by Leo McNeir
“Hi, Beth. How’s things?”
“Listen. Paul saw Rufus Maitland in college today.”
“Rufus Maitland?”
“I told you about him. Consultant on Timeline. Paul mentioned the dig at your place, said he knew Timeline were coming to film there.”
“This is the guy who thinks the dig isn’t what it seems?”
“That’s the one.”
“What did Paul find out?”
“That’s just it. As soon as Paul broached the subject, Rufus clammed up.”
“So you rang to tell me Paul’s friend said nothing?”
“Look, Marnie, Paul knew Rufus was dying to tell him something, but couldn’t.”
“Didn’t he say anything at all?”
“He did drop a kind of hint.” Beth recited the poem about the man on the stairs, who wasn’t there.
Marnie pondered this for a few seconds. “What does it mean?”
“Well, it must be about a ghost, mustn’t it?”
“Obviously, but why did Paul’s friend say it? What was the point?”
“I haven’t the ghost of a chance of working it out.”
Beth laughed at her joke. Marnie sat in silence.
*
Anne came back lugging the half-empty water bottle, muttering that there must be an easier way of carrying it around, to find Marnie holding the phone. By her expression, she was waiting for someone to answer.
“He should still be there,” Marnie said, biting her lip. “Oh, Ralph, hi, it’s me. Are you still in college? Listen. There’s something I want to tell you.”
*
Ralph knocked twice on the dark oak door and was admitted by Fellheimer. Leading Ralph into his study, he handed him a copy of the journal containing the article about Sarah Anne Day and her father’s will, firm evidence that she had not been a witch. They took their places in the chairs they had occupied that morning, and Ralph outlined what had been learnt during the day.
“So no missing persons,” Fellheimer said.
“Not as far as they know.”
“Unsolved murders?”
“I’m not sure how far that can be pursued, Guy.”
“No. I don’t think I know any tame criminologists.” He made a note on his pad. “I’ll make a few enquiries.”
“There was one other thing. Do you know Rufus Maitland?”
A pause. “Know the name, may have seen him at a conference, possibly. UCL?”
“That’s him. Archaeologist.”
“What’s his connection? The mystery remains are supposed to be modern. Maitland’s a medievalist, I think.”
“He advises on Timeline.”
“Ah, that connection.”
“He had a chat with Marnie’s brother-in-law today. Wouldn’t say anything specific, but he recited a poem.”
Fellheimer raised an eyebrow. “A poem?”
Ralph rehearsed it under Fellheimer’s quizzical gaze. “Would you mind saying it again, Ralph.”
Ralph repeated it while Fellheimer listened, arms folded, eyes closed. At the end of the poem, Ralph waited while the Sheldonian Professor of Modern History brought his considerable intellect to bear on a piece of cryptic verse. He sat motionless, breathing steadily as if he had fallen asleep. After a time a smile spread slowly across his features and he opened his eyes.
“Of course, yes. It’s quite obvious when you think about it.”
Chapter 21
The Man Who Wasn’t There
On Friday morning Ralph knew it was partly a pretext when Marnie asked if she could join him for his morning walk. She said she needed some exercise and promised not to slow him down. They left Anne preparing breakfast and headed for the towpath. Ralph went on ahead, setting a strong pace. After five minutes of power walking Marnie realised her excuse was based on reality. She really was in need of exercise and was making a mental note to join a health club when Ralph slowed suddenly and spoke over his shoulder.
“Do you think she does fret about things, needs protecting?”
Marnie stumbled, trying not to crash into Ralph’s back. “Where did that come from?”
“You wanted to come on the walk to talk to me about something – I can guess what – and you didn’t want Anne to hear. Is she so delicate she needs to be cocooned from everything?”
“I wanted to sleep on what you told me, what Guy Fellheimer had said. It seemed so improbable a theory, and yet you seemed to agree with him.”
“To the extent that it’s a viable theory based on what we know at present, yes. Why not?” Ralph regained speed. “We haven’t much else to go on.”
“The man who wasn’t there.”
“And the man who never was,” Ralph added.
“You think – or rather Guy thinks – Rufus Maitland was hinting at a connection.”
“What else could it be?”
“It could be a lot of things. He might’ve been thinking of ghosts or evil spirits, witches summoning up demons, black magic, er …” She had to pause to draw breath.
“Ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night,” Ralph contributed.
“It’s not impossible.” Marnie managed to sound defensive and unconvinced at the same time.
“Probable impossible or possible improbable?”
Marnie’s brain began overheating, in common with the rest of her. “Look, Ralph, I know I promised not to slow you down, but –”
Ralph stopped abruptly, spun round and caught Marnie in his arms as she cannoned into his chest. He kissed her lightly on the lips. “Come on, let’s go back.”
Without the need to swing their arms, they were able to walk along together, holding hands.
“Ralph, tell me more about this man who wasn’t there, I mean this man who never was.”
