by Leo McNeir
“Is there no way you could help?”
Richard hesitated. “Not officially.”
“But?”
Richard looked across at his wife. She nodded encouragingly.
“Would there be a lot of letters?” Richard asked.
“Very few, but they’d be important to me.”
Richard opened a notebook.
“What name is it?”
“Dekker. I’ll spell that for you.”
“Unusual name. Foreign, is it?”
A pause. “Dutch, originally.”
“Oh.” Richard smiled. “This a flying visit, then?”
“Sorry?”
“Just my little joke, like the Flying Dutchman?”
“Ah, yes. Wagner.”
“Who?”
“Never mind.”
Once Dekker extricated himself from the postmaster he took his groceries to the counter, arriving at the same time as a woman. He gestured that she should be served first.
“Well now, there’s a coincidence,” said Molly. “Two boat people at the same time.”
Dekker looked closely at the woman. She was slim, dark and attractive. He guessed she was somewhere around thirty.
“Marnie has a boat,” said Molly. “Well, two actually. This is Marnie Walker, from Glebe Farm, down by the canal.”
Dekker regarded her pensively. “Sally Ann … Thyrsis?”
“That’s right,” said Marnie. “Both.”
“I’ve moored opposite. I left enough room for Sally Ann to exit the dock if required.”
“No problem. We shan’t be taking her out in these conditions. I’m a fair weather boater, I’m afraid. You’re passing through? Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
The man offered his hand. “Maurice Dekker. How do you do? Yes, I’m travelling through.”
“A difficult time of year with so many lock closures for maintenance. Which way are you heading?”
“I’m going north, but eventually I’ll be coming back this way.”
Marnie reflected. “I think I heard there was going to be some work or an inspection in one of the tunnels.”
Dekker nodded. “Braunston tunnel, yes. It’s closed for three days next week.”
Molly totalled Marnie’s groceries and put them in her shopping basket. Marnie paid and turned to leave.
“Have a safe journey, Mr Dekker. Perhaps we’ll see you passing through again some time.”
Molly chimed in. “Mr Dekker’s having post sent here for collection, so he may be a regular visitor.”
“Then please look in on us when you’re in the area, Mr Dekker. There’s a path through the spinney. It leads to my office in a small barn, opposite a row of cottages.”
“Thank you. I wonder …” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a card. “If it’s not too much trouble, if anything arrives for me here, would you be so kind as to inform me?”
Marnie took the card. “Certainly. If Molly will let me know, I’ll pass on the message.”
Outside, Marnie climbed into her car, a Land Rover Discovery, and headed for home. Turning off the high street through a field gate onto a rough track, she was glad to have the stability of four-wheel drive in such slippery conditions. In the office barn she set the shopping down on the bench in the kitchen area. Before hanging up her coat, she took Dekker’s card from a pocket and slotted it into her wallet.
It was a simple white card with plain black print. Beneath the name was a mobile phone number. There were no other details. It seemed as if Maurice Dekker had only tenuous connections with the outside world.
Chapter 6
Dobbin
Ralph had dressed quickly that Monday morning, grateful for the mains electric heating on Thyrsis. After he and Marnie had made love the previous night, they had snuggled under their winter-weight duvet and woken to find an opaque world awaiting them outside.
Marnie had risen first as usual and pulling aside the curtain in the galley, had been confronted by a landscape in shades of white. Snow covered the banks of the canal and the fields and meadows beyond to the horizon. In the misty air the bare trees looked as if they had been sprayed with rime. The stranger’s boat that had been moored opposite the night before had departed, leaving only a watery trail in the ice that was thickening from one side of the canal to the other.
Marnie was pulling on her boots when Ralph came into the sleeping cabin and dropped his dressing gown onto the bed.
“Going for your power walk?” Marnie asked.
Ralph’s reply was enigmatic. “I wonder where that old saying came from.”
“What old saying?”
“Not on your Nelly. Curious, isn’t it?”
Marnie laughed. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” She reached for her jacket. “Much as I love the waterways life, I can’t help hoping this will be our last winter sleeping on the boat.”
“Surely it will be.”
“If I can keep earning the shekels we might finally get the refurbishing completed this summer.”
“Good. If not, I could always sell the cottage.”
Ralph owned a house in the village of Murton not far from Oxford, which he let to visiting academics for much of the year.
“No.” Marnie was firm. “That’s your investment fund for the future. Come on. Time to brave the Arctic wastes. I can already see lights on Sally. Anne’s getting breakfast ready.”
They trod carefully across the snowy ground from one boat to the other, heads bowed against the swirling flakes. Ralph began to sing in a passable baritone.
Hither page and stand by me, if thou know’st it telling,
Yonder peasant who is he, where and what his dwelling …
He looked over his shoulder at Marnie. “You’re supposed to follow with:
Sire he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain,
Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes’ fou-oun-tain.
These lines he delivered in a quavering falsetto. Marnie laughed so much she slipped and almost lost her footing.
“You’re wrong, Ralph. I ought to follow with, get knotted. I expect you wonder where that phrase comes from, as well.”
They stepped up onto the stern deck of Sally Ann, where the doors swung open. Anne peeped out.
