by Leo McNeir
Rob shrugged.
When Marnie walked with Rob out to his car, she waited until they were round the corner before she began asking more questions.
“Are you keen on having the Timeline people here when your own dig’s in progress?”
“I think I mentioned to you before, they bring huge resources, Marnie. They could help us quite a bit.”
“I didn’t want to get too specific in front of Anne, but do you think they’ll find witch graves at Glebe Farm?”
“Barny seems to think so.”
“Barny?”
“You’ve never heard of Barny Guthrie, Professor Barnard Guthrie?”
Blank looks from Marnie. “Nope.”
“He’s one of the best-known archaeologists in the country. Used to be at Leeds. Built one of the best archaeology departments virtually from scratch. Retired at fifty about ten years ago. Spends all his time on research now, writing books, doing television.”
“A celebrity archaeologist,” Marnie muttered.
Rob nodded. “If there is such a thing, he’s it.”
They reached the Land Rover.
“I always seem to be walking you to your car, Rob. Why don’t you check with your wife and see if you can find a date in the diary to come for a meal some time soon?”
“Thank you, Marnie. I’ll get back to you on that.”
“Good. I heard, by the way, from Angela about the tattoo.”
“Yes.”
“Is it confidential?”
The grin. “Not any more, it seems.”
“Seriously.”
“The police aren’t going public on it, not yet, anyway.”
“You don’t know what it depicts?” Marnie asked.
“I’ve only seen photographs. It’s little more than a blur. You’d need a very powerful microscope to see it properly. The imaging team at the Oxford lab are the bees’ knees and it’s with them at the moment. Whether they can make it clearer, we’ll have to wait and see.”
*
Anne was putting the phone down when Marnie walked back into the office.
“Don’t tell me, Anne. That was Celia. She wants a different scheme altogether, orange and purple stripes in the hall to spite her father-in-law.”
Anne pulled a face. “Don’t be ridiculous. Stripes are out this season. She wants polka dots, but you got the colours right.”
Marnie flopped into her chair. “Break it to me gently. What did she want?”
“It wasn’t Celia, actually. It was Donovan.”
“Oh?”
“He wanted a chat.”
“Good.”
“He said he might come up at the weekend.”
“To take his boat? I thought he had visitors.”
“They’re moving on tomorrow morning, going to Worcester. He said he wanted to get the boat away as soon as he could.”
Marnie looked thoughtful. “Why the hurry? What’s bothering him?”
“Dunno, but something is.”
Chapter 13
Uschi
In the office on Saturday morning two pairs of eyes focused on the phone as the second hand climbed towards the top of the clock face. When nine o’clock came and went Marnie and Anne grinned at each other across the room.
“Why do you think she always phones on the dot of nine?” Anne asked.
Marnie inclined her head to one side. “I’ve been thinking about that. I reckon she thinks the office opens or the switchboard starts up –”
“You mean me?”
“I suppose so. That we’re open for business from o-nine-hundred.”
“And she wants to get in before anyone else can?”
“Probably. Talking of time …”
“He said he’d ring to let me know. I expect his relatives will go off after breakfast and he’ll come up then.”
“How’s he travelling?”
“Didn’t say.”
“Did you invite him to have lunch or dinner or whatever?”
“I said he should eat with us, yes. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“It’s fine. I expect we’ll have enough notice to kill the fatted calf –”
“Ugh!” the vegetarian exclaimed.
“Fatted aubergine.” Marnie corrected herself.
But there was no call that morning. By lunchtime they were faced with a decision and opted for a sandwich in the office. The main meal of the day would be dinner. Mid-afternoon Marnie and Anne were discussing a menu. It was the nearest they came to a plan.
“Anne, it’s three o’clock. I think you should phone Donovan. Surely he’ll be on his way by now.”
Anne dialled the number and listened while the phone rang somewhere in the outskirts of London. There was no reply and no answerphone. She checked the address book for a mobile number. This time no ringing tone. The person you are phoning is not available. Please try later.
Anne sat with both elbows on the desk, chin resting on her knuckles. If he was driving up he would probably have his mobile switched off, she thought, but he was more likely to be coming by train, in which case …
Marnie came over and perched on the corner of the desk. “This doesn’t strike me as being like Donovan.”
“No?”
“No. I know he likes to drift in like a shadow –”
“A man of mystery?”
“Maybe. But he’s not unreliable or inconsiderate. What do you think, Anne?”
“I don’t know what to think, whether to start worrying or what.”
*
Ralph arrived in the office as usual at five and declared he had had enough of analysing statistics for one day and wondered if anyone else felt like a spritzer. The reaction was less than sparkling.
“Have I said the wrong thing? Have I inadvertently stumbled into a gathering of Temperance Anonymous?”
“We still haven’t heard from Donovan,” Marnie said flatly.
“Have you tried ringing him?”
“Every half hour since three.”
“That’s odd. Did he just assume he was coming for dinner, perhaps?”
“We didn’t actually talk about dinner.” Anne’s tone was as flat as Marnie’s.
