninety.’
‘The two old ladies were friends?’
‘They kept their distance from each other. While the Inchmore residence was a cramped two-up, two-down riddled with dry rot, my mother was chatelaine of this magnificent hall. It cannot have been easy for Edith Inchmore to bear, but she had only her husband’s family to blame. As for my mother, she had a fanatical sense of duty towards others less fortunate than herself, even if she disliked them. Noblesse oblige, if you like. It is a mark of my devotion to her that I resisted the temptation to sack Tom Inchmore, despite being one of the least competent young men I have ever met. That explains why he fell off a ladder when repairing a leaky roof. To suggest that he became cunning and successful for the first time in his life on resorting to murder is sheer fantasy.’
Not the most generous character reference Hannah had ever heard, but it was time to change tack.
‘You know Francis Goddard, I take it?’
‘Indeed. I cannot pretend that we have much in common. The meek may well inherit the earth, but that does not make them interesting.’
‘Emma lived under his roof. Might something interesting have occurred between them?’
Alban laughed so hard that his eyes started watering. ‘A deliciously sordid speculation, Chief Inspector! But regrettably wide of the mark, if I am any judge. Moreover, I have known Vanessa Goddard for many years. She is dedicated to outreach work, establishing partnerships between the libraries and other agencies. She lost her first husband to another woman, but Francis is well and truly under her thumb. I cannot conceive that he would have the spunk for a dangerous liaison with Emma, even were he not devoted to his wife.’
‘And you don’t have any reason to doubt that devotion?’
‘Certainly not. Vanessa and Francis have always had eyes only for each other. Emma herself confirmed it.’
‘What did she say?’
His wicked smile made him look like a gleeful old troll. ‘In the first flush of happiness after she embarked on a relationship with my daughter, I overheard her saying to Alexandra that she would be glad when she could afford to move into a place of her own. She indicated that, although the bedroom walls at Thurston Water House were by no means thin, Vanessa and Francis were raucous as well as uninhibited in their love-making. I find it pleasing to hear of a genuine love match, they are so very rare these days, but Emma found it embarrassing to be forced to eavesdrop on their passion. Poor girl, at heart she was something of a prude.’
Did this prove that Vanessa and Francis were incapable of straying? Hannah dabbed at a smear of sweat on her forehead. The heat and the old man’s salacious humour were overpowering.
‘Very well, Mr Clough. I’m grateful for your help.’
Her host treated her to a wicked smile as she hauled herself to her feet.
‘You’re not going so soon, Chief Inspector? Oh dear me, please linger for a few minutes more. Let me explain to you what it is that women most desire.’