by McNeir, Leo
“You two know each other,” said Marnie.
“Peter serviced the engine on Thyrsis. He keeps me supplied with parts.” The two men smiled at each other like conspirators, and the mechanic turned and walked back to his office.
“He seems very reliable,” said Marnie.
“Peter’s a craftsman,” said Ralph. He handed her the package. “A small present to thank you for introducing me to the waterways in general and Sally Ann in particular.” Marnie took the package. It was heavier than she expected. She pulled open the paper and found a cellophane wrapping inside. Through it she could see something gleaming. She found two models of working narrowboats in solid brass, a motor and its butty. They had been polished to a brilliant shine.
“Ralph, they’re beautiful. Thank you so much.” She reached up and kissed him warmly.
“I told you this could become a habit,” he said. “I’m glad you like them.”
Marnie held them up to admire the detailing. “I shall keep them on my desk so that I can see them every day. I shall use them all the time as paperweights. Narrowboats were made to be practical.”
“They’ve certainly changed my life,” said Ralph. “You wouldn’t believe the looks of incredulity I had from colleagues when I told them how I was going to spend my sabbatical. Some of them obviously thought I had gone completely mad. One or two came here to see Thyrsis and I think they were quite impressed.”
“Who knows,” said Marnie, “perhaps you’ll start a trend and we’ll see a whole fleet of scholarly narrowboats on the canals, with satellite dishes linked to the Internet, computer screens glowing through portholes, cries of ‘Eureka’ echoing across the water!”
Ralph laughed at the image. “The University of Oxford Canal,” he mused. “Magdalen Motor and Balliol Butty! A wonderful idea.”
They set off in high spirits and looked in on Peter who was just finishing a phone call in his office. Ralph thanked him for playing his part.
“No job too big or too small,” he said with pride.
“Did you make them shine like that as well?” said Marnie. He nodded. “You did a wonderful job.”
“Well, we only have one standard here, no matter what we have to do.” He pointed towards the canal. “That’s my next job. Quite a contrast!” They saw a thirty-footer moored at the bank, rusty and dishevelled, its paintwork faded and peeling, a sorry sight.
“Complete renovation?” said Marnie.
“I wish it was. They couldn’t afford it. Just a new battery and service the engine.”
“How disheartening,” said Marnie. “No matter how good your work is, no-one will see it. The boat will still look a mess.”
“You have to do your best all the time, even if no-one can see it. You know it’s been done properly and that’s what matters.”
Walking back through Jericho arm in arm, Marnie looked at her model boats. “That’s what I shall call them,” she said. “Magdalen and Balliol, unless you think it sounds too pretentious?”
“Of course not,” said Ralph. “Anyway, no-one’s going to know except you and me.”
“And Anne,” said Marnie.
“And Anne, of course.”
*
Anne and her brother brought coffee out into the garden after lunch. Geoff was in the kitchen stacking dishes beside the sink while Jackie was checking the washing on the line.
“So do you think you’re learning a lot from Marnie?” said Richard, putting out the cups.
“Oh yes. All sorts of things.”
“Like what?”
“It’s hard to think of actual examples. It’s not really like a list of topics, it’s more, well, the way she does things. She gets on with the job and concentrates on it. She’s very … organised, methodical.”
“Is that Marnie you’re talking about?” said Jackie, coming over. “She strikes me as a practical person.”
“Yes, mum. Like you. She would have got the washing in the machine as soon as I came through the door, just as you did.” They laughed.
“But does she teach you about designing?” Richard went on. “I mean, that’s what you want to learn about, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And she does. She goes over my designs with me, showing me how they’re good and how they could be improved.”
“That’s your ‘hands on’ is it?” said Geoff, coming out and taking his seat.
“I think,” Anne chose her words carefully. “I think I’m learning about a lot of things combined. What I’ve learnt so far is that you have to give your full attention to what you’re doing. You have to be focused. That’s what Marnie calls it.”
“Focused,” said Richard. “That’s good. I like that.” He began pouring the coffee.
*
Randall Hughes was sitting with his coffee in a deckchair in the vicarage garden, reading the Sunday Times when he heard the phone ring in his study. He struggled out of the chair.
“Hallo, Randall Hughes.” He waited. “Hallo?” He pressed the instrument close to his ear. “I’m afraid I can’t hear you.” Thinking that the line had not been connected properly, he replaced the receiver and waited for a while in case the caller rang back. Eventually he returned to the garden and was soon immersed in an article on the prospects for peace in Northern Ireland and the attitude of the churches.
*
At the end of the afternoon, while Ralph was chairing the last session of the seminar at All Saints and Randall Hughes was preparing to say the last good-bye to his congregation at evensong, Marnie swung the car over the canal bridge and round the corner into Anne’s street. Half an hour later, after a cup of tea and some home-made shortbread, Anne heaved her bag of freshly cleaned clothes into the boot of the Rover and climbed in beside her friend. The dark blue car set off down the street with an arm protruding in a friendly wave on either side. They took the familiar route north.
“They’re a very nice lot, your family,” said Marnie, pulling out onto the dual carriageway. “They make me feel very welcome.”
