The trust, p.26
The Trust, page 26
Astrid had worked hard on the boat and it was cleaning up nicely. She’d had plenty of time now she wasn’t employed by the English Trust. Head Office had offered her the job back but she’d said no. Sherborne Hall was in her past. They agreed to pay up for the full contract so she had enough money for a while. In return, she did one favour for them: she carefully removed the lighthouse from the original Constable. It had been an easy job as Uncle Henry had used a watercolour. The Constable was now returned to its former glory.
She’d also finally got round to writing to her father. She told him all about Uncle Henry and how he’d left her Curlew’s Wake. Inside the letter she slipped a sketch of the boat she’d done in watercolour and ink. And she sent a postcard to Clare. A simple message saying sorry for not staying in touch. It was a start.
Sergeant Harper was in a fine mood too. He dropped round to see her on the Saturday morning. He was in shorts – navy blue with a crease that aimed at pale knees.
Everyone, he told her, was singing his praises down at the station. These had been the biggest crimes they’d seen for a long time, and Harper’s involvement hadn’t gone unnoticed. There was talk of him being fast-tracked to the Bournemouth branch.
Harper admitted that he may have downplayed Astrid’s involvement in the case, but was sure she wouldn’t mind. In fact, he’d told his bosses he’d been keeping an eye on both Cressida and Emily for some time. ‘Ready to pounce,’ he said, making a clawing gesture in the air that sent Sheepdip diving under Astrid’s foldaway chair.
Astrid told him she was more than happy for him to take the credit, which was true. Her career as a gallery conservator was over – which she was more than happy with. So it was nice to think that she’d given Harper’s career a boost. Anyway, it was best that the case was closed now. Especially as the police still had no idea who forged the Constable. ‘If only we knew?’ she’d said with a smile.
‘If only,’ he replied and he closed his notebook with a shrug, as if this was his gift to her – not to ask any more questions.
He left about half an hour before her guests started to arrive. Muraki was first, squeezing through the reeds, a suitcase pressed to his chest. He looked around in astonishment. ‘What is this, Astrid?’ he said, stumbling aboard.
‘It’s a houseboat, Muraki, not the lost city of Atlantis.’
‘Yeah, but you’re living on it.’ He put his suitcase down. ‘I mean, you’re the last person I’d think would live on a boat.’
‘It’s good to see you,’ she said, embracing him.
Next was Kath, who was wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a smart black dress – the first item of clothing she’d seen on her that didn’t have marker pen or logos for local companies on it. ‘It’s going to be posh, right?’
‘I guess, yes.’
Kath spotted Muraki, who was inspecting the front of the boat. She smacked her lips. ‘Now then, Astrid. Where have you been hiding that one?’
‘Oh, that’s a friend of mine from the gallery – Muraki. Go and introduce yourself.’
Kath brushed down her skirt and set off.
The volunteers were next. Margaret bagged the last folding chair and asked for a cup of tea with three sugars before even saying hello.
‘Hey, Astrid – you know that she got the VIP tours job?’ said Harold.
‘Yes, she told me. Isn’t it great?’
‘Brilliant,’ Denise said. ‘I’m much happier that she got the job than me. They’re giving me more shifts in the gift shop… so, it’s all good.’
Grub arrived a minute later, in cargo shorts and a blue Hawaiian shirt. Sheepdip rubbed against his ankles.
Astrid looked at them both. ‘Thanks for letting me have him, Grub. I hope you don’t miss him too much?’
‘Hey. He’ll be much happier with you, Astrid. I can’t really give him the exercise.’ Sheepdip went back under Astrid’s chair. ‘I can always pop in and say hi.’
‘Any time.’
‘And you know…’ he wrung his hands ‘…I’m sorry I couldn’t explain what was going on before. Henry made us swear to keep it quiet.’
‘Hey, don’t worry about it. Cobb explained everything.’
‘You did great by the way. I knew you’d get there,’ he said, squeezing past towards the front of the boat.
Next was Anthony Dutton, who climbed on board and immediately noticed the box of tools laid out on the deck. ‘Hey, Astrid,’ he said, pointing at them. ‘If you’re carrying out any renovations on the boat yourself, you can offset them against your self-assessment tax return. I’d be happy to look after the paperwork.’
‘That’s good to know,’ Astrid said.
Finally, Cobb arrived wearing smart black trousers and a pressed light blue shirt. He studied the newly varnished deck, muttered ‘good job’ and went round the boat to examine the rest of her handiwork. Then he slipped the rope from the prow and joined her beside the dashboard. They didn’t speak until they were near the first marker buoys.
‘You look stylish,’ she said to him.
‘Thought I’d make an effort.’ He scruffed up his hair with his fingers. ‘I was thinking about brushing my hair as well. But then, you know… life is too short.’
‘It is.’ She looked around the boat. Everyone was seated on the deck watching the islands glide past. ‘Life is too short to be with people who make every day seem long.’
He nodded, letting the words sink in. ‘Is that from a poem?’
‘No, Cobb, that one’s from a fridge magnet.’
He laughed, then ran his hand over his neck.
‘Wait.’ She put her hand in her pocket and brought out the silver chain. ‘I found this on the boat a couple of weeks ago.’