They tried ringing again and then gave up. They would just have to be patient.
*
Early on Sunday morning Anne took a shower, leaving the bathroom door open in case the phone rang in the office. She had set the alarm for seven but was up earlier. Convinced that something was seriously wrong, she grabbed a quick cup of coffee and a slice of toast while checking Donovan’s address with the Greater London road atlas. She knew only that he lived in the Uxbridge area. When she found his street it seemed to be a short cul-de-sac in a quiet corner with the canal just an inch away on the page.
Anne left a note on Marnie’s desk, telling her where she was going. With luck she would be phoning from London before Marnie knew she had gone.
*
It was unusual for Anne to miss breakfast so Marnie walked through the spinney to the office barn while Ralph was laying the table on Sally Ann. The first sign of a change in routine was the faint whiff of coffee and toast in the air. Marnie was calling up the wall-ladder when the note on the desk caught her eye:
Off to see Donovan – couldn’t wait around any longer. Back soon. Anne
There was no time on the message and Marnie had not heard the car leave. She would give it until nine o’clock and then try Anne’s mobile. In the meantime she would worry.
*
Anne pulled into a bus lay-by to check the map. She located Donovan’s street, memorised the last part of the route and pulled out in light traffic. Leaving the main road, she turned down a typical London suburban street of yellow-brick Victorian and Edwardian houses and threaded her way through until she saw the cul-de-sac sign. There were trees lining the roads in that neighbourhood and the houses were well-kept, with window boxes and hanging baskets in abundance. The word ‘gentrified’ came to mind, and both sides of all the streets were
crammed with cars. Anne wondered where she would be able to park.
Reading off the numbers, she found Donovan’s house at the end. It was an unusual property. To reach it she drove through an arch into a cobbled yard. Facing her was a double garage with black doors. What could this place have been? The house itself was set back on the right, double fronted, facing across the yard. There were no flowers in sight, but the house had a simple uncluttered appearance that was pleasing to the eye.
In the quiet of a Sunday morning it did not look under threat or in danger, but Anne felt uneasy when she got out of the car. Pocketing the keys, she pushed the driver’s door noiselessly together and walked over to the house, her trainers silent on the cobbles.
There were no curtains visible at the windows, and the house wore a neutral expression, impassive and closed. On the glossy black door the number 20 gleamed in brass, with a brass letter-box and at the side a brass bell-push. Anne hesitated to ring the bell. She noticed a round handle and reached down to touch it. The door opened inwards without a sound and Anne had the indefinable feeling that she was not alone. Somewhere, in some distant corner of the building, she imagined she heard a scraping of metal.
The idea that she was intruding into Donovan’s private space made her uncomfortable, but she had come this far, concerned for his well-being, and she was not going to turn back now. Caution guided her steps through from the small hall to the kitchen at the back beyond the stairs. It took Anne less than a minute to discover that the ground floor rooms were deserted. Everywhere was tidy, though a pile of bedding folded on an armchair in the living room looked curiously discordant.
Anne climbed the stairs slowly, hoping to avoid creaks, her heart thumping. This was crazy, she thought. What am I doing here? At the top of the stairs she found herself on a landing with doors facing her on three sides. One was half open, revealing a small bedroom overlooking the front of the house. It was as she was turning that she heard footsteps coming from an adjoining room.
Anne started as the door to the rear room opened. Framed in the doorway stood a young woman of about Anne’s own age. Over her shoulder she had hung a towel. Apart from that she was naked. For a few seconds they eyed each other. Of the two of them, Anne was the more nervous.
“I … I was, I thought, Donovan …”
The other girl frowned, then seemed to understand.
“Oh yes. This is his bedroom. He didn’t tell me.” She seemed to be trying to find the right words but was otherwise composed, apparently unflustered by her nakedness.
“Sorry. I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Anne turned to go.
“No. I’ll call him.”
“Please don’t.”
Anne went down the stairs, planting her feet carefully, her head in turmoil. She had made a complete fool of herself. In the background she heard the girl calling after her, but Anne did not take in what was said. She left by the front door and dropped the car keys as she tugged them from her pocket. Pulling the car door firmly shut, she realised the courtyard was too narrow to perform an easy turning manoeuvre. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she started the engine, looked over her shoulder and began slowly reversing up the street.
At the end of the cul-de-sac she eased round the corner and began driving forwards. Retracing her route, she approached the main road and pulled to the side to compose herself before joining it. It had been a stupid idea. Donovan had simply forgotten that he was supposed to be coming up to see her and had not spared her a thought.
She was stunned and disappointed and angry and shocked. She could not believe her judgment had been so poor. She felt vulnerable, wounded and exposed. Knowing that she was in no state to drive, she turned off the engine and waited while her pulse slowed and her breathing settled, leaning back against the headrest with her eyes closed.
When she opened them, a red double-decker bus was passing. Normal life was going on in the world outside her mind. It was time to go home. With a firm hand she started the engine, signalled and rejoined the traffic on the main road, looking for signs back to the motorway. Crossing to the far lane, she failed to notice the black car pulling over to follow her.