“You are very welcome. They like you.”
“Good.”
“Especially Richard,” added Anne with a cheeky smile.
“Oh yes?”
“Did you see the way he was looking at you when we came out to leave?”
“I think he’s impressed by the letters after my name,” said Marnie.
Anne gave it some thought. “Marnie Walker, M.A.?”
Marnie shook her head. “Marnie Walker, GT-i.” She accelerated to seventy in fourth gear, with a fruity note from the exhaust, and changed up to fifth. They drove on for a few minutes in silence before Anne spoke again.
“My family are thinking about a holiday at the end of July.”
“That’s good,” said Marnie. “I’m hoping to have a holiday … at the end of the millennium.” She smiled sideways at Anne. “ What will it be, a fortnight?”
“Yes.” In the corner of her eye Marnie saw that Anne looked uncomfortable.
“There’s no problem. In fact, I can see an advantage. If the school kids have sunk Sally Ann during their visit at the end of term, I’ll be able to sleep in your room while you’re away.”
“You think I should go with them?”
“Sure. Why not? It may be the only chance you get to have a holiday this summer. I’d like to have a short break on the boat, but the builders will be starting now and I expect they’ll put paid to that idea.”
“It’s just, I don’t like to leave when there’s so much to do.”
“There always will be a lot to do, Anne. That’s been my experience at any rate. No, you have a good break. You deserve it.”
“Maybe you’re right. It may give me the strength to face my exam results.”
“Forget about the results. Just concentrate on what you’re doing each day. They’ll come soon enough.”
“Yes. I do forget about them most of the time. I shall just take each day as it comes. I’ll get on with my work. I shall be focused.”
“F
ocused,” said Marnie. “That’s a good word.”
20
Sarah Anne had been the first to see the group of wounded men returning from the war. She had taken her father into the house, shocked at his appearance. He seemed half the man he had been when he left. His right arm had been struck by a musket shot that had broken the bone and torn through the muscle. He had been lucky not to lose it, but it was weakened forever. At night he slept poorly, plagued by a fever and bad dreams, and Sarah would sit up with him, taking turns with her mother and sisters while he moaned and cried out.
Late one night he sank into a delirium, muttering indistinctly, and Sarah mopped his brow with a damp cloth soaked in lavender. She gave him a cordial made by her mother from primrose and verbena and slowly he settled down to a fitful, broken sleep. In the early hours he woke again and asked Sarah to fetch the vicar.
“I cannot do that, father,” she said. “We will talk about it in the morning.”
“I want to make my confession.,” he said with infinite tiredness. “Why can you not fetch him? It will soon be light. He would come.” Sarah shook her head slowly. Her father’s eyes widened. “Where is he? Tell me. Where is the vicar?” He took hold of Sarah by the arm, his face lined and haggard in the candle light.
“I cannot fetch him. He is …” She choked on the words and could not continue. Her father stared at her and, with a groan, fell back onto the pillow, his eyes closed. His lips began to move and Sarah had to lean over his face to hear what he said. As he spoke, tears began to fall down her face, she clenched her fists and a great blackness came over her.
*
Monday 26 June
It seemed to Marnie that she spent most of Monday morning on the phone, the first call coming shortly after eight o’clock. It was Beth, working on the illustrations for a book.
“I’m sitting here at my drawing board searching for inspiration. All I seem to get these days is kids’ books on dinosaurs or space creatures. Now has gone out of fashion. Today it’s dinosaurs.”
“I don’t think I can help you with any original ideas. I can ask Anne if you like.” Hearing her name, Anne looked up from the computer where she was busy formatting a box of disks. “Any ideas on dinosaurs for Beth?” Anne frowned and breathed deeply.
“I did a project on them at school once. I modelled them on the characters of some of the teachers. They were horrifying.”
“Don’t you mean ‘horrified’?” said Marnie.
“No, horrifying. You should see some of our teachers.”
Beth could hear this conversation through the receiver. “God, Marnie, she sounds just like you.”
“Okay, well, glad to have been of assistance. Time is money, woman. I have to earn an honest crust.”
“Aren’t you going to tell me about your day with Ralph? Was it nice?”
“It was very nice.”
“Is that it? What about wine, roses, romantic strolls on the banks of the Isis, bondage, flagellation?”
“We went for a walk to a canal boatyard that used to be a coal wharf.”
“The last of the great romantics! By your standards does that mean you’re developing a relationship?”
“Beth, I don’t have time for anything like that. There’s too much to do.”
“Will we meet Ralph when we come for the pig-roast?”
“We haven’t spoken about it.”
“Will Anne be there?”
“If she’s not gone home for the weekend.”
“Good. It’ll be nice to meet her. Okay, I’ll talk to you in the week to arrange times for coming up. I’ve got ideas for a dinosaur, a strange one full of mystery, the Marniosaurus.”
This call was followed at regular intervals by contractors ringing up about the rebuilding of Glebe Farm, Mrs Giles checking details for the school visit and Willards with a string of questions about the timetable for the renovation of The Irish Navigator. Searching among the papers on her desk for a notepad, Marnie uncovered the church booklet. The photograph on the cover was cheaply produced and lacked detail, but that only seemed to emphasise the silhouette of the tower. Marnie was convinced that if she only had time to think it through, she could work out what was troubling her. Anne came over with coffee.
