The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) (13 page)

‘Hello, there.’ You-can-call-me-Al loomed over her, a
foaming pint clutched in his hand. ‘Got your feet under the table already, Joanna! A key member of a red-hot quiz team, no less!’

‘Actually, we’ve finished in fourth place.’

‘Not to worry. It’s not a matter of life and death.’

‘Nope,’ Kelvin said. ‘It’s more serious than that.’

‘Can I get you lads a drink? Joanna, can I tempt you?’

Scott scrambled to his feet. ‘I need to be off, thanks all the same. Goodnight, all.’

Before Joanna could say anything, he was gone. She mumbled an excuse about wanting to be up early in the morning, and ignoring you-can-cal-me-Al’s protestations, headed for the door. By the time she got outside into Main Street, there was no sign of Scott. He must have made it to Seagull Cottage in record time.

Never mind. Tomorrow she’d call Nigel, and see if he was willing to meet up. It had been a productive day. And now she even knew about Puncak Jaya’s claim to fame.

‘How lovely to hear you again, Nigel.’

‘It’s … been a long time.’

That gorgeous husky voice in her ear again. He sounded uncertain, but who could blame him? She squeezed the mobile into her palm.

‘Twenty years.’

‘Robbie rang and told me you’d be calling. He says you look the same as ever.’

‘Goodness, he’s the last person I’d expect to indulge in flattery.’

Except that perhaps he hadn’t meant to flatter her. She told herself not to be so negative. You led a happier life if you thought positive.

‘So.’ Nigel paused, as if steeling himself. No need, he had nothing to fear from her. Absolutely nothing, she only wanted to help. ‘What have you been doing with yourself these past twenty years?’

‘Nothing too exciting, if truth be told.’

She gave a modest laugh. It was spitting with rain, and she felt awkward conducting this conversation on the pavement outside the Eskdale Arms, but she’d needed to escape from You-can-call-me-Al. He seemed keen to get to know her better, and she wouldn’t put it past him to eavesdrop. His latest gambit had been to invite her to share bacon and eggs in his private kitchen at the back of the guest house. She’d excused herself by saying her GP had put her on statins, and she needed to keep her cholesterol count down.

‘Not like you,’ she said, when it became apparent that Nigel wasn’t about to respond. ‘Mind, I wasn’t in the least surprised you became so successful. I always knew you’d make it one day.’

‘What’s brought you back here?’

That question again. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I fancied a change of scene, and wanted to look up some old friends.’

‘You’ve heard about Shona?’

He made it sound like an accusation. ‘Yes, yes. I’m so sorry that you’ve had such a worry to contend with.’

‘A worry,’ the quiet voice repeated. ‘Rather an understatement.’

Her cheeks burnt. Thank goodness he wasn’t there to witness her embarrassment. All she could do was grovel, and hope he would forgive.

‘I’m sorry, Nigel, truly. Rotten choice of words. It must be appalling for you. You lost your wife not long ago, didn’t you? And now this.’

She paused, but when he remained silent, she asked, ‘What’s the latest news?’

‘There is no news.’ His voice was unsteady. ‘The police don’t seem to have a clue. They say … but anyway, you don’t want to hear me go on.’

‘Of course I do. Why do you think I told Robbie I was keen to get in touch? If there’s any way I can help, just say the word. I thought you might be glad to chat with an old friend. After all … we went through a lot together in the old days. You could talk to me about Shona. I’d love to meet her.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sure you will be reunited soon.’

He didn’t reply. Wondering how to give her the brush-off without seeming to be rude? She held her breath.

‘I’m lousy company at present.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ she insisted. ‘It would be wonderful to see you. Talk over old times.’

‘Almost being killed in a car crash? About the night we spent in a pub with my aunt and my cousin, hours before they were murdered by a maniac?’ She’d forgotten the sarcastic bite of his humour. ‘They aren’t the best memories. We were jinxed.’

‘There were plenty of happy times,’ she retorted. ‘Yesterday afternoon, I went on a pilgrimage to Drigg. Went into the old look-out post, remember?’

A pause.

‘I haven’t forgotten that, Joanna.’

‘Me neither,’ she murmured.

He coughed, as if buying time while he racked his brains for a response. ‘I remember the adder frightening you.’

Pleased, she laughed. The touch of mockery didn’t bother her. All that mattered was to win his confidence. He was in a fragile state, with his daughter missing, it was understandable.

‘Funny, I thought about the adder yesterday.’ She paused. ‘I’ll never forget that day, Nigel.’

She heard an intake of breath. ‘Cherish your memories. You’d be disappointed in me if we met.’

