by Leo McNeir
Marnie flicked a switch and the wiper swished once across the windscreen and back.
“A sudden change of air current. It won’t last. Nothing to worry about.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
Marnie turned onto the narrow road that led up towards the dual carriageway. “Meaning?”
“Meaning no worries,” said Ralph. “I want you to have a nice unbroken spell of normality, especially while I’m away.”
Marnie yawned again. “Me too. We’ve got plenty to keep us busy, and I just intend getting my head down and pressing on with the work. And we’ve got Estelle to help. That should be stimulating.”
Ralph nodded. “As long as her boyfriend isn’t a problem.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” said Marnie. “I just reacted the way I did because I was taken by surprise. I never did like surprises.”
*
Anne pushed open the double doors on Sally Ann to let the cat out and paused on the bottom step below the open hatch, looking out across the canal over the stern deck. There was nothing new or unusual about a boat being moored on the opposite bank, especially in the summer. But this boat was different from anything she had ever seen before, and the mist only seemed to accentuate its strangeness.
Most narrow boats had a pleasing appearance, many of them in colourful liveries. Some had leaded panes of glass and frilly lace curtains; the cottage style. Others were impressive with shining brass and glossy, mirror-like paintwork. Tubs of herbs and flowers on the roof were common, and even small satellite dishes were not unknown. But this boat, cloaked in the mist, exuded a different air. As Anne stared at it, her fascination was tinged with a sense of menace. In the dampness she shivered.
Dolly rubbed her flank against Anne’s leg and hopped up onto the deck, where she turned and jumped over the gunwale to land on the bank, setting off on her morning prowl. Anne wanted to return inside the cabin where toast and orange juice were waiting for her, but she was mesmerised by the sight of the new boat that had arrived in the night. Quickly she went below and found Marnie’s windproof jacket in the locker. Pulling the zip up to her chin, she went out and walked along the bank to cross the canal by the accommodation bridge about twenty metres from the docking area.
Halfway across, she hesitated and looked up and down the canal before turning her gaze back to the new arrival. There was no-one in sight in any direction, no sign of life or movement on the boat itself. From her vantage point, the craft was almost swallowed in the murky air, and it seemed to draw Anne towards it. Convincing herself that no harm could come of an apparently casual stroll past the boat, that no-one could take offence at her interest in such an unusual vessel, she continued on her way and walked steadily along the towpath, slowing as she drew nearer.
Closer up, the craft was no less unusual than it had seemed from a distance. It was mainly the colour scheme that set it apart from other boats. The topsides were painted all over in a dark shade of grey like a submarine, in an eggshell finish. The lower half of the hull was matt black. Not quite as long as Sally Ann or Thyrsis, it was built in the traditional style, with a short cratch well and a tiny counter for the steerer. All its windows were portholes. Pipe fenders of thin black rubber tubing hung down the sides, attached with black rope, and Anne noticed that all the mooring ropes were similarly black.
Reaching the bows, she looked down to read the name, which was stencilled in matt black on a white panel. It looked unfinished, comprising only three letters: X O 2. She wondered if it meant something in a code. On the roof lay a pole, boathook and gangplank on supporting brackets near the lum, all painted grey. Anne noticed a cluster of antennae, one short and stubby made of rubber, the other a small black satellite dish. This was the strangest boat Anne had ever encountered, and it both intrigued and repelled her. She could not help admire the bold confidence of the colour scheme, yet it seemed intimidating and threatening.
Slowly she began walking back towards the bridge, certain that the boat was unoccupied. The door was secured with a hefty black padlock. As she passed by, Anne saw that the portholes were obscured by light grey curtains, one of which had not been fully drawn. A tantalising gap just a few centimetres wide could be seen through the glass nearest to where she now came to a halt. She tried not to look suspicious as she checked the towpath again for life. Seeing no-one, and feeling sheltered by the mist, she bent forward to peep through the gap.
The problem was, the interior seemed to be as dark as the outside, and only one or two reflections from metal surfaces could be distinguished. Something was blocking her view nearer at hand and, altering her focus to close-up, she made a discovery. Close to the porthole, she was looking at the side of a cupboard or a set of shelves on which a picture was fixed. It was indistinct in the gloom but appeared to be an image, some kind of silvery object. She was surprised to see colour in this otherwise monochrome world, a faint circle of red. With a struggle, she finally made sense of the image and gasped. Staying only long enough to make sure of what she had seen, she straightened up, turned and began hurrying back to the bridge, her mind greatly troubled. In the red circle was the unmistakeable shape of a Nazi swastika.
Anne had reached the parapet when a sound came out of the mist. She paused, and in that moment the sun broke through, lighting up the air around her, as if she was transfixed by a spotlight. The vapour was thinning before her eyes, and into view came a bicycle. It was a comfortably reassuring sight, and for a second or two she expected to see Ronny Cope, a regular visitor on two wheels. But this was not Ronny. Reaching the bridge, the rider slowed to a halt and stood straddling the bike, looking at Anne. It was a young man, slim with blonde hair cut short, wearing a black leather jacket, dark grey jeans and black trainers. The sun was gaining in force, reflecting off the shiny chrome handlebars, flashing into Anne’s eyes. She glimpsed a red armband on the newcomer, saw the black swastika emblem, and swallowed hard. She blinked and momentarily glanced sideways towards the boat. The stranger followed her look and returned his gaze to Anne.
