Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “There’d be no fees for printing a glossy brochure, no chain involved, no delays while waiting for a decision on a mortgage …”

  It would be so easy, she thought. One word, and everything connecting her to Simon would be eliminated from her life forever. She had wanted no personal involvement with Simon’s affairs. Now it seemed as if she was going to be forced into taking control whether she wanted to or not. Blunt coughed quietly in the background before going on.

  “The information required from searches is all available, so no delays on that score. I think contracts could be exchanged in three weeks max and completion finalised in six. The whole process would be entirely painless. It’s a wonderful opportunity.”

  An opportunity to do what? To free herself of the pain surrounding Simon’s violent death? Marnie refocused on the barge below. It had come to a halt in midstream, its dark red sails neatly furled, the helmsman holding her steady on the engine, waiting for something out of sight to happen before guiding the beautiful craft into London’s most fashionable and exclusive marina.

  “… which is why I think their offer deserves your attention, Mrs Walker. It is after all a valuable property and you’d be getting the best price possible with no complications …”

  Marnie suddenly realised that she had never once wondered what the valuation would be for such an apartment in that location. The question of finance had never entered her mind.

  “In short, Mrs Walker, it’s frankly too good an offer to pass up.”

  “Valuable, did you say?”

  Aha! He knew the money would be the deciding factor. It motivated everyone in the end. Dangle enough cash in front of someone, and they invariably gave in.

  “Very valuable, I’d say.”

  “Can you put a figure on it, Mr Blunt?”

  He paused for effect. “We’re talking well in excess of half a million.”

  Marnie only just managed to stop herself gasping. “Really?”

  “Absolutely. I’m sure I could negotiate an offer around five-fifty.” He knew he had her now. All that remained was the paperwork. “There is one other thing, Mrs Walker. We only have a phone number in our records. Could we perhaps have an address for future contact?”

  Marnie hesitated. There would be the need for future contact, she knew, so there was no harm in giving Blunt the information he wanted. She crossed the room to her bag, took out her wallet and slipped a card from the pocket. He took it from her.

  “I think you’re making a wise decision, Mrs Walker.”

  “Do you?”

  “It all boils down to finance in the end, doesn’t it, like so many decisions in life?”

  “I suppose it does.”

  Blunt glanced at the card. Marnie was about to speak when she noticed his expression change. He was staring at the card in something approaching bewilderment. Blunt looked up at her, his air questioning.

  “This card, it’s …” He held it up.

  Instead of the usual Walker and Co design, this was plain and simple, black lettering on white. A name and a mobile phone number. The name was Maurice Dekker. Marnie held out her hand and took it back.

  “Sorry. Wrong card.” She replaced it in her wallet and gave Blunt another. “That’s the right one.”

  His face was still registering surprise, even shock.

  “You know Maurice Dekker?” Incredulous.

  “I’ve met him. Why?”

  “I wouldn’t have thought, I mean, it seems a little out of character for you to be associated. Sorry if I’m speaking out of turn.”

  Marnie sat down and gestured to the other chair. Blunt lowered himself slowly onto it. His demeanour had changed. Whereas before he had been thrusting and cajoling, now he was cautious and wary.

  “Tell me about Maurice Dekker, Mr Blunt.”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure that would be wise.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, I don’t know the nature of your association with him.”

  “I’ve met him twice,” Marnie said. “He collects mail from our village post office. That’s all there is to our association.”

  “You have his card and his private mobile number.”

  Marnie agreed. “To contact him if mail arrives. So what can you tell me about him?”

  “Only what everyone else knows.”

  “Everyone but me, it seems. Go on, Mr Blunt. Tell me what you know.”

  *

  On Glastonbury Willow took Ralph’s mobile and stared at it for some time. Ralph turned to leave so that she could make the call in private, but Willow offered him a seat.

  Ralph had already keyed in the school’s number and Willow had only to press a button to make the connection. It was a short call, during which she frowned continuously, muttered yes or no, and eventually disconnected, confirming a visit to the school the next day.

  *

  Marnie shook hands with Quentin Blunt and closed the door to the flat as he entered the lift. Two minutes later the bell rang. Anne was on the doorstep, a beaker of coffee in each hand.

  “Presumably they had to send to Brazil for the beans?” Marnie asked.” I was thinking of ordering the team of huskies from the service desk.”

  “I thought you’d want to talk business in private.”

  “How did you know that was Quentin Blunt?”

  “I guessed. He got out of the lift and I saw him go to your door as I got in. I lurked in the coffee shop till I saw him coming out and ducked in before the door closed behind him. Everything sorted?”

  “More than I expected. I’ll tell you about it, but first I’m going to call Ralph. Then we’re going home.”

  *

  More snow was falling. The lunchtime weather forecast threatened further flurries on the way, with squadrons of cold fronts forming up to attack over the Atlantic. Ralph was listening to the news on the radio, eating a sandwich in the warmth of the office, when the phone rang. It was Marnie, about to head back to the station. She had reached an important decision and wanted to discuss it with him.

  “I’m intrigued.”

