Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “Do you have a permanent address? We’ve got care of Glebe Farm at the moment.”

  “Glastonbury.”

  Valerie wrote it down. “Is that in Somerset or Gloucestershire?”

  “It’s in water. It’s a boat. It’s our home.”

  Valerie looked disconcerted. She could not imagine anyone not living in a proper house or flat. “I’ll put you down as itinerants.” Her tone bordered on contempt.

  “If it floats your boat,” Willow said quietly with a hint of a smile.

  Valerie was opening her mouth to speak when the outer door opened and Margaret Giles entered the office.

  “Willow, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting like this.” She lowered her voice. “One of my staff – a probationer – had a problem and needed an urgent spot of help. Do come in. And you too, Ben.”

  *

  In his study on Thyrsis Ralph was engrossed in conversation with Graeme McKinnon, professor of international finance and economics at the Highgate Business School. One of the smallest but most prestigious business schools in Britain, Highgate was distinguished not only by its impressive ratings for both teaching and research, but also for the placements it achieved for its graduates in fast-track positions in top companies around the world.

  The college prided itself on maintaining close links with its alumni throughout their careers. This ensured a steady flow of donations to its coffers, which it put to a range of good uses from keeping its facilities world-class to offering bursaries to students of high ability from low-income families. This network also ensured that HBS was extraordinarily well connected in the business capitals of the world, earning it the nickname, High Places Business School.

  Ralph pictured his old college friend sitting in that glass-shelved office, surrounded by computers and all the high-tech paraphernalia of modern management, in contrast to the school’s elegant ivy-clad Regency buildings close to the heart of Highgate village in north London. From his first-floor vantage point Graeme McKinnon could look out beyond the school’s walled gardens over Hampstead Heath and down to the City of London in the far distance. Some envious critics had been known to observe that HBS, looking down on the capital from its lofty setting, occupied an aloof position in more ways than one.

  But if HBS deserved its insider reputation, and Ralph had had evidence to corroborate that view many times over the years, why did Professor Graeme McKinnon know nothing of the supposed scandal that had driven Maurice Dekker out of the City? Why had Dekker not only relinquished a top management post but gone into hiding on a narrowboat? He must have had a reason for abandoning the network of high finance for the network of the waterways.

  By the end of their conversation, Ralph and Graeme were convinced of three things. The first was the obvious conclusion that Dekker’s transgression must have been very serious for him to have quit the lucrative world he had inhabited. The second was that his compensation package must have been substantial. It had not only facilitated his departure but kept the lid on his story. The third conclusion was that there must have been some other motive for such a complete and clandestine disappearance.

  Ralph found himself listening to air on the phone while McKinnon thought through the possibilities. It came as no surprise when Graeme asked Ralph to leave it with him for a few days while he made some discreet enquiries.

  *

  Margaret Giles quickly skimmed through the personal details that Valerie Paxton had taken down. She commented that Ben and his mother had attractive names and asked how Willow would prefer to be addressed. She also asked how Ben was settling in to school life.

  Willow thought he was quite happy and Ben concurred. Mrs Giles sat back in her chair and gazed into the middle distance before speaking.

  “Did you know, Willow, that we had an unfortunate incident in the school yesterday?”

  Willow nodded. “Ben said there’d been some trouble, a fight or something.”

  “That’s right. After school I received a complaint on the phone from a parent. Her son had apparently gone home with a black eye.”

  Willow looked at Ben whose expression was neutral. Mrs Giles turned to him.

  “Have you anything to say about that, Ben?”

  He thought for a few moments. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

  “No, that’s right, it shouldn’t. We don’t usually have violent incidents in this school.”

  There was a knock on the door and a man entered. He was introduced to Willow as Ben’s class teacher, Mr Meadows. After shaking hands he took a seat at the side of the head’s desk.

  “I wanted Mr Meadows to join us because the children involved in the incident were from his class. Whatever action we decide to take, Mr Meadows will be responsible for ensuring that it’s followed through.”

  “What action d’you have in mind?” Willow asked.

  “I think perhaps first we should establish the facts, don’t you agree?”

  “Yes.”

  Mrs Giles turned to her colleague. “Mr Meadows, would you describe the situation as you saw it.”

  The teacher cleared his throat. “Well, I think it’s quite simple, really. There was a fight in the playground. Geoffrey Collinson was hit in the face. He got a bleeding nose and a black eye.”

  Willow looked dismayed but made no comment. Ben’s face remained devoid of expression.

  “Does that seem fair to you, Ben?” Mrs Giles asked. “I mean a fair account of what happened?”

  “Yes.”

  “You admit that you hit Geoffrey?”

  “Yes.”

  Willow looked perplexed. “I’m sorry. I’ve never known Ben hit anyone before. He’s never been in a fight.”

  “Perhaps he hasn’t had much contact with other children,” Mr Meadows suggested.