“Good morning.” His voice was quiet. “I hope I’m not trespassing.”
Anne blinked again. The sun was diffusing the light all around them, making the scene ethereal, unworldly. The mist was literally evaporating before her eyes. Involuntarily she looked again at his sleeve, but there was no armband on the black leather. She could see panniers either side of the rear wheel, and the edge of a newspaper emerging from the corner of the flap.
“No.” It seemed an inadequate greeting. “I mean, you’re not trespassing.”
“Good.”
Without another word, the stranger lifted one foot onto a pedal, rolled the bike forward and moved off up and over the bridge. As Anne expected, he turned along the towpath and coasted to a halt beside the grey boat. He glanced fleetingly up towards her as he unhooked the panniers, set them down in the cratch-well and hoisted the bike onto the roof. Anne went on her way without looking back.
*
The Discovery pulled off the dual carriageway and took the narrow road that led only to Knightly St John. Marnie enjoyed its high driving position because it enabled her to see over the hedgerows.
Arriving home, she braked and turned into the garage barn, watching out for Dolly as she swung into her slot beside the old MG sports car. Beyond it, Anne was running a duster over the Mini, getting it pristine for her trip back to her family for the day. But there was something wrong. Marnie saw it at once. Anne looked up and smiled, but there was something about her bearing that gave Marnie the impression that all was not well. She pushed open the door.
“What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“Really nothing?”
Anne dropped the duster into the box of car-cleaning things. “Well …”
“Have you had breakfast? Got time to talk?”
Anne nodded. “OK.”
*
Anne sat holding her mug of coffee in both hands as usual. Marnie always thought it ma
de her look vulnerable, like a refugee. They were on Sally Ann having a belated breakfast, and Anne told Marnie about the strange new boat moored opposite. Crunching a piece of toast, Marnie inclined her head towards the window.
“I agree it certainly looks different, Anne. Whoever chose that colour scheme had an eye for the dramatic. It looks somehow … military, or I suppose, naval.”
“All it needs is a conning tower to make it just like a U-boat,” said Anne.
“I see what you mean. So what did you see through the porthole?”
“That’s just it. It was too dark to make out how it was furnished, but I did get one glimpse of something hanging on the wall. I don’t know exactly what I was looking at, but I saw a red circle and inside it … a swastika.” Her eyes were the size of light bulbs.
“A swastika?” Marnie repeated. “Are you sure about that?”
“Pretty sure.”
“But not absolutely certain?”
“I didn’t dream it up.”
“Course not.”
Marnie was determined that she would keep her concern to herself and reassure Anne that all was fine.
“You don’t think I imagined it, do you?” said Anne. “I can tell you don’t. You look so worried.”
“Do I?” So much for my acting skills, Marnie thought.
“You’re thinking about the thugs you saw the other day in Leicester, aren’t you?”
“Well, not actually.”
“What then?”
There was no way out.
“It was something Inspector Bartlett said that day he came down.”
“What day was that?”
“A short while back. I didn’t mention it at the time.”
“But you’re going to now?”
Marnie sighed. “He came asking if we’d seen any strangers, suspicious characters, he called them. He warned me to be on the lookout.”
Anne put on a serious face and deepened her voice. “’Allo, ’allo, ’allo. ‘Ave you seen anyone answerin’ to the description of a suspicious character in this ’ere vicinity?” She checked herself and looked aghast. “Blimey! What am I joking for? I’m scared stiff we’re about to be over-run by the Gestapo and murdered in our beds.”
Marnie laughed. “Idiot! It’s not as bad as that.”
“It’s all right for you, Marnie. You’ve already been murdered once. Some of us are novices and … Oh God. Sorry, Marnie. I shouldn’t have said that. It was in really poor taste. I am sorry.”
“That’s OK. I’m only glad you’re able to make a joke about it.”
“Did Mr Bartlett say what kind of suspicious characters he was looking for?”
“No, but he did say they weren’t dangerous to us, whatever that meant.”
“He probably thought they’d be our chums. He’d regard the vicar as suspicious if he knew we were friends with her.”
Marnie looked at her watch. “Time you were going. You don’t want to be late for one of your mum’s excellent Sunday lunches.”
Anne stood up and began clearing the table.
“Leave that,” said Marnie. “I’ll do it. I’ve got loads of time.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind and come too. Mum always makes enough to feed an army.”
“Sure, but I’ve got things to do. Perhaps next time.”
“Are you going to get in touch with Inspector Bartlett, then?”
“What about?”
Anne glanced over at the visitor’s boat. “Our suspicious character.”
“Why? On the basis of seeing someone with a boat painted in an original colour? I spend my working life trying to devise distinctive colour schemes for people. I’d hardly regard it as a crime. For all we know, he might just be someone with a flair for design.”
