by Leo McNeir
“Put it away and sleep on it,” Marnie said. “It’ll seem different in the morning. Better still, lock it away for a week and come back to it afresh. I do that sometimes with designs. When I see them again, I know straight away whether they work or not.”
Ralph stared at her, standing by the bed in her white towelling dressing gown, running a brush through her hair.
“You have hidden depths, Marnie. And you’re absolutely right.”
“Are we going for this canal trip together?” Marnie asked. “We didn’t actually talk about details.”
“I half assumed I’d be staying here working on the TV series.”
“Don’t you think we deserve some time together, Ralph, you and I?”
“Absolutely!”
Marnie put the hairbrush on the shelf and sat at the foot of the bed. She kicked off her slippers and peeled off the dressing gown. Laying it down beside her, she slid under the duvet from the foot of the bed and began wriggling up towards Ralph.
“Ah!” he cried. “That tickles. What are you doing down there?”
He lifted the duvet and saw Marnie peering up at him with a devilish smile.
“Just like you said,” she whispered playfully.
“Like I said?”
“Absolutely. Hidden depths …”
*
Anne turned out the light in her attic room, yawned and rolled onto her side. She had concluded that evening that her life was made up of a number of loose ends. It did not bother her, but she knew she wanted to resolve them sooner rather than later.
She had had two telephone calls that evening since driving Donovan to the station. The first was from her parents. They were planning to go camping again, this time in north Wales. Her mother had asked if she would like to go with them, and Anne had explained diplomatically that the work situation made it difficult to commit herself.
The second was from Donovan. Ostensibly he was phoning to thank her for the lift to the station and to let her know he had got home in good time. His real purpose was to make the point that she too needed a holiday, something that no-one had mentioned over supper. That was one of the loose ends. What would she do that summer? Would she be spending some of it with Donovan? Another loose end.
Did she really want a holiday? The most exciting part of her life at that time was in Docklands. More than anything, she wanted to immerse herself in the project and play her part in making it a huge success.
Immerse herself, she thought. Yes. Her breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm. All around her was darkness and silence, acres of quiet countryside where the barn had nestled for hundreds of years. Anne was drifting off now, but her thoughts floated on. One image slipped into her mind. She saw the wet ground in the lower levels of the building site at Horselydown. She saw the terrified face of a man, hearing the water of the river as the tide seeped closer to his tethered arms and legs. She felt the river flow over her while she fell back through the ages into a restless, troubled sleep.
7
Plans
Thursday 21 June 1997
On Thursday morning at breakfast Marnie noticed that Anne seemed a shade less alert than usual. As Anne raised a hand to her mouth, Marnie looked up at the galley clock.
“At the third yawn it will be seven fourteen and thirty seconds,” she intoned in the clipped voice of the speaking clock.
Anne’s yawn turned into a splutter, which morphed into a hiccup.
“Marnie!” she exclaimed. “You nearly made me choke.” She laughed and added. “Sorry about the yawning.”
“Bad night?” said Marnie.
“Sort of. I kept having weird dreams and waking up.”
“Did those dreams involve people being tethered to the ground so the tide washed over them by any chance?”
Anne looked as if she did not want to continue the conversation. “Possibly.”
Ralph poured her some coffee. “It does all seem rather gruesome. Why don’t we concentrate on something more pleasant?”
“Such as?” Marnie asked.
“Planning the summer?” Ralph suggested. “None of us can afford the time to be out of the country for weeks on end, but Donovan was right about our having the means to take a really nice break.” He raised his hands to indicate the boat.
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Anne. “You and Marnie could at least fit in a week on the canals and maybe another week later on in the summer.”
“But what about you, Anne?” said Marnie. “You’re in as much need of a holiday as any of us after all your hard work in the office, plus your college course.”
“Well …”
“You have an idea?”
