by Leo McNeir
It was to be their last boat trip for a while. Ralph was due to fly to Singapore early the following week, leaving Marnie and Anne to ferry Sally Ann back without him. The boat would be put back in the water on the Monday, exactly one week later, and Anne consoled herself with the knowledge that she could arrange her college timetable to be away that day.
*
Marnie drove Ralph to catch the airport bus for Heathrow the next day, Tuesday. She had offered to take him all the way, but he had insisted that the shuttle bus would be fine; she had work to do.
When they kissed goodbye at the coach station, Marnie said she couldn’t wait for Ralph to be home again. He assured her the two weeks would pass quickly, and they would be able to resume their normal life together.
For once Ralph’s forecast was to be proved wrong.
Chapter 46
Timeline Broadcast
It was what Anne usually called a ‘college day’, and not just because that was where she was going on the day in question. Wednesday 18 September was overcast and damp, threatening rain. She had spent the first part of the morning sorting the mail, dealing with routine office tasks and checking an essay she was due to hand in that afternoon.
Shortly before eleven she took mugs out to Bob and his mate who were rebuilding an upstairs wall and chimney breast in the farm house. On her return to the office, she found Marnie leafing through the desk diary, muttering to herself.
“Oxford. Now when was that?”
“Did you say Oxford, Marnie?”
“I was wondering when it was that I went over to meet Professor Fleischer.”
“Has she been in touch?”
“No.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Probably.”
Anne reflected. “Must’ve been just before the end of the dig. You and Ralph came back on the day of the final party.”
“That’s right, August. That would be about six weeks ago. Yes, the end of the dig.”
“That reminds me, Marnie.” Anne set a mug down on Marnie’s desk. “Bob’s just said we’re on TV tonight.”
Marnie looked up. “Timeline?”
Anne nodded. “Fame at last.”
“Did he say what time?”
“Eight o’clock.” Anne pointed. “Better put it in the diary.”
*
Marnie came off the phone after speaking to Ralph in Hong Kong ten minutes before the programme began. For the next few days he would be travelling between venues, delivering lectures in universities and business schools, ending in Shanghai. It was a punishing schedule, but it kept him in touch with leading economists in the Far East. It also earned him as much in fees in one month as a university professor would normally earn in a year.
They settled down to watch and record Timeline on the small television in Anne’s attic room.
There were six sites in different parts of the country, with continuity provided by Professor Barny Guthrie. They were both surprised how much he dominated the programme. In Knightly St John he had seemed to merge quietly into the background, but he had no doubt been at the centre of the filming up and down the field. There he was on the screen, popping up everywhere, taking a leading role at every excavation.
Watching the programme, it became clear that witches of various forms were active in every region. It gave the impression that Britain was just one big coven. The first digs shown were in the north of England, in Lancashire and Yorkshire, but just before the commercial break the scene shifted south to a view that was highly familiar.
In hot sunshine a find was made in a trench at Glebe Farm. A map appeared locating them beside the Grand Union Canal in south Northamptonshire. Back in the trench an archaeologist was wiping dirt from a tiny pendant, gleaming in gold, which he held up against the neck of one of the girls. In the next shot he was shaking hands with a young man dressed in black. Donovan was shown in close up. His image froze and filled the screen as Barny Guthrie explained what they would be discovering after the break. Donovan looked out at the nation for some seconds before he faded and the adverts began.
“Oh dear, he won’t like that,” Anne said, pressing the pause button on the recorder control to eliminate the commercials.
“D’you think he’ll be watching the programme?” Marnie asked.
“Dunno. Perhaps I should warn him.”
“Maybe you should.”
Marnie looked pensive. On the television a talking frog was explaining to an enraptured housewife that her sink could be unblocked with one squirt of the latest bleach. All her troubles would be over.
Anne frowned. “D’you think people might come here looking for him?”
“It’s possible, I suppose. And we might get over-run by sight-seers again. It’d be better if we weren’t here.”
“Thyrsis?” Anne suggested.
“Yes. We could go down to Willowbridge and bring Sally back in convoy on Monday.”
“Trouble is,” Anne began, “I’ve got classes till lunchtime on Friday.”
“That’s okay. We’ll set off early on Friday evening; a nice leisurely cruise. We can spread it out over the weekend.”
“Great.”
Anne pressed the VCR button to resume recording as the adverts ended and the second half of the programme began. They were feeling better already.
*
Anne had an early start on Thursday, but before breakfast she sent Donovan a quick e-mail.
Hi
The Timeline programme was on television last night.
The images of you shaking hands with Dick were prominent.
Thought you’d like to know.
Take care,
A
Just before she set off to brave the morning rush hour into Northampton, Anne checked her computer. No reply.
*
It was a long day. By the time Anne got back to the office it was after six and she flopped into her chair with a histrionic sigh. Marnie grinned at her across the room.
“So, what’s new at the chalk face?”
