The Long Kill - Reginald Hill

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with decisions as deductions.’

      He was very angry with himself. The remark had just slipped out and Jaysmith was not accustomed to anything but complete self-control.

      Miss Wilson was holding a small pot replica of Big Ben in her lap.

      ‘Tell Jimmy it’s very nice, dear,’ she said. ‘Now, Mr Hutton, what do you think?’

      He hesitated. When he’d arrived, he’d had it all worked out. A delightful house, but not quite what I was looking for. But now this formula would cut him off from Miss Wilson and her niece for ever. That was something he discovered he didn’t want to do, at least not without a chance for further thought.

      He said, ‘Would it be possible to come back this afternoon? It’s hard to take everything in at a single viewing. You can often get mistaken impressions at a single encounter, can’t you?’

      He glanced at Annie Wilson as he spoke, but got nothing in return.

      Miss Wilson regarded him thoughtfully, then turned to her niece.

      ‘Well, I daresay we can put up with you trampling round again, can’t we, Annie? But give us time to enjoy our lunch. Three o’clock, let’s say.’

      ‘Fine,’ said Jaysmith. ‘Three o’clock.’

      The old lady showed him out, Annie Wilson having disappeared with a perfunctory farewell into the kitchen.

      ‘One thing,’ said Miss Wilson on the doorstep. ‘You’ve not asked me price, young man. It may be too high for you.’

      He rather liked her directness. It also occurred to him that he would rather like her good opinion.

      He said, ‘If you really think of me as a young man, Miss Wilson, then I’ll be happy to accept any estimate of the house’s value based on the same principle.’

      A sunbeam of amusement warmed the old face. Then she closed the door. There was a little red Fiat in the drive, presumably belonging to Annie Wilson. Carefully he backed the BMW past it and drove down the hill to the Crag Hotel.

       Chapter 4

      Jaysmith ate a snack lunch in the hotel bar and told the openly curious Parker that he had liked Rigg Cottage, but needed a second look.

      ‘Quite right, old boy,’ said Parker. ‘Never rush into these things. On the other hand, don’t hang about either. There is a tide and all that.’

      ‘You’re probably right,’ said Jaysmith, finishing his beer. ‘By the way, who is Wainwright?’

      ‘Wainwright? You mean the walking chappie?’

      ‘Probably.’

      Parker was regarding him with considerable surprise.

      ‘How odd,’ he said.

      ‘Odd?’

      ‘That someone as keen on the Lakes as you hasn’t heard of Wainwright! He’s the author of probably the best-known series of walkers’ guides ever written. You must be pulling my leg, Mr Hutton. Every second person you meet on the fells is clutching the relevant volume of Wainwright!’

      ‘Of course, I know the books you mean,’ lied Jaysmith. ‘Me, I’ve always managed very well with the OS maps.’

      He left the hotel a few minutes later and strolled through the sun-hazed village to a bookshop he had noticed on a corner. There he found shelves packed full of the Wainwright guide books. He bought Book Three, entitled The Central Fells, which included much of the terrain around Grasmere. A glance through it explained its popularity: detailed routes, pleasing illustrations, lively text; there was possibly something here even for the man who lived by map and compass.

      It was after two-thirty. Slipping the book into his pocket, he set out to walk up the hill to Rigg Cottage. It was a good distance and a steepish incline and he found himself admiring the old lady for having stayed on so long.

      At the house he was relieved to see the little Fiat still in place, but there was no sign of Annie Wilson as Miss Wilson showed him round the ground floor once again.

      ‘Has your niece gone?’ he asked casually.

      ‘No, she’s out in the garden.’

      ‘You mentioned a boy, Jimmy. Are there any other children?’

      ‘You’ve got sharp ears and a long nose, young man,’ said Miss Wilson reprovingly.

      ‘If I’m going to become an inhabitant, I need to adapt to local customs,’ smiled Jaysmith.

      His impudence paid off.

      ‘No, just the one,’ said the old lady abruptly. ‘They’d been married barely seven years when Edward died. It was just before Christmas last year.’

      Nine months and still grieving. Grief could last forever unless life wrenched you out of its course. And even then you could not be certain if you were really living or just escaping.

      ‘You look around upstairs by yourself,’ instructed Miss Wilson. ‘I don’t bother with the stairs unless I have to.’

      He spotted the younger woman from the window of the room with the mountaineering pictures. She was reclining in a deck chair at the bottom of the garden with her feet up on an ornamental wall, her eyes closed against the slanting sun. He stood for a while, watching, till she shifted slightly. Suddenly fearful she might glance up and see him at this particular window, he turned away and went downstairs.

      ‘Well?’ said Miss Wilson. ‘What do you reckon?’

      ‘We haven’t talked about a price,’ delayed Jaysmith.

      ‘I thought you said you’d leave that to me,’ she replied, her lips crinkling. ‘Well here’s what the agent reckoned he’d advertise it for if I put it with him, which I’m going to do tomorrow if it’s not sold today.’

      She mentioned a figure. It was hefty, but, from the little bit of expertise Jaysmith had had to gather to keep up his end in conversations with Phil Parker, it seemed reasonable.

      Miss Wilson added, ‘But for the pleasure of not paying an agent’s fee and not having hordes of strangers and more than a few nosey local devils tramping around the place, I’d knock a thousand off that, Mr Hutton.’

      He scratched his chin and whistled softly.

      ‘That’s very generous of you,’ he said. ‘Very generous.’

      He hoped that Annie Wilson would materialize at some point to show a protective interest in her aunt. But he saw now that the old lady would not take kindly to being protected and that the niece would remain determinedly absent till negotiations were concluded.

      And if the conclusion were no sale, he would be politely shown the door and his chance would have been missed.

      His chance for what? He wasn’t quite sure, but Parker’s words rang in his ears … there is a tide in the affairs of men …

      He said, ‘On the other hand, I rather feel that for a cash sale, no property chain to worry about, no pressure to complete, or delay when you are ready either, all this guaranteed, you might come down a little lower.’

      ‘How much lower did you have in mind, Mr Hutton?’

      ‘Oh, another couple of thousand, I’d have thought.’

      She looked outraged but he also saw behind the outrage what he had already guessed at – the haggler’s spirit burning bright.

      They went at it hard for another fifteen minutes.

      ‘I’ll need to go out and talk to Annie,’ she said at one point.

      She was gone a couple of minutes

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