*
Marnie let the phone ring several times before hanging up. No reply probably meant Anne was driving. It occurred to Marnie that she had only a sketchy idea of where Donovan lived. His details were not held in the office address book or computer, only in Anne’s personal filofax.
Ralph was in his study on Thyrsis. Feeling unable to settle, Marnie walked through the spinney to talk to him. It was a warm still morning and promised a fine summer’s day for the tootle they had planned for that afternoon.
“Are you worried about her, Marnie?”
“Only because she seems unsettled by his non-communication. Also, I don’t know how long she’s been gone.”
“How far is it to his place?”
“That’s another thing. I don’t have his address. I seem to remember it was somewhere in London, but …” She shrugged.
Ralph opened a drawer and rummaged around at the back. “I may have it … could be here somewhere.”
“Why would you have Donovan’s address?”
“If I do have it – and it’s far from certain – it’ll be filed under his father’s name, from the time we were colleagues.”
“But that was at Oxford.”
“Yes, but we kept in touch after he left. He went to Reading but couldn’t get a full-time post there. I recall he spent half the week at that university and the other half lecturing at one of the London University colleges. I’m sure he got a place on the western side of London, handy for travelling in both directions. Yes, here we are. If Donovan kept on his parents’ house, it was here.”
He passed an old address book to Marnie. She took it and read the entry for Dr William Donovan Smith.
“This is probably near the Uxbridge Boat Centre.”
“You know it?”
“After what I’ve spent there over the years, I think I practically own shares in the place.”
*
Anne drove steadily, concentrating on keeping to the speed limit as a way of blotting out what had happened. She gave all her attention to the road, using it as a stabilising influence, driving by the book, remembering all the instructions she had received as a learner. Every gear change was precise, every action methodical and purposeful. Before changing lanes or turning, she consulted the rear-view mirror and signalled in good time. It was in one such manoeuvre that she first became aware of a distinctive black shape a few cars behind her.
Anne took the left hand filter lane off the North Circular Road to approach the M1 motorway and looked back to see if the other car followed. There it was. She wondered for how long she had been aware of its presence, but could not be certain. It looked like a VW Beetle and there were now few of that old model left on the road.
She accelerated quickly up to seventy. The black car fell back. Anne was wondering whether she was imagining things and what she should do next – how fast could old Beetles go compared with her Mini? – when the car drew closer and flashed its headlights.
Anne jumped, gripping the steering wheel tightly. There could be no mistake. It was definitely following her. She speeded up and took the little car to eighty. The Beetle dropped back but flashed again. He was not going to be deterred. They came to a road sign: services one mile ahead. Another flash of headlights from the VW, and this time the driver put on the left-hand indicators. They blinked three times. A signal? At the half-mile sign the VW flashed again, followed by three more blinks.
Anne’s mind was racing. Should she risk stopping? Absolutely not! It would be crazy, she thought. But then what if it followed her all the way until she left the motorway? He could run her off the road in a secluded spot in the country, if his intentions were hostile. She had only a few more seconds to make up her mind. The three hundred yards board came up. At the motorway service area there would at least be plenty of people around. The two hun
dred yards board. If he tried to cause her trouble she could go to the security people. At the one hundred yards board she saw the Beetle indicating continuously. She slowed, flicked on the indicators and pulled onto the slip road.
Turning into the car park, Anne drove round to the entrance of the main building. She found the perfect slot just a few spaces from the front doors where people were milling about. Soon, the Beetle rumbled round the corner and reversed into a space almost opposite the Mini. Anne undid her seat belt, ready to make a run for it. She sat and waited. At the first hint of trouble she would be off like a hare spotting a whippet.
The window on the driver’s side of the Beetle slid down and a face appeared. It was Donovan. He waved to Anne to come over. She was incensed. What a nerve! She shook her head indignantly. There was a pause while Anne waited for Donovan to make the next move, though she was beginning to think that something was not quite right. She heard Marnie’s voice in her head. … he’s not unreliable or inconsiderate …
What was going on? Anne asked herself. Donovan looked out again, this time holding something in his hand. Anne looked on in bewilderment as he began swinging his arm back and forth. At the third swing he released whatever he had been holding and let it fly towards her. She froze.
The object landed with a faint jingling sound on the ground near her car door. She wound down the window and saw a set of keys, the largest one bearing the familiar VW logo. It was a strange, unexpected thing to do. The pursuer had presented Anne with his means of following her. It could be a trick, she realised. But why do such a thing?
Anne got out of the car, still wary, and picked up the keys. Donovan stayed where he was. She walked slowly across the road and stopped near the front of the Beetle.
“What’s going on, Donovan?”
His head protruded from the window. “You’ve misunderstood everything completely.”
“Really?” Unconvinced.
“Yes, actually, really and completely.”
“You didn’t turn up when we expected you. You didn’t get in touch. I find a naked girl in your bedroom and you follow me like it’s some gangster movie. Which bit of that did I misunderstand, Donovan?”