by Leo McNeir
“Good.”
A lively hornpipe filled the cabin, giving it a festive atmosphere. Marnie was reading a feature about an artist in Rome who had made a wonderful apartment in an ancient tower overlooking a square in the city centre. Her mind was filled with vaulted stonework, city roofscape views and deep cream sofas. Anne was leafing through photos, taking occasional sips from a glass of pressed orange. Suddenly she looked up.
“Marnie?”
“Mm?”
“The towpath in Regent’s park …”
“What about it?”
“Dodge said it was locked after dark.”
“It is.”
“That other man, the man with Tim Edmonds, do you think he could’ve been on a boat?”
Marnie dropped the magazine onto her lap and sat upright. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It could explain why he was there and how he got away.”
“Yes, I suppose it could. But that’s all it does explain. I mean, why would he be meeting Tim Edmonds? If we believe Dodge, the two men were friends. That’s why they were chatting and drinking together.” Marnie shook her head. “No, it doesn’t add up. It just doesn’t make any kind of sense.”
“No?”
“Can you imagine someone like Tim Edmonds meeting someone and drinking with them on the canal towpath in the dark on a winter’s evening? It’s all so improbable. Can you imagine someone like, say, Ralph or Anthony James, doing such a thing? It can’t be right.”
Anne said, “I was just trying to think of other possibilities. You remember that Sherlock Holmes story where Holmes says after everything’s been discounted, whatever’s left has to be the truth?”
“Yes, but I don’t think we’ve exhausted all the possibilities yet. There’s probably some simple reason that we haven’t thought about, that’s all.”
“I suppose so,” Anne agreed reluctantly.
They lapsed back into silence while a slower movement of the Water Music wafted over them. They went back to their reading. After a few minutes, Anne spoke.
“Can I interrupt you again, Marnie?”
“Sure. But don’t expect any clever theories about how the mystery man got out of the park.”
“No, it’s not that. I wanted to ask you something about Malcolm Grant.”
“Go ahead.”
“I thought you said you didn’t meet him until after Christmas.”
“That’s right. Don't tell me you’re doubting me as well.”
“I'm not, I never would, but this photo, it looks as if it was from before Christmas.”
Anne held up a Polaroid from Malcolm’s flat. Marnie looked across. “I took those the day after I drove Ralph to the airport, whenever that was … second or third, I suppose. Why do you think it’s from before Christmas?”
Anne passed it over. “Look at the sideboard. What do you see?”
Marnie studied the photo. “Bottles, a decanter, a soda siphon. Give me a clue.”
“Look next to the decanter, on the left. What’s that?”
“Oh yes, something shiny. I can’t see it very well in this light. What do you think it is?”
“It’s obvious. It’s a Christmas present.”
Marnie stared harder, moving the photo closer to the lamp. “Yes. You’re right.” She thought back to that morning in Malcolm’s flat, the solitary present in its elegant wrapping on the beautiful Chippendale sideboard. The Christmas present that Tim Edmonds had never received.
20
Thursday 12 January – morning
“… so we’ll begin the forecast with the South-East, including the London area, East Anglia, the East Midlands and Lincolnshire. The morning will be mainly overcast with occasional breaks in the cloud giving a few glimpses of sunshine. Brighter weather will gradually spread from the South-West. Temperatures will be a little higher than of late, around the seasonal average of eight to ten degrees. There will be a fine evening and a clear sky tonight, bringing the risk of frost in sheltered areas …”
Marnie was in the shower-room brushing her hair. She called out to Anne in the saloon. “I should’ve thought to get my hair trimmed while I was here. Be nice to see Julie again.”
“Why don’t you?”
“No time. Anyway, I’d never get an appointment at such short notice.”
“You could try telling her you were a Knight of the Realm,” Anne suggested.