‘Nonsense. I’d love to see you. No hidden agenda, I promise.’

‘You always were very persistent, Joanna.’

He spoke as though persistence was a vice, but she didn’t care. His resistance was weakening, must be. ‘Go on. You’ve nothing to be afraid of. I don’t bite!’

A heavy sigh. ‘All right, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be brusque, it’s just that … would you like to come over here sometime?’

‘To the … house?’

‘Ravenglass Knoll, yes.’ He emphasised the name.

‘I’d love to, Nigel. Thank you so much.’

Once the Dungeon House had boasted two lichen-encrusted stone gateposts, with nothing in between. Anyone could walk up the drive. Now an iron electric gate barred the entrance, an eight-foot tall fence ran along the boundaries of the property, and signs warned that the premises were protected by camera surveillance 24/7. Above the intercom box, the house’s new name was carved defiantly into a chunk of green slate. Joanna couldn’t blame Nigel for trying, but Ravenglass Knoll would always be the Dungeon House. When he’d given her the security code, he’d said that over the years, a good many sensation seekers had nosied around the place, drawn by its association with bloody murder.
Dark tourism
was the fashionable term. He thought it was sick, and Joanna agreed.

Joanna leant out of her window, and keyed in the code. The gates opened soundlessly. How much did all this security cost? Nigel had always wanted money, now he had it to burn. Did Shona feel like a princess trapped in a gilded cage? The gates closed behind her as she drove up the slope toward a large circle of gravel close to the garage block, where he’d told her to park.

The trees were clouds of cherry blossom, purple and pink, and she could smell newly mown grass. Robbie and his men had made the grounds look even lovelier than she remembered. Her heart thudded as she caught sight of the four familiar half-timbered gables. She’d always adored the mellow architecture of the house. A disciple of William Morris had designed it for a wealthy Victorian merchant, the sort responsible for so many large houses dotted around the Lakes. Many were now upmarket hotels, but she felt glad this one had remained in private hands, even if she couldn’t understand why Nigel would want to live at the Dungeon House.

Sorry, would she never get it right? Ravenglass Knoll.

He must have been watching out for her, since the door opened seconds after she pressed the bell. In navy blue sweatshirt, jeans, and trainers, he looked slim and fit. She wondered whether he would greet her with a kiss on the cheek, but it didn’t happen. His handshake was quite gentle, not the aggressive grip that some men used to assert their masculinity.

‘Come in, Joanna. I’ve made us some coffee, and we can take it out on to the terrace, if you don’t mind the breeze.’

‘That’s kind, thank you,’ she said, following him into a kitchen that deserved to feature in an ideal home magazine.

‘You’re looking well,’ he said. ‘I bet you’re not an ounce heavier than when I last saw you.’

‘At least I’ve never needed to diet. Like I said on the phone, I was poorly for a while. The pounds dropped off me.’

He organised two mugs of coffee, and put a small box of chocolates on a tray. ‘Belgian, your favourites, right? I’m assuming you still like them?’

‘You have a fantastic memory.’ This was unbelievably touching. Her knees felt weak.

‘For some things. Others, I prefer to forget.’

‘Believe me, I know the feeling.’

‘You’re recovering from your illness?’

‘Absolutely. I finished with my partner, and signed an exit deal with my firm, and now I’m feeling a hundred per cent better. Unshackled from my bonds.’

At the press of a button, the glass doors giving on to the sitting area slid back, and he led her out through a pergola festooned with voluptuous clematis blooms, mauve and cream, and a fragrant wisteria. The low yew hedges were much as she remembered, but the summer house which had been Malcolm Whiteley’s pride and joy was no more. In its place stood a spherical lounger, four yards in diameter, with bronze-tinted windows and timber supports. Nigel pressed a tiny remote control in his hand, and a door slid open, to reveal cushioned seating which ran all the way round. In the middle of the pod, a television screen hung above a mini bar. She followed him inside, exclaiming at the comfort and the views.

‘Very futuristic!’

She caught a flicker of the old familiar zest as he said, ‘You should see it lit up at night.’

‘I’d love to!’ She coughed. ‘Never mind me, you’re looking very fit.’

His face darkened. ‘I’ve lost half a stone since Shona disappeared. Losing your only child has a more drastic effect than any diet. These biscuits are for you, by the way. I’m hardly managing to keep anything down.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ Instinctively, she rested her hand on his. For a moment, she feared he would flinch, or pull away, but he didn’t react. It was almost as if he didn’t notice. ‘Is there any news about Shona?’

