Sally Ann's Summer (Marnie Walker)

by Leo McNeir

  “Benny, what are you talking about?”

  Benny gave the final pull on the pump.

  Sheena appeared at Gary’s side. “Ham baguette, no mustard.” She returned to their table.

  More customers arrived, so Gary ordered the same and carried the drinks back, puzzling over why Benny was talking in riddles.

  Sheena sipped her lime and lemonade. “So what’s on your mind, Gary, apart from the usual?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t give me that.” She smiled beguilingly.

  “Well, there is something.”

  “I can always tell.”

  He looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Remember that business about the old boy and his, er, valuables?”

  “’Course I do.”

  “This is all very secret, right?”

  “Gary …” She sounded pained.

  “Well, you know he died.”

  “And?”

  “It looks like we’ve found his stuff.”

  “Go on.”

  “He left this letter with a bloke who’s got a boat here, solicitor. Like a will, almost. Anyway, he left his things, these valuable things … to Marnie.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “I know what you mean, but she was surprised, very.”

  “Really?” Sheena sounded unconvinced.

  “Honest. She didn’t see why she should have them.”

  “Have what exactly, Gary?”

  He leaned forward. “Probably the lost papers of William Jessop. He was a canal engineer, two hundred years ago, very important.”

  “How valuable is very important?”

  Gary shrugged. “Dunno. Very valuable to a museum, I suppose.”

  “So all this fuss has been about a load of dusty old … papers?”

  “Original plans and drawings of early canals, very good condition, from what I saw.”

  “Amazing.” Sheena sounded underwhelmed. “Oh well, it’s a pity your mate Gravel isn’t around, then.”

  “Why?”

  “He’d be pleased, wouldn’t he?”

  Gary stared into his beer. “Ecstatic.”

  Marnie immersed herself completely in sorting through the Jessop documents. She spent two hours spreading the papers out all over her flat, amazed at how much material there was.

  Faced with the practical problem of what to do with the legacy, Roger had offered an immediate solution. What are Volvo estates for? He had fetched his car and they loaded the whole package into the cargo space, before travelling in convoy to Hampstead.

  Alone in the flat with her legacy, Marnie laid out the plans and drawings in the living room, the notes and calculations in the guest-room, the correspondence in her bedroom and the bills and costings on the kitchen table. The apartment began to smell like a library. Dolly sniffed everything with suspicion. The next task was to stand several of the drawings around the walls, till the living room looked like a gallery.

  Catching sight of the clock, she remembered she had to ring Philip to fix a meeting. The receptionist put her through, but a different voice answered.

  “Marnie, it’s Faye. Philip’s at lunch.”

  “Long lunch. It’s nearly three.”

  “That’s how it is these days, long working lunches.”

  “Is that good, lots of work coming in?”

  Faye sounded surprisingly distant. “Couldn’t say.”

  “I see, or perhaps I don’t. Faye, is there a problem in the office?”

  “Sort of.”

  “But you can’t talk about it on the phone in the office.”

  “That’s right. So, how are things with you, Marnie?”

  “Actually, things are very interesting. I’ve just inherited – if that’s the right word – a load of plans, drawings and papers from two hundred years ago, possibly the lost collection of one of the great canal engineers.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “They’re spread out all over the flat. You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “How long have you had them?”

  “Since this morning.”

  “Let me guess. You’ve been so absorbed in them that you haven’t eaten anything?”

  “Eaten? Well, yes, I suppose that’s right, but –”

  “Can I see this collection, Marnie?”

  Sheena insisted. Gary had to tell her all about Marnie’s legacy. Between mouthfuls of baguette, he gave her the whole story, since Gravel first talked about it. He ended with the finding of the papers hidden on the boat that morning.

  “So where are they now?” Sheena removed a tiny crumb from her lip with a perfectly painted fingernail.

  “Marnie’s flat. She’s a dark horse, that one. I bet she knew all along the old boy had something valuable.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re wrong about that, Gary.”

  “Then why would he leave all those things to a woman he hardly knew?”

  Sheena shrugged. “No harm in it. She probably brought a little sparkle into his life.”

  Gary grinned. “You bring sparkle into my life, Sheena.”

  “Yes, well, in Old Peter’s case I don’t suppose Marnie did it in quite the same way.”

  Gary rested a hand on her knee under the table. She stood up, muttered ‘powder my nose’, and walked off across the saloon. Several heads turned as she passed.

  While she was away Gary wondered about Marnie. Had she known about the valuables? She was good-looking, all right, and could easily have charmed a lonely old man, but unlike many attractive women, she didn’t flaunt herself. He was convinced that Marnie had not wheedled her way into Old Peter’s affections with an ulterior motive.

  Sheena emerged from the Ladies’ room. Gary could sense radar antennae twitching. Every time he saw her, he could hardly believe his luck. Passing the bar, she stopped briefly as Benny spoke to her. She nodded and continued on her way. As she sat down, she crossed her legs. Gary tried and failed to avert his gaze.

  “I’ve got a message for you, Gary, from Benny.”

  “A message?”

