by Leo McNeir
Marnie and Anne tried not to.
“What was funny, George?”
“After the old trees had gone, they replanted with new ones, but in parts they planted brambles.” He said the word as if he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Like the ones round Sarah’s grave,” Marnie prompted.
“Exactly, all round there. Some people said it was to keep us kids out. I don’t know. But the estate workers thought they’d be in for blackberries galore.”
“No doubt.”
“Not a bit of it, Marnie. They were forbidden to take them.”
“Why? Did they want them up at the Big House? It all sounds terribly feudal.”
“That’s what was funny. It was not like the Deveres to begrudge their staff a bit of fruit, but the curious thing was, even the Deveres didn’t touch them. It was awful to see the blackberries withering on the bushes. Food was in short supply, but no-one picked them, officially, I mean.”
“Which means that you and the Merry Men did? And Maid Marian, no doubt?”
George shrugged. “We did the odd bit of scrumping, of course we did. My mother made the odd blackberry pie, bramble jelly, but access wasn’t easy. High walls up there. And you’d soon get chased out if you were seen.”
“I wonder why.”
“Oh, we all thought we knew why, Marnie.”
“Go on.”
“The family turned in on itself when Roland Devere was reported missing behind enemy lines. He was the blue-eyed boy. Old Mr Devere, that was Quentin, never really got over losing his number one son.”
“But that was much later, surely.”
“He was believed to be killed in action in about nineteen forty-two, I think it was. Then suddenly he came home on leave. It happened again the following year.” George paused, calculating. “Yes, that would be about right, nineteen forty-three. Par for the course, they said, dangerous missions , incommunicado for long periods.”
“Did he come home again?”
“That I couldn’t tell you, Marnie. The family did eventually find out that he’d definitely been killed the following year in France, on active service with the resistance, preparing for the invasion of Normandy.”
“Is it known where he’s buried?”
“Oh yes. They have a photograph of the place up at the Court.”
“You’ve seen it, George?”
“Many times. It’s in the library. I used to go there regularly for meetings of the local Conservative Association. Old Marcus Devere was chairman for some years.”
“Is it one of those huge war cemeteries?”
“No. It’s a smaller one, just for the resistance, beautifully tended, by the look of it. I believe it’s near Avranches, though I’m not sure where that is, exactly.”
A long way from Sarah Anne Day’s lonely forgotten grave covered with brambles, Marnie thought.
*
Rob Cardew arrived on site early in the afternoon. He looked in on the HQ barn for a quick word with Dick Blackwood before going round to see Marnie. The door to the office was ajar and, looking in, he paused on the threshold for some seconds, observing Marnie at her desk. She was lost in her thoughts, a troubled expression clouding her face. In that moment he knew she was not pondering a question of design or colour and he realised how concerned she was at the events unfolding around her. He also realised for the first time – with a sense of surprise that this had not struck him before – that her face, especially now in solemn contemplation, possessed the serenity and beauty of a Canova statue.
Rob was on the point of drawing back to leave Marnie to her reflections when her eyes wandered in his direction and her anxiety changed first to surprise, then to a smile.
“Sorry, Rob, miles away.”
“I’m disturbing you, Marnie. I’ll come back later.”
“No. It’s fine. What can I do for you?”
“I have a message, from Rosemary.”
Marnie stood up.
“I could use some air. Have you eaten?”
“Eaten?” He gave the question some thought. “Er, I don’t think I have, not lately. I’ve just come from a meeting at the university.”
“Come on, then. We’ll go to Sally Ann and get you a sandwich.”
They took the path through the spinney and found Anne sitting out on the stern deck, reading. Glad of a break from studying, she offered to make refreshments, and the three of them stepped down into the cabin. Marnie and Rob took seats in the saloon while Anne pottered in the galley. Rob came straight to the point.
“Rosemary doesn’t know how to get in touch with Donovan. He didn’t give her a number or any contact details, just said she should go through you two.”
“And what’s her message?”
“What should she do with the photos? She thought Donovan was going to examine them and talk them over with her, but he wouldn’t take them, said there was a risk he might be followed. Is he paranoid or something?”
“Don’t you think he should be, after all that’s happened at the lab?”
Rob shrugged. “I know it’s all very cloak-and-dagger, but when you think about it, nothing actually happened at the lab, nothing unusual. The security guards turned up on a thoroughly routine patrol.”
Marnie shook her head. “You’re starting from the wrong place, Rob. Donovan was only there because someone had intervened to remove evidence. He only needed the equipment because Rosemary had extra photos still in her camera by chance. And what if the guards had found Donovan at the lab?”
It was Rob’s turn to look concerned. “I don’t know what’s going on here, Marnie.”
“I think you do. At least, I think you have a better idea than we do.”
“No,” he protested. “Why do you say that?”
“Two reasons. One: Rosemary must have been told something by the people who removed the evidence – or by her director. Whatever they said will have given her some kind of idea about what was happening. Two: you’ve been able to look at Donovan’s blow-ups of the original photographs. That means you must know more about them than we do.”