Marnie laughed. “It would have to be a Dame of the Realm in my case. It doesn’t have the same ring to it, somehow.” She walked through to the saloon, pulling on her black Cossack coat. “Can you imagine the receptionist at the salon …” Marnie put on her best ‘Cockney sparrow’ voice. “Julie, there’s some dame on the phone wants a cut and blow-dry …”
Anne shrieked with laughter. “Does she really sound like that?”
Marnie flashed her the heavy eyelids and the Marlene Dietrich pout. “In Hampstead, are you kidding? They’re all Sloane Rangers up there.” Marnie put on her fur hat – imitation fur – and adjusted it carefully. “How does that look?”
“Terrific. You look like a film star.” Anne beamed at her.
“Seriously.”
“I mean it.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind. You’re very welcome to come with me.”
“No. I want to stay here this morning. You go round and see your friends. I’m going to have a shower, wash my hair, and not have to rush, just relax. I want to read through the things we got from Philip so that I know all about the projects. Pity I haven’t got any files here or I could book them all into our system. Never mind, I’ll clip them together all ready to file when we get back. And I want to work out some ideas for designs.”
“That’s your idea of a relaxing morning, is it?”
“I’ll be fine, Marnie.” She did not need to add that she had no wish to get in the way when Marnie chatted with her old team at Everett Parker Associates.
“See you later, then. You’re in charge, number one.”
“Aye aye, skipper.”
*
An hour later, Anne gathered the last of the papers together and put them in their folder. She was thinking about them while she got up to make coffee. For the first time during her stay on that arm of the canal, a boat went slowly past. She watched it through the galley window, but moved back out of sight as the steerer came into view. A reflex action. Anne moved quickly through the boat, checking all the windows and hatches. Everything was secure. She went into Marnie’s cabin and found the mobile phone on its cradle, the light glowing to show it was fully charged. She picked it up and took it into the saloon.
Automatically, Anne switched on the mobile, plugged in the external aerial, opened the window and attached the magnet base of the aerial to the roof of the boat. She opened her notebook and dialled the office at Glebe Farm to access the answerphone. A friendly voice told her she had two messages.
Beep. “Marnie, it’s Roger. I hope you pick this up. You seem to have Rumpole’s phone switched off. Slight snag, I’m afraid. John Stevens from BW has been on to me about using that mooring. It appears that Jonathan and Michelle are coming back earlier than expected. Something to do with the boatyard where they were having repairs done. Anyway, they’ve already set off and will be there some time tomorrow, that’s Thursday. Sorry about this, but there’s nothing we can do about it. I suggest you take Rumpole back to my mooring tonight. Give me a ring when you can.”
Thursday. That’s today! Anne thought. Perhaps the boat that went past was them. What could she do? Before she could think more about it, the beep sounded again.
“This is Malcolm ringing on Wednesday at about four o’clock. I hope you’re okay, Marnie. Haven’t heard from you for a while. Assumed you’re at home. I’ve been moving offices and I’ve got a new number in the House. Would you like to ring and compare notes when it’s convenient? Thank you. My new number is as follows …”
Anne scribbled the number on her pad. There was a final beep an
d she pressed the button to save the messages for Marnie to hear later. So that was Malcolm Grant, she thought. He had a pleasant voice, calm and polite, but it sounded strained. An anxious voice tinged with melancholy.
Anne stood up and opened the side doors giving on to the bank. She climbed the steps and looked around like the periscope of a submarine. The air was less chilly, though her breath clouded, and it was refreshing to be out in the open after the enclosed warmth of the cabin. The boat that had passed had disappeared from view in the direction of Paddington Basin and St Mary’s Hospital half a mile away. If that boat had been Jonathan and Michelle, presumably the owners who were returning to their mooring, they may have gone up to turn round. But Anne convinced herself it could not have been them. That boat had passed without hesitation. No-one had slowed to investigate Rumpole. They would surely have come alongside and made contact. She had time to think and plan.
She thought through the possibilities. It was obvious. Marnie had to be told about the change of plan at once. From the file she checked the Everett Parker Associates headed notepaper for their phone number and pressed the buttons on the mobile, asking to be put through to Faye Summers.
