Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

  “That’s how we got here.”

  Just then, Anne came out onto the stern deck of Sally Ann, carrying a folding chair under each arm. She caught sight of Marnie and Estelle and smiled, stepping from the deck onto the bank where the table was set out with a blue gingham cloth under a huge cream parasol.

  Estelle said quietly, “Is that Anne? She’s lovely. You know, I’m going to be so happy working here with you two, Marnie. I think it’s going to be a real turning point in my life.”

  *

  The popping of corks was becoming a habit around Sally Ann. It created a festive atmosphere that partly offset the doubts and questions raised by the visit of the two detectives. During lunch, Estelle was as bubbly as the wine she had brought, and Marnie noticed that Ralph and Anne were sitting with smiles permanently switched on. Dolly had retreated to curl up on the hatch.

  They left the table in place when they set off for a trip on the boat after lunch. On the stern deck Anne supervised Estelle in her first lesson in driving a narrowboat, while they chatted easily about the organisation of the firm, and Anne told her new colleague about her plans for college and beyond.

  There was real summer warmth in the sun, and Marnie sat up front with Ralph in the half shade provided by the cratch roof with the side blinds rolled up. The countryside drifted lazily by, the sound of the engine a faint rumble at the stern. Occasional walkers nodded or waved as Sally Ann passed, and Marnie found herself examining them discreetly but more carefully than normal, wondering how to identify a suspicious character if she encountered one. She looked at the steerer and crew on every boat they met. Not one was carrying a Kalashnikov assault rifle or even a chainsaw.

  They tied up at the foot of the Stoke Bruerne flight of locks and walked half a mile or so to the village where they ate ice creams while looking at the other boats, then mooched about in the museum shop. Estelle bought a miniature Buckby can, gaily painted with roses and scrollwork. It was a relaxed early summer’s afternoon, and Marnie slowly forgot DCI Bartlett and his questions. She had her own life to lead and was gradually forming the opinion that Estelle would fit in very well to the operations of Walker and Co.

  It was still only mid-afternoon when Sally Ann rounded the final bend in the canal, and Anne manoeuvred her expertly into the docking area to applause from Estelle.

  “Would there be time for me to see round the village?” she asked, while they finished tying the mooring ropes.

  “As much time as you want,” said Marnie. “There’s no rush. We’ve got the whole day set aside for your visit.”

  “That’s great. But I can’t stay too long. I’m seeing Luther this evening. He’s been away all week on a course.”

  “Oh, fine.”

  “You don’t mind, do you? Perhaps I should’ve said earlier.”

  “Not a bit. No problem. Let’s show you the bright lights of Knightly St John.”

  Ralph said, “Would you think it rude of me if I excused myself from the village tour? I’ve still got a report to finish.”

  “He can’t stand the pace,” said Anne. “Ralph finds Knightly too exciting.”

  There could be no better time to stroll round an English country village than on an afternoon in early summer. Marnie was growing accustomed to Estelle’s tendency towards exaggerated praise for what she liked, but when they walked along the high street, she was more subdued, as she had been on the tour of Glebe Farm. Looking at buildings, her approach was more detached, more professional.

  “So Northamptonshire’s basically a stone county,” she observed.

  “That’s right,” said Marnie. “Mainly limestone down here, sandstone and ironstone through the middle, limestone again at the northern end.”

  “Like a sandwich,” said Anne.

  They walked on and reached the gate of the primary school, set back in its playground.

  “Very attractive buildings,” said Estelle. “How old’s the school, turn of the century?”

  Marnie agreed. “Eighteen-ninety something, I think, but modernised inside. We’ve got to know the head quite well. Margaret Giles. You’ll no doubt meet her at some point.”

  A row of cottages held their attention, with cream-grey stone walls under thatched roofs, every window a different size and shape, front gardens filled with marigolds, delphiniums and lupins. Estelle pointed at the end cottage, its facade almost covered in wisteria.

  “That’s what I’d call an outbreak of mass wisteria,” said Anne.