Anne put a sandwich in front of Rob and he took a bite.
“This is great. Thanks, Anne. I’d forgotten I was hungry after all.”
“Well?” Marnie said.
“The director told Rosemary she should let the matter drop, forget she’d ever seen the remains. Future contracts depended on that. I don’t know what you –”
“So it’s definitely the government,” Marnie interrupted.
“Didn’t we always know that?”
Marnie ignored the question. “What about the photos? Do they reveal anything?”
“To be honest, Marnie, not a lot.”
While Rob continued eating, Marnie rested her chin on her hands, both elbows on the table. Anne came and sat beside her.
“Marnie?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you think we ought to get Donovan to see the photos? He might have more of an idea – oh, sorry, Rob. I didn’t mean –”
“You’re right.” Marnie looked determined. “It was his idea, after all. Did you bring them with you, Rob?”
“No. They’re at home.”
“Could you possibly bring them in?”
“When?”
Marnie pulled the mobile from her back pocket and pressed Donovan’s number on the speed-dial. They spoke briefly. Marnie looked up.
“Tomorrow?” Rob nodded. Marnie confirmed and disconnected. “Good. In the meantime, you’ve got them somewhere safe, no doubt?”
Rob looked sheepish. “I think so.”
Marnie’s expression became sceptical. “Don’t tell me you’ve hidden them in your sock drawer.”
“Not actually. I’ve, er, put them in a tupperware box, in the fridge, under the bacon.”
A smile tweaked the corner of Marnie’s mouth. When she spoke, her accent was pure Russian spy from the movies.
“You are nobody’s fool, meester Bond … licensed to chill.�
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Chapter 38
Tattoo
The elderly black VW Beetle burbled along the high street of Knightly St John. At the wheel, Donovan was pleased that the road was deserted. He was less pleased at having Danny beside him in the passenger seat. When he had spoken to Anne on the phone the previous night, she had just been talking to Danny who had hinted broadly that she would love to return to Glebe Farm, in the interests of pursuing her studies. It had seemed a good idea for Donovan to pick her up from home on his way north.
He had agreed but now, after listening to her incessant chattering for half an hour, he was wondering if his judgment had been impaired. It was a relief to drive down the field track, their short journey over.
He spotted a parking space among the archaeologists’ vehicles between a Land Rover and a minibus, where his car would be out of sight to the casual observer. The Land Rover had University of Cambridge markings on the side and a pennant on the radio aerial. Danny mentioned that it was normally used by Rob Cardew. As he tugged her overnight bag from the back seat, Donovan paused to examine the pennant.
“That’s Holbeach Man, that skull,” Danny said. “He was a famous relic, apparently. Don’t think they ever found the rest of him. I wonder how he got his head chewed off.”
Donovan opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and closed it again. Danny failed to notice.
“Where d’you want your bag, Danny?”
*
They gathered in Ralph’s study on Thyrsis, where there was little danger either of being interrupted or observed. It was cramped but manageable, with the photos spread out on the floor illuminated by Ralph’s halogen desk lamp. Ralph looked down from his office chair; Marnie and Rosemary knelt on one side, Anne and Donovan on the other. Behind them, Rob and Danny perched on chairs to peer over the shoulders of the inner group.
From his bag Donovan produced a large magnifying glass mounted on a frame, which he positioned over the blow-ups of the tattoo. He invited the others to examine it and give their opinion on what it depicted.
Anne pointed at the first part.
“That looks a bit like an O. Could it be a name?”
Rosemary inclined her head from side to side. “If it is a name, what might it be: Olivia, Odette, something of that length?”
Donovan stared at her and leaned over to re-examine the smudged mark closely, while the others looked on. He sat back and quietly muttered a single word.
“Totenkopf.”
The group reflected, each trying to interpret what he meant. Marnie was the first to speak.
“I’m not sure I quite see the –”
Bang! Bang! Two loud knocks on the door at the stern. Every head twisted round.
Ralph got to his feet. “I’ll go.”
He was about to step over the photos when he realised they were no longer on the floor. Donovan had scooped them into his bag and thrust it into the gap between the desk and a bookcase. Ralph closed the study door behind him and made his way through the boat.
Danny looked nervous. “What do we do?”
“We wait to see who it is,” Donovan said. “We’re just sitting here talking about the dig with the project director. We wanted to be undisturbed. Okay?”
Everyone nodded. They could hear voices outside on the bank, Ralph and another man. Ralph’s face appeared at the porthole.
“Darling, we have a visitor. It’s Mr Devere.”
Marnie scrambled up and pushed open the doors into the cratch.
“I’ll come out,” she called.
Hugh Devere, wearing a dark suit, was looking agitated. He made a perfunctory greeting.
“Oh, hallo, er, Marnie. Have you seen Celia?”
“No. She wasn’t at the house when Anne met the decorators on site this morning. And she’s not been here as far as I know.”