  “I want you to tell me if I’m doing the right thing, Ralph.”

  “Okay.”

  “I hope it hasn’t been too dull for you in the office.”

  “Well, I’ve got a list of phone messages a mile long. There’s a mystery something waiting for you at the post office and Ben’s being hauled in front of the beak tomorrow on a charge of GBH. So not too dull, really.”

  “Ben’s being what? Are you serious?”

  “Perhaps exaggerating a little. I’ll fill you in when you get back. Any other news at your end?”

  “Blunt has given me some info on Maurice Dekker.”

  “You went to see Blunt?”

  “He came to see me.”

  “How did you get on to Dekker?”

  “He revealed a few facts, under torture.”

  “I’m not surprised. I know your methods. They invariably work on me.”

  “Different methods, Ralph.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  *

  The drive home from the station was fine until Marnie turned off onto the narrow country road to Knightly St John, where no gritter lorry had penetrated. It was like entering a different world. The Discovery made its sure-footed way slowly down the middle of the road, the elevated driving position giving Marnie good visibility and confidence. They reached the high street without incident, without seeing any other vehicle. Smoke was issuing from the chimneys of many of the houses they passed as they rolled along. The village was dozing under its white duvet. Clouds were gathering again.

  “Don’t forget the post office!” Anne said suddenly, pointing at the shop. “There’s your special delivery to collect.”

  Marnie brought the car slowly over to the kerb. It felt like steering Sally Ann onto a mooring place. They both went in. Anne took a few items from the shelves while Marnie went to see Richard in his cubicle. Molly Appleton at once withdrew into the back
room, returning moments later with a huge bouquet of flowers. Laying it on the counter, Marnie searched for a card. When she opened the tiny envelope and removed the message, it contained only two words.

  Thank you

  The bouquet filled most of the back seat of the car. As soon as they reached Glebe Farm, Marnie carried it into the office barn and arranged the flowers in two vases. They were a collection of roses, carnations and statice, each of them in pink and white, with pink tulips and white narcissus to complete the picture.

  “No prizes for guessing who sent them,” Anne said, placing a vase on the corner of Marnie’s desk.

  “No,” said Marnie. “Not a long list of suspects.”

  “D’you think he got them specially put up to match the colours of the tablecloth and napkins from when he came to lunch?”

  “Probably. They’re magnificent. Must have cost a fortune to get flowers like these at this time of year.”

  “Dekker seems to have become a regular part of the scene,” Ralph observed.

  Marnie agreed. “There’s no getting away from him.”

  “So what did Blunt tell you about him?”

  “He was involved in some sort of financial scandal in the City. Blunt was short on details, but apparently a lot of people lost a shedload of money.”

  “When was this?” Ralph said.

  “A couple of years ago.”

  “Mm, odd. I don’t recall hearing about it.”

  “Blunt said Dekker left the company on the quiet to avoid scandal. Rumour was, he got a huge terminal payment on condition he kept quiet.”

  “Then how did Blunt know about what happened?” Anne asked.

  “Can’t keep that sort of thing completely quiet,” said Ralph. “The City may be a huge marketplace but it’s basically quite a small community. Word gets round.”

  “But you weren’t aware of it,” Marnie said to Ralph. “And you usually know everything that goes on.”

  Ralph nodded. “That’s what surprises me. I don’t keep track of everything that goes on in the City, but I usually get to hear the major gossip. Whatever Dekker was involved in, it’s been well hushed up.”

  “That’s possible?”

  “In the City the usual way of keeping things quiet is with money. It’s normally a very effective incentive to discretion.”

  “So you’re not surprised, then,” Marnie said.

  “Not totally. Financial skulduggery is fairly rare, though it doesn’t normally result in people fleeing London the way Dekker has.”

  “You think there was something else, Ralph, something more serious perhaps?”

  “I wonder …”

  *

  Ralph volunteered to cook that evening. Over salmon en croûte with carrots and creamed potatoes, helped along by a white sauvignon blanc from Touraine, he told Marnie and Anne about the phone call from Margaret Giles, though he could answer none of their questions about the violent incident involving Ben.

  When that conversation reached its conclusion, Marnie brought up the matter of Simon’s flat. She outlined the offer that Blunt had received from the bank director and explained how the amount of money in question had finally helped to make up her mind about what to do.

  Ralph did not ask how much had been offered, but Marnie casually dropped it in. Ralph nodded as if he expected that kind of figure. Anne stared, speechless.

  “But presumably there’s a large mortgage to take into account?” Ralph said.

  “Not actually. Simon had made some sort of arrangement to purchase it through the company. When he died there was some kind of transfer of assets and it was left to me … what’s the word? … unencumbered?”

  “Does that mean you get the full half a million?” Anne said. She was still looking stunned. “Oh sorry, none of my business.”

  “That’s all right, Anne. If I didn’t want you to know about it, I wouldn’t be talking about it like this. I think the answer to your question is, in theory, yes.”

  “In theory?”

  Marnie took a sip of wine and looked at Ralph. “Lovely meal, darling. Thank you.”