  Estelle squeezed her round the shoulders. “Is it really as dreamy and peaceful here as it looks?” she asked. “Or are there hidden passions behind those lace curtains?”

  “I expect they have their moments,” Marnie replied with a grin.

  Estelle pointed. “Look at the church in relation to the pub, facing each other across the road like that, both made of the same stone, centuries apart. It all fits together beautifully. That’s a splendid tower on the church. And why’s the pub called The Two Roses?”

  “Something to do with the Wars of the Roses, I think. Do you know, Anne?”

  “Not sure. I’ll have to find out.”

  They had stopped at the church gate. While they were speaking, a curtain moved in one of the upstairs rooms of the pub, and a window opened outwards. A young woman waved across to them.

  “Who’s that?” Estelle said quietly.

  “One of the hidden passions,” Marnie whispered.

  “Really?”

  “Passionate about our cottage number two, and her future husband, no doubt.”

  They crossed the road, and Marnie called out, “Hallo, Grace. Lovely day.”

  “Hi! Didn’t want to interrupt your walk, but I’d like a word when you have a moment.”

  “Problem?”

  “No, just some questions about you-can-guess-what.”

  “A certain cottage, by any chance? This is Estelle. She’s going to be working with us. Just up for a visit.”

  “Well, like I said, Marnie, I don’t want to interrupt things.”

  “Don’t mind me,” said Estelle.

  “I can take Estelle on the guided tour if you want to talk,” said Anne.

  It was agreed. Marnie went into the pub to see Grace; Anne and Estelle continued along the high street.

  “There’s the village shop,” said Anne. “Along with the church, the pub and the school, that completes the essentials.”

  “You like it here, don’t you?”

  “Love it, wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

  “What about college and A-levels?”

  “I can do those in Northampton.”

  “Is it far?”

  “Half an hour. And it’s no problem, not now I have a car.”

  “A car? Crikey! You don’t look old enough to have a licence, let alone a car of your own.”

  Anne laughed. “Marnie and Ralph gave it to me. I think it was Marnie, mainly. You see, I wouldn’t accept any wages when we started, apart from a small amount, like pocket money, and Marnie says the car is sort of in lieu of that.”

  “That’s why you call yourself her apprentice.”

  “Yes, like in the old days.”

  “And you have a loft over the office? Sounds very New York or Docklands.”

  “I’ll show you if you like. It’s small but very cosy. All mod cons: CD player, TV, video … everything I need.”

  “And later? Will you eventually move into the house with Marnie?”

  “We haven’t talked about things that far ahead. It depends on Marnie and Ralph.”

  “You think they might move in together?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re planning to get married some time.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s not a secret,” Anne added hastily. “But they’ve got to figure out how it’ll work. Their lives are very busy.”

  “I can understand that. And with Ralph working in Oxford –”

  “He’s leaving Oxford. He’s going to be a visiting professor, but he’ll b
e writing books, doing lecture tours.”

  “They’ll make an interesting couple. And what about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

  Anne smiled. “Not really, but there is a boy in the village who’s a sort of friend. He’ll be going to university in the autumn, though he might take a gap year. What about your plans, Estelle?”

  “Oh, you know, carry on working, do this project in Italy with Marnie, think about the future.”

  “Where will you live? Will you be spending much time in Italy? I’m not sure how it’s all going to work. Marnie hasn’t said much about it yet.”

  Estelle looked thoughtful. “You’re right. We’ve still got a lot of details to sort out. I’d just thought I could stay at my flat in north London, work mainly from home and commute up to here when I need to, probably go over to Italy for the odd trip. But now that I’m here …”

  As they were strolling slowly along, a dark green Range Rover pulled up at the kerb outside the shop. A man got out, nearing sixty, heavily built with a bull neck. Even though it was a warm day, he wore a tweed hat and jacket and a tie. The car gleamed like new.

  “Hallo, my dear,” he called out to Anne. “Splendid day for a walk.”

  “Hallo, Mr Stubbs. Yes, beautiful.”