“Blimey, is it that time already? How are you getting on with your designs?”
“Not bad,” said Anne, “but then I don’t keep getting interrupted by the phone. I wish I could take some of the calls, but they really need to talk to you.” She looked down at the clutter on Marnie’s desk and spotted the booklet. “Shall I take that out of your way? I can put it in the General file.”
“No, it’s okay there for a while longer. There’s something bothering me.”
“About the porch?”
“About the tower.”
“Me too.”
“What’s bothering you?”
“The vicar who was murdered,” said Anne. “I think the murderer was still there when they found the body. He must have been. He couldn’t have got out.”
“So where was he?”
“In the tower. It’s obvious. There’s nowhere else he could’ve been.”
“But they searched it and found nothing.”
“They didn’t search thoroughly enough. Either that or …”
“Or what?” said Marnie. “Do you think people were too scared to look in every corner?”
“I’m not sure. But there were lots of them and they probably had weapons of some sort. They’d gone there ready for a fight.”
“What then? Why should they risk letting the murderer get away?”
“It might have been a cover-up,” said Anne tentatively. “I remember this book we read at school, a Sherlock Holmes story. Holmes said when everything else has been resolved, whatever is left, no matter how improbable, has to be the answer.”
“So the murderer was still there and whoever searched knew where he was hiding and said nothing to give him away.”
“Yes.”
“I can see the logic of that, but I’m not sure I understand why.”
The phone rang. “I’ll get it,” said Anne. She handed the receiver to Marnie. “It’s Mike Thomas.”
“Mike! Hallo. Thanks for phoning.”
“Hallo, Marnie. I thought I’d better ring you about this church job. I can do it, only I haven’t got a lot of time just now. Perhaps we can work on it together.”
“Sure. It’s a while since we worked on a project. It’s nice to hear your Rhondda Valley voice again.”
“Marnie, I come from Llanelli.”
“I know that. But I can pronounce Rhondda Valley.”
“You think so?” He chuckled amiably and Marnie conjured up the image of her colleague. He was over six feet tall, with dark curly hair, a friendly round face and grey eyes that were slightly hooded and seemed perpetually on the verge of a slow smile. The type of Welshman they quarry in the mountains to make into rugby players. Lately he had come to specialise in restoring ancient buildings, cathedrals and monuments, the kinds of project that Marnie did not normally handle.
“Now, I’d better come and have a look at the job as soon as I can, so we can decide how to tackle it. Can you tell the vicar I’ll be up in the next few weeks? I’ll make a date once I’ve got my diary sorted out.”
After hanging up, Marnie made a note on the pad that Anne had provided by the phone.
*
Before lunch Marnie suggested a walk into the village to get some fresh air and a few things from the shop. The weather had turned cooler, and it was more like spring than summer as they walked quickly up the track. Reaching the road, they set off in opposite directions, Anne towards the shop, Marnie to the vicarage.
“This is a surprise. Won’t you come in?”
“I should have phoned really, but I wanted a walk and thought I might look in on the off-chance that you’d be here.”
“I am, as you see, but not for much longer.”
“I’ll not hold you up if you’re going
out.” The vicar showed Marnie into his study and they remained standing.
“I’m not sure if the bush telegraph extends as far as Glebe Farm. You may not have heard that I’m leaving Knightly St John. I can tell by your face that you hadn’t.”
“I had no idea. Isn’t this rather sudden?” It just slipped out. Not the most tactful thing to say.
“The Bishop has asked me to become Rural Dean of Brackley.”
“That has a pleasant ring to it. It sounds rather important. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. It is a promotion.”
“I didn’t think church people thought in those terms.”
“Well, we’re not in it for the money!” He laughed and his face lit up. He was a happy man. “I suppose that’s why we get so concerned with matters of principle and faith. It’s more or less all we have. If a vicar doesn’t believe deeply in something, he’s in the wrong job.”
“Yes, I can see that. Does that mean you’re no longer interested in the church porch? Or did you already know this was coming when you spoke to me about it?”
“No, I didn’t, actually. As you say, it’s all rather sudden. I’m sure my successor will want to pursue it. You’ve read the file. You know the urgency.”
“The urgency in the opinion of the diocesan surveyor,” said Marnie.
The vicar shrugged. “They know about these things. It’s their job.”
“But everyone thinks it was your priority.”
“I don’t have to hide behind somebody else. I accepted their view and got on with it. It was my responsibility.”
“And your successor, will he do the same?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know who’s been appointed. The Bishop’s office is sorting it out.” Marnie turned towards the door and remembered why she had come.
“Oh, I meant to tell you, my old firm in London has an architect to deal with the porch. He’ll come up in the next few weeks. He’s something of an expert on churches, did some work on York Minster.”
“Good. Thanks. I’m sure the new vicar will want to get things resolved as quickly as possible.”
“He can always wash his hands of it and say it’s the fault of the diocesan office.”