  He smiled. “I think I’ll change career and put up a sign on Thyrsis. Caterer to the Moneyed Classes.”

  Marnie laughed. “Good move.”

  “You said the offer had helped you decide about the flat.”

  “Yes. Blunt said money was usually the deciding factor, and I realised he was right.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Anne. “Half a million. Blimey!”

  Marnie said quietly. “I’m not going to sell it.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” Ralph said. “For sentimental reasons?”

  “Not at all. Blunt said something that made me realise it would be a mistake.”

  Anne was looking stunned again. “A mistake?”

  Marnie nodded. “He said I was a wealthy woman and I’d probably never need to work again. That decided it.” She turned to face Anne. “Think about it. If you won that amount on the lottery, would you give up working?”

  “No way. I want a proper career, like you and Ralph.”

  “Exactly.”

  *

  Ralph was sitting up in bed looking thoughtful when Marnie came back from taking her shower. She was wearing a full-length nightdress in white cotton and looked like a character from a Jane Austen novel. Slipping under the duvet, she yawned and wriggled over to Ralph.

  “Ooh, I need a snuggle.”

  He put an arm round her shoulders and squeezed her to him.

  “Hardly surprising. It’s been a momentous day for you. I’m slightly surprised you didn’t spend some time looking out of the stern doors. You usually do, when you have something important on your mind.”

  “Brr! Too cold, and guess what, it’s snowing again.”

  “Marnie, on the phone you said you wanted me to tell you if I thought you were doing the right thing about the flat.”

  “Mm …”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  “Good.” Her voice was faint.

  “I think your decision was taken for all the right reasons. Money can have a strange effect on people.”

  Marnie made no reply.

  “Marnie?” Ralph looked down at her face. “Falling asleep isn’t normally one of them,” he whispered.

  He reached up to turn out the light.

  Chapter 16

  Clarification

  There had been no further snow in the night, but Anne arrived on board Sally Ann threatening to put in a claim for a snowmobile if the wintry weather continued much longer. Ralph settled her at the table with half a grapefruit fresh from under the grill, topped with caramelised brown sugar, and she relented.

  “Everyone has their price,” he said. “Which reminds me; an old college friend of mine has a chair at the Highgate Business School. He knows everything that goes on in the City.”

  Marnie was stirring porridge at the stove. She spoke over her shoulder. “You think he might know about Dekker?”

  “If anyone does.”

  With the porridge under their belts they felt ready to face the day. Anne left the boat first to check on the horse and immediately found herself face to face with Ben. She had the impression he had been lying in wait for her.

  “Have you seen to Poppy, Ben?”

  “Yes.”

  “So where are you off to now? It’s too early for school.”

  He reached forward and took hold of her hand.

  “Will you come with me when I go, like you did on Monday?”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be seeing Mrs Giles, with your mum?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you feeling nervous about that?”

  He shrugged. “No. Why should I?”

  Before Anne could reply – she thought he had a point – Marnie emerged onto Sally Ann’s stern deck and asked Ben what time he was due to see Mrs Giles. He told her nine o’clock.

  “I can take you up in the Disco if you want. It’s heavy going up the
track on foot.” She smiled. “Unless you and your mum are going to ride on Poppy.”

  *

  Willow knocked on the door of the secretary’s office and went in ahead of Ben. Valerie Paxton looked up from checking a column of figures and announced that the head had gone to see a teacher across the hall. Willow hesitated as Valerie did not offer her a chair or make any other comment. She murmured that they would wait in the corridor, but as she began to withdraw the secretary spoke again.

  “One thing. We don’t seem to have your details on file.”

  “What details?” Willow asked.

  “Your proper name, for a start. We just have …” Valerie consulted a list. “… Willow.” Her expression was disdainful. “We need your real name. The education authority won’t accept an alias or a nickname.”

  Willow flushed. “No-one actually asked me for a name.”

  “Well, I’m asking now.” Valerie picked up a pen. “Is it Miss?”

  “I don’t use a title, but technically it’s Mrs.”

  “Oh, and your full name?”

  Willow felt as if she was being processed for transfer to Auschwitz or the gulag. “For personal reasons I use my maiden name, Haycroft. Georgina Haycroft.”

  Valerie looked surprised. “And the boy, I mean your son?”

  “Also Haycroft. Benjamin Matthew.”

  Willow gave details of his date and place of birth.

  “Religion?” Valerie went on.

  “Why d’you need that?”

  “It’s on the form.”

  “This is a church school, right?”

  “Church of England Voluntary Controlled,” Valerie confirmed.

  “Do you have to be C of E to come here?”

  “No. It’s like a county school but the church appoints some of the governors.”

  Willow hesitated while Valerie stared at her. “We don’t do religion.”

  “I can’t write pagan on the form.”

  Willow flushed again. “I was baptised Roman Catholic.”

  “This is about your son, his religion.”

  Willow shook her head.

  “I’ll put RC for him as well, then,” Valerie said. “Is that all right?”

  Willow shrugged. “If it helps fill in your form.”