Anne sighed. “On the phone last night my mum said she and dad were going camping in north Wales. Richard’s going too, and she wondered if I’d like to go with them … a real family holiday, she said.”
“But? I sense a but creeping in here.”
Anne smiled ruefully. “Can’t say I really fancy it. Last time we went camping we were flooded out.”
“That was in Scotland,” said Marnie. “Wales is usually milder.”
“Positively sub-tropical,” Anne agreed.
“It’s got wonderful sandy beaches,” Marnie pointed out.
Anne nodded. “We could trek across the central desert region, find a nice oasis and camp out under the palm trees at the coast.”
“I take it you’re not overly keen, then,” said Ralph.
Marnie suddenly exclaimed. “Bulb!”
Ralph and Anne boggled at her.
“I’ve had one of those light bulb moments,” she said.
“Fetch the brandy,” Ralph said to Anne across the table, “the cooking sort, not the Courvoisier.” He turned to face Marnie. “Explain?”
“Where would any sophisticated, fashionable, culturally discerning young woman wish to spend her time?” Marnie asked.
“Can’t we get back to me?” Anne said, deadpan.
Marnie gave her the heavy eyelids. “Think about it.”
Anne looked at Ralph. They reflected, then spoke together in unison.
“Docklands?” they said.
The plan was formed there and then. Marnie and Anne would aim to complete the scheme design stage of the project by the end of the following week. Marnie would then set off with Ralph on one of the boats, probably Thyrsis, with her more modern facilities, and travel down to London. She would phone the BW office in Little Venice and try to get a mooring there for a few weeks.
Anne would travel to London by car and stay in Butler’s Wharf. With Marnie’s flat as a base, she could visit the capital’s museums and galleries, go to the theatre, see the sights and soak up the atmosphere. They all spotted that the plan had two drawbacks.
The first was that Anne would be taking her holiday alone, which was not much fun. Marnie suggested an obvious solution: Anne could invite a friend to stay with her. The second was that a holiday of that kind could be expensive. Another obvious solution: Marnie would deal with Anne’s credit card bill for the trip. It would be a holiday with pay or, given that Anne would be on hand for the construction site, if needed, partly an extended business trip. Their accountant could decide what was appropriate.
Both holiday plans seemed sound and proved to be so, at least until the first disaster struck.
8
Gold
Friday 29 – Saturday 30 June, 1997
Donovan had once told Anne he thought Marnie’s way of working could be compared – kindly – to Blitzkrieg. In the week or so that followed the decision about holiday plans, Anne had occasion many times to remember that comparison. While she handled most routine matters, Marnie applied herself with fierce concentration to finalising the design of the Horselydown complex, often charging on at lightning speed.
It seemed to Anne that Marnie worked like an artist. First she applied a colour wash, choosing a base colour for each part of her canvas, each area in the building. Then she mixed the palette, creating
nuances and shades to blend together to give tone and depth. Finally, she picked out the details with contrasting tints and textures, coverings, surfaces and fabrics.
By applying herself virtually non-stop for just over a week, Marnie laid out the whole scheme. Floor by floor, section by section, she passed the designs to Anne to examine and give her comments. In between these exercises, Anne was given the task of identifying images from books and the Internet that might serve as the basis for the murals that would eventually enhance and embellish the main entrance, the bars, lobbies and hallways. There was no shortage of material, and Anne fell upon her assignment with much the same application as Marnie. The atmosphere in the office in those days was focused and intense, but by no means frenetic.
On the following Friday, when Marnie pushed her chair back and stretched her arms towards the ceiling, the first phase of the Blitzkrieg was concluded.
In the meantime, Anne had kept the office running and had helped Ralph prepare Thyrsis for the trip to London. The two of them had worked happily together, washing down the topsides, checking all ropes and equipment in readiness for the journey. The engine had been serviced in the spring, and the diesel tank had been kept full throughout the winter. It only remained to clear the weed trap, check fluid levels and sluice out the fuel filter.
