The Hawkshead Hostage (2 page)

Her first instinct was to turn and run. No more police involvement for her, not after the miserable events of a few months earlier and the consequences they had had for her father. How was it possible that she had innocently walked into another scene of crime and mayhem? She stood halfway down the corridor, unnoticed and indecisive.

‘No need for that,’ a man said in a shaky voice. ‘She’s only been gone a few minutes.’

‘But where
is
she?’ the woman demanded. ‘Where can she have got to?’

‘She can’t have come to any harm,’ the man said. ‘There are no ponds, or roads, or … How old did you say she is? Has she done this before?’

‘Six. And yes, she does have a tendency to run off,’ the woman admitted. ‘But this is a strange place. She’ll get utterly lost.’

Even Simmy, lingering in the background, heaved a sigh
of relief. A child of six was hardly going to stumble into a pond or under a passing car. And besides, neither of those hazards existed. A child of six was inquisitive, drawn to explore hidden corners and make dens under laurel bushes. As if her sigh had been a signal, three people turned towards her at the same moment. ‘Who are you?’ the woman asked.

‘Um … I came to see Dan about some flowers,’ she said weakly. ‘I’ve obviously chosen a bad time.’

‘Did you drive down from Hawkshead?’ another man asked. He was young and good-looking and less agitated than any of the others in the group. In addition there were two young women hovering some distance away who Simmy guessed might be Polish or Ukrainian, working as chambermaids. Where was Melanie, she wondered. Melanie would be a welcome addition to this unsettled gathering.

‘Yes, I did. Has something happened?’

‘My little girl’s lost. She was here half an hour ago. I left her on the parterre while I popped up to the room, and when I came back she was gone.’ She threw accusing looks liberally around the members of the hotel staff. ‘And nobody even noticed her.’

‘Well, we should look for her,’ said Simmy briskly. ‘I expect she’s just hiding somewhere – there’s obviously plenty of scope for that. What’s her name?’

‘Gentian.’

Simmy closed her eyes in a moment of fellow feeling for the child. Another botanical name to be endured for a lifetime. Parents could be so cruel, she thought ruefully.

‘There are people searching the grounds,’ said the older man. ‘They’re not very extensive. This isn’t Storrs, you know.’

Simmy shuddered, eliciting puzzled looks. ‘Sorry – you reminded me of something that happened at Storrs last year.’

‘A young man was drowned,’ he nodded irritably. ‘It was stupid of me to mention that place.’ He turned to the woman who was casting her gaze all around like a shepherd searching for a lost lamb. ‘Mrs Appleyard, please don’t worry. Your daughter can’t have gone far. If this lady came along the road just now, we can be sure there’s no chance that the child went off that way.’

‘I would definitely have seen her,’ Simmy confirmed. She tried to think. ‘What was she playing with – when you left her?’

Expecting the answer to involve some electronic gadget, she was foolishly glad to be told, ‘She was making a daisy chain, as it happens. We picked the flowers when we went for a little walk. She’d got the hang of it very nicely.’

‘Which one of you is Dan?’ asked Simmy, thinking that she should go back to Windermere if her purpose was to be thwarted by a hunt for a lost child.

‘None of us. I’m the hotel manager, and this is Jake Bunting, the chef. Dan’s gone to have a look around the annexe buildings. Penny – she’s the receptionist – went with him.’

‘Oh.’

‘We’re not getting anywhere just
standing
here,’ complained Gentian’s mother. ‘I think we should call the police.’

This is where I came in
, thought Simmy. ‘I should get out of your way, then,’ she said, feeling heartless. ‘I don’t think there’s much I can usefully do. I don’t know this place at all.’

The woman reached out and gripped her arm. Her blue eyes stared pleadingly into Simmy’s. She was of a similar age, and similar height. Her hair was mid brown, and her clothes barely smart enough for a mid-range English hotel. ‘You seem so sensible,’ she said. ‘Please don’t go.’

With an effort, Simmy tolerated the appeal without shaking the woman off.
I’ve lost a daughter too
, she wanted to say.
Mine was born dead. You’ve had six years with yours. Think yourself lucky.
‘Let’s go in separate directions and call her, then,’ she suggested.

As if only waiting for a voice of authority, the group dispersed and seconds later voices of all tones and types were shouting ‘Gentian!’ across the grass and gravel of the hotel’s rear. Simmy saw the manager’s face as it dawned on him that other guests would be disturbed in a most undesirable fashion. This, she supposed, was the main reason why so little had been done to instigate a proper search thus far. Hotel managers were likely to be paralysed by any hint of trouble that might reflect badly on their establishment.

