Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

“Where’s your car?” asked the guard, his professional interest aroused.

  “Car park A,” said Simon, consulting his Rolex with an exaggerated gesture.

  “Oh, that’s Martin’s patch. He’s a real stickler. You’d better hurry.”

  “But what about the dogs?” said Marnie. “Janet will be here in a few minutes. I don’t like to abandon them.”

  “Don’t you worry,” said the guard. “I’ll keep an eye on them till she comes.”

  With profuse thanks, Marnie and Simon legged it towards the car park.

  *

  The silver Mercedes turned out of the hospital driveway and headed south towards the ring road. Fastening the seat belt, Marnie noticed a stain on the leg of her tunic where Anthony had dribbled on her during the journey into town. Simon was chuckling.

  “What’s funny?” said Marnie.

  “You and that security man.” He put on a squeaky voice like Olive Oyl in the old cartoon films. “Oh my gosh, Popeye, what are we gonna do?”

  Marnie laughed out loud. “I couldn’t think of how else to get away. I didn’t want Sergeant Marriner coming out and asking me exactly what we were doing there again.”

  “Well it worked,” said Simon, chortling. “You deserve an Oscar for that performance.”

  “You can talk, Simon! What about the theatrical way you looked at your watch. That was …” She did not finish the sentence.

  Simon glanced sideways. “What’s up?”

  “Your watch,” Marnie said thoughtfully.

  “What about it?”

  “Frank.” Marnie felt the back of her own hand. “His wrist and hand. They were scratched and bruised.”

  “A result of his accident?”

  “I wonder. I think someone had dragged the watch from his wrist.”

  “Go on.”

  “I think he’d been robbed. And the police must think so too. Marriner wouldn’t be there just for an accident.”

  *

  Ralph and Anne drove back from taking Ronny home. He lived in one of the executive houses on a small estate beyond the church. The swelling on his wrist had gone down, and the pain had subsided to a steady throbbing. His only anguish had come from being driven home in a ten year old Volvo instead of a classic sports car. His feeling of demotion had been heightened by the fact that Anne had ridden in front with Ralph, while he had the back seat.

  “I’m going to make a pot of our best coffee,” Anne announced, as they pulled up beside the garage barn. “And I think you deserve a glass of the brandy that Marnie keeps hidden at the back of the cupboard.”

  “A secret drinker?” said Ralph.

  “For medicinal purposes, according to Marnie. What do you say?”

  “Lead on, doctor.”

  *

  The silver car glided effortlessly along, the engine a gentle hum. Scarcely any sound from the outside world reached the leather and walnut-trimmed interior. Marnie leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

  “Life can be so complicated,” she breathed.

  “You’re telling me?” said Simon. “We’re certainly complicated.”

  “This isn’t about us.”

  “I thought everything was about us.”

  “Us isn’t complicated. It’s simple. I’m talking about Anthony and the police ... and Frank and the police ... and me and the police.”

  “So it’s about you.”

  “Simon, it is about me. At least, it’s about the questions the police’ll be wanting to ask me.`

  “But you haven’t done anything.”

  “They won’t see it that way. They’re looking for someone accused in the press of having sex with an underage girl. I know where he is and I’m concealing the fact.”

  “Could be tricky,” Simon conceded. “Why are you protecting him, actually?”

  Marnie’s eyes were still closed. “I’d have thought that was obvious. Even if he’s guilty, no-one deserves what he went through. He lost his career; he was hounded in the press; all the evidence was hearsay and innuendo. Now, his wife’s killed herself and he’s tried to commit suicide.”

  “That’s true, is it, about there being no real evidence against him?”

  “You saw the accusations in the press. There wasn’t a single fact, not one piece of hard evidence. And the worst thing is, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

  “Press Complaints Commission?” Simon suggested.

  “A joke! What’s a slap on the wrist to a media baron like Hawksby? Anyway, all the damage has been done. What would be the point?” As she spoke, Marnie’s voice drifted off, as if she was falling asleep.

