by Leo McNeir
“Can you hold out for another hour?” Donovan said.
“I s’pose so. I don’t expect you’ve got one of your German picnic meals hidden away somewhere in the coolbox?”
“Not this time. But didn’t we pass a pub on our way to the marina on Sunday? They’ll probably do food. We could look in quickly at the marina and see if Dick’s there on Arabella. If he is, we can all go for supper at the pub.”
It seemed a reasonable plan, and they hurried on their way.
*
“What do you think, Ralph? Have you any ideas about where Dick has gone?”
The meal that evening on Sally Ann was a modest affair. Marnie had bought salmon filets in the expectation that Anne and Donovan would be eating with them. When Anne had phoned with the revised plan, the filets had gone into the freezer, and the menu changed to omelette and salad.
“I think Donovan’s probably on the right track,” said Ralph. “I can’t think of anywhere else he might have gone.”
“But why has he run away in the first place?” Marnie shook her head. “What is going on?”
“Perhaps he’s on the verge of another revelation. It would resolve everything if he suddenly came up with irrefutable proof of his discovery.”
“And how would he do that?”
Ralph steepled his fingers. “To make the maximum impact he might contact the local TV stations and get them to film him in situ, holding up pieces recovered from the ground or under the sea or wherever.”
“Yes, that would be irresistible … a tale of buried treasure, the solving of a mystery eight hundred years old … a huge news story for the region.”
“For the country,” Ralph said, “probably for all Europe.”
Marnie looked thoughtful. “I hope Donovan’s got his cameras with him.”
*
Anne forgot all feelings of hunger as Donovan turned off the highway onto the access road for the marina. Without hesitation he drove into the car park and pulled up at the end of the pontoon leading to Arabella’s mooring. The engine note had barely died before Donovan was out of the car striding towards the boat. Anne had to admire his stamina. It had been a long and tiring day, and she had to make a supreme effort to drag herself from the seat.
The first inkling that something was wrong was the sight of Donovan standing motionless halfway along the pontoon, staring out to sea. The tide was in. Beyond the harbour wall in the mouth of the river, craft were bobbing among gentle waves. In the marina, the boats were floating on still water. But not all the boats. One of them was missing. Where Arabella should have been lying, there was an empty space. Donovan turned and looked towards the marina office. It was obviously closed. Horsfall and his staff must have left long ago.
The cark park was almost devoid of vehicles, but at the far end a solitary figure could be seen pulling equipment out of the back of a Land Rover. Donovan dashed past Anne without a word and made his way towards the stranger. Anne waited, too lacking in energy to pursue him. After a brief exchange, Donovan walked back. Anne could tell from the body language that he was not elated by what he had learnt.
“No luck?” she said.
“No. She said she’d been here for about an hour, working on her boat.”
“She?”
“Yeah. She’s the vice commodore here, or something like that. She can’t recall seeing anyone going out, but she’s been busy replacing some of the sheets on her boat and splicing the ends.”
These details meant nothing to Anne, but she judged that it was not the time to ask for explanations.
“So maybe Parfitt’s out sailing,” she suggested. “Perhaps he’s gone with Dick.”
“One way to find out.” Donovan pulled out his mobile and pressed buttons.
It surprised Anne that Donovan rarely looked up numbers. He had the knack of retaining them in his head.
“Gerald, it’s Donovan, Donovan Smith.” He held the mobile so that Anne could hear both sides of the conversation.
“Donovan, yes. What can I do for you?”
“We’re at the marina.”
“You’re still in Norfolk? I thought you were returning home.”
“We did. We went to Dick’s place in London, but that’s not why I’m phoning. Gerald, your boat’s not here. Her mooring’s empty. Were you aware of that?”
Silence.
“Can you hear me? I said –”
“Yes, I can hear you. I’m just rather taken aback.”
“You didn’t know she’d gone, obviously.”
“Well, no. You’re sure you’re looking in the right place?”
“Certain, but we’ll check everywhere. Could someone have moved her for any reason?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Have you had any contact from Dick? Could he have taken her out?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but he hasn’t been in touch with me.”
“Look, Gerald, there’s a woman here … Helen somebody … vice-commodore or something. I asked her, but she’s seen nothing. Presumably the only person who might know what’s happened would be Guy Horsfall.”
“Yes. I’ll give him a ring straight away.”
“Is there anything we can do while we’re here?” Donovan said.
“No, not really. Thanks for tipping me off, Donovan. I’ll deal with matters from here on.”
“Okay.”
“Before you go … did you say you’ve been to Dick’s lodgings?”
“Yes. We had a look around but –”
“You went in?”
“We were let in by his girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend? I see …” His tone suggested otherwise. “So you know what’s happened to him.”
“No. It’s complicated but she doesn’t know, either.”
“Did you see anything of interest?”
“Not really. We were only there for a short while, though we did notice there were maps on his desk.”
“Ah, yes, probably the ones I gave him.”
“He seems to have marked out some routes on tracing paper.”