Anne shook her head. “I don’t know what the younger generation’s coming to. Half the class don’t seem to have read the chapter Mr Boyd set for homework.” Anne pressed buttons to boot her computer into action. “One of the girls told me she’s thinking of dropping out, says she’s finding the work too hard. I didn’t like to say, but I had the impression she wasn’t actually doing …”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing from Donovan. He hasn’t replied to my e-mail from this morning.”
“Perhaps he’s away.”
“Yeah.”
“Fancy a cup of tea?”
Anne made to get up. “I’ll make it.”
“No. You stay there. My turn. You’ve been gallivanting.”
Anne glanced across to the kitchen area.
“Where are the builders’ mugs? Don’t say you’ve washed them up and put them away.”
Marnie looked at the empty draining board. “Must still be outside.”
Anne smiled. “Standards decline when I’m not here.” She got up and headed for the door. “I’ll fetch them while you make us a delicious brew. How’s that for division of labour?”
Anne entered the farm house by the front door and went upstairs. The wall and chimney breast in one of the bedrooms were finished and ready for plastering. Progress was slower than Anne would have wished, but the standard of workmanship was first class. She wandered from room to room, mentally working out how much more was to be done. The mugs were nowhere to be seen. She looked through a window down to the garden. The foundations had been laid for the conservatory, and slabs were lined up waiting to become the terrace. The tray containing the two mugs was resting on top of the slabs. Anne skipped downstairs and walked round to the rear of the house.
It had been a bright day, and the men must have had their tea break in the open air away from the dust of the brickwork. Anne looked up at the house and tried to imagine it with curtains at the windows, rat
tan furniture in the conservatory and tubs of flowers on the terrace. By this time next year, she thought, it will be completed.
She turned to look at the wilderness that would one day be a garden again. Weeds stood chest high, but over to one side a climbing rose was valiantly fighting for light and air. As she looked at it, she spotted a path through the jungle. It was barely visible, but Anne followed it. She decided to cut a few roses to put in a vase. Turning to fetch the secateurs, she realised that from where she was standing she could see directly into the courtyard, with a clear view of the door into the office barn. Something on the ground caught her eye.
Anne knelt down to examine a small mound of earth that seemed to have been scuffed aside. She sniffed. A faint smell rose from the earth: tobacco. She parted the soil with a finger to reveal a cluster of cigarette butts. Separating them, she counted seven filter tips. She had never seen either Bob or his mate with a cigarette, even while taking a break.
Anne pushed the earth back into a heap so that it looked undisturbed. If not the builders, who might have been standing there, smoking? Anne’s mind was racing. Could the butts have been lying there for a long time? She was sure they smelled too fresh to have been in the ground for more than a few hours. How long would it take to smoke seven cigarettes?
Anne began walking slowly back to the office, all thoughts of roses and secateurs banished from her mind. The builders would have left the site at about four o’clock. It was now almost half past six. Someone had been watching the office. Suddenly, it occurred to her that that person might still be lurking in the ‘jungle’. She quickened her pace.
Chapter 47
Blood on the Carpet
For once, Anne was the first person out of college when her classes ended at lunchtime on Friday. She raced to the car park, threw her bag into the Mini and set off for the supermarket.
Before grabbing a shopping trolley, she dashed inside to the payphone, unwilling to trust the security of her mobile. She pressed buttons for the office number, desperate to ask Marnie if there had been an e-mail from Donovan. By the eighth ring, she was convinced she had dialled the wrong number. She tried again. Same result.
Where was Marnie? Answer: probably on Thyrsis making lunch. Anne dialled her mobile.
The person you are phoning can’t take your call. Please try again later.
Damn! Anne rang the office number again. Ten rings later she disconnected. Think. Marnie must be around; the answerphone was off. Don’t panic, Anne told herself. It’s obvious. Marnie has gone over to speak to the builders; they sometimes leave early on a Friday. There was no point in wasting time here. She rang Donovan.
No reply. Of course. No answerphone. Anne sighed and got on with shopping. She was reluctant to waste more time phoning. The sooner they got underway, the better.
*
Anne ignored her self-imposed speed limit of sixty miles an hour on the way home. In light traffic she made good time, only throttling back through the village and down the field track. She pulled up in the courtyard, noticing the absence of the builder’s van. The office door was half open. Good, she thought. Marnie’s around.
Anne walked across to the kitchen area and began emptying the shopping onto the counter. A small round cheese enveloped in a bright red wax casing made a bid for freedom and launched itself over the edge, rolling across the floor to halt in the middle of the office.
It was as she bent down to retrieve it that Anne saw the bloodstains. A pattern of drops, each the size of a penny, dotted the deep blue carpet tiles like a small red constellation. Anne touched one of them with the tip of her little finger. The blood was dark red. She stood up and scanned the room. A few feet away, in the direction of the shower room, she saw a brownish smudge.
“Marnie!”
Anne raced to the shower room and knocked on the door. No reply. She pushed it open. It was empty, and there were no stains to be seen. She rapidly checked the floor of the shower, the toilet bowl and the loo-roll holder. Nothing.