‘Nothing credible,’ he said bitterly. ‘I speak to the police constantly, and they still seem to think that she may have run off with someone she knew. I don’t believe it for a moment. She wouldn’t have been able to hide it from me. I’m not blaming them, they are doing their best. What terrifies me is the thought that Shona has been abducted by a pervert. For all anyone can tell, it’s the same person who took Gray Elstone’s daughter.’

‘You haven’t thought about talking with Gray?’

‘What good would it do? Two grown men, crying on each other’s shoulders? Not for me, thanks.’ He stared out toward the horizon. ‘To tell you the truth, I feel bad because I didn’t contact him when his girl went missing. Never crossed my mind that one day I’d be in the same boat. The worst is that, from that day to this, nobody’s heard anything of her. Who knows what the man who took her did? Buried her in woods, threw her body down a ravine, rowed across a lake, and dropped it into the deepest part?’

She shivered. ‘There’s always hope, Nigel.’

He turned to face her. ‘You think so?’

‘Look at me,’ she said, and was rewarded by the intensity of the way his dark eyes scrutinised her. ‘Not so long ago, my life scarcely seemed worth living. No partner, no job, no reason to get out of bed in the morning. My health was rotten, and my doctor was really worried. And now I’m back on my feet, as you can see.’

‘I can see,’ he said slowly. ‘How did you manage it?’

‘I’m on medication,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s more to it than that. Doctor Chanderpaul said I needed to start liking myself again. To be honest with you, the turning point came when I saw you on television.’

His eyebrows lifted. Did it excite him, that he still exerted such power over her? She hoped so. Nigel was someone who needed to be in control. How he must loathe his present helplessness, relying on the police for news of Shona, and unable to do anything to save her. ‘You’re kidding.’

‘No, honestly. I remembered the life we all had together up here.’ She hesitated. ‘They were good times, weren’t they?’

‘You had rough days along the way.’

‘Like when Robbie crashed the car? At least you and I weren’t hurt.’

‘No, but you were … upset for a long time.’

Even now, the memory of the shattering impact as the car hit the tree filled her with horror. It had taken her years to get over it. Nigel was made of sterner stuff. He’d dusted himself down, and got on with his life.

‘They have a name for it nowadays, don’t they? Survivors’ guilt.’

‘You had nothing to be guilty about.’

‘I lived, and that poor girl died. And the crash wrecked Robbie’s life.’ She looked straight at Nigel. He really was a handsome man. The years had treated him kindly. She supposed having all that money helped. ‘You stuck by him, though. Then – and now. You pay him to take care of your garden.’

‘It’s not an act of charity. He’s not expensive, and he doesn’t do a bad job.’ Nigel gestured through the windows of the lounger. ‘As you can see.’

‘The garden is gorgeous.’ She hesitated. ‘Though I must say I never understood why you and he were such good friends.’

‘He was a wonderful footballer. With a ball at his feet, he was a magician. I felt proud that he was my mate.’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Perhaps I’m fascinated by unusual people, Joanna. Like you, I suppose.’

‘Oh, there’s nothing fascinating about me.’

A crooked grin. ‘I don’t agree.’

She gulped some coffee, trying to hide her delight. ‘To be honest, I’ve not felt remotely interesting for a long, long time.’

‘You treat life seriously,’ he said. ‘It’s a mistake to take everything to heart. Best live for the moment.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘I assumed you’d have married, and brought up kids.’

‘I rather expected things would turn out that way myself,’ she admitted. ‘That’s what I wanted, I suppose. Life as a wife and mother.’

‘You can’t have wanted it enough. Otherwise, you’d have made it happen.’

This was the Nigel she remembered. Life was simple.
Make up your mind what you want, and go for it. No dithering. He’d set himself the goal of seducing her, but once he succeeded – she saw it with hindsight – his interest began to fade. Even before the car crash sent her into a tailspin of misery and despair, she was losing him. Afterwards, she’d felt inadequate, a freak. It came as such a thrill on the day of the barbecue to discover he still cared for her. And then Malcolm Whiteley went berserk with his rifle, and destroyed everything.

‘After I left Cumbria, I floundered, didn’t know what to do with myself. And I’m the first to admit, I’m a hopeless judge when it comes to men. My last partner was a businessman, or so I thought, but he spent the money I lent him for a new venture on another woman he’d met through the Internet. If I hadn’t stumbled across the truth by having a peek at his phone messages, he’d have bled me dry.’

‘Not an easy ride, then,’ he said quietly.

‘You can say that again.’ For a dreadful moment, she thought she was about to cry, but somehow she managed to hold back the tears.

He gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘Care to take a walk round the grounds?’