Devil in the Detail

by Leo McNeir

But Grace was already turning back to the pub. “Let’s not argue on a beautiful day.”

  Anne watched her go. “She wouldn’t be so chirpy if she knew Glebe Farm was about to become the New Force Gestapo headquarters.”

  Marnie put a finger to her lips, grinning. “Sh … keep your voice down. Anyway, it’s not as bad as that.”

  “You weren’t there, Marnie. It was weird. You’d think we were on the Graf Spee or something.”

  “Anne, Germany isn’t like that now. Get things in perspective. It’s a very civilised country. Believe me, I’ve been there a few times. You’d like it. All that Nazi stuff, as you put it. It’s all history.”

  “It’s certainly his history. He told me so. He actually said his family were saved by Hitler and his army.”

  Marnie frowned. “So Ralph was right.”

  “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You wouldn’t have thanked me in the middle of your dying Swan routine this morning if I’d breezed in and said Oh, by the way, did you know we’ve got Hitler’s nephew living opposite on the Bismarck?”

  Anne’s eyes popped out on stalks. “He’s not!”

  “No, of course he’s not. I was speaking figuratively.”

  “Then what was Ralph right about?”

  “Some sort of connection,” Marnie said slowly. “That’s all I know.”

  Anne sat back, weighing up the situation. The drawn expression left by the hang-over plus this new worry made her look less than happy. Marnie took a sip of the designer water.

  “What should we do?” said Anne in a weary voice. “I can’t just keep running away the whole time.”

  “No. That doesn’t solve anything.” Marnie looked across at her friend, who had placed all her hopes and dreams for the future in her hands. She downed the water and put the glass firmly on the table. “Come on. I’m damned if I’m going to let anything or anyone spoil our home and our life.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “Take arms upon a sea of troubles and, by opposing, end them,” said Marnie, standing up.

  Anne finished her drink and got to her feet. “First we were Swan Lake, now we’re Hamlet. Heroic stuff.”

  “Exactly.” Marnie was making her way rapidly between the tables. “Let’s go for it.”

  Anne followed. “Okay,” she muttered. “If you say so. But look what happened to Hamlet … and the swan.”

  *

  Nothing happened to Marnie and Anne. They travelled in convoy down the field track to Glebe Farm, bent on confrontation. For all her anxiety, Anne could not help but admire Marnie’s resolve. She had seen this side of her character before and knew she was unstoppable. True, it had nearly got them killed in the past, but it was impressive, if you survived. Marnie drove the Discovery straight into its place in the garage barn. Anne manoeuvred the Mini so that it was facing back towards the track … just in case.

  From force of habit they went to the office to check for messages. Marnie was reaching into her shoulder-bag for the key when Anne touched her arm and pointed at the door. A piece of paper was tucked into the frame near the lock. Marnie pulled it out and handed it to Anne.

  “It’s for you.”

  Anne shook her head. “You read it.”

  Marnie unfolded the note. “Anne – you left before we had a chance to talk. I’ll be away in London till tomorrow. Duty calls again. See you, DS. That’s it.”

  “Duty calls,” Anne repeated. “Not sure I like the sound of that.”

  *

  Marnie and Anne stood facing the garden at the rear of the farmhouse armed with a hoe, a fork, a spade and a box of assorted tools, including secateurs and a pair of shears. The vegetation stood as tall as they were and stretched back as far as the end wall. Rumour – and the original sales particulars of the property – had it that this was a walled garden, but Marnie could not recall the last time she had ever seen evidence of that structure.

  “Where do we begin, Marnie?”

  “Good question.” Marnie advanced a few steps and peered into the growth. “I think for ecological and environmental reasons we ought to reconsider.”

  “You mean …” Anne began, “If we touch this it could be the equivalent of damaging the rainforest?”

  Marnie nodded thoughtfully. “There could be as yet undiscovered species of wildlife in there.”

  “So we don’t have to do anything?” said Anne, more brightly.

  “Not until the BBC has parachuted David Attenborough in and filmed the complete series.”