His fears were quickly realised. Three more people materialised from the back door, their expressions betraying a readiness to manifest annoyance and complaint at the disruption. There were two men and a woman, the men in their sixties or thereabouts, the woman slightly younger. One of the men was tall, lightly bearded, wearing a yellow straw hat and carrying a newspaper. He showed every sign of having wandered outside in search of fresh Lakeland air, only incidentally finding himself embroiled in a crisis of some sort. The others were clearly a couple, the woman glancing repeatedly at the man with little nervous jerks, as
if to check that she retained his approval at every turn. ‘Is there something wrong?’ asked the husband.

‘We’re looking for a little girl,’ said Simmy. ‘She seems to have gone missing.’

Gentian’s mother had vanished towards the shrubbery; the chambermaids were also no longer in sight. The manager was standing on a patch of grass, his head stretched upwards as he scanned his domain with an exaggerated alertness.

‘She’s sure to turn up,’ said the tall man confidently. ‘Always getting into mischief, children. I had some myself.’ He sounded slightly puzzled, as if his own offspring had been mislaid for the past few decades without causing him undue concern.

The child’s name continued to resound, the calling slowly moving further off. Then two more people came down the corridor and all was resolved. ‘Here she is!’ called Simmy, without thinking. How did she know this was the child in question? The answer quickly came to her. Who else would Melanie be holding so firmly by the shoulder, with such a look of triumph? Who else but Melanie, when it came to it, would be the one to find the brat?

Only the manager heard Simmy’s cry. He turned and came trotting back, arms outstretched. ‘Thank heavens!’ he panted. ‘Miss Todd – where did you find her?’

‘She was under the table in the lounge,’ said Melanie, giving the child a little shake. ‘Enjoying all the fuss, the little beast.’

Most of the brownie points that Melanie had just earned for herself fell away at this lack of proper disquiet at all the might-have-beens. The child, by definition, was an innocent
little angel, potential victim to the evil that lurked behind every wall and hedge. It could not possibly be a little beast.

But it was. Simmy could see this right away. A sly satisfaction sat on the young face. It was a very prepossessing little person, with thick black hair, dark skin and startlingly blue eyes.
Gentian blue
, thought Simmy. ‘Your mother’s going frantic,’ she said crossly.

‘I was all right. She always makes such a fuss.’ She glared at Melanie in defiance. ‘And I don’t like it at all.’

‘Why? Do you do this often?’ asked Melanie.

Gentian shrugged. ‘Not really. I just like to be by myself, and she won’t let me.’

Word had been passed across the grounds, and now the little girl’s mother came scrambling along and grabbed her offspring. She was an awkward person, Simmy observed, wearing high-heeled shoes, at odds with the baggy top and cut-off slacks. Nobody would have ever guessed her to be related to the beautiful child clutched to her breast. Perhaps it had been an adoption, Simmy thought idly.

‘I was all right,’ Gentian repeated loudly. ‘Get off me.’

She was dropped like a kitten turned hostile. ‘Oh, darling, don’t be beastly.’

‘I’m not. It’s you. There’s nothing to
do
here. Why can’t we go on a boat or something? There’s just a lot of old people here.’ She swept the group with a critical eye. ‘Except her. She’s all right.’ She indicated Simmy.

‘I’m not old,’ said Melanie.

‘You don’t count,’ said Simmy with a laugh. ‘She’ll never forgive you for finding her.’

Melanie came from a large family and had no illusions
about innocent little angels. She grinned in agreement and changed the subject. ‘You came, then,’ she said. ‘You’d better go and find Dan.’

‘He must be the only person I haven’t met in the past twenty minutes.’ But that wasn’t true at all, she corrected herself. There had to be numerous guests as well as some additional staff she hadn’t yet encountered. The place was full of people – or would be at the end of the day.

‘He said he was going to look for the kid round the stable block, but I think he’s having a quick fag somewhere. He’s as bad as young Gentian, if you ask me – hiding away so’s to get a bit of peace.’ She spoke in a whisper, with a glance at the manager. ‘He’ll get a bollocking from old Bodgett if he’s not careful.’

‘The receptionist went with him, apparently.’

