by Leo McNeir
“I heard afterwards that she’d had a child, yes, but I never saw it myself.”
“Circumstantial,” said Anthony. “Is that reliable evidence or just hearsay?”
*
Anne had felt restless all evening. She sat on the bed propped up with pillows and tried reading a book, but found her concentration wandering. It was the same when she played a CD. After a few minutes, the music irritated her and she turned it off.
The press cuttings about Anthony lay in a heap on the bedside table, and she picked them up to put them in order in the file. One cutting was upside down, and as she reached for it her eyes were drawn to an article headed, ‘Mystery muggings – police warning’. Most of the article was intact. Northamptonshire Constabulary had issued a warning to the public following a spate of robberies in the south of the county. The mystery lay in the fact that none of the victims had ever seen the robber who seemed able to operate without leaving any trace. He would strike when least expected, disappearing immediately after committing the crimes. The public was advised to be vigilant.
*
Ralph was on the point of offering more brandy when Anthony looked at his watch and asked his hosts to excuse him. He seemed to tire easily these days and spent more hours sleeping than at any time in his life.
“It was kind of you to invite me. And you don’t need to say it was a pleasure. I’m sure my being here must be a trial for you all.”
“I had hoped we might’ve been able to help in some way,” said Marnie.
“I know you did and I appreciate it. I only regret that I bring a whiff of unpleasantness to your idyllic little corner of the world. You’re very lucky in the life you lead. I envy you both.”
“You’ll put your life back together sooner or later,” said Ralph.
“I’m not so sure. I’ll always be tainted from now on with these accusations. My only consolation is knowing that this kind of scandal is everywhere in our society.”
“Everywhere?” said Marnie. “You really mean that?”
“Oh yes. I don’t suppose anyone in public life is blameless. That’s why the media set out to expose them. They’re an easy target.”
“You don’t think that’s rather a sweeping generalisation?”
“Sadly,” said Anthony, “it’s based on experience. I’ve got the wounds to prove it.”
Marnie stood up. “Oh well, if you’re right, the media people are just as bad as everybody else.”
“Of course they are,” said Anthony, getting to his feet. “Why should they be any different?”
“They’d probably say they aren’t setting themselves up as paragons and examples to the rest of us,” said Marnie
“But they are,” said Anthony. “In many ways they’re much worse. They set themselves up as the guardians of public morals, and against them we have virtually no defence.”
*
After Anthony went back to his boat, Marnie and Ralph left the dishes in the galley and set off slowly through the spinney. The evening was still warm, and full darkness had not yet come down. Neither spoke. They reached the edge of the spinney where the farm buildings stood solidly around the yard. The windows of the Burton’s cottage were lit up. Marnie found the sight reassuringly ordinary and, glancing up, saw Anne’s attic light through the narrow slit of its window.
Inside the office barn, Marnie called softly up the wall ladder in case Anne had fallen asleep.
“No, I’m awake. How did it go?”
“Permission to come aboard?” Marnie asked.
“Sure. Come on up.”
“Are you decent? I’ve got Ralph with me.”
“I’ll just slip into my black lace négligée.”
They found her sitting up in bed wearing pale green pyjamas decorated with sheep. She collected together her file of cuttings and put them on the table on top of Dr. Fellheimer’s Civil War papers. Marnie sat on the bed, while Ralph opted for the only other seat, a giant bean-bag.
“How did it go? Is he any better?” Anne asked.
“Not much,” said Marnie. “He’s fallen into a ‘slough of despond’ and doesn’t seem capable of digging himself out.”
Marnie outlined the conversation, explained about Ralph and Anthony being at school together, the changes that brought about Anthony’s move to Devon to a new life and a new name. Anne listened in silence until Marnie finished.
“Like David Lloyd George,” she commented.
“What is?”
“Changing his name. It was the same for Lloyd George. His father died, and he was brought up by an uncle – Richard Lloyd – so he added Lloyd to his own name in gratitude.”
“That’s right,” Ralph said. “Now that I think about it, I recall him making that comparison himself in a magazine interview a few years ago. He said it was a defining moment for him that started him thinking about politics as a career.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Marnie, “about Lloyd George.”
“We did it in history,” said Anne.
“I must’ve missed that bit. Anyway, whatever his name is, I don’t think there’s much we can do to clear it.”
“No,” said Ralph. “In fact, I doubt there’s anything much we or anyone can do to help him. He’s going to have to sort things out himself.”
“I hear what you say, and you’re probably right,” said Marnie. “But it’s his wife I feel sorry for. I wish we could do something, if only for her sake.”
“A daunting prospect,” Ralph agreed. He began struggling up from the bean-bag. “I think it’s time for bed. That’s why we’re feeling inadequate.”
Marnie kissed Anne on the cheek. “True. The talents of an interior designer don’t help the situation much.”
“If it’s any consolation,” said Ralph, now upright, “I think it’s fair to say that an academic couldn’t do any better.”
Anne glanced at Dr. Fellheimer’s research papers. “Not necessarily,” she said.
