by Leo McNeir
“I’ll get it.”
Anne had the phone in her hand before Marnie or Ralph realised it was ringing. She passed it over to Marnie.
“Hi, Serena. Have you been watching the news?”
“Yeah.” She sounded weary. “Not looking good. Still, there is a silver lining round our clouds, thank goodness.”
“Really? Someone has assassinated Brandon?”
“Not yet. I’m working on it. Seriously, I had my meeting with the big-wigs this morning. In fact, I’ve been trying to ring you on and off most of the afternoon.”
“It’s been a madhouse here. Tell me about your meeting.”
“It was more like the Inquisition. There were three of them and they tried to get me to reduce the scheme to its original level.”
“You’ve got to cut it back? But we’ve sent out all the leaflets and –”
“I said they tried. I managed to persuade them by using my diplomatic skills.”
“Really? You have diplomatic skills?”
“Don’t sound so sceptical. I can be diplomatic when I need to be.”
“Sorry. Of course. What did you say to them?”
“Told them I’d go public that they were putting the screws on me at a time when I was receiving death threats.”
“Hm … That’s reasonable. You’ve obviously missed your true vocation. How did they take it?”
“Very well, really. They’ve probably regained consciousness by now.”
“Well done. So, we go ahead with our plan to post sentries in the school overnight during the weekend?”
“I’ll let you have the keys. Who’s on duty tonight?”
“I’m taking the first night with Anne.”
*
The Discovery climbed the slope of the field track, its suspension easing out the bumps. Anne sat beside Marnie with their overnight bags on the back seat.
“Anne, there’s something I want to say to you. I’ve been thinking about the Italian job.”
“You don’t want me to go on the trip with Estelle.”
“How did you work that out?”
“You’re thinking you could use me here as your extra pair of hands.”
“You’re more than that. Estelle has to go; it’s her job. But things are getting more complicated here just now. I can’t expect Ralph to be available all the time. He has his own pressures, setting up this new career. And it seemed to me –”
“Marnie, you don’t have to explain anything. I understand. And you’re right. With the business to run and all this summer scheme malarkey, you need me to be around. That’s fine.”
Marnie drove through the open gateway and turned right towards the centre of the village. The road curved round to the left, straightening past the church and the pub.
“I hope you don’t feel too disappointed, missing the trip to Italy.”
Anne turned sideways in her seat. “Marnie, I couldn’t be disappointed with any part of my life. I’m the luckiest person in the world. I’ve got my job, my attic and my lovely car, not to mention Sally Ann and you and –”
“What the hell?”
Anne was surprised at Marnie’s reaction. She turned to look ahead. At first she thought it was a funeral cortège, a long line of cars driving slowly towards them down the high street led by a black Jaguar, its paintwork highly-polished. Behind it a procession of vehicles stretching back as far as the eye could see. Incongruous among them a large van stood out like a conning tower, twin loudspeakers attached to its roof. As they passed the motorcade it was slowing to a halt, taking up the whole of the street. They could see the slogan emblazoned on the side of the van: Put Britain First! At that moment martial music began blaring out from the loudspeakers.
Marnie could scarcely keep her attention on the road, snatching glances at the convoy that had now halted.
“Mr Stubbs won’t be very happy.” Anne pointed at a caravan like a huge silver cigar tube. “They’re blocking his driveway with that Starship Enterprise thing.”
Numerous people were pouring from the cars and moving rapidly along the pavement towards the leading Jaguar. Marnie strained in the rear-view mirror, estimating that the front car was parked up by the church. Passing the convoy’s tail end, she slowed and reversed into a field entrance beyond the last house.
“I don’t like this.” Marnie looked at her watch and grabbed the mobile from her belt. She pressed buttons and listened. “Damn! Serena’s mobile isn’t available.” She disconnected and sat thinking.
“I could go on in the Mini and get the keys from Serena,” Anne intruded into her thoughts. “If you wanted to check out what’s going on.”
Marnie was wracked with indecision. “I don’t like leaving Glebe Farm deserted and Ralph alone on Thyrsis with this lot around.”
“But you don’t want us to be split up, I know,“ said Anne. “I can at least take our bags to the school and settle in. You can come on later when things have quietened down here.”
Marnie nodded slowly and engaged first gear. They cruised cautiously back along the high street. It would be a bad move to run over one of the BFP minions who were swarming everywhere like worker ants. Some were posting leaflets through letter-boxes, others attaching placards to lamp-posts. Many wore rosettes. A few sported baseball caps with tricolour roundels like soldiers of the French Revolution.
“Look at them,” Marnie muttered. “Where’ve they all come from?” She braked as a gang crossed the road in front of her heading into the pub, each clutching a wad of leaflets. “There are dozens of them.”
“Does it remind you of the troll army you saw in Leicester that day?” Anne asked.
“Not quite. The trolls looked like thugs. These look more like accountants. They’re so much better dressed and –”
“Watch out!” Anne shouted. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d seen it.”
Marnie had signalled to turn onto the field track, but a car was half blocking the gateway. She hit the brakes, and they rocked in their seats.