“Guy thinks it’s worth exploring, as a possibility, at least. The point is, there seems to be a move on at the moment to get to the bottom of it all. Guy thinks Maitland knows something he’s heard through his contacts with Timeline. They’re being very secretive about it because they don’t want the story to be leaked.”
“They need something big to keep themselves in the forefront,” Marnie said.
“Exactly. They’ve been criticised for being past their sell-by date. A revelation of this sort could breathe new life into the programme.”
“But if they just let it be known that they were onto something, wouldn’t that stake out their claim, make it their territory, whet everyone’s appetite?”
“I’ve been wondering about that. Perhaps they just want to spring a surprise, get the wow factor, as you might put it.”
“But, Ralph, they must know that’s never going to happen. They won’t be able to keep it a secret. They can’t expect they’ll be broadcasting the programme to a stunned audience. It’s not like a daring new fashion kept under wraps – literally – like a new dress by Vivienne Westwood or John Galliano. Media people work on different programmes. They talk. Academics gossip. They drop hints, like Rufus Maitland has.”
“You’re quite right, of course. There must be more to it.”
“But what? The story’s fifty years old. How could it possibly be important now, after all this time?”
“It must have wider implications, Marnie.”
They crossed the canal bridge and walked along to Sally Ann, skirting round Exodos in the docking area. Anne came out on the stern deck to meet them.
“Well, did you have a good walk?”
“Fine.”
“Did you talk about whatever it was you didn’t want me to hear?”
Ralph laughed. “I’m going to have a quick shower while you bring Anne up to speed.”
*
Anne poured two mugs of coffee, set them down on the table in the saloon on Sally Ann and took her seat. Marnie sat opposite.
“Are you sitting comfortably?”
Anne nodded.
“Then I’ll begin.”
Marnie began with Rufus M
aitland talking to Paul in the pub and recited the poem about the man who wasn’t there. She explained about the Timeline people trying to keep the lid on all information relating to the programme they were preparing.
“Okay so far?”
Anne had been concentrating hard. “This has to do with which dig, the settlements one down here, or Sarah’s grave? I don’t quite get the connection.”
“I know how you feel. It’s complicated, and I haven’t even started to explain it all yet. Basically, Timeline are looking into witchcraft, so they’re searching for evidence of witches down here and linking that with Sarah up there.”
“But we know for a fact that Sarah wasn’t –”
“Okay, okay. But that’s the connection. Ralph told Guy Fellheimer about the programme and the poem, and he came up with a theory linking the two together.”
Anne looked blank. “How did he do that?”
Marnie breathed out audibly. “He put two and two together and made five and three quarters.”
“That’s why he’s professor of history.”
“Probably.”
“So what’s his theory?”
“He thinks it has to do with the Man Who Never Was.”
“The man on the stairs? But that’s just a –”
“No, someone quite different, from the war.”
“Something to do with Roland Devere and the war memorial in the churchyard?”
“No. It’s somehow to do with the grave. It seems rather obscure, but there was an incident in the war involving invasion plans being found on a body. Have you ever heard of that?”
Anne shook her head. “Don’t think so. We didn’t do it at school, and I don’t read military stuff.”
“There was a film about it – The Man Who Never Was – based on a true story. Here’s the potted version, as told to Ralph by Fellheimer. The Germans occupied most of Europe, but the allies held North Africa and thought they could invade Europe from the south. Logically, it seems that meant attacking Italy via Sicily, so the Germans based huge forces there. The allies wanted to make them think they were going to attack through Greece or Sardinia. Okay so far?”
“Yep. To distract them.”
“Right. Someone came up with an idea to let secret invasion plans – false ones, obviously – fall into the hands of the enemy. So they got a man who’d died, invented a false identity for him, dressed him up in uniform and made it look as if he’d been killed in a plane crash in the sea off Spain. When his body was found on the beach, he had these plans on him and basically, it worked. The Germans pulled a lot of their forces out of Sicily and then the allies invaded it.”
“Couldn’t the Germans have struck back at the allies in Sicily?”
“I think they thought it was just a tactical diversion. By the time they realised it was the real invasion, it was too late.”
“What happened to the man who never was, the body washed up in Spain?”
“He was buried in the local cemetery, apparently.”
Anne sat thinking, sipping her coffee. Eventually she spoke.
“It was a brilliant plan and a good story, but –”
“I know what you’re going to say, Anne. What’s it got to do with a village in Northamptonshire?”
“Yes. And if the man was buried in Spain, what’s that got to do with the body in Sarah’s grave?”
Marnie looked defeated. “I know. I can’t see it at all.”
“What does Ralph think?”
“He’s open-minded about the whole thing. Since it’s Guy Fellheimer’s theory …” She shrugged.
“Ralph thinks Professor Fellheimer’s such a brain-box, he ought at least to give him the benefit of the doubt?”
“I think that’s a fair summary.”
“Well, I know I’m not in their league, but I really don’t get it.”
Ralph arrived a few minutes later just as Marnie was pulling toast out from under the grill. Anne voiced her misgivings about the theory when they took their places at the table. Ralph gave her his full attention as if listening to a student reading an essay. When she finished, he hesitated before replying.