‘A couple of weeks?’ There was a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.
She unclipped the clasp, and put it around his neck. ‘Yeah.’ She felt herself blushing. ‘But hey, it looks too good on you.’ Her thumb brushed his neck. His hand darted up and took hers. Then he gently kissed the backs of her fingers.
‘Astrid,’ he said.
‘Yes?’
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
She turned away from him to hide the huge idiotic grin that had spread across her face. He took the wheel and centred the prow between the markers. ‘Let’s get her out on the water, shall we?’
*
They all strode up the boardwalk to the Haven Hotel. Astrid spoke to a waitress, who counted the rest of the party over her shoulder with a confused expression. Perhaps she was trying to figure out how such an unusual mix of people all knew each other. She eventually smiled and escorted them to a line of small tables that had been pushed together. Then she went off to get a bowl of water for Sheepdip.
Everyone took their seats. Kath and Muraki were on either side of Astrid. Muraki gazed out over the channel. A flotilla of boats, jet skis and yachts jostled forwards through the choppy water. ‘This is wicked, Astrid. I had no idea it was so close to London.’
‘I know, you’ll have to come down more often.’
‘I will,’ said Muraki. ‘And out there, on the horizon. What’s that?’
Astrid squinted into the sunshine. Far out at sea was a sliver of land. ‘You know. I’ve never noticed that. Kath, you know?’
‘Course,’ said Kath. ‘That’s the Isle of Wight. Never been, but it’s supposed to be beautiful.’
‘Maybe I’ll get over there some time.’ She turned back to the group. A few of them had opened the menus and were frowning at the prices. Margaret was shaking her head as she ran her thumb down the list. Astrid tapped the side of her glass with a knife. Everyone turned to her. ‘Listen, guys. I’m getting this – it’s my treat.’
There were some murmurs of protest. ‘Seriously, and I’ll be annoyed if you don’t have whatever you want.’ Seconds later and they were all reading the menus again. Kath had already reached the House Specialities. ‘Brilliant!’ She cracked her knuckles. ‘They’ve got lobster.’
‘Do you like lobster?’ said Astrid.
‘Dunno. Never had it before. But I was rock-pooling as a kid, and one pinched me.’
‘In a rock-pool?’
‘Yeah, well it was probably a lobster. Anyway – it’s payback time.’
The waitress came and took the drinks order. When she returned and handed them out, Harold waved over from the other end of the table. ‘What about a toast then, Astrid?’
‘Oh, well, yes. We should.’ Astrid held her glass of wine by the stem. She stood up and faced them. ‘There’s someone who’s not here today. And is greatly missed by those who knew him.’ She caught Cobb and Grub look at each other and nod. ‘Someone who saw life as a game. And enjoyed playing it every day.’ She raised her glass. ‘To Uncle Henry.’
‘To Uncle Henry,’ they all chimed, clinking their glasses.
Then they started chatting again, the conversation bubbling over the sound of the waves on the rocks below them.
The waitress, who’d been standing by the low wall, came over to Astrid. ‘Madam. How would you like to pay for this? Cash or card?’
‘Card please.’ She reached into her bag and brought out a credit card from her purse. ‘Actually,’ she held it back. ‘Could you charge it to my room please? I’m staying with my husband – he’ll settle our final bill.’
‘Of course. And what’s the name?’
She held up her credit card. ‘It’s Astrid – Mrs Astrid Kisner.’
‘No problem, madam.’ She backed away.
Muraki and Kath stared at her.
‘And that, my friends,’ said Astrid, ‘is the last time I ever use that name.’
THE END
*
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Acknowledgements
This is my first book. It was written over the lockdowns of 2020/2021, when escaping London and living on a boat in Poole seemed like a good idea. I never thought it would get published – and it wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for the following people.
My superstar agent Thérèse Coen at Hardman & Swainson for her sage advice and being an all-round good egg.
Thorne Ryan at Head of Zeus for her irresistible enthusiasm for this story and her brilliant work on the edits.
Stuart White, the founder of WriteMentor, who’s done more to support aspiring writers than anyone I know.
My wise and wonderful writer friends Jules in Edinburgh and Caroline in Newcastle.
Lisa Cumming for casting a keen conservator’s eye over the first draft.
Rana Das-Gupta, who I bumped into on the Isle of Wight ferry and kindly invited me for a weekend’s sailing on his Fisher 37.
All the volunteers and staff I met at the English Trust’s Osterley House in West London. Of course, none of the characters in the book are based on any of them.
WhatsApp buddies Damian, Ken, Jon, Hag and Joe ‘Smooth’ Kennedy for the high-quality lockdown banter. Plus, Phil ‘Dog’ Delahunty whose feedback that ‘it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be’ inspires me to continue writing.
And my family – always my family… the greatest bunch of pugs on the planet.
About the Author
M. H. ECCLESTON has had a fairly meandering career – starting out as a radio presenter for the BBC, then staying at the Beeb as a journalist and producer for six years. After that, it’s a bit of a blur – he spent a couple of decades, at least, freelancing as a foreign correspondent, TV presenter, voice-over artist and film critic. For the last few years he’s been a full-time screenwriter and now novelist, with some wildlife gardening in the summer to keep himself sane and pay the bills.
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