“You’ve just missed her, Anne. She went out a couple of minutes ago.”
“Right, I’ll wait till she gets back. Thanks.”
“No. I meant she went out to a meeting. One of the clients came in and Philip suggested they go out to have a look at the job as Marnie was in town. She may be gone for a while.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Is it urgent? You could try Marnie on her mobile.”
“I’m using it for this call. Can I ring Philip’s mobile? Do you have his number?”
“Philip’s? He hasn’t got a mobile. Hates them. Philip’s in the dark ages as far as technology’s concerned.”
“What about the client? Do you have his phone number?”
“It’s a her, and the flat doesn’t have a phone yet. The conversion’s not finished. Still a building site.”
Anne sighed. “Back to the drawing board …”
“The designer’s motto. You’re learning, Anne.”
Anne was determined to be positive. If the people came back wanting their mooring, she could move Rumpole herself. No probs. So that was all right. She could not ring Roger, because she did not have the office address book and did not have his numbers. That would have to wait until Marnie was back. Okay so far. The one number she did have was for Malcolm Grant. Her first thought was that she should wait for Marnie to deal with this. But there was something in his voice, a weariness, a sadness, that made her want to do something to help. She remembered how Marnie had seen him weeping at the back of the church, alone and grief-stricken. Now the police were treating him as a suspect, like Marnie. She desperately wanted to help. It would be just a quick word to let him know they had received his message and that Marnie would be in touch soon. There could be no harm in that, and she would not say they were away from home.
After three rings the answerphone cut in. It was an impersonal woman’s voice, the official voice-mail machine inviting her to leave a message. “This is a message for Mr Malcolm Grant. I’m phoning from Walker and Co on Thursday morning. Marnie Walker is at a meeting just now and will be asked to phone you back when she returns. Thank you.”
That should do the trick for now, she thought, and ticked the item off her list.
*
Thursday 12 January – afternoon
The sound of the gate shutting brought Anne to the window, dropping her magazine to the floor. She opened the doors and stood aside to let Marnie climb in.
“Have you eaten, Anne?”
“I had a sandwich. What about you?”
“We had something in a pub. This client turned up while I was with Faye. There were complications with the job, so Philip suggested we go and see the site for ourselves.”
“I know. It’s okay. Faye told me when I rang.”
Marnie slipped off her coat and draped it over a chair. “You rang?”
“Yes. We’ve got complications here, too.”
“Damn! I knew I should’ve phoned you. I’m trying not to use the mobile. What’s the complication?”
Anne gave Marnie the mobile to listen to the messages. While listening, Marnie muttered: “There’s a third message, a new one.” She listened in silence. After switching off, she said: “Well, that’s some good news, at least. Or should I say at last? The radiators are coming next week. Hurray! We can get number two going again.”
Suddenly they froze as two bangs thudded on the side of Rumpole. Marnie leapt to the window to see a boat pulling slowly alongside. At the bow she saw the name Magician. Anne climbed up the steps through the cabin doors and looked across the roof. It was an old, scruffy boat, dark green and dull black, in need of a repaint, inching along beside them. Standing on the near gunwale was a young man with a pony tail. At the tiller was a pretty young woman wearing an army greatcoat. Both were smiling. Marnie appeared next to Anne.
“You must be Jonathan and Michelle? Sorry to be on your mooring. We’ll move right away. Do you fancy a cup of tea?”
*
“You could solve all the problems in the whole world like this,” Michelle said in a dreamy voice as they sat in the warm, comfortable saloon on Rumpole. She had her feet curled up under her on the chair.
“With tea and biscuits?” Anne suggested.
“Tea, coffee, a pint, a spliff … anything’d do.” She smiled like a cat in the sun.