“Across the wetlands?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Parfitt hesitated. “It seems odd he should be away, when those tracings were still there. They’re rather important.”
“That’s what we thought.”
“It sounds as if he must still be living there, don’t you think?”
Donovan paused before replying. “To be honest, Gerald, I’m not sure what to think.”
*
By the time they found the pub, Anne declared that she had gone through the hunger barrier and was no longer in need of food. Donovan persuaded her they both had to eat, and she chose a goat’s cheese salad from the menu. While Donovan ordered drinks at the bar, she phoned Marnie with the latest news.
As soon as Anne had her first taste of salad she realised her appetite had returned. Donovan too set about his scampi with enthusiasm, and for a while neither spoke. Taking a break from eating, Donovan summed up what they had both been thinking.
“If Parfitt was unaware that his boat was missing, we have to assume that Dick came and borrowed it. Does that seem reasonable?”
“He would have told you if he’d let anyone else use it,” Anne said.
“Then we have to ask ourselves why.”
Anne frowned. “What could he do if he’s alone on the boat? It’s hard enough keeping Sally Ann in the same place on a canal if there’s a lock opening or closing nearby. The least movement of the water and she starts wandering about.”
“So he can’t have gone diving on the treasure if he’s alone, that’s what you’re saying?”
“I think so.”
“He could use an anchor, I suppose. But setting that aside, we’re left with other possibilities.”
“Plural?”
“Of course. He may have taken the boat as a refuge to get away from everything.”
“That doesn’t seem very rational,” Anne said.
�
�If he’s as desperate as he seems, he’s way past rational.”
“Mm … Any other ideas?”
“He could’ve gone out to check a marker buoy or maybe to set a marker buoy.”
“But I got the impression he’d found the treasure somewhere inland.”
“Let’s face it, Anne, we don’t honestly have a clue where he found it, always assuming he did actually find it. What we really know about what did or did not happen is frankly anybody’s guess.”
They resumed eating, each of them mulling over the situation. Once again Donovan spoke first.
“When we’ve finished –”
“You want to go back to the marina.”
“You’re ahead of me, Anne.”
“It makes sense to take another look. After all, he might just have come down for a quiet think … taken the boat out for an hour or two’s gentle sailing to clear away the cobwebs. We might find him furling the sails or whatever you do after a trip.”
“Let’s hope you’re right.”
*
When they pulled in to the marina’s car park, they discovered they were not the only ones wanting to check if Arabella had returned. Standing at the end of the pontoon, Gerald Parfitt was searching the horizon with binoculars. He turned quickly on hearing their footsteps behind him.
“I take it you haven’t called the police,” Donovan said.
Parfitt looked uneasy. “No, or rather, not yet. I asked myself what if Dick had just come and borrowed her for a trip. He’s been through a lot lately. Sailing can soothe the troubled mind.”
“Just what we’ve been thinking,” Anne said. “We hoped we might find he’d come back.”
“Presumably Dick has his own set of keys for Arabella?” Donovan said.
“Yes. We’ve spent so much time working together we both have a set of each other’s keys. It makes it easier when coming and going.”
“So what will you do now?”
“Dick’s a strange bloke,” Parfitt said. “He’s very unpredictable. That’s why I’m hesitant about contacting the authorities. I think I might give it till morning and see if he’s returned by then. That’s when I’ll make a decision.”
*
The camp site looked unchanged from their previous visit, and Donovan erected the tent on the same pitch that they had occupied before. They used the showers, which revived them briefly, and Anne made one last call to report back to Marnie, while Donovan prepared the air mattresses and laid out the sleeping bags and pillows. It was an overcast evening but the air was warm, and the countryside lay peaceful around them.
Anne made herself comfortable while Donovan was switching off the lantern. Instead of climbing into his sleeping bag, he began slithering into hers.
“Oh, and what’s this?” she said.
“I thought you might like a little comforting after the energetic day we’ve had,” he said quietly.
“And what if I said I had a headache?”
“I’d find you some tablets and then get in my own sleeping bag.”
He began wriggling his way out. Anne put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s a good job I haven’t got a headache, then, isn’t it?”
26
Uschi
Wednesday 25 July, 1997
It was Wednesday morning, and Marnie had arranged to phone Philip to check on progress at Horselydown. She was surprised to be told by the receptionist at Everett Parker Associates that Philip was temporarily working every day at the site. He had taken over one of the huts and was using it as his main office. In addition, Nigel Beardsley was based there most afternoons. Marnie rang Philip on his mobile.
“You’re babysitting, Philip. That tells me you’re worried about the project.”
“The official line is, I’m maintaining a close personal interest in this as our flagship development. But the truth is yes, Marnie, I’m worried.”
“What in particular’s bothering you?”
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Bad as that? I thought we were just about on target.”
“Just about isn’t good enough for a job of this size, Marnie, with so many imponderables. I built in some flexibility on timing to give us breathing space, but that’s all been used up. We’ve had delays on the archaeology, the time taken out for health and safety inspections, the fatal accident enquiry, remedial works after the two disastrous structural collapses … need I say more?”