On Friday afternoon, while Marnie was gathering her designs into folders and labelling them, Ralph and Anne took Thyrsis on a trial run for a pump-out and to fill the water tank.
They were ready for off.
*
After supper that evening, Anne was in the utility area of the office barn ironing clothes for her London trip when Donovan rang.
“You might want to switch on the TV in about ten minutes,” he said. “Timeline is on tonight. It could be of interest.”
“Any drowned corpses or public hangings?” Anne’s tone was suspicious.
“No, a Roman villa.”
Anne could not think why Donovan believed this would interest her. “Just up my street,” she said.
“Actually,” said Donovan, “it’s up Ermine Street, somewhere near Peterborough. The point is, there’s a group of archaeologists from Cambridge taking part.”
“Cambridge?” Anne made the Roman connection. “Would that include Zoë Tipton?”
“I’d put money on it. Anyway, you said you were keen to bone up on archaeology. Here’s your chance. I’m going to record the programme.”
“You’re very keen, Donovan. You’re sure it’s the archaeology that interests you?”
“Professional interest,” he said. “I’m keeping a record of how the experts film excavations. It’ll help my project.”
Some minutes later, her packing more or less completed, Anne climbed the wall-ladder to the attic and switched on the television.
Timeline was a very popular series on archaeology that the BBC had been running for several years. Every year they took a single theme and followed excavations on that subject around the country. The current topic was the changes to the way of life in Britain brought about by the Roman occupation.
The previous year they had focused on witchcraft. That had brought one of the Timeline excavation teams to Knightly St John, including work on Marnie’s land at Glebe Farm.
The main presenter of the series was Professor Barnard ‘Barny’ Guthrie. Now in his early sixties, he had a talent for making complex subjects understandable by the average viewer. It was no wonder he had become one of the first celebrity archaeologists. He deliberately cultivated a highly individual style. Tall and rangy, with a mane of abundant white hair and a tendency to dress all in black, he had brought mass appeal to a subject that might otherwise have been regarded as dry and dusty. Barny Guthrie brought archaeology to life.
He also possessed formidable qualifications. After setting up one of the best university departments in the country, he had resigned at the age of fifty to concentrate on research, writing and television. He was the only archaeologist in Britain who had received awards both for academic achievements and television shows.
The professor had a talent for hand-picking colleagues who brought glamour to the subject. This not only gave the programmes a distinctive style, but added to Guthrie’s personal mystique. Naturally this brought him a considerable degree of envy in the academic world, but most detractors were wary of openly criticising a man who had brought the subject a national following.
Anne sat on her giant bean-bag at the foot of the bed and watched as Guthrie introduced the subject for that evening. Although not conventionally good-looking, he had craggy features that reminded her of the photo of Ian Fleming she had seen on the back of a James Bond paperback.
On the screen a map showed the location of digs all over Britain before homing in on a remote field in the flat Cambridgeshire countryside. Talking to camera, Guthrie explained that they had identified a substantial settlement, a village that had grown up on Roman foundations but had been wiped out by the Black Death in the thirteen hundreds. He introduced a local archaeologist involved in the excavation, who would explain in more detail.
And there she was.
The scene cut to an overhead panoramic view of the entire site. Anne remembered the enormous crane used for such shots that had towered over Glebe Farm like a monstrous dinosaur. Gradually the image had zoomed in towards a lone figure standing among mounds of excavated soil.
Zoë Tipton looked the epitome of archaeology chic. In the opening shot she was wearing a leather bush hat. A pale blue skinny top revealed bare arms and shoulders, as she pointed out different features of the site. The camera was steadily homing in on her.
Zoë must have been a cameraman’s dream subject, Anne thought, as she took in the long legs, made even more shapely by the briefest of shorts and the chunky boots with rolled down socks that completed the ensemble. At the bottom of the screen Anne noticed a scurrying group of figures and was not surprised when the image cut to a view from field level.