  He walked round the car, raised the hat to reveal a balding head and held out a hand to Estelle. It was like a bear’s paw, fingers as thick as sausages, and it enveloped her slim hand as if it were a child’s, but he held it gently … for several seconds.

  “This is Estelle. She’s going to be working with us on a big project. Estelle, this is Mr Stubbs. He lives just up the road in a lovely house.”

  He beamed at the young woman. “You forgot to mention that I’m a good friend of Marnie, and of you, of course, Anne. Delighted to meet you, Estelle.” He released her hand, on the borderline of outstaying his welcome.

  ”And you, Mr Stubbs.”

  “Call me George. I must say the village has become a lot brighter since Marnie and Anne moved in, all these attractive young ladies gracing the high street. Wonderful. Will you be living at Glebe Farm, Estelle?”

  “We’ve not talked about the details yet. This is my first visit … exploratory talks and all that.”

  “Have you come far?”

  “From Barnet … northern edge of London? I was figuring I could probably commute up here by car. It wasn’t a bad journey.”

  George frowned. “This is the weekend. During the week it’s dreadful on the motorway.” He shook his head. “The M1 … all those lorries. It’s no joke.”

  “Is it really so bad?”

  “Murder.” His eyes flickered fleetingly in Anne’s direction. He added hastily. “You could get held up for ages. You’d be much better staying here, if there’s room for you. Of course, it’s none of my business. I don’t mean to interfere.”

  “Like I said, we’ve still got the details to sort out. And thanks for your advice.”

  George raised his hat again. “I shall look forward to seeing you around.” He stepped smartly across the pavement and went into the shop.

  “Ugh!” said Estelle under her breath. “Creepy old bloke, made me want to cringe. What does he do for a living, teach leering at the local college?”

  “Professor of Leering at Oxford,” said Anne. “Actually, he has his own business. He’s a butcher.”

  “I might’ve known it. I guessed he was into flesh.”

  Anne laughed, and they walked on. “Oh, don’t take any notice of him. It’s just talk. Marnie says it’s to do with his age. He’s quite nice in some ways when you get to know him, in small doses.”

  “They’re all just talk, until they do something about it,” Estelle said. “Mind you, he had a point there. I’m wondering if commuting’s a very practical idea. I just don’t see what else I could do, can’t imagine there’s anything to rent round here.”

  Anne became pensive. “Mm. The cottage is being let to Grace and Will.”

  “That means they’re all taken, does it?”

  “All the ones that are ready for occupation, although …”

  “What?”

  “Well, there’s number three.”

  “Aren’t you and Marnie moving in there?”

  “We were thinking about it.”

  Estelle’s turn to be pensive. “Mm. No. I can get up and leave home before the traffic gets heavy. It’s no problem.”

  *

  An hour later, Marnie, Ralph and Anne waved Estelle on her way up the field track, heading for the motorway back to London and the arms of her boyfriend. It had all been agreed. Estelle would start work with Walker and Co. in about two weeks, and would stay in cottage number three at Glebe Farm for the period of her attachment. To commemorate the decision, Anne had drawn up a special list of tasks to prepare the way for the move.

  As the car went over the brow of the field and out of sight, leaving just a puff of dust in its wake, Marnie put her arm round Ralph’s waist and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Weary?” he asked.

  “No. Though I must say Estelle does rather have the effect of the proverbial white tornado.”

  “It does seem a lot quieter now she’s gone,” Anne said.

  “Are you having doubts about her working with you? You have just agreed to let her move in to the cottage.”

  “No, Ralph.” Marnie turned to walk back. “No doubts. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’ll be a very stimulating colleague, that’s for sure.”

  He took Marnie’s hand as they walked. “And it is just for this contract, isn’t it? Or are you thinking of taking her on for longer?”

  “Yes … no … in that order. There will be room for a second designer if my plans work out, but that won’t be for another couple of years yet.”

  “We should start making plans for that now,” Anne joined in. “It’s never too early to start.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Marnie asked, the smile forming in anticipation.