“You could mention the loss of the two site directors for the archaeology elements.”
“I rest my case, m’lud.”
“So any more delays and the programme goes out the window.”
“And costs more money,” Philip added. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could come down some time in the next few days?”
“Relief with the babysitting? Belt and braces? Or are there real issues concerning my designs?”
“One or two questions have been raised by the client, but they’re minor matters.”
“You’re in need of moral support, Philip.”
“If you could come for a day it would be a great help. Just the sight of you will reassure the directors of Willards, Marnie. You know they think the sun shines out of –”
“Okay, fine. I’m sure I can come down. Give me a day or so to get things sorted out here.”
“You’ve got problems, too?”
“No. It’s just that I’m short-handed at the moment. Anne’s away trying to track down Dick Blackwood. I don’t suppose he’s turned up on site, has he?”
“Not a sign of him, Marnie. I’d have let you know if he’d come back.”
“Sure. I’ll see you as soon as I can get away. Those questions you mentioned …”
“Oh, that … Willards would like some clarification of certain parts of the design.”
“No problem. Everything’s under control.”
Philip sighed. “You don’t know how good that sounds, Marnie.”
*
Breakfast for the campers was a polystyrene cup of machine coffee and a fruit pie, standing up in a filling station on the way to the marina. Showered, fed and watered and with a full tank of petrol, they were ready to face whatever the day produced. Arriving at the marina, they found it produced no change.
Arabella was still absent, the admin office was not yet open and there was no sign of Gerald Parfitt or the police. After a slow walk round the marina, Donovan suggested an early start back to Knightly St John.
It was barely seven o’clock when Donovan slipped on his aviators and they hit the road, with Anne plotting their best route while Donovan steered south and west. As soon as she was ready, Anne recited what she called her stepping stones, the main landmarks of the journey, to give Donovan a feel for the general direction. She calculated a total drive time of around three hours, traffic and road works permitting.
Donovan’s preferred driving style was to cruise, and once they had settled into a steady rhythm, Anne voiced a question that had been preying on both their minds.
“You don’t suppose this could all be just a big fuss about nothing, do you?”
“That thought did cross my mind when we were waiting outside Dick’s lodgings, but now I’m seriously concerned about him.”
“You don’t think he’s … done something stupid, do you?”
Donovan chuckled. “I love the British way of putting things.”
“What d’you mean?”
“The Brits say something like, If anything happens to me, when what they mean is, If I’m mown down by the number 93 bus and get horribly mangled with bits of me scattered all over the road …”
Anne grimaced. “You don’t think that’s what’s happened to Dick, do you?”
“I don’t think the 93 bus runs in that part of London.” Deadpan Donovan.
Anne giggled. “Idiot! But you know what I mean.”
“You mean, do I think he might have committed suicide? It seems to me something’s wrong about the whole situation, b
ut we’ve heard so many sides to the story that I’m really not sure what to think.”
“Nor me.”
They came to a series of roundabouts near Peterborough, which required Donovan’s full attention. When they were finally following their new direction, Anne posed another question.
“As a matter of interest, what do Germans say for If anything happens to me, and that sort of thing?”
Donovan chuckled again. “Actually we say, Wenn etwas ist, which in literal translation means, If something is …”
“That’s even more of a euphemism than we use,” Anne said, “even more obscure.”
Donovan was grinning. “Yes. My German side is often worse than my British side.”
“It must be very confusing being you, Donovan.”
“Tell me about it … as we Brits say.”
*
Not long after reaching her desk, Marnie’s phone rang.
“Walker and Co, good morning.”
“Good morning. Is Donovan there, please?”
A woman’s voice, young, lightly accented.
“I’m afraid he isn’t here at the moment. Can I help you? I’m Marnie Walker.”
“Oh yes. He has spoken of you. Will you see him today? I’ve tried his London number and his mobile, but no success.”
“He’s in Norfolk, or rather on his way back from there. He’s driving, so his mobile will be switched off.”
“It’s important I speak with him. Urgent.”
“Certainly. Your name, please?”
“Ursula.” Her pronunciation was unfamiliar to Marnie’s ear.
“Sorry?”
“Just say Uschi. I’ll spell it for you.”
Marnie wrote down the strange name. She thought she had heard Anne mention it before.
“I’ll get him to ring you the minute he arrives. He has your number?”
“I’m at home. Thank you.”
*
Anxious to get back as quickly as possible, they made just one brief stop at a service station. While Anne used the loos, Donovan ordered coffee. Anne bought two Mars bars at the newsagents on the way out, and they were on the road again within a few minutes.
Her map reading was faultless, and the Beetle gobbled up the miles. The sunshine of recent weeks had been replaced by cooler, cloudier weather, ideal for long journeys in a car without air conditioning. With the added comfort of the ergonomic seats and the sound-damping of the interior, they arrived back at Glebe Farm without fatigue at the end of their journey.