  “Or we could offer it to the SAS for training manoeuvres in jungle warfare,” Anne suggested.

  “They wouldn’t accept it … far too risky.”

  “So?”

  “Plan B,” said Marnie.

  Minutes later, they had changed from jeans into bikinis and were installed in deckchairs by the canal, spreading sunblock over their exposed surfaces. There was no danger that passing boats would fail to slow down as they went by. For a short time they dozed, soaking up the sunshine, enjoying the birdsong, the holiday smell of Ambre Solaire, the occasional burble from a boat slipping past. Peace. From one boatman they had a whistle that they pretended to ignore.

  In a dreamy voice Anne said, “I do like dogs, really.”

  “I know.” Marnie spoke without opening her eyes.

  “I just said that as a kind of joke.”

  “Most commendable in the circumstances.”

  Anne yawned and extricated herself from the deckchair. She went on board Sally Ann and mixed long drinks of mango juice and sparkling water with ice cubes and a chunk of lime. They settled down with books, magazines and the pile of newspapers that Marnie had bought while shopping.

  Marnie came across a magazine article about the renovation of a villa in Tuscany and was turning down the corner of the page as a marker for Estelle, when Anne distracted her.

  “Marnie, did you see the article about this bloke Brandon?” She held up the paper.

  “Mm?”

  “Garth Brandon. He’s going to stand in the election for the European Parliament. It says here he’s the candidate for the Britain First Party and it’s in Northampton.”

  “Yes,” said Marnie vaguely. “It’s a by-election.”

  “The BFP is the far right … right?”

  “Right.”

  Anne found herself smiling involuntarily. “Marnie! I’m being serious here. They must be like the political wing of these New Force people, the far right. That’s what it says in the Independent.”

  “Then it must be right,” said Marnie.

  “Oh, don’t start that again.” Mock reproof. “It says he was in politics before he went to work at that university.”

  “He was the golden boy of the right wing of the Tory party, but he resigned when Mrs Thatcher signed the Maastricht Treaty.”

  “You know about him?”

  “Yes,” said Marnie. “Not much, but I knew that.”

  “And you didn’t mention him to me? What else are you keeping from me?”

  Marnie sat up in her chair. “What do you mean? I didn’t know I was supposed to provide a news-clipping service. I bought the papers, didn’t I? I’ve not censored them.”

  “You know what I mean, Marnie.” Anne read on. “Apparently, he’s having a meeting of his ‘inner circle’ in London on Saturday evening. That’s tonight in Shadwell. Where’s that? I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Docklands, I think. I’ll look it up and give you a map reference if you want.”

  “Ha … ha …” Anne said slowly.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be accused of keeping things from you. As if I’d do such a thing.”

  “You’re always keeping things from me.” Her voice softened. “To protect me, or keep me from worrying.”

  “Only for your own good, Anne. You’re such an old worry-guts.”

  “Blimey!” Anne’s turn to sit up sharply.

  “What?”

  “Donovan Smith … he’s g
one to London.”

  “That’s in the Independent?”

  Anne pulled a face. “No, silly … his note … Duty calls.”

  “Anne, London’s a pretty big place. He might be seeing any one of eight million people. It’s just a coincidence. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  After a pause Anne said, “Oh, I can think of at least two things to worry about.”

  “Amaze me,” said Marnie.

  “First, we know for sure that Donovan Smith has Nazi connections. Even Ralph says so. Right?”

  “Go on.”

  “And second, this Garth Brandon. He’s standing in the election in Northampton. That means he’ll be spending a lot of time up here over the next few weeks. It’s an election for the European Parliament, don’t forget.”

  “So?”

  “That means it’s not just for the town, he’s standing for the whole county. He’ll be going to every area. That includes here in the south. He and his supporters will be swarming all over us. And that’s not a coincidence. That’s a guarantee.”