  Simon looked at her profile, the clean features, the smooth complexion. It was only with a great effort that he turned his eyes back to the road. “I know how you feel, but if I was in your place, I’d want to get hold of that editor and rub his nose in his own … dirt.”

  “Easier said than done,” said Marnie, without opening her eyes. She thought it must be the season for clichés.

  “Yeah, but if everyone’s as immoral as you imagine, Marnie, he must have a secret or two of his own, don’t you think? Or is he the only clean one in a dirty world?”

  *

  By the time they heard the Mercedes pull up in the yard outside, Anne was drying the cafetière and Ralph was wrestling with the deckchairs. When she looked out to see who was arriving, she had the impression that Ralph was gaining the upper hand. But only just.

  Marnie announced at once that she was going to change into clean clothes, and Anne went with her to Sally Ann to catch up on the news. This left Simon and Ralph together.

  “What’s the prognosis?” said Ralph.

  “They reckoned his chances were fifty-fifty, more or less. There was no point hanging around, so we came away. They’ll phone if there are any developments.”

  “Good.”

  “I’m sorry not to have better news. I gather he’s a friend of yours.”

  “Not really a friend,” said Ralph. “But I’ve known him for a long time.”

  “You were at Oxford together.”

  “Yes and no. We were both there at about the same time, but we were in different colleges, reading different subjects.”

  “Marnie tells me you’re a professor at All Saints.”

  “That’s right. I’m on sabbatical at the moment doing a book.”

  “Impressive,” said Simon.

  Ralph shrugged. “It’s part of the job.”

  “She also explained that you two are ... well ... that you’re an item.”

  Ralph smiled. “An item. Yes. Curious expression.”

  “I’d say you’ve made a good choice,” said Simon. “Both of you.”

  11

  The scene before her was quite surreal. Sunday morning had begun early for Marnie. She had pulled open the stern doors on Thyrsis and stood at the foot of the steps looking out over still water. All night she had floated in and out of sleep, and had finally slipped out of bed at six-thirty, grabbing a few things to wear. Ralph had not woken.

  The air on her face felt cool and damp. The world was blotted out by a mist that hung over the landscape, merging the sky, the land and the water into one opaque haze. From where she stood, Marnie could see nothing but the cloudy light. She felt suspended between heaven and earth. And then it happened.

  The air swirled over the canal. A sound reached her, a steady throbbing, and gradually through the foggy air a shape emerged. Coming towards her were the prows of a pair of working narrowboats, breasted up together, hulls low in the water, the distinctive red and black paintwork of Totteridge and her butty, Shardlow, familiar from her days in Little Venice.

  The pair had slowed to a crawl to pass the moored craft, and Marnie went up two steps to wave at the steerer. He spotted her at once, smiling, turning the engine wheel to reduce speed even further. The boats were hardly moving as he drew near enough to speak.

  “Hi Marnie! How’re you doing?”

  “Great. How about
you, Andrew?”

  “Fine. This your place?”

  She moved further up the steps and pointed through the spinney. “Over there.”

  “Where’s Sally Ann? Got rid of her?”

  Marnie thumbed over her shoulder. “Got her own dock. This is a friend’s boat.”

  Andrew had brought the pair to a halt alongside, the vintage diesel engine pop-popping quietly, emitting faint grey puffs from the thin exhaust pipe sticking up from the roof. He looked at the anonymous boat without comment.

  “Early start, Andrew.”

  “Yeah. Kate’s still asleep. We’ve got customers in Stoke Bruerne and Braunston. You need anything?”

  Marnie agreed to a fill-up of diesel for Sally Ann and Thyrsis with a load of logs and coal and invited Andrew and Kate to join them for breakfast when Kate was up. She asked if he needed help tying up the pair, and he had winked when he pointed out that she was not quite dressed for the job. Marnie looked down. She was wearing only a shirt and the briefest of pants and she smiled as she retreated down the steps.

