Martin Edwards - The Hanging Wood

‘What did she say?’

‘She was apologising to Aslan, and asking if they could still be friends. She sounded tearful. I heard her say, I was so sure you were Callum .’

‘And he said?’

‘He was trying to calm her down. I had the impression he was trying to talk sense to her, but she kept rambling and wouldn’t let him get a word in edgeways.’ The principal frowned, groping in his memory for the words. ‘ The walls have ears, that’s how I heard about Callum, and Castor and Pollux .’ As she said that, it occurred to me I’d better move along. They might notice the door was open, and I didn’t want to appear to be listening to a private conversation between two members of staff, with one in such an emotional state.’

‘What was all this about Castor and Pollux?’

‘Heaven only knows. She wasn’t making any sense. Even Aslan probably could make neither head nor tail of it.’

‘Orla once told me her brother liked to be cryptic and mysterious, but I doubt he was in her league when it came to talking in riddles.’

‘She was a troubled young woman. I moved along the corridor not a moment too soon. She came out of her room and dashed past me without a word. I could see she’d been crying.’ The principal toyed with his coffee cup. ‘Daniel, I do not make a habit of poking my nose into the business of others. I simply did not know whether I should offer help or behave as though I was unaware of the conversation.’

‘What gave her the idea that Aslan was her long-lost brother?’

‘I heard her say he looked rather like Callum. The shape of his head, the colour of his eyes, the same beaky nose.’

‘But Aslan’s ethnicity …’

‘He is half-English, don’t forget.’ The principal sighed. ‘I have been unsure whether the conversation I heard has any bearing on her suicide. Hence my decision to consult you. I am aware of your involvement with that matter of the De Quincey Festival.’

Daniel said slowly, ‘I’m beginning to see what happened. How about this? Orla meets Aslan, and takes a shine to him. Then she persuades herself that he is really Callum, but when she puts this to him, he disillusions her with the truth.’ He kept thinking aloud. ‘The relationship fizzles out, and in her distress, Orla decides to end it all.’

‘The truth being, that Aslan is not Callum?’

‘Unless … Aslan lied, and Orla’s idea was right all along.’

The principal chewed on a piece of Turkish delight. ‘You once wrote that all historians are detectives. I am sure your guess is better than mine.’

To call Madsen’s a caravan park was, Hannah realised as they walked around the site, akin to describing Windermere as a long strip of water. The country club boasted a brasserie that wouldn’t seem out of place on the Riviera, plus a couple of bars, a gym, a climbing wall, a badminton court and a tenpin bowling alley. Beyond vivid rose beds and the large gushing fountain lay a fishing lake, sports arena, and a nine-hole golf course. Hannah had expected the place to be swarming with unruly kids and harassed parents, but everywhere she looked there were smart and sprightly senior citizens, and clean-cut families with offspring who answered to names like Justin and Minette, and who had no doubt travelled here in the freshly washed SUVs that lined the car park.

Kit showed Hannah and Greg round a luxury lodge that put Undercrag to shame with its triple glazing, underfloor heating, solar panels, spa and hot tub. You could laze in the sunshine on the decking and admire the view of Blencathra. With vaulted ceilings, exposed wooden beams and floor-to-ceiling windows, the atmosphere inside was less like a mobile home, more like a place of worship. Sun worship, at least.

When they moved out in the sunlight again, Greg pointed to a camera fixed high up on the wall of the lodge. ‘That makes a round dozen cameras I’ve counted so far, Mr Payne. You take security pretty seriously here.’

‘Our customers pay good money to enjoy the park, DS Wharf. We have a duty to make sure they are kept safe and sound.’ Kit indicated a squat single-storey building on the other side of a tennis court. ‘Come and take a look at our site security.’

Inside the control centre, two men in shirtsleeves kept a watchful eye on a bank of screens. Kit Payne made Hannah’s eyes water by explaining how much the Madsens spent on park security, before rattling off the technical specifications of the surveillance equipment. She wondered how long it would be before his favourite phrase cropped up: state of the art . The answer turned out to be a minute and a half. As he talked, one of the men waved him over.

‘We seem to have a trespasser in Mockbeggar Zone 3.’

Hannah and Greg moved forward to peer over Kit’s shoulder at the screen in question. The rear view of a tall man was visible. He was making his way towards a small copse. The undergrowth was dense, and as they watched, he stumbled and lost his footing. Kit and the security men groaned in unison.

‘Tripped over a tree root,’ Kit said, with a touch of malicious satisfaction. ‘I suppose he fancied taking a short cut to see how the Hall looks in the run-up to the official opening. You see why we discourage people from accessing areas of the site that we haven’t cleared and upgraded yet. Health and safety is core to our vision, and our insurers insist we take every precaution. That chap could easily sprain his ankle, and ruin his holiday.’

‘He’s one of your residents?’ Hannah was sure she’d seen the man before. Where was it?

‘Presumably.’ Kit sighed. ‘You’ve seen for yourself, we provide every possible facility in the public areas. But some people you could give gold, and it wouldn’t be enough. He’s wandered into a part of the Hall grounds that we haven’t cleared and opened to the public in the first phase of the park expansion. Of course, there’s always someone who doesn’t understand the meaning of “no entry”. We’ll send a warden from our security team to make sure he’s all right, and have a quiet word to remind him of park rules.’

‘Why am I reminded of The Prisoner ?’ Greg muttered as they moved outside again.

‘Behave,’ Hannah whispered. ‘At least the bloke wasn’t squashed by a giant balloon.’

Kit Payne pointed to a shiny new road and bridge, leading to a mansion visible in the distance through a group of copper beeches. ‘This is the route we created, to cross the beck and connect with Mockbeggar Hall. The official opening isn’t for a fortnight, but you are welcome to have a quick recce if you like.’

‘It’s kind of you, but-’

‘Won’t you take the full tour, Hannah?’ Gareth Madsen stepped out from behind the fountain. ‘The Hall was disintegrating through lack of maintenance, you could put your foot through the floorboards. Fleur would be the first to admit that her father could never afford to look after the old place. Now we’ve transformed it into a conference complex with leisure facilities and spa. The water centre is the last word in quality. Whirlpools, jacuzzi and sauna, you name it. Rainforest shower, steam grotto, salt chamber and ice igloo, not forgetting the children’s fun pool. Something for everyone.’

‘Wow,’ Hannah said. ‘Sounds utterly state of the art.’

If Gareth thought he was being sent up, he didn’t let on. ‘If you can spare the time, I’ll take you round myself, and let Kit get back to work. He has some visiting Bulgars to see, would you believe, any minute now.’

‘Thank you, but no. We just have a few more questions to put to Mr Payne about his stepson.’

‘Poor Callum.’ Gareth bowed his head. ‘I’ll never forget the day we heard that he’d disappeared. It still seems incredible.’