She was racing across the office to search outside when the phone began ringing. Anne forced herself to calm down before picking up the receiver.
“Walker and Co, good afternoon.”
“Everything all right, Anne?”
“Who’s calling please?”
“It’s Molly Appleton from the shop. Are you and Marnie okay?”
“Why are you ringing, Mrs Appleton?”
“Well, I saw the ambulance coming from your end of the village about half an hour ago. I tried ringing to see if you were all right, but there was no reply. Richard just said he thought he’d seen your car go by so I –”
“What ambulance was it?”
“Well it was just an –”
“Northampton or Milton Keynes hospital?”
A pause. “I’ll ask Richard. He might know. Hold on.”
Anne heard muffled sounds, a hand placed over the mouthpiece, before Molly came back on the line.
“Richard thinks it was a Two Shires, so probably MK General.”
“Thanks, Mrs Appleton. Gotta go.”
Anne flipped open the filofax, found the hospital’s number and pressed buttons. The nurses’ station confirmed that a woman had recently been admitted from Knightly St John. The nurse asked for a description and then took down details: name, age, address, religion. She would give no information, but advised Anne that it would be an hour or two before she would be able to see Marnie, if at all.
When Anne disconnected she slumped at the desk, head in hands, breathing in short gasps. She could feel her heart pounding, her head spinning with a thousand questions. Why couldn’t Marnie tell them her own name? Why did they want to know her religion? Why wouldn’t they say what had happened to her? Why couldn’t Anne see her? Why had she said, if at all? What had happened to Marnie?
Anne placed both hands palm-down on the desk, closed her eyes and forced herself to take six deep breaths. Think what you have to do, Anne. Calm down. Get organised. Think. Think.
She opened her eyes and struggled to rationalise her thoughts.
Something serious had happened here. An ambulance had been called. Marnie had been – stop! Wait a minute. Who had called the ambulance? Anne picked up the phone and checked previously dialled numbers. No emergency call was showing. She checked the speed dial and scrolled down to Marnie’s mobile. Anne hit the button. Immediately a faint warbling emanated from across the room.
Taking care not to tread on the bloodstains, Anne rushed to the source of the sound. The mobile was lying on the floor under her desk. She pressed buttons and checked numbers. The last call was three nines. What did that mean? Had Marnie called for an ambulance? The builders had left. The tenants in the cottages were at work. Glebe Farm was deserted.
Anne suddenly felt isolated and vulnerable. She thought of the pile of cigarette butts in the garden. At once she propelled herself across the room and locked the door onto the courtyard. Her mind was steady now. Anxious she may have been, but she had things to do and was making a mental list.
Seizing the pad, she began scribbling notes:
Phone:
Beth
Mrs Appleton
Police?
Ralph
Check Thyrsis
She couldn’t get the image of the cigarette butts out of her mind. After all the activity of the summer, when Glebe Farm was crawling with TV crews and archaeologists, plus all the visitors from outside and within the village, the place was now deserted. Or was it? Anne was alone and needed back-up. The more people who were aware of the situation, the safer she would feel. She grabbed the phone.
“Beth? It’s Anne. Listen. Something’s happened.”
It was a brief conversation ending with Beth telling Anne she was on her way.
“Mrs Appleton? It’s Anne. You were right about the ambulance. Something has happened to Marnie. She’s in MK hospital. Do you know anything else about what’s been going on?”
The Appletons knew nothing except tha
t a customer had seen the ambulance going down the field track, and they had seen it on its return leg.
After hanging up, Anne sat back in the chair and reflected on what she knew. Marnie had met with a mishap of some kind, perhaps an accident. She had called for help and been taken to hospital. That was the simplest explanation. Then why had she left no note for Anne? Why hadn’t she phoned Anne to let her know? Why was the mobile lying on the floor under Anne’s desk?
Perhaps there had not been an accident. Perhaps Marnie had been attacked. Then how had she been able to phone for an ambulance? All questions, no answers.
Anne looked at her list. There was little point in phoning the police. If it was necessary, that could come later. Locating Ralph would be complicated, and it would be better to present him with facts rather than just worry him when he was in Hong Kong or Shanghai or somewhere, unable to do anything but fret. She had no desire to walk through the spinney to check Thyrsis.
Her course was clear. Her place was at the hospital. She picked up the phone and rang A & E. The duty nurse was no more forthcoming, but she was glad to learn that Marnie’s sister was on her way.
Anne grabbed her car keys and opened the office door. Outside there was no movement. She silently locked the door behind her and sprinted across the courtyard to the Mini. Jumping in, she pressed down the door button, simultaneously turning the key in the ignition. Performing the fastest three-point turn on record, she gunned the little car up the field track, keeping one eye on the rear-view mirror. At any moment she expected to see a car or a whole squadron of Hell’s Angels in pursuit.
*
That Friday was obviously National Illness Day. Everybody in the country seemed to be at Milton Keynes General Hospital. The visitors’ car parks were full to overflowing. On her third lap Anne managed to find a narrow slot and she mentally gave thanks for the compactness of the Mini.