“Bloody inconsiderate fool!” Marnie pressed the button and her window rolled down.
At the same time, the door of the car flew open, and the driver made to get out. He looked irate and was half out of the car when he was restrained by his passenger who spoke urgently at him. There was a clear moment of tension inside the car, and the passenger door opened. A face appeared.
“Can I help you?”
“Gently does it,” Marnie murmured to herself. She leaned out. “You’re blocking the gateway. I need to get through.”
The face looked puzzled. “Through here?” Disbelief. He looked round at the field.
“That’s right.”
More words inside the stranger’s car. Both doors closed, the engine started and the driver manoeuvred to make room for them to pass. Marnie raised her hand as she slipped into gear and eased forward.
“That’s a pity. I didn’t want them to know anyone lived down here. I hope they don’t get curious and decide to explore.”
Anne made no reply and sat deep in concentration. Marnie glanced at her friend as they motored down the track.
“You all right? No need to be scared. We just have to be cautious.”
“I’m not scared. I’m trying to remember something. I can’t think …”
Marnie turned into the garage barn, and they got out. Anne straight away unlocked the Mini and began putting their bags into the back.
“Got your mobile switched on?”
Anne patted her pocket. “Yes. I’ll get off, otherwise I’ll be late for Serena. See you later.”
“Ring me if you have any problems,” said Marnie. “In fact ring me anyway to let me know how things are.”
“Will do.”
Anne leapt in, reversed and drove off up the track, hoping the stranger’s car was not back in its place blocking the field entrance. With luck, the two men would be gone. She did not want them to have the impression there was something worth investigating down the hill. She approached s
lowly, scanning the car for signs of activity. It was empty, and they had left the entrance clear. Anne pulled out and headed through the village.
It had been transformed in the few minutes since the convoy arrived. Red, white and blue placards were attached to every surface. Even the church notice board carried a poster exhorting everyone to vote for Brandon and put Britain first. Taped to the window of the shop was a picture of Brandon, his intense gaze staring out.
At the dual carriageway Anne turned north and settled down to cruise at sixty, her self-imposed limit. She took a few deep breaths, reflecting that her life in the country was anything but dull. Several cars overtook her, two of them BMWs that sped past, locked in their own private race, almost bumper to bumper. Idiots, Anne muttered. It’s stupid driving like – She stopped in mid-thought … BMWs. That car blocking the field entrance had been a BMW. But it looked different from others. They had been concerned with where it was parked. Now, Anne thought about its appearance. Dark bodywork, fancy alloy wheels, wheel arches rimmed in shiny steel. Where had she heard that before? Steel arches … Luther!
The Mini was wandering in its lane and Anne refocused attention on driving safely. She steadied the car before letting her thoughts return to the incident in the gateway. The car they had encountered exactly fitted the description of the BMW that Luther had identified at the scene of the mosque attack in Leicester. Perhaps the fancy wheel arches could be ordered as an extra from BMW. Maybe she had just never noticed them before. She began watching the cars that passed her. One or two more BMWs went by. None of them had the unusual wheel arches. Had that really been the fire-bomber’s car in Knightly St John, parked in the entrance to Glebe Farm?
*
Marnie jogged through the spinney to tell Ralph about the invasion of the BFP hordes and the change of plan. They agreed that Marnie would take up guard duty in the office and ring Ralph at once if any of Brandon’s supporters came down to explore Glebe Farm.
It was like being under siege. The worst part was that she could not see what was happening in the village. She rang Angela Hemingway at the vicarage. No reply. When Molly Appleton answered the phone her voice was troubled.
“It’s Marnie.”
“Oh, Marnie! Do you know what’s going on up here?”
“I saw them. That’s why I’m ringing. Are the cars still there?”
“The village is full of them. They’re knocking on all the doors.”
“Have they been to your house?”
“Yes. Actually, they were quite polite. I thought they were trying to sell the Watchtower when I opened the door. Then I saw the rosettes and leaflets and all the cars.”
“They didn’t threaten you or anything?”
“No, quite the opposite. They were very friendly and courteous, asked if we’d like to vote for Garth Brandon and start putting the country back on its feet. I told them we’d think about it, and they seemed quite happy. They offered to get Mr Brandon to come and talk to us, but I said we were rather busy, so they thanked us and went away.”
“Molly, would you do something for me? Could you ring me when they leave the village? I’ve got to go into town this evening and I don’t want the place to be left empty.”
“Certainly, Marnie. That’s no problem. Oh, just a mo …” There was a voice in the background. “Richard’s just reminded me. There was one other thing you ought to know about. They asked if we knew of anyone in the village called Lombard.”
“Lombard?” Marnie felt goosebumps on her neck.
“That’s Ralph’s surname, isn’t it?”
“What did you tell them?”
“I said there was definitely no-one of that name on the electoral roll for the village. That convinced them, I think. And it was true.”
“Well done, Molly. Phew! You’re a star.”