  *

  The kettle was whistling as Andrew and Kate arrived on Thyrsis. Marnie called out to make themselves at home while she finished dressing. Ralph was gradually coming alive under the hot jets of the shower. Minutes later, Marnie emerged into the galley to find Andrew looking out of a porthole at the boat without a name. Kate was at the table holding one of Anne’s newspaper cuttings from the Globe. Marnie greeted her and set about making breakfast.

  “The word was going round,” Andrew began, “that that MP who went missing ...”

  “Leyton-Brown,” said Kate, reading from the paper.

  “They said he’d gone off on a narrowboat.”

  “The old bush telegraph?” said Marnie.

  “I heard he’d been spotted early one morning, travelling west on the Regent’s Canal in London. The boat was painted all over in grey undercoat.”

  Marnie said quietly, “Did you hear the latest news?”

  “He’s been seen on the Grand Union?” said Andrew.

  “His wife has just killed herself.”

  Kate gasped. “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “We were travelling up from Berko all day,” said Andrew. “Didn’t hear any news.” He glanced towards the porthole. “So what did he think of that?”

  “He tried to do the same.”

  “Bloody hell!” said Kate, wide-eyed.

  “Took an overdose on top of a bottle of whisky. We rushed him to hospital. I’ll be ringing after breakfast to see if there’s any news.”

  “Is he going to make it?” Andrew said.

  “Touch and go.”

  They heard footsteps and Ralph came through to join them. He shook hands with Andrew and saw a tall, lean man of about thirty with short sandy hair and John Lennon glasses, wearing blue jeans and a check shirt. He greeted Kate who was wearing a black singlet, her auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail.

  “Kate and Andrew know about Anthony,” Marnie said. “They worked it out. Apparently he was seen coming through London.”

  “I see. Have you told them?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s terrible,” said Kate. “Awful.”

  “What’s going to happen to him,” said Andrew, “assuming he pulls through?”

  *

  Marnie had been expecting the call. Janet Day rang first thing that morning.

  “I’m so grateful, Marnie. The policeman told me how helpful you’d been.”

  “I just happened by. Glad to have been of use. How is Frank?”

  “When I rang just now they said he’d had a good night. When the doctor’s done her rounds this morning they’ll ring to let me know if he can come home.”

  “Good. Does Frank know who did it? Could he recognise them?”

  A hesitation. “How did you know about ... you know?”

  “Frank’s watch had been snatched,” Marnie said. “I saw the grazing.”

  “The sergeant said I wasn’t to tell anybody, Marnie.”

  “You didn’t. Would he recognise whoever attacked him?”

  “I didn’t ask Frank about that. I just wanted him to be quiet and get better. He gave me a message for you. Thank you for looking after the dogs.”

  “No problem.”

  “And there’s another message. The police sergeant said to tell you he’d be in touch.”

  “Great.”

  *

  “That is one smart boat, that Thyrsis,” Andrew said, rubbing the back of a hand across his forehead. He was loading bags of coal into a wheelbarrow beside the docking area. Marnie and Ralph had left for the hospital leaving Anne to supervise the delivery. “Lovely paint job. It reminds me of something.”

  “Same colours as a Harrods carrier bag?” Anne suggested.

  “That’s right. Definitely non-standard, that shade of green, and the gold.” He returned to his task.

  “How did Marnie know how much to pay you?” Anne asked.

  “She didn’t, actually,” said Andrew. “I suppose we were talking of other things.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not authorised to sign the cheques. And it’ll be a while before they get back from the hospital.”

  “No matter, Anne. We’ll be passing this way again in a day or two. I’ll collect it then. You can take note of what they’ve had, if you like.”

  “Sure. I’ll make a list.”