“Bit early for carol singing, isn’t it?”
Over breakfast Marnie asked Ralph, “Must you go to Oxford? It’s a beastly day.”
“No choice. I’ve got two post-grad tutorials, lunch with the Master and a committee meeting.”
“Then you should take the Discovery. Your old Volvo won’t make it up the field track in these conditions.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right. Tough old banger, that car. Thrives on bad weather. Swedish, you know.”
“Up to you. You’re the brainbox, as Anne says. Personally, I’m going to sit tight and get on with designs. What about you, Anne?”
“I’ve finished my holiday project for college, so I’ll be in the office this morning. Thought I’d do some reading this afternoon.”
“There you are then. You can do the intrepid bit, Ralph. We’ll be nice and snug here. A quiet, uneventful day.”
*
Snow that had stopped in mid-morning was threatening a comeback by dusk around four o’clock. Anne announced that she was making the trek up to the post box a little earlier than usual. The builders were packing up and had offered her a lift to the high street. The return walk would give her some welcome fresh air and exercise.
When she arrived back in the office barn, pink-nosed and stamping snow from her boots on the doormat, she crossed to the kitchen area and planted a shopping bag on the workbench. Marnie looked up from her drawing board.
“Don’t tell me. You want me to requisition skis or a toboggan, right?”
“Definitely. Before I change out of my Captain Oates gear, I’m going to pop round to Sally and make sure that time switch on the heater is working properly. We don’t want to go for supper to find the boat’s t
urned into a floating fridge.”
Unlike Captain Oates, Anne was not gone for some time. She reappeared within two minutes, walked across to her desk and flopped onto the chair. Marnie was accustomed to her dramatic entrances and barely glanced up.
“Time switch okay?”
Anne paused before replying. “Didn’t get that far.”
A smile was beginning to form on Marnie’s face. “Really?”
No reply. Marnie looked across at her friend, who was staring in front of her, perplexed.
“Go on, I’ll bite. What is it?”
“I think I’ve just seen a …”
“A ghost?” Marnie added, helpfully.
Anne shook her head. “A horse.”
*
They stepped out into the frosty twilight, wrapped up against the chill, each carrying a torch. Anne led the way skirting the spinney, walking slowly, keeping the beam low. A mist hung in the air, and the spiky trees made crooked patterns around them.
Reaching the docking area, they stood together, scanning the bank on all sides.
“What was it doing?” Marnie spoke in a half-whisper.
“Sort of nuzzling the ground. I think it was looking for grass.”
“Show me where exactly it was standing.”
“It was sort of through the trees over there.” They had walked only a few paces when Anne stopped and knelt down. “Look here, in the snow.”
Marnie swept the ground with light. “Is that a trail?”
Keeping either side of the prints, they followed the track towards one of the barns. In the freezing mist they could see only a short way ahead. Suddenly Anne stopped.
“Listen. Something’s moving.”
“Round the corner of the barn,” Marnie agreed.
“What do we do? I mean, how do we approach it? Will it run away? I don’t know much about horses.”
“Must be looking for food,” Marnie said.
“The fruit bowl!” Anne exclaimed in a whisper. “We’ve got some apples on Sally. Shall I get them?”
“You go, Anne. I’ll wait here.”
Anne was back in no time. They walked silently to the end of the barn and turned the corner. The horse was dark and heavily built, nibbling a tuft of grass beside the stone wall. It raised its head and snorted, condensation clouding the air round its nose. Anne pulled the stalk from an apple and advanced towards the animal, hand held out in front.
“Here, horse. Would you like this?”
The horse bobbed its great head up and down, and for a moment Anne felt nervous. She stopped and spoke quietly.
“It’s only an apple. You’ll like it, I think.”
She took a few more steps, raising the torch to light up the apple, taking care not to shine the beam into the horse’s face.
“Here you are. If you like this one, I’ve got another.”
The horse took a step forward, lowered its mouth to Anne’s out-stretched palm and took the apple in its lips. They heard the crunch as its teeth closed on the fruit and the horse began chewing.
Marnie came to stand alongside Anne, who offered the second apple, which the horse took.
“Something’s wrong,” Marnie said softly.
Anne reached forward and stroked the side of the horse’s face. It scraped the ground with a hoof but did not back away.
“Just what I was thinking,” said Anne. “Where did you come from, Dobbin?”
“He’s not some little girl’s pony, that’s for sure,” said Marnie. “Look at the size of him. This is one powerful beast.”
Anne stepped sideways and examined the horse.
“Not very tall but all muscle. You know, Marnie, it reminds me of –”
“I know. The same idea occurred to me.”
“But it couldn’t be, could it? Surely such things don’t exist any more.”
Throughout this exchange the horse stood quietly chewing. Having finished its apples, it nudged Anne gently with its nose and made a soft grunting snuffling sound.
“Sorry, I haven’t any more,” she said.
“The point is,” Marnie said, “it’s not a riding pony or a hunter, so what could it be? Where did it come from? Who’s its owner?”
“And where’s its owner?” Anne added.