10
Breakfast time on Sally Ann. Marnie looked out of the window and thought, typical! All week long the sun had shone, then on Saturday morning it was cue clouds, stand by rain. The sky, fields and canal had turned a uniform grey in anticipation.
Marnie seemed unduly affected by the morning gloom. Anne pointed out that they would in any case be in the office until Ralph returned later in the day from collecting books in Oxford, and that the weather forecast was promising another fine day. This failed to lift her spirits. Anne eyed her friend over the top of the cup.
“I know what’s bothering you,” she said.
“Tell all, O Wise One.”
“It’s Mr Leyton-Brown. He’s like a permanent cloud moored over our heads.”
Marnie nodded. “That’s how it feels.”
Anne took a piece of toast from the basket. “But maybe he gets on with things when we don’t see him for days on end. Maybe after last night he’s feeling better already.”
“Could be,” Marnie said and managed a smile.
Anne changed tack. “Marnie, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think Ralph would’ve done what Mr Leyton-Brown did, in the same circumstances?”
“We’ve been talking about that. On balance, no. Perhaps I’m being naive, but Ralph’s a different sort of person.” She shrugged. “Who can tell?”
“I couldn’t imagine Ralph behaving like that,” Anne said firmly. “He’s always very ... proper.”
Marnie agreed. “But what about that business with the old girlfriend in Nottingham? Just goes to show. Anyone can have something lurking in their past.”
“Not the same sort of thing, though, is it?” said Anne.
“Course not. Ralph’s actually rather reticent with women. You can always tell if a man’s a predator. Ralph isn’t.” She smiled. “Of course, I’m not saying he doesn’t have his moments.”
Anne laughed at the same time as the mobile started ringing. Even though it was before eight on a Saturda
y morning, she automatically went into work mode.
“Walker and Co, good morning ... Yes. Who’s calling, please? ... One moment.” She held the phone out to Marnie. “Simon Walker.”
*
Heads turned as Marnie walked through the pub restaurant that lunchtime. When Simon caught sight of her, he first thought she was dressed for jogging, but close up he saw she was wearing a one-piece costume in light cream cotton, fastened at ankles and wrists, elasticated at the waist. He kissed her on both cheeks, and she took the chair opposite him
“Très chic,” he said. “You look like those racing-car drivers from the thirties. You ought to be driving a Bentley at Le Mans, or something.”
“Good guess. I’ve come in the MG. This is practical gear for an open sports car.”
“The MG? You’ve got it running?”
“Sure. Completely overhauled.”
“Great. Pity if it just rotted away.”
“No risk of that. It’s in good hands.”
“Very good hands.” He smiled at her across the table. “Very good everything, I’d say.”
“You ought to be saying, What would you like to drink, Marnie?”
He passed her a menu and, as he did so, a waitress arrived, set two drinks down in front of them, and flashed a smile at Simon. It had real warmth.
“Spritzer with dry white wine and soda water,” he said. Marnie nodded, studying the menu.
Simon looked round. Deep-coloured wallpapers, a homely clutter of old fishing rods and baskets high up on shelves, prints of gaily painted boats and hunting scenes. “I don’t know this place. Is it any good?”
“It’s okay.” Marnie raised her eyes. “Apart from the decor.”
“I wanted to be able to talk in private. Just the two of us. Hope that’s all right.”
“No problem. Hardly an assignation, an early lunch and a walk by the canal. Grilled sole, I think. Mixed salad.”
“With an Aussie Chardonnay?”
“I’ll stick with the spritzer. The MG attracts enough attention as it is.”
Simon walked over to the bar to order. In subtle ways he had changed. Always good-looking, he had kept in shape with a neat butt and a flat stomach, but now he had a more confident bearing. He wore a black shirt and pale grey slacks, with grey slip-ons. His hair had been cut by someone who knew which end of the scissors to hold.
When he returned, Marnie noticed the watch. The Rolex in stainless steel and gold was the only minus. It looked expensive, which it was. Everybody knew that. Marnie preferred understatement to opulence and found it difficult not to wince when she saw the crown on its dial. It made her think, Princess Tina.
“What have you been doing that’s made you so well off?” she asked. “There are decent cars cheaper than that watch.”
Simon fingered its bracelet. “Not this one, I’m afraid. Strictly non-standard.”
Marnie was incredulous. “Don’t tell me it’s an imitation made in North Korea! Let me see it.”
Simon slipped it over his hand and passed it across the table. “No. It’s the real thing, apart from the bracelet.”
She examined the band, the links seeming to be made of gold and stainless steel. “It looks authentic, suitably luxurious.”
“It’s good, but not genuine Rolex.”
Marnie read the name on the inside of the bracelet. “Looks like filofax, no, fixoflex. Why don’t you have a genuine Rolex one?”
“You’ll laugh if I tell you, Marnie.”
“No I won’t.”
He shrugged. “I ran over it.”
“In your car?”
He nodded. “I was in a hurry, carrying a suitcase to put in the boot. I had the watch in my jacket pocket, carrying it over my shoulder. Must’ve fallen out when I swung the jacket onto the back seat. When I drove out of the parking space I heard a crunching noise, thought I’d driven over glass or something, got out to check. There it was on the ground.”