  *

  Marnie and Ralph arrived in the Intensive Therapy Unit at ten, and a nurse had asked them to sit in the waiting area before going through. It brought back painful memories for Ralph, recalling the previous summer as if it was yesterday, Marnie lying there, hooked up to life-support machines, not expected to live. For Marnie, being back was oddly less disturbing. She had never seen the waiting area and had no memories of the ITU.

  “Do you think this means bad news?” Marnie said in a quiet voice.

  “Doesn’t look good.”

  They were alone, sitting on plastic chairs with their backs to the windows. Glazed double doors led on to a corridor running down to the end of the building. The ITU was round the corner out of sight.

  “It’s down there, is it?” Marnie looked towards the doors. “I never wanted to come here again, that‘s for sure.”

  “Nor I.”

  “Here’s someone now,” said Marnie.

  A nurse was walking unhurriedly towards the doors, a diminutive young Chinese woman, calm and professional.

  “Would you like to come through? Dr Siddiqui wants a few words with you.”

  She led them to an office round the corner. The nearest bed was being remade by two nurses. Marnie wondered if Anthony had lain there.

  Dr Siddiqui looked up from her paperwork as they entered. In her forties, wearing a white coat, her eyes were dark and serious, giving her face an intense expression. She half rose to shake their hands, as they introduced themselves, and gestured to them to sit. Marnie felt her stomach turn over.

  “Thank you for coming in.”

  “We were anxious to find out about your patient,” said Ralph. “How is he?”

  “He isn’t my patient any longer, strictly speaking. He’s been moved to another ward.”

  “So he’s all right?”

  “He’s recovering. He began to improve quite quickly once we’d purged his system and he responded well to treatment.”

  “That’s a relief,” said Ralph.

  “You both seem very concerned about him. I understood Mr Alexander was unknown to you.”

  “Well, yes. But in the circumstances ...”

  “How did you find him, exactly? He was on a boat, is that correct?”

  Ralph answered. “Moored alongside mine. I went on board to see him and found him in the saloon.”

  Marnie heard the words Last Chance Saloon in her head. “Is that important?” she said.

  “In a way it is,” said Dr Siddiqui. “There are certain rules we have to follow. If this was an accident, w
e record it as such in our files. If I believe the circumstances were suspicious, we have to inform the police.”

  “Suspicious?” said Ralph. He thought they could be regarded as nothing but suspicious. “Why should they be suspicious?”

  “Can you think of any reason why they should not be?” said Dr Siddiqui.

  “I hadn’t thought about it that way. I just saw him lying on the floor and took action to get him here for treatment.”

  “But you can see what I’m getting at, Professor Lombard.”

  Ralph did not like this game of cat-and-mouse. “You must be wondering if this was an attempted suicide, presumably.”

  “What do you think?”

  “To be honest, when I found him I was so shocked I just reacted to get help. On reflection, I must admit it looked like suicide, at least as far as I’m competent to judge.”

  “But you’re uncertain, doctor,” Marnie joined in.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Why else would you be talking to us about it now, unless you weren’t sure? Presumably you could’ve just notified the police and let them investigate for themselves.”

  Dr Siddiqui stared at them for a moment. “For a start, police procedure is very time-consuming, not something one embarks on lightly, not with our workload. We have enough red tape as it is. And there is something else.”

  “You have doubts?” said Ralph.

  “Possibly. How well do you know Mr Alexander?”

  “Hardly at all,” said Marnie.

  “Do you know anything about his state of mind?”

  “He’s only just arrived on the mooring,” she said. “I’ve only seen him a few times.” She was glad to have a chance to say something truthful, even if she was avoiding the question.

  “Are you free to tell us about your doubts?” said Ralph.

  Dr Siddiqui began slowly. “Suicides are usually clear-cut. Someone slashes their wrists or jumps off a tall building, not much room for doubt. But overdosing is different. Sometimes it’s a cry for help, for attention. But it’s always risky. You can never be quite sure of the reaction of an individual to a particular drug in excess. Many factors can influence the outcome. In this case there are some uncertainties.”