Darkness had fallen, and Marnie and Anne began retracing the horse’s steps by torchlight. It turned and followed slowly behind them. Suddenly Marnie halted.
“Wait a minute. We’ve already been this way.”
“Twice in my case,” Anne agreed. “I didn’t see anything when I went to fetch the apples from Sally.”
“No other boats?”
“Too misty to see.”
“Well, if Dobbin is a boat horse … I know that sounds crazy, but if that’s what he is –”
“She,” Anne interrupted. “I, er, took a peek. I think she’s a lady horse.”
“Right. So where’s her owner?”
They split forces. Anne was to continue back towards the canal while Marnie went round to take the footpath through the spinney. The horse followed Anne, who caught occasional glimpses of Marnie’s torchlight through the trees. As they walked, Anne spoke softly, hoping to inspire a feeling of trust in the animal. She had had no experience of horses in her life, but this one seemed to be accustomed to people and she hoped it would be at ease with her. She was wondering if there was a feminine equivalent of Dobbin, when a cry from the spinney made her freeze.
Anne set off at a slow jog on the snowy ground, calling over her shoulder.
“Don’t go away, horse!”
She ran round to the end of the trees and found Marnie kneeling in the spinney, a short way from the footpath. A woman was lying face down on the ground.
Turning her over, Marnie held her under the arms while Anne took her legs and they carried her to the office barn. Anne climbed the wall-ladder up to her attic room and dropped down cushions, a pillow and a duvet while Marnie supported the woman in the chair at her desk. After removing her long dark red coat, encrusted with snow and dried leaves, they made her as comfortable as they could and looked down at her face on the pillow.
She seemed to be about Marnie’s age, her complexion fair, with a sprinkling of freckles, her hair auburn, plaited in a single thick braid. She was wearing dungarees in faded green denim over a royal blue shirt patterned with small flowers. Marnie began untying the laces of her leather boots while Anne filled the kettle for a hot water bottle.
“At times like this I wish I knew more about first aid,” said Marnie.
“What about a drop of brandy?” Anne suggested.
“The bottle’s on Sally.”
“I’ll fetch it when I’ve done the hottie.”
“I think she needs medical help. Perhaps I should –”
The woman breathed out, making a low murmuring sound that could have been a word. Marnie lowered her face closer to the woman’s and spoke softly.
“Are you with us? Hallo? Can you hear me?”
The same sound came from her lips. Anne slipped the hot water bottle under the duvet near her feet.
“I’ll get the brandy, quick as I can.”
A few sparse flakes began falling as Anne rushed through the spinney by torchlight. She expected at any moment to meet the horse or to hear Ralph’s car arriving home. At the edge of the trees she stopped, sensing movement nearby. The sound of a twig cracking made her turn and peer into the misty darkness.
*
The woman now seemed to be breathing more easily. Marnie knelt beside her on the floor and laid fingertips on her forehead. Her skin was cold. She made that sound again.
“Hallo? Can you hear me?” The woman stirred. Marnie bent nearer. “Are you all right?”
This time Marnie caught part of a word but it made no sense. She was resolving to phone for an ambulance when Anne returned clutching the bottle of brandy.
“Any change?” Anne said, standing in the doorway.
Marnie shook her head. “She keeps trying to say some
thing, but I can’t make it out. Sounds like den.”
“Not den,” Anne said. She stepped into the office and moved to one side. “Marnie, I’d like you to meet … Ben.”
“Ben?”
The boy rushed forward to kneel by his mother as the phone started ringing.
Chapter 7
Snowdrift
The road through the village and up to the dual carriageway was slippery even for the Discovery, and Marnie had to concentrate hard to keep the four-wheel-drive on the tarmac. When she reached the main road, the traffic was crawling.
Ralph had been able to provide only the vaguest idea on the phone of where he was stranded. Marnie took the road to Bicester, Ralph’s usual route to Oxford, and travelled in a convoy of commuters at a slow pace through the snow that was now falling heavily.
In the back of the Disco she had packed her winter survival kit, including a shovel, tow-rope, blankets, muesli bars, chocolate, miniatures of brandy and whisky, woolly hats, jumpers, gloves and scarves. Overkill, perhaps, but as a self-confessed townie, she had a deep suspicion of the rural winter.
Marnie had been underway for half an hour when she spotted the blue Volvo ahead. It was parked at an oblique angle just off the road, its nose pointing across to the opposite side, leaving just enough room for cars to pass. The hazard lights were blinking, and she could see Ralph at the wheel. Slowing, she flashed her headlights and waved. A hundred yards later she found a side road and turned round. Ralph was out of the car as soon as Marnie pulled up behind him.
“Where are your towing eyes?”
Ralph looked blank. “No idea.”
“You check the front, I’ll check the back.”
They found one under each bumper, and Marnie opted for the front. She drove the Disco into position and attached the rope.
“Right.” She spat snowflakes from her lips. “This is getting worse. The sooner we go, the better. You know the drill? Handbrake off, engine running, first gear at the ready. You can try letting the clutch in as soon as I take up the slack. Not too many revs. Okay?”
“Then what?”
“We’ll stop and I’ll untie the rope.”
“Won’t we hold up the traffic?”