“You make a fair point, Anne, but there may be something you’re missing. I believe Guy was – how do people put it these days? – thinking outside the box, thinking laterally. You see, it may be that the body in the grave is loosely connected with the man who never was, without actually being the man who never was, because that person – who of course did exist – is somewhere else. Therefore it isn’t so much the physical presence that Guy is thinking about, as some other kind of relationship that connects the man who never was with the remains that we actually have. You see?”
Ralph reached for the marmalade, unaware of the exchange of baffled glances between Marnie and Anne. He was spooning marmalade out of the jar when Marnie began quietly chuckling. He looked up as Anne snorted. Within seconds Marnie and Anne were wiping their eyes, laughing helplessly and rocking in their chairs.
“What is it?” he asked innocently.
Marnie was the first to be able to speak.
“Well, I’m glad we got that little matter cleared up.”
*
Anne was in the loo when her mobile began ringing. With a sigh, she fumbled in her jeans pocket and pressed the green button.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“Hi, Donovan. How are you? How’s the foot?”
“Getting better.”
“Good. Well, your boat’s okay and –”
“I didn’t ring up about the boat. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Oh, yes. What about?”
“I suddenly just wanted to know how you were, what you were doing, exactly what you were doing. Tell me what you’re wearing, where you are, at this precise moment. I want to see you in my imagination.”
Anne looked around her in the loo. “Er, I’m in the office barn, er, light blue jeans, pink T-shirt. What was that sound in the background?”
“It’s Uschi, laughing. She’s watching a video.”
“At eight-thirty in the morning?”
“It’s to help improve her English. She watches them a lot. Anyway, what were you saying?”
“I heard something funny this morning. Do you know the poem about the man on the stairs who wasn’t there?”
“Something like, He wasn’t there again today, I wish to God he’d go away?”
“That’s the one, more or less. And have you ever heard of the man who never was?”
“Is this a conversation or are we playing trivial pursuit?”
“I’m serious. Have you?”
“Vaguely.”
“What does that mean?”
“I saw the film on TV ages ago, though I don’t know how accurate it was, probably not very. Why?”
“It’s been mentioned in connection with the archaeologists coming. I’ll tell you about it when I see you. Any idea when that will be?”
“I’ll try to make it soon.”
“Good. Look, I’d better go now.”
“Sure. I expect you’re busy running the office, as usual, taking big decisions.”
“Something like that.”
*
Even after discarding the junk mail, the post was heavier than usual that Friday morning. Anne was sorting it into heaps – invoices, enquiries, banking – while Marnie started on her list of phone calls. The first was to Angela Hemingway.
“I’ve got some good news for you. Ralph spoke to his colleague, the one who did the research two years ago. You shouldn’t have any problem convincing even the archdeacon that Sarah wasn’t a witch.”
“Thanks, Marnie, but it may be too late. The bishop has sent for me. I’m just leaving now to go to Peterborough. I think he’s going to tell me we can’t move Sarah. The archdeacon has – I quote from the bishop’s letter – raised significant doubts as to the appropriateness of this action at the present time.”
“It’s a delaying tactic.”
“I know, but it’s a v
ery effective way of stopping us from going ahead, and it may take years before we get another chance. The church grinds exceeding slow.‘
“Don’t let it grind you down, Angela. Is the bishop open to persuasion?”
“He’s basically on our side, but we have only someone’s word to go on and –”
“What if you produced written proof from an unimpeachable source, a professor of history at Oxford?”
“Fellheimer?”
“That’s the one. Ralph got the article that was published in the journal. It’s here on my desk. You could take it with you.”
“I’m running late already but I’ll –”
“Why don’t I send Anne up with it? She can be with you in a few minutes.”
Anne was on her feet without any prompting and heading for the door with the journal when she turned, crossed to the photocopier and set to work. Marnie ended her call.
“You’re copying it?”
Anne spoke without looking round. “The bishop will probably want to keep the original for a while, and he’s not the only one who needs to see it. I’m doing copies for our file, Binns and Timeline.”
*
Pulling out of Angela’s road after delivering the journal, Anne had to wait while a small convoy of vans processed down the high street. She tagged on behind them and was surprised when they turned in through the field gate and took the track down to Glebe Farm. They formed up behind the HQ barn, where Dick Blackwood directed them. Anne drove past and went straight to the office after parking the Mini.
“We’ve got visitors, Marnie.”
“Who are they?”
“Archaeologists, I think. Dick’s dealing with them.”
They went round to meet the newcomers and found them unloading equipment from the vans. Dick went over to Marnie as soon as she and Anne turned the corner.
“Sorry about this, Marnie. These are riggers from Timeline. Apparently, they want to set up cameras.”
“What, now? Today? I thought they weren’t coming till next week.”
“They’re not here to film. These are what they call surveillance.”
“Security cameras?”
“No. They stay in place to record everything that goes on. That’s here and at all their various digs. They’re remote controlled, just send back images for use whenever the producers want to show what’s happening around the country.”