  17

  Ralph’s flight was dead on time. Waiting for him to arrive, Marnie installed herself in a café on the main airport concourse and scoured the Sunday papers for news of any unrest the previous night. There were no reports of riots, attacks or general mayhem. All was quiet. There was no mention of Garth Brandon, the BFP or New Force, except for one brief editorial speculating that perhaps the troubles had fizzled out. Marnie was unconvinced.

  When Ralph walked through the arrivals gate pulling his suitcase, they embraced warmly. Marnie commented on Ralph’s lack of a suntan. He complimented her on hers. Out in the car park Ralph heaved his bag into the boot, and they headed for home.

  “No Anne?”

  Marnie steered the Discovery into a roundabout and chose the lane to the motorway. “She decided to visit her folks for the day. And I think she wanted to give us some time to ourselves. So, tell me all about your conference. Spare no gory details.”

  Ralph laughed. “I know men are supposed to like nothing more than their own voices, but I don’t think I should inflict macro-economic theory on even such a willing listener as you, Marnie.”

  Marnie smiled. “I am interested in your life, Ralph, your career.”

  “I know, and it’s marvellous. But just now, it’s all the goings-on here that are most important to me.”

  “Okay. So, Donovan Smith? Did you remember anything more about him?”

  “Oh, yes, I remembered all right. And maybe it’s just as well that Anne isn’t here.”

  “It’s that bad?”

  They had reached the motorway. The traffic was light, and Marnie settled the car into a steady rhythm.

  “I can’t pretend to have all the details, but I’ll tell you what I know. Donovan Smith isn’t his full name, it’s his surname. I can’t remember his first name exactly, but I think it’s German … Klaus, Kurt, something like that.”

  “So he is German?”

  “Partly. Look, I think I’d better start with his grandparents, Professor Doctor Klaus Herrmann and his wife, Luise. She was a musician, very talented, very beautiful. Back in the twenties – and the thirties for a time – they were stars on the academic scene in Berlin. He was a brilliant anthropology lecturer, great expert on the history of early religions. She specialised in ancient music and gave recitals on weird instruments. Okay so far? Not disturbing your concentration?”

  “No, that’s fine. You seem to know a lot about them.”

  “I got that from their son-in-law, but I’ll come on to him in a minute.”

  “Go on with the story, then,” said Marnie. “I’m sitting comfortably.”

  “When the Nazis came to power in 1932, the Minister for Internal Affairs was Heinrich Himmler. He’s well-known for setting up the secret state police – the Gestapo – but he did lots of other things, too. One of his responsibilities was for policy relating to the purity of the Germanic race – the Aryans and all that kind of thing. You can see where this is leading?”

  “Would it lead to an interest in a certain leading anthropologist, by any chance?”

  “Precisely. Himmler had big research budgets and was keen to fund anyone who could prove that the Aryans were the master race.”

  “Professor Herrmann ordered the new Mercedes and a set of strings for his wife’s sitar?”

  “Actually,” said Ralph, “that’s where I rather lose the thread. Somewhere along the line they managed to survive the war – the whole family … I think they had three daughters – and ended up for a time in Sweden. What happened after that I don’t know, but some years ago I got to know Bill Donovan Smith.”

  “Our stranger’s father?”

  “Yes. He was on a post-doctoral fellowship at All Saints, my college. He’d been a research assistant to Herrmann and studied under him in Germany.”

  “I can’t imagine the East Germans harbouring an ex-Nazi at one of their universities,” said Marnie.

  “No. He wasn’t in Berlin any more. It was some other place – Göttingen, Heidelberg, I don’t know – somewhere in West Germany. Anyway, Bill ended up marrying the youngest of the daughters – Greta, I think was her name. Prof Herrmann was dead by then, and Bill was editing his old research papers for a book. That’s how he came to be in Oxford for a while, and how I met him.”

  “He’s not still at All Saints, then?”

  “No, he’s dead. So’s his wife. It was tragic, really. He left All Saints to take up a post at Reading University. A few years later they were visiting South Africa, and on a trip to one of the national parks their bus ran off the road. Half the passengers were killed in the crash, including Bill and Greta. Their son was sitting on the other side from them, and he survived. He must’ve been about ten or eleven at the time.”