  “I think it’s about a car.”

  “What car?”

  “Something about … a Siesta? Isn’t that a type of Ford?”

  Gary looked over to the bar; Benny was serving a customer. “Are you sure that’s what he said?”

  “I think so. I don’t normally run a messaging service, but I try to be accurate about things as a rule.”

  “So what did he say about this … Siesta?”

  “He said to mention that and then say one word: cement. Does that mean anything to you, Gary?”

  Gary raised the glass to his lips. Riddles suddenly seemed to be the fashion in Little Venice. He puzzled over the strange message. Siesta … cement … Definitely a riddle … cement … siesta …

  Sheena jumped in surprise as Gary choked on his beer.

  Marnie greeted her visitor with a hug. Faye tottered, clutching a large box in one hand and a bottle in the other, trying not to trip over Dolly.

  “Come in. Great to see you again. Hey, what’s all this?”

  “Not very original, Marnie, but I’m guessing you still haven’t eaten so I’ve brought supper. King-size deep-pan pizza – Four Cheeses with extra Pepperoni – and a bottle of Chianti.”

  Marnie grinned. “Everett Parker Associates is running Meals on Wheels?”

  “Not quite, but this could be useful practice. We may all soon be delivering pizzas full time.”

  Marnie’s smile faded. “You kept a straight face when you said that.”

  She took the pizza box and ushered her friend into the kitchen. Faye put the wine down beside a pile of Jessop’s documents. Without touching them, she lowered her face and began reading. The item on top was a list of payments to workmen.

  “So, the famous papers. I love the old-fashioned handwriting. It’s a work of art.”

  Marnie slid the pizza into the oven and beckoned to Faye who was stroking the cat.

  “You�
�ve seen nothing yet. Come in here.”

  “Okay, but first I’ve got a message from Philip. Could you meet him tomorrow at eleven.”

  “That’s fine. Will you be there?”

  “No. I rather got the impression this was just you, Marnie.”

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “I don’t mean to speak out of turn. A lot of what I’ve heard is no more than gossip.”

  Marnie led the way into the living room. “Then we’ll pay no attention to it. We’ll just eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow …”

  “Don’t say that, Marnie.” Faye walked into the living room. “It can’t be as bad as …” She came to a halt inside the doorway.

  The room was filled with drawings, the like of which she had never seen before. She stood open-mouthed and uttered one long syllable.

  “Wow!”

  48

  Designs

  Marnie was surprised when Roger Broadbent phoned early on Tuesday morning and asked if he could call by before going into the office. When he arrived, his reaction to the picture gallery that had once been Marnie’s living room matched Faye’s.

  “Wow!”

  “That’s the in-word at the moment, Roger.”

  “Marnie, this is extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Marnie agreed. “And to think Old Peter and his family kept them hidden all those years. Something’s been bothering me. Why did they feel they had to protect the collection?”

  “Good question, Marnie. I asked the curator of the National Canal Museum.”

  “Did he have a good answer?”

  “He said it was a mystery.”

  “No wonder he’s got to the top. Do you have any views, Roger?”

  “Well actually, I do. It may be far-fetched, but I think there was a concerted attempt to suppress Jessop’s role in favour of stressing the importance of someone else.”

  Marnie had a flash of memory, a sunny morning near the Blisworth tunnel, a conversation over breakfast with Betty Atkins and her husband. … It's a bit of a hobby horse of Ken's …

  “Thomas Telford,” she muttered.

  “Exactly!”

  “But why?”

  Roger shrugged. “Ego, jealousy, professional rivalry?”

  “Is that what you came to tell me, Roger?”

  “Not entirely. Partly, I was curious to see the collection. But there was something else … two things, actually.”

  “Oh?”

  “When I spoke to the curator – Donald Stephens … I know him slightly – I took the liberty of asking him how important these papers were and what he thought should be done with them.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He’d be very glad if you’d talk to him. Marnie, I hope you don’t think I’m –”

  “I’ll phone him today.”

  “Good. I think sooner rather than later, if you see what I mean.”

  “Sure. I have a meeting this morning that’s rather important and I’ve got some thinking to do, but –”

  “Of course, Marnie. This is the return from your sabbatical, isn’t it? You must have a lot on your mind.”

  Marnie grinned. “You know, I’m on such a high with all this …” She made a sweeping gesture around the room. “… I don’t think anything could bother me at the moment.”

  “I don’t like to be a wet blanket, Marnie, but I think a single word might just do that. It’s the other thing I wanted to mention to you.”

  “Try me.”

  “Insurance.”

  Gary was up bright and early that Tuesday morning, another fine day in Little Venice. Everything was going right for him. True, Sheena had not stayed the night, but the previous evening she had proved she had lost none of her sparkle or inventiveness.

  Sheena was now firmly back in his life, though she did seem to have a lot on her mind. Declining the invitation to stay, she had explained.

  “It’s called responsibility, Gary. In my new position …” She didn’t have a job any more; she had a position. “… I’ve got more to think about, more to do, more to learn.”