“That’s most odd. She went out this morning and hasn’t left any word about where she’s gone. I called in at home on my way to a meeting and … no sign of her.”
“When did you last see her?”
“She was still in bed when I left at seven-thirty.”
“Is there a reason why you’re worried about her?” Ralph asked. “Has she done this before?”
“Not really.”
“There’s probably a simple explanation,” Marnie said.
“And what might that be?”
Marnie ignored the sharpness of his tone.
“You must know she has a problem with the smell of the paint.”
“But they’re not painting any more,” he protested. “They’re papering.”
Marnie wanted to say, since when did a small detail like that interfere with Celia’s mood swings? “Even so, perhaps she just wanted to be away from it all. Did you check to see if she had packed an overnight bag?”
Hugh looked aghast. “What are you suggesting?”
“You’re sure she hasn’t done this before?”
He wavered. “Well, perhaps once or twice, when we’ve … had words.”
“Have you had words now?”
“No.” Emphatic.
“Then my advice to you is to satisfy yourself she hasn’t packed a bag. If she hasn’t, my guess is she’ll have gone to London for retail therapy. I’d suggest you check out the station car park.”
“The car park?”
“You won’t even have to drive into the multi-storey. The person in the kiosk will remember Celia.”
“But I don’t know what she’s wearing, to give a description.”
“Just say Princess Di. That’ll do the trick.”
*
Standing in the shower room on Thyrsis, Anne monitored the conversation through the narrow opening of the porthole. She was back in the study reporting to the others while Marnie and Ralph were taking leave of Hugh Devere.
“What d’you think’s happened to her?” Danny sounded worried.
Taking a seat, Marnie made a dismissive gesture. “Nothing. She’s on her way to Bond Street is my guess.”
“But her husband –”
“Danny, Celia’s a big girl, and a wilful one. She can take care of herself. We’ve got our own concerns.”
While the others were talking, Donovan had slipped his bag out from its hiding place and was studying the photographs again. Sitting on the floor in the corner, he seemed remote from everyone else. Marnie looked over at him.
“So, where were we?”
The others resumed their places and turned their attention back to Donovan.
“Donovan?” Marnie prompted.
Without looking up he said, “I don’t think Anne was right. The first mark might be a letter, but I think the rest looks more like a number.”
“If we can make that assumption,” Rosemary sounded doubtful, “what does it signify? We’ve no way on this evidence of deciphering it.”
Donovan stared at Rosemary. “You’ve seen the whole tattoo, you must’ve done. You must’ve photographed it.”
“Of course, but all those photos were taken away.”
“Even so, you must have some idea about what it showed.”
Rosemary shook her head. “I took loads of shots of all the remains. You’re forgetting that the skin was very discoloured. This tattoo only showed up when we started enhancing the images.”
Donovan held up the clearest picture. “What were you actually photographing here?” It revealed only the faintest edge of the marking. “What was the point of it?”
“I thought there were marks around the lower arm above the wrist.”
Donovan inspected the photo and quickly scanned the others.
“What sort of marks?”
“Like dark indentations in the skin. I did wonder if the person had had something tied round his arm.”
“Or had his arms bound?” Donovan suggested.
He passed the photos round the group for their opinions. As they studied the images, all their faces registered the same bewilderment.
Ralph borrowed the magnifi
er. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to decipher this. It’s hopeless.”
“You haven’t any other photos, have you?” Anne asked Rosemary. “I mean, the people in the imaging unit, would they have copies on a hard drive on their computer, perhaps?”
Rosemary shrugged. “As far as I know, everything was removed. I’ve never even touched their equipment. Donovan might know if that’s possible.”
All eyes turned towards him. Donovan was sitting with his back against a bookcase, looking blankly ahead, as if he had lost interest.
“Donovan?” Rosemary said. “Would you know about that?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He seemed far away.
“What do you mean? Isn’t it what we’re trying to find out?”
Donovan said nothing for some seconds. Anne wondered if he was in pain.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Even if we work out what the marks are, it won’t help us. We’ll have no way of finding out who they refer to. There’s just not enough to go on.”
A cloud settled over the group. They realised that Donovan was right. If the tattoo was a number, even if they could decipher it, how could they find out what it meant? If it was the edge of a design, what could it tell them? If it was a name, what significance could it have?
“So we’ve drawn a complete blank,” Rosemary sounded disconsolate. “Back to square one, if we were ever there.”
For a while they retreated into their thoughts, each of them searching for some way of making sense of what they had found.
“No.” Donovan broke the silence.
“No what?” Anne said.
Donovan seemed not to have heard her. “Now that we have some idea about what it is, we might eventually be able to work out who it is.”
“You think you know what the marks mean?” Rosemary asked. “You can decipher them?”
“That isn’t the question any more.”
“But I thought –”
“No. The question is, why it was so important to stop us finding out. Why the cover-up? That’s what this is about, always has been. So, yes, we are back to square one, but at least now we know why we’re there.”