“A design that includes swastikas?”
“You don’t think you could be mistaken about that, Anne?”
Anne opened her mouth to speak and closed it abruptly. In her mind she saw again the meeting on the bridge, the mist swirling in the sunshine, the flash of light reflected on the handlebars. “I …”
“What?”
“I’m not sure. It’s just … Well, when I saw him on the bridge, I kind of imagined he was wearing an armband.”
“What kind of armband?”
“You know.”
“Like the Nazis?”
Anne nodded.
“And?”
“He wasn’t. I’d just thought he was.”
“Not a lot to report to Inspector Bartlett, is there?” said Marnie. “We can’t turn him in for saying hallo and wearing black clothes.”
“Not really.”
“Don’t give it another thought. It’ll be like all the other boats. I expect he’ll be gone by tomorrow.”
10
The mystery boat was still on its mooring when they awoke on Monday morning. Marnie had had an early night and had not seen either Anne or Estelle when they returned from their visits. Her last action before going to bed on Thyrsis was to peep out after turning off the light in the sleeping cabin and look across the canal at the visitor. The boat was in complete darkness, not a trace of light visible anywhere.
As usual Anne joined Marnie for breakfast, arriving shortly after seven as she was emerging from the shower. As usual she was in good spirits. She went straight to the galley and began laying the table. A minute later Marnie came in, ready to face the day, wearing a cream silk shirt and black trousers.
“How was everything at home?”
“Fine. Mum and dad send love.” Anne nodded towards the window. “He’s still there.”
“No, he’s not.”
Anne looked out. “Some things I imagined, but that is not a mirage, it’s a boat.”
Marnie shook her head. “You said he’s still there. He isn’t. He left twenty minutes ago on his bike.”
“You saw him?”
“Yes, on my way to the shower. He unhooked the bike from the roof and set off down the towpath.”
“Did you get a good look at him? Did you say anything?”
“Anne, I was stark naked. I was hardly going to hang out of the window and wave.”
Anne laughed. “Just as well. He might’ve fallen in the canal.”
“Or got back on the U-boat and trained his periscope in this direction.”
“So you do think he looked suspicious,” said Anne, more serious again.
“Actually, Anne,” Marnie began, “my impression was … he looked rather like you.”
*
This was the first staff meeting involving Estelle, and the three of them sat round Marnie’s desk armed with coffee mugs for the usual eight o’clock Monday morning programme review. Dolly presided over business from her customary place under Marnie’s desk lamp. Anne had printed off the updated list of projects with notes on progress, and they each studied them briefly before the meeting began.
“Can I start with an extra item?” said Estelle, looking up. There was an eagerness in her voice that Marnie guessed had little to do with target dates for project completions.
“Sure.”
“I was just wondering when it would be convenient to introduce Luther. Remember you said you’d be willing to see him, Marnie?”
“Of course. When do you have in mind?” Marnie reached across the desk for her filofax.
“Oh, you won’t need that.” Estelle smiled, looking very pleased with herself. “He’s here already. You could see him whenever suits you.”
Marnie continued to reach for the filofax and open it at the current date to conceal her irritation at Estelle once again forcing her hand.
“Does he have plans for the day?”
“He’ll come over any time you want.” The smile again. “Though I think he’s probably in the shower at the moment.”
Marnie read through her appointments for the week before replying.
“What about … suppose he joined us for a snack lunch on Sally at around noon? That would give me time to clear t
he desk and get the week launched, unless it interfered with any other arrangements he had. It would mean he’d be able to get back to London before the worst of the evening traffic, presumably.”
A cloud passed over Estelle’s features. “Get back to London?” she said quietly.
“I was assuming he had not brought all his possessions for this first meeting,” Marnie said in an even tone.
Estelle nodded. “No. Of course not. He just came up so as to be here to meet you for a chat.”
“Fine. Lunch, then?”
“Thanks, Marnie. I’ll tell him after we’ve finished here.”
“Good. So, where were we? Let’s start, as usual, with Willards …”
*
The call came in soon after ten. Anne was out on site dispensing drinks to the builders, so Marnie picked up the receiver. In the background was the steady throbbing of the cement mixer behind the farmhouse, preparing concrete for the base of the terrace.
“Am I speaking to Marnie Walker?” A woman’s voice, pleasant and warm.
“Yes, you are. What can I do for you?”
“Are you aware of the fire at the community centre in Northampton about ten days ago?”
“Certainly.”
“My name is Serena McDowell. I’m a member of the centre’s management committee. One of our members has given me your name and number. I’d like to meet.”
“You’re aware that we’re interior designers, not architects?”
“Well aware. I was given your details by Dorothy Vane-Henderson of Hanford Hall, who speaks very highly of you. The whole decor of the building needs redesigning after the fire.”
“How extensive was the damage to the structure?”
“Not as bad as it might’ve been. The fire brigade got there fast. Probably best if you took a look for yourself. Would that be possible?”
Marnie found herself reaching for the filofax again. The name Luther stared up at her.
“The sooner the better from your point of view, I expect?”