Another crew had taken over filming and, as if cued by a director, Zoë turned to face the camera while at the same time removing her hat to expose golden blonde hair, tied back in a ponytail. A few errant wisps played about her face, and she brushed them aside with an insouciant, languid gesture that Anne guessed she had rehearsed beforehand. With her lightly-tanned face, limbs and shoulders, everything about Zoë was golden.
The camera reluctantly abandoned her and returned to Barny Guthrie who took over the narrative to interview other members of the team. The content of the programme was lost on Anne who found herself looking out for Zoë. She was not hard to find.
Each time the director resorted to close-ups to give variety to the scenes, there were the smooth features of Zoë Tipton, sometimes in profile, sometimes in flattering shots with face looking down and eyes averted. On occasion, Anne could tell the cameraman was having to restrain himself from dwelling on glimpses of cleavage.
The whole team came together at the end of the programme to sum up the action, and Zoë gave a good account of herself when invited to contribute to the discussion of experts. As the credits began rolling, the final image before fading out was of Zoë in smiling conversation with Barny Guthrie. The late afternoon sun was shining in her golden hair. With consummate ease, Zoë Tipton had stolen the show.
9
Sticks in the Mud
Sunday – Monday, 1-2 July, 1997
Sunday morning brought the start of a new month. The residents of Glebe Farm awoke to high summer under a cloudy sky, with a cool breeze blowing from the west. By the end of breakfast, the clouds were giving way to a hazy sun, and the temperature was climbing slowly.
While Marnie and Ralph swabbed down the gunwales on Thyrsis, Anne descended on the red Mini, armed with sponge and chamois leather. Soon, both boat and car were gleaming, ready for departure. For one, the trip to London would be a voyage, a serene progress over hills and dales. For the other, it would be half a morning’s drive down the motorway.
At journey’s end,
new opportunities awaited them, but not in the way they expected.
*
By mid-day, Thyrsis was halfway round Milton Keynes. Marnie chose a secluded spot to tie up for lunch under shady trees that could have been miles from anywhere. In fact, they were little more than a short walk from the town centre.
Meanwhile, Anne had stowed the Mini in the underground car park in Docklands and made her way up to Marnie’s flat. Donovan arrived minutes later, having cycled across London. He had somehow managed to bring a small overnight bag strapped to the bike and a rucksack. From the latter he unpacked numerous items of food and drink from Germany, ranging from Pumpernickel and Bockwurst to Melitta Kaffee and Warsteiner Bier.
That night, Marnie and Ralph revelled in the tranquillity of the Bedfordshire countryside and a sense of freedom from everyday cares.
Anne and Donovan wallowed in the spaciousness of the Docklands flat, each of them luxuriating in their own individual bathroom before collapsing into each other’s arms under a lightweight duvet of Hungarian goose down.
*
Thyrsis proceeded calmly across country in the days that followed. For Marnie and Ralph it was the perfect way to relax together. In settled summer weather, they covered the miles to the capital at a soothing pace, all their thoughts and energies devoted to running the boat and living the simplest of lives.
*
On Monday morning the plan was for Anne to visit the British Museum and go on to the Courtauld Gallery. She would return late afternoon to take a short rest – or, as she put it, collapse in a heap – before preparing supper with Donovan.
For Donovan, it would be a day of filming, mainly with Dick Blackwood, laying down as much material as he could for his project.
At supper time they looked back on the day and realised that their plans had gone awry within minutes of leaving the flat.
They stepped out into the shady canyon formed by the Butler’s Wharf buildings. Walking along the cobbled way in the cool morning air, both felt elated at the prospect of the day before them. The underground passage led them to the building site beneath the traffic approaching Tower Bridge. They emerged into bright sunlight and turned to face each other. Anne was kissing Donovan temporarily goodbye when over his shoulder she noticed some kind of commotion beyond the perimeter fencing.