*
Marnie decided to swing the boat round the big weeping willow on Browning Island where the swans nested, to line up for the toll house bridge on the run back to the mooring. Even in the middle of winter this was a magic place, with a terrace of tall white stucco houses looking down on the pool over the finely-wrought black railings. She straightened the tiller passing the art gallery barge moored on the towpath side of the island and set their course to take Rumpole home.
“I liked Jonathan and Michelle,” Anne said, turning her collar up against the cold breeze.
Marnie nodded. “Pity they had to come back now, though. That was a good place to stay, nice and secluded.”
“Not their fault they had to leave the boatyard because of that barge needing the dry dock.”
“No, and they could hardly stay there with all that banging and welding going on around them. Never mind.” She set the speed to dead slow for the last hundred metres, as they passed the boats lining both banks.
“Marnie, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” Anne pulled a face. “You may not be very pleased with me.”
“Unless you’ve given details of our hiding place to a sinister foreign power bent on our destruction, I doubt there’s anything that would trouble me overmuch.”
“Ah, guess what. I used the mobile to leave a message for Malcolm Grant.” Anne grimaced.
“Well,” Marnie said, “I don’t think that’ll do any harm. In any case, we’re not there now, so no-one could trace us if they tried.”
“I suppose not. Are we just going to stay on Rumpole’s mooring, then?”
“Actually, I was wondering about that. I have a suggestion. Suppose I go to see Ralph for a few days?”
“I could go home for the weekend. Mum did say she’s got some clothes for me that she’s washed and ironed.”
“Okay. You wouldn’t mind?”
“’Course not. You’ve hardly seen Ralph since he got back. What about Malcolm Grant?”
“I’ll phone them both from a call-box and I’ll arrange to see Malcolm one day next week. Perhaps he’s got some more information.”
They were approaching the gap in the line of boats, and Marnie slowed down using reverse gear. With skill born of experience, she slotted Rumpole neatly into the mooring, and they tied the boat securely fore and aft.
*
By the time Anne’s train pulled out of Euston station, Marnie’s plans for the coming days were in place. She would stay on Rumpol
e that night after her meeting, or whatever it was to be, with Ray Curtis and drive up to Ralph’s cottage in Murton on Friday morning. On Monday, she would collect Anne from Leighton Buzzard and they would return to Knightly St John for a day or two to get their projects underway, before Marnie went briefly to London to see Malcolm Grant. She would discuss his redecoration scheme and compare notes on the Tim Edmonds affair. With any luck, life might return to normal, and they could look forward to spring. Marnie was pleased with her plans. They were as neat as one of Anne’s lists.
*
Thursday 12 January – evening
Crossing the busy roads outside the tube station that evening, Marnie had no difficulty in spotting the Mondeo estate car in the side street. She climbed in and found herself sitting beside a man with a pleasant face, a friendly smile and a warm handshake.
“It’s nice of you to see me, Mr Curtis.”
“First of all, call me Ray. Only my bank manager calls me Mr Curtis … makes me feel nervous. Second, it’s a pleasure. And I mean that. Philip said it would be.”
“Well, I’m still grateful. Anything I can find out about Tim Edmonds might help me understand what’s going on. I feel completely in the dark. The police don’t tell me anything. The press and media don’t give any news except repeating what they’ve already said.”
“That’s how it works, isn’t it? We only get half the story or less. No-one tells the public what really goes on.” He laughed. “I’m sounding like a taxi driver! Probably because we’re sitting in the car.”
“Would you like us to go somewhere, for a drink, perhaps?”
“We could do.”
“I know quite a good wine bar not far from here.”
Ray shook his head. “Not what I had in mind.”
“Okay. You choose. I’m easy. I’m just glad to have a chance to talk with someone who knew Tim Edmonds.”
“Oh, I didn’t know him.”
Marnie felt her cheeks tingle. “I thought you’d done work at his house, a building contract Philip said.”
“Sure. But I couldn’t say I knew him, not really. I met him a few times, but only to talk about the job. I mainly dealt with the site agent.”