  “There’s got to be a list involved,” Ralph suggested. “Probably a mile long.”

  “Yes … and no … in that order,” said Anne, stopping at the door to the office barn. “We need to draw up a list of candidates, but a short one.”

  “Good idea,” said Marnie. “Go for it.”

  Anne took her notebook and carefully tore a thin sliver of paper from the bottom of a page. She held it up. It was just big enough for one line of writing. She balanced on one leg and wrote a single name on the strip of paper. She pushed open the door to the office, went in and pinned the paper to the cork notice-board.

  Closing the door behind her, she said, “Now the candidate has just got to do her A-levels and train as a designer, and I’ll arrange interviews.”

  “Has she forgotten something?” said Ralph, turning his head.

  “She never forgets anything,” said Marnie. “You should know that by now.”

  “No, no, not Anne, Estelle. I can hear a car coming back down the track. Listen.”

  They went to the end of the barn and looked round the corner. The car making its way slowly on the rutted track was not a Golf but a Vauxhall. A grey Vauxhall.

  Marnie sighed. “I don’t believe it. They must be rounding up the usual suspects. We’ll have to give Inspector Bartlett a season ticket.”

  “Or start charging him rent,” said Anne.

  Ralph muttered, “I wonder what he wants.”

  “There’s probably been a mass murder. He knows I go in for mass murder.”

  “Well, we’ll soon find out.”

  “No. I will. You two go back to the boat, put the kettle on for coffee. I want to get this over with quickly. I’ll be along in a minute or two.”

  While waiting for Bartlett, Marnie closed the barn door shutter and turned to lock up the office. It was only when she looked round to face the car that she realised she had been wrong. Instead of two detectives emerging from the Vauxhall, she saw a young Indian couple, who climbed out from the back and stood hesitantly be
side it. On the front passenger door a telephone number was printed in clear, bold letters. It was a taxi. The driver’s door opened and a third figure appeared, an older, stockier Indian wearing a turban. He leaned on the roof of his taxi, smiled and waved.

  “Rajeev, hallo,” Marnie called out, walking towards the car. “This is a surprise.”

  She had several times used his services for ferrying herself, Anne and occasional clients back and forth to the central station in Milton Keynes.

  “Hi, Marnie. I’ve brought you two new clients.”

  Marnie nodded at the couple and advanced towards them. “On a Saturday afternoon?” They shook hands.

  The young man spoke. “We were recommended to you by Mr Dyson at Blackey and Johnson, the estate agents in Towcester.”

  “Estate agents?”

  “He said you had some interesting cottages for sale.”

  Marnie was puzzled. “Not quite right, I’m afraid. Actually, Mr Dyson is rather jumping the gun. He isn’t in fact acting for me, but he won’t take no for an answer.”

  “But you do have cottages that you’re putting on the market?”

  “I’m sorry, but no. My cottages are for let, and they’re already taken.”

  The young woman said something that Marnie did not hear, and her husband nodded.

  “But you said he was jumping the gun. Doesn’t that mean he was pushing them too early rather than too late? My wife and I are cash buyers, no chain involved, and our mortgage is agreed.”

  “Look, I really am sorry, but I don’t have any cottages for sale or for let. As you can see, the first one is occupied, the second one’s finished and the tenants will be moving in next month. I’ve just agreed to let the other one.”

  “So soon?”

  “This afternoon, as a matter of fact.”

  The couple looked disappointed.

  Marnie went on, “And you’d need a car to live out here in the country.”

  “Our car broke down and we had to call the AA. Mr Dyson called a taxi for us and said we could look in here while it’s being fixed.”

  “Oh dear, not a very fruitful day for you at all. I’m sorry.”

  The young man shrugged and began climbing back in to the car as his wife spoke quietly to him again. To Marnie’s surprise, Rajeev began a torrent of indignant speech in a language that she did not recognise. He seemed to be rebuking the couple, who looked shamefaced in Marnie’s direction.