Marnie laughed. “You drove over your Rolex in your Mercedes? Wow! That must be the ultimate yuppie accident.” She gave him back the watch.
“I told you you’d laugh. Anyway, as luck would have it, the tyres only went over the bracelet. I got this temporary one fitted when I got to Boston and ordered a replacement from Rolex. It was all included in the insurance package.”
“Good old Rolex,” said Marnie.
Simon slid the watch back onto his wrist. “Absolutely. That’s enough about me. Now tell me about you.”
“You know about me already. I left Everett Parker last year, came up here, started my own show. That’s it. Anne’s working with me – you saw her on the boat – before continuing her studies.”
“And it’s going well?”
“So far so good. But I’m not in the Merc-and-Rolex bracket like you. So what happened?”
“It was simple really. The old story: right place at the right time. I got into computer software just as it was taking off and now I run my own firm of consultants.”
“Would that be worldwide by any chance?”
“Offices in four countries.”
Their food arrived, and during the meal Simon filled in the details. After their split he had picked himself up, retrained in computers and found himself helping harassed managers in companies sort out their IT problems. Money seemed to be no object, ever.
At the end of the meal, Simon settled the bill with an American Express card, and they went out onto the towpath. He looked across at the car park as they set off along the cut. “I can see the MG. It’s parked next to my car. Looks good. Brings back a few memories.”
“I started using it when the Rover was blown up.”
“Yeah, I read about that in the paper. It doesn’t seem to have done you any lasting damage. You’re still the same confident you, everything under control.”
“It’s a case of having to be, Simon. I have things to do, commitments, responsibilities, same as you. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?”
“I wanted to see that you were all right. See if you were settled.”
“You can see that I’m all right. And I am settled, but not in a rut. I’ve had to take some big decisions since we split up. It’s not been easy, but I’ve done it and now ...”
“You’re concentrating on the positive, looking to the future.”
“Exactly.”
They walked a few paces before Simon spoke again. “After we split up, I more or less went to pieces.”
“If I remember rightly, Simon, the idea of splitting up came from you.”
“Yes. But it was because I couldn’t face what was happening to us.”
“Okay. We don’t need to go over everything again. We’ve done all that. Look, I think –”
“I was only going to mention that time because it is all past history now. Things have moved on. At that time I imagined that all my life would be like sitting alone in an empty room.”
“But it’s history, like you said.”
“That’s right. After lots of moping about, I decided I could do no better than to learn from you.”
“From me?”
“Yes. First of all I threw myself into my work. Sheer work rate pulled me along.”
“You were never lazy.”
“No. But now I became almost manic. It wasn’t just getting by from day to day. I tried to occupy every minute, use every second.”
“That could lead to disaster.”
“It nearly did. But I was driven. When I wasn’t working, my nightmares kept returning. I had to try to find a way of coping. If I just worked all the time, I ended up exhausted. Then I found a way out.”
“Did you go for therapy?”
He laughed. “Sort of. Nothing heavy, just a natural health clinic, for chats. They helped me find a way.”
“What did you do?”
“I sublimated myself.”
Marnie tried not to smile. “Sounds kinky. How did you do this sublimation exactly, or do I really want to know?”
“I won’t laugh, whatever it is. I promise.”
He stopped walking and looked at her. “I took up writing poetry.”
She did not laugh.
*
Anne’s weather forecast proved to be correct, and the day turned mild with a pleasant breeze, the sun poking holes in the clouds. She sat out in a deck-chair by the office barn with a sandwich for lunch and read a magazine. Wearing shorts to let the air get to her scalded thighs, she hoped no-one would come by and see the livid pink patches on her legs. Anne closed her eyes to enjoy the sun’s warmth on her face and was dozing when she suddenly became aware of movement nearby. Ronny Cope was looking down at her.
“Hey, what’s happened to your legs? Are you all right?”
“This is my lobster imitation. I spilled coffee down me and got scalded.”
“I bet it hurts like hell,” Ronny said feelingly.
“It’s not too bad. Could be worse. The doc said I could get blisters, but I haven’t so far.”
Ronny knelt down for a closer inspection. “I can’t see any.”
Anne could feel his breath on the tops of her legs. She lowered the magazine into her lap.
*
They fell silent as they passed a group of people at a lock on the towpath, chatting in loud voices. Marnie and Simon stood aside to let them go by. One of the women glanced twice at Simon.
A boat was easing its way out of the chamber, and Marnie spoke quietly to a grey-haired woman who was lowering the gate paddle with a windlass. The woman stepped aboard with a smile as the boat edged by. Marnie leaned the small of her back against the massive black and white balance beam and put all her weight on it, walking slowly backwards to close the heavy gate. Simon joined in beside her.
“Struth! What is this thing? It feels like a tree trunk.”
“It is, or was.”
They stood up when the gate nudged its partner on the other side of the lock. Simon said, “You really know about all this, don’t you? All these locks and things. It seems hard to imagine you handling a boat, doing all this physical stuff. You’ve always been such a townie.”