‘What? Penny? Not likely. They loathe each other. She’ll have gone for a fag as well – or whatever her thing is. Wait till you see her.’

The kid was being hauled away by an increasingly irate and embarrassed mother. ‘I was going to call the
police
,’ she said in a loud hiss.

‘That’s stupid,’ argued Gentian. ‘I was perfectly all right.’

‘Well, if you do it again, I’m going to keep you shut in the room for the rest of the week. Just you see if I don’t.’

‘He’s not really called Bodgett, is he?’ asked Simmy.

The manager had gone back inside, leaving Simmy and Melanie alone under the grey skies. A foolish little drama had come to an end with no harm done. The relief was still reverberating somewhere inside Simmy. She had almost forgotten what she had come for.

‘Boddington-hyphen-Webster, would you believe?
What is it with people and their double barrels these days? They all think they’re descended from earls or something.’

‘I know.’ Simmy recalled a recent rant from young Ben Harkness on the subject. Computers, it seemed, disliked long hyphenated surnames, with ticket bookings and online registrations choking on them. ‘It’s all very silly.’

‘Anyway, come with me and we’ll find Dan. He must be around here somewhere. Oh – did you see Jake? He’s the only normal person here. Funny, that. Usually the chef is the most bonkers of them all in a place like this. But he’s all right, is Jake. Never gets in a tizz. Loves his work.’ She sighed.

‘Good-looking, as well,’ Simmy observed.

‘Yeah, and the rest. But he ticks one of the boxes for the stereotype.’ She sighed again. ‘Seems such a waste, though I know I’m not meant to say that. Don’t tell him I said so, but really, it’s very unfair.’

‘What?’ Simmy was still thinking slowly.

‘He’s gay, of course. Wouldn’t you know it? Lives with a chap from Belgium or somewhere, in the village.’

‘Oh.’

‘And here’s the last one in the set. Look at her.’

Simmy looked. A very thin woman was coming towards them, wiping her nose with a tissue and feeling the back of her neck with the other hand. She appeared to be around fifty, with careful make-up and smart clothes that looked rather warm for the season. Her hair was a glossy artificial black, which highlighted the pallor of her skin. Her midsection was actually concave, reminding Simmy of the runner Paula Radcliffe, whose body had always caused her great fascination. How did all those organs and countless yards of intestine fit in there, she wondered.

‘Hi, Penny,’ said Melanie. ‘They found the missing kid.’

‘Right. Where was she?’ The woman’s voice was high and forced. Every move she made appeared to take an almost insuperable effort.

‘In the lounge. Panic over.’

‘Good. Better get back to my post, then.’ She laughed, but Simmy could detect no hint of a joke. ‘Who’s this?’ Penny asked, as an afterthought.

‘Persimmon Brown, the florist,’ Melanie said.

Simmy realised that Melanie was being extremely careful with Penny-the-receptionist. Making no claims for herself, adding no embellishing information, answering questions with the shortest of sentences – all decidedly out of character.

‘Right. Fine.’ Penny glanced at a small sparkly watch. ‘Only another hour to go, thank God.’

They watched her go back into the foyer, and then Melanie led the way along a gravel path towards the annexe, past an arrangement of ornamental trees in large pots on one side, and a row of windows on the other.

‘Is she ill?’ Simmy asked, thinking about Penny.

‘Physically or mentally?’ Melanie laughed. ‘Actually, I think she might have some sort of health issue. She works short days. Lord knows how she ever got this job. She knocks off at four o’clock, and the manager’s wife does evenings and weekends, including Fridays. But I think Penny’s tougher than she looks. And she’s good with the guests, amazingly. Smiles and simpers at the men, sympathises with the women. She’s a great actor. All the staff leave her alone as much as they can.’

‘She’s scary, then?’

Melanie paused. ‘There’s just something
about
her. Like a time bomb. You get the feeling if you crossed her, she’d explode all over you. Or else drop down dead in front of you. She goes to the gym a lot. It’s obviously killing her.’

Simmy snorted agreement, while thinking there might be rather more to the odd creature she had just met than an addiction to weight training or whatever else people did in a gym.

‘That’s the dining room in there,’ Melanie pointed out, continuing her tour. ‘Then there’s the kitchen, look. It’s all very well organised. Dan lives in. He’s got a couple of rooms round the corner. Bodgett’s in residence as well, of course. They share the old servants’ quarters. He’s the butler and Dan’s the housekeeper. Funny, eh?’