  “When was that?”

  “Something like ten years ago, I think.”

  “Did you ever meet their son?”

  “Once or twice. I vaguely remember him as a rather introverted little boy, very quiet and shy.”

  “What became of him?”

  Ralph shook his head. “I’m really not sure. I did ask at the time, but it was soon after Laura died, and I was less aware of what was happening around me for a while. My recollection is that he went to live with relatives. There the trail ends.”

  “And it looks as if it’s now led to our door,” said Marnie. “Or to our canal bank.”

  *

  Marnie urged Ralph to change out of his travelling clothes while she made ready for lunch. He emerged from Thyrsis in slacks and a polo shirt to find the table set up on the waterside, their places laid under the big parasol, with blue and white gingham napkins standing in tall wine glasses. Marnie waved from the galley on Sally Ann and came out carrying a bottle.

  “You’ve probably had a surfeit of Spanish wine, so I thought we’d open this.”

  She handed him a chilled bottle of Crémant de Bourgogne, a dry white sparkler from Burgundy. By the time he had opened it with a satisfying pop, Marnie was returning with a tray containing a basket of bread and the first course. Ralph stood for a moment surveying the scene.

  “This must be very close to perfection.” He breathed in deeply, turning his face to the sun. “A book, a jug of wine and you,” he quoted.

  “Very poetic,” said Marnie. “But in fact it’s a fantail of avocado, sprinkled with vinaigrette.”

  “Even better, but it doesn’t scan so well, or perhaps it’s just a poor translation from the original Persian.”

  He walked over and kissed Marnie, holding her close to him for several seconds. When they moved apart they were smiling. Ralph was about to speak when he saw Marnie’s smile fade. She was looking over his shoulder.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, nothing. Let’s not spoil a beautiful day.”

  She kissed him lightly and turned towards the table, but Ralph did not release her. He looked round.

  “Ah yes, the famous U-boat. I’d
forgotten about it. Strange to think that Donovan is just over there. When I last saw him he was a little sprog.”

  “He’s not there at the moment.”

  Marnie led Ralph to the table, and he poured the wine, taking care not to let it foam over the top of the flutes.

  “How do you know he’s not there?”

  “No bike. He’s got a mountain bike for getting around locally. It’s bright yellow – you can’t miss it – and it sits on the roof when he’s on board.”

  “Presumably he can’t stay there indefinitely,” said Ralph, handing Marnie a glass. “He’s only allowed so many days on that section in any year. Perhaps he won’t be around to bother us much longer.”

  “His leaving can’t come soon enough for me. He gives Anne the creeps. She’s really spooked by him. I’ve never seen her like that. In fact …”

  “Go on.”

  “Nothing.”

  Marnie took a fork of avocado and a sip of wine. Ralph touched her hand.

  “In fact what? I didn’t realise you were so upset by this. Do you really suspect this young man is involved with the far right, that he’s in some way mixed up with New Force?”

  “It’s only circumstantial evidence, Ralph. But every time something happens at night, he seems to be away. And all the other signs, the strange-looking boat, his clothes – like the things I saw the New Force people wearing – and the swastika photo. You can see why Anne’s worried.”

  They finished the avocado in silence, and when Ralph made to collect their plates, Marnie waved him to remain seated.

  “You relax. I’ve got one or two things to do in the galley, and you’re jetlagged.”

  Ralph laughed. “About as jetlagged as a visit to Waitrose. Can’t I help in the galley?”

  “No. You’ll be in the way. I won’t be a minute.”

  On Sally Ann Marnie loaded a tray with a salad bowl and dishes containing baked trout and roast peppers. She quickly tossed new potatoes in parsley butter and emptied them into another dish. Outside, all her concentration was on stepping down from the stern deck with the tray intact, and it was only when she looked up with an anticipatory smile that she discovered they had a visitor. Ralph had risen from his seat at the arrival of Donovan Smith.