  That was something else he had noticed. She seemed to speak in threes these days. When he had pointed this out, she told him it had been part of her presentation skills module.

  “You sell toothbrushes in packs of three?” She had rolled her eyes. He had persisted, with a twinkle in his eye. “Talking of packs of three …”

  “Gary!”

  “What do you mean, then?”

  With more rolling of the eyes, she had explained. “It’s management, Gary. On the course they taught us that you have to be multi-faceted, multi-skilled, multi … well all sorts of things, really.”

  She used longer words a lot these days: objectives, brand recognition, positioning. She certainly knew a few things about positioning, he thought. He poured the breakfast tea and lit the breakfast cigarette. He had no problem with her new ideas, if it kept her happy.

  After breakfast he had to call in at the BW office. Mike Brent, the manager, wanted to see him about a job. Setting off along the towpath, Gary’s mind was filled with Sheena. He did not spare a glance at the pool. After the blip of her absence, the world was wonderful again.

  Sheena was back, work was coming in, money was coming in. Three good things, he thought.

  Marnie phoned the National Canal Museum at nine o’clock. Roger had alarmed her about what might happen to the Jessop papers if she was burgled or the roof fell in. Her home contents insurance policy would definitely not cover them.

  “I’d like to speak to the curator, please.”

  “Mr Stephens is in a meeting. Can anyone else help?”

  “It's really the curator I need.”

  “Could you give me an idea of the nature of your enquiry?”

  Marnie took a deep breath. “My name is Marnie Walker. I think I’ve just inherited the lost papers of William Jessop.”

  In less than twenty seconds the curator was on the line. He arranged to come to London the following afternoon.

  Now it all starts to happen, Marnie thought.

  Gary was stunned. “You want me to do what?”

  “I know it’s only about an hour’s work,” Mike Brent said, “but you’ll get paid for half a day, usual rate.”

  “Are you out of your tiny mind?”

  “What’s the problem, Gary? All I’m asking you to do is get a crane and lift that wooden crate out of the pool. You’ve done it before.”

  “You are definitely joking. This is a wind-up, right?”

  “No, Gary. It’s a job. You’re familiar with the term?”

  “Yeah, and look what happened the last time I lifted a crate out of the pool.”

  “Gary, that was a one-off. How many murders have we ever had in Little Venice? The place is as safe as houses.”

  “You’ve got a short memory, Mike.”

  “It’s just a routine job.”

  Gary shook his head. “My mate won’t bring his JCB this time, no chance.”

  “This time, I can organise a salvage boat fitted with a crane. It’s at St Pancras Basin, but you’d have to go and fetch it. I’m short of manpower, otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “I don’t believe this.”

  “Be reasonable, Gary. I don’t want this crate bashing a hole in a tupperware and BW having to pay compensation.”

  Gary turned towards the door. “I can’t do it. Out of the question.”

  “That’s your final word?”

  “That’s my final word.”

  Marnie was in for a few surprises that morning. The first came when she looked in on her design group office before the meeting with Philip.

  It was not the cards and flowers decorating her desk that made her stop in the doorway; it was the staring. All talking ceased as soon as she appeared. Fleetingly, she felt like a French aristo trundling through the streets of Paris in a tumbrel on her way to the guillotine.

  Faye broke the silence. “Welcome back, Marn
ie.”

  She got up, crossed the room and gave Marnie a hug. The other members of the team quickly regained their composure and gathered round, everyone smiling, taking turns to kiss her on the cheeks. Once Marnie had torn herself away, Faye followed her out into the reception area.

  “That was very odd, Faye.”

  “I know. I should have foreseen that, but I didn’t know how people would react.”

  “To what?” Marnie could hear the blade of the guillotine falling. “Do they know something I don’t know?”

  “No. It’s just … well, you have changed rather a lot.”

  “In what way?”

  “For a start, your tan wouldn’t look out of place on the Riviera. Also – don’t mind me saying this – but you’re slimmer than you were before you went off, quite a bit slimmer.”

  Marnie reflected. “I suppose I have been getting a lot of exercise these past months.”

  “More than that, Marnie. You’ve got a kind of … aura.”

  Marnie was incredulous. “All I did was step into the office.”

  Faye laughed. “I know, but you somehow … exude confidence. You look fit, dynamic.”

  Marnie saw Philip walking towards them. He looked worried.

  “Let’s hope it sees me through,” she murmured.

  Gary lowered the crane head towards the water and stopped it a foot or so below the surface. Muttering to himself … I must be raving mad … he put the crane boat into gear. He had been muttering since he first collected the salvage boat, Pigeon, from St Pancras. The journey had given him time to prepare a plan. This time there would be no risk of smashing the crate.

  Gary would nudge the crate towards Brendan, who was poised at the water’s edge. Brendan would hold it against the side while Gary moored. Together they would manhandle it out of the water. At the first hint of anything unsavoury they would inform Mike Brent and he would have to sort it out.

  A small crowd of onlookers was standing further along the bank. It was the start of the lunch period, and numbers grew as the word got round. A lugubrious curiosity was settling over Little Venice.