Martin Edwards - The Cipher Garden

‘Is that why you wanted Mrs Howe to work for the company?’

‘When we were struggling, I couldn’t afford to buy out her share. Now, of course, I wouldn’t want to.’

‘And Sam?’

‘He worked for me during his summer holidays as a schoolboy. After he left school, he flitted around from job to job. When I needed another pair of hands, he was the obvious choice. The lad was born with green fingers; it’s in the genes. All he needs to do is realise that he needs to put in the hours, bend his back more often.’

‘And your personal relationship with Warren Howe?’

‘What can I say? He was a rough diamond. The sort of man whose idea of philosophy is: never spend your money on anything that fucks, floats or flies.’

Hannah couldn’t help smiling at the gruff impersonation. She would never know whether Peter had captured Warren’s tone of voice, but she’d bet he had. ‘Not exactly your kind of chap, then?’

‘Apart from gardening we didn’t have much in common.’

‘What about your wife?’

Two pink spots appeared in Peter’s cheeks. ‘What about her? I wasn’t Gail’s keeper. She’s always cherished her independence. That’s why she devoted her time to her own business ventures rather than Flint Howe. Whatever she got up to was, to coin a phrase, her own affair.’

‘Even while you were married?’

‘Even then.’

‘You were aware of the gossip about the two of them?’

‘I take no notice of gossip, Chief Inspector. It’s the curse of village life. The idle chatter of small-minded people doesn’t interest me.’

‘Did you confront her, ask her outright if she was having an affair?’

‘Of course not.’ He sniffed, as if at a bad smell. ‘Listen, we’d married young. I fell head over heels, I don’t mind admitting. Gail’s an attractive woman, it took many years for me to realise that wasn’t enough. That’s why we stayed together for so long. Too long, if I’m truthful. Today — I’m just thankful it’s over. I’m happier now than ever before.’

Tina reached across the table and patted his hand. They smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes. Hannah stifled a sigh of exasperation.

‘So you weren’t jealous?’

Peter Flint cocked his head. ‘I suppose if someone had proved to me that Warren was sleeping with my wife, yes, I would have been unhappy. Thank heaven, it never arose. Warren didn’t rub my nose in it, and I’m not plagued by the green-eyed monster.’

Quite a paragon, aren’t you? Hear no evil, see no evil.

‘Is it true that your wife’s involvement with Warren Howe ended a short time before he was killed?’

‘If I don’t know for sure that there was any involvement, how could I know if and when it ended?’

‘How did she react to the news of his death?’

Peter blinked. ‘You’re surely not wondering whether…’

‘All I’m trying to do is to get a clear picture of Warren Howe’s life. His relationships.’

‘Gail didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I haven’t suggested it.’

‘She has a tongue like a stiletto, I don’t deny it. Especially after she’s had a few drinks. But she isn’t a murderer.’

Tina frowned and Hannah sensed a warning. Don’t overdo it.

‘Your divorce, Mr Flint. Was it acrimonious?’

He lifted his chin. ‘Aren’t all divorces?’

‘Was it your decision to part?’

‘After Warren’s death, it was as if for a time, in some strange way, the tragedy brought us together. But we were only papering over the cracks.’ More gesturing with the hands. You’re like a politician, Hannah thought, only answering the questions you like. ‘We’d become different people since our marriage. Both self-employed, working long hours trying to make ends meet. Between us, we’d sunk every penny into our businesses. We had very little time together. It was never going to work out, we both came to recognise that. A mutual decision, let’s say.’

‘The anonymous letter, did you see it?’

‘Tina destroyed it before she mentioned it to me. Quite right, too. Wicked nonsense.’

Brakes screeched outside. Peter winced and through the window Hannah saw a white van pulling up. A burly figure clambered out and for a shocking instant she thought it was Warren Howe. The shape of the head and the dark tousled hair resembled the old photograph in the file. But of course this must be his son Sam. The dead never came back to life.

The crowds at Hill Top gave Miranda a headache. Beatrix Potter had stipulated in her will that the old farmhouse should be maintained in its original state, and entry was restricted by a timed ticket system. They waited for an hour to get into the shrine, but within five minutes Miranda declared that she’d seen enough and wandered off to seek refuge from the worshipping sight-seers amongst the whitewashed cottages of Near Sawrey.

Louise lingered in silence over the old bound volumes in the library while Daniel leafed through a pamphlet about the author’s life. She’d had an unexpected fondness for mystification, he discovered. It had taken years to crack the secret code in her private journal. He liked the story about her dressing up in sackcloth and being mistaken by a tramp for a fellow traveller. And for all her tales about dear little creatures, Beatrix could be clinical as well as cute. Skinning a rabbit, boiling the bones and then reassembling the skeleton with an autopsy technician’s attention to detail, questing for authenticity, determined to give her pencil drawings a cutting edge.

The shaded room offered shelter from the heat and noise. Something was troubling his sister, he could tell; each time the room cleared, she seemed about to speak, but then more visitors came in and the moment passed. Only when they made their way out into the cottage garden did she reveal what was on her mind.

‘I’m outstaying my welcome, aren’t I?’

‘She’s tired, that’s all.’ He screwed up his eyes in the glare of the afternoon sun and reached into his pocket for his dark glasses. ‘This weather doesn’t suit her.’

‘It’s not about the weather, Daniel.’

‘Don’t take it personally. Miranda will be fine.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Louise exhaled. ‘I’ll check train times.’

‘Don’t be silly. There’s no need. Listen, I enjoy having you here. I don’t want you to leave.’

She brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘Thanks, Daniel. The break’s done me good. But I don’t want to come between you and Miranda.’

‘Anyone would think you’re an old mistress, returning to haunt us. You’re reading too much into a few grumpy remarks.’

‘She wants you to herself.’

She rested her backside on a low stone wall and he perched beside her, out of the way of people taking pictures of each other, gleefully snapping and posing in Mr Macgregor’s flower-filled back yard.

‘I want you to be happy together.’

‘We are.’

‘I’m not just talking about the sex, Daniel.’ A rueful smile. ‘That sounds pretty good.’

Early that morning, Miranda had woken him up and hauled her warm naked body on top of his. As they made love, she’d cried out in delight. Even with the thick stone walls of Tarn Cottage, it would have been a miracle if Louise in the next-door room had slept through.

He groaned. ‘Christ, Louise, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. All I’m saying is that you need more than fun at bedtime to keep you together. Trust me, Rodney was surprisingly good in that department, but in the long run it wasn’t enough.’

‘Hey,’ he said, determined not to think about Rodney with his sister, ‘you and I aren’t the only people who’ve had a rough time. Before we met, Miranda had an affair with a married man that didn’t work out. Plus a lesbian boss who made a pass and then victimised her when she didn’t say yes. She’s been badly bruised. Healing takes time.’