*
Serena stayed at the school long enough to show Anne which keys worked which locks, and to disable the burglar alarm – they would not want Anne’s movement setting it off – before dashing back to her family obligations.
There was a small common room on an inside wall with just one tiny window high up. It was ideal as a base. Anne laid out the airbeds and sleeping bags and opened the window to its limit of a few centimetres. She closed the curtain. It was a secure space, and from outside no-one could see that it was occupied. There was a cupboard and a small sink in the corner with a kettle. Anne unloaded the box of provisions, coffee, tea, milk, biscuits, a four-pack of croissants, some bars of Kit-Kat.
She grabbed a powerful Maglite torch, checked that the mobile was on and set off on her rounds. The stronghold was secured. She was ready.
*
It was a night that would long be remembered in Knightly St John – and in the Two Roses especially – in more ways than one. No-one could recall an evening when the pub was so full and did so much business with so little disorder. Grace Parchman was called in by her father, although it was her night off, to help serve the meals that threatened to overwhelm the kitchen. She was crossing the floor with a tray of drinks when a hush fell upon the company. At a corner table a man had risen to his feet, and everyone in his group that filled the saloon bar became silent. Every customer in the pub stopped talking and looked in his direction. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, with a striped tie and gold cufflinks. His head was almost completely bald, and there was a twinkle in his eye.
“Landlord, thank you for making us all feel so welcome this evening.” Murmurs of agreement. “And apologies to your regular customers for taking up so much space in their local. We’re here in the village to canvass support for our party – the Britain First Party – in the European election. But tonight we’re off duty and we like to feel we’re among friends in this fine English hostelry in your charming village. To compensate your regulars for taking over the pub, I would like to offer a drink to all the customers here this evening. The drinks are on me, Garth Brandon. Have a good evening.”
He sat down amid cheers and applause, though Grace noticed they came from Brandon’s own supporters. The locals were too busy placing their orders. Back at the bar her father was loading another tray. Pulling a pint, he looked up at Grace.
“Tell Gordon to make sure the order for Brandon, table seven, goes to the top of the list. I’ll have this lot ready by the time you get back.”
She vanished into the kitchen, where the chef was working feverishly, like a gunnery officer in action on one of Nelson’s warships.
*
Anne checked her watch. Time to report in to Marnie. The call was answered immediately.
“Hi Anne. How are things?”
“All quiet here. I’ve been all round the building twice. It’s quite a pleasant evening.”
“Nothing suspicious?”
“Nope. In fact, there are kids playing rounders in the playground. It’s nice. I feel like joining in.”
“Any sign of the caretaker?”
“Long gone. Serena said he doesn’t come back once he’s seen the cleaners off the premises.”
“You don’t sound too worried about things.”
“I’m not. But you do. Is Brandon’s crowd still down at Knightly?”
“I assume so. Molly’s going to let me know when they leave. I’ll join you as soon as the coast is clear.”
“You know, Marnie, I wonder if we haven’t over-reacted a bit. Everything’s very quiet in this part of town. It’s not like round by that centre that was torched, tucked away in a backwater of old factories. I can see people out walking their dogs, kids playing games. The school’s very open and it’s overlooked on all sides.”
“Maybe. We’ll see. Call back in half an hour, okay?”
“Aye aye, skipper.”
*
Richard Appleton pushed open the door of the Two Roses and gaped. He had never seen the pub so crowded. A man at the bar beckoned him to come over, and he eased his way through the crowd.
“What’ll you have, Richard?”
“T
hanks, Mike, but I’m not staying.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s the bald bloke in the flash suit who’s paying … him over there.”
“What’s he celebrating, the relief of Mafeking?”
“VE day, more like. Fancies his chances in the European election. He’s a candidate. BFP.”
“Right. He’s the one who’s just redecorated the high street, is he?”
“And made mine host Jim Parchman rich, I reckon. If you’re not staying for a drink, what are you here for?”
“There’s a car across my drive. I can’t get in.”
Grace overheard him and sidled up.
“Have you got the number of the car, Richard? I’ll get dad to make an announcement.”
He handed her a slip of paper with the number. Seconds later the landlord called for silence by dimming the lights twice. He read out the number, and a man rose at once. Grace accompanied Richard to the door.
“Sorry about this,” said the offending driver in a pleasant tone. “Didn’t realise I was blocking your driveway. I’ll shift it straight away. We can’t offer you a drink first, perhaps?”
“No, it’s okay. I have to get home.”
“You’ll be going back to Northampton, will you?” Grace asked the driver.
“Not tonight. We’re off to the deep south, down to Brackley. Early start in the morning. It’s a big county, lot of ground to cover.” He winked and pushed open the door.
*
Marnie had finally managed to fix her attention on a magazine article on loft conversions in New York when the phone rang. She almost fell off the chair in her scramble to pick up.
“I bet you thought I’d forgotten my promise, Marnie.”
Got it in one.
“Course not, Molly. Do I take it the presidential motorcade is moving out?”
“That’s right. I thought they were coming to visit you at first, but they were only using the field for turning round. They’re all on the move now.”