  “I suppose he hasn’t. But he’s usually such a quiet boy.”

  Mr Meadows snorted. “On the phone Mrs Collinson said she’d heard there was a wild gypsy boy in the school.”

  “Wild gypsy?” Willow looked dismayed.

  “That’s what she said, he came to school on a horse. Those were her very words.”

  Willow was dumbfounded. Ben smiled faintly.

  “Would you say your son was strong for his age?” Mr Meadows continued.

  “I’m not sure how to answer that. He’s good at handling lock gates and working with our horse, so I suppose he must be quite fit.”

  During this exchange Mrs Giles was watching Ben, whose demeanour remained inscrutable. It was as if he was detached from the proceedings, listening but uninvolved. The head wondered if he regarded the interview as having little importance. In a few days he would probably leave the school to continue on his travels, never to return. She spoke to him again.

  “Ben, do you understand how serious this is?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “Is there anything you’d like to say about what happened?”

  “He’s already agreed it never should’ve happened,” Mr Meadows interjected.

  Mrs Giles raised a hand. “Ben? Do you have anything to add to what you agreed earlier?”

  “Is Robin all right?”

  The three adults were taken aback, as if Ben had suddenly changed the subject.

  “Robin?” said Mrs Giles.

  “Robin … Wright, I think his name is.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s the one who got hurt.”

  “It was Geoffrey Collinson, Ben,” Mrs Giles said gently.

  “I know, but it started with Robin.” Mrs Giles made a gesture for Ben to go on. “He got hit in the face with a snowball. It hit me too and I saw it had a big stone in it.”

  “Who threw it, Ben?” Mrs Giles had a shrewd idea about the answer to her question.

  Ben looked at his mother and back at the head teacher. “I’m not to tell tales.”

  “Geoffrey threw it?”

  Ben made the slightest movement of his head.

  “Well I didn’t see any of that,” Mr
Meadows blustered. “Perhaps we should get Robin in here and get his version of events.”

  “I don’t want to conduct a trial, Mr Meadows, but I would like to get the full picture.” Margaret turned to Ben. “Are you saying that you hit Geoffrey because he threw a snowball at you and Robin that contained a stone and you wanted to get your own back?”

  “No.”

  “But he just admitted –”

  “Mr Meadows, can we let Ben answer in his own way? Tell us why you did what you did, Ben.”

  He looked at his mother again. She nodded at him.

  “He was making another stone snowball and I told him to stop. He said who was going to make him, and then went to throw it at Robin. That’s when I hit him.”

  *

  Marnie and Anne both looked up when the phone rang. Anne reached for the receiver and pointed towards the window. More snow. She muttered one word, huskies, and pressed the button to connect.

  Marnie was less than overwhelmed to learn that Quentin Blunt wanted to talk to her. With very little preamble she told him she had decided not to sell the Docklands flat. He tried to conceal his mortification and almost succeeded. His attempt to get her to discuss her reasons met with a brick wall. Marnie had no intention of justifying herself to him.

  When he asked if he should go ahead and let the flat to new tenants, Marnie ruined his morning by announcing that she wanted time to make up her mind. She would visit the flat again shortly and let him know her intentions.

  When she disconnected, Marnie noticed that Anne was grinning at her. She raised an eyebrow.

  “I think that’s what they call … blunt speaking!” Anne said, laughing at her own joke.

  “Not like you, then,” Marnie retorted.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I notice you speak with a … husky voice.”

  Anne groaned and passed out.

  *

  Mrs Giles thought they had achieved all they could that morning. Three things bothered her. Reading between the lines, she was beginning to wonder if a culture of bullying was developing in the school. She knew that Geoffrey Collinson had a small coterie of friends who followed him everywhere. He had a certain leadership quality, not uncommon among bigger boys, but on occasion she had noticed an unpleasant side to his nature. She could overcome that tendency but it would take time and need careful handling.

  Her second concern was that Mr Meadows seemed to have formed a distinctly negative attitude towards Ben for reasons that were not yet clear to her.

  The third source of anxiety was the most puzzling and potentially the most difficult to handle. She had asked Mr Meadows to bring in samples of Ben’s work. He had been in the school for only two days, so the volume was not great, but what he had done was remarkable. His handwriting was an attractive italic. His maths was faultless: four exercises so far and not a single mistake. In a written history test he had produced answers to the questions that showed a depth of knowledge beyond expectation.

  Mrs Giles told Willow that she would like to think over their talk and contact her again. They were rising to leave when Valerie Paxton put her head round the door to remind Mrs Giles she had another visitor in a few minutes.

  Mrs Giles escorted Willow and Ben to the door. In the outer office Valerie said she needed Willow’s married name for the file and asked her to write it on a pad. Without waiting, Valerie took herself off on a mission round the school. Willow suspected she had no wish to have further dealings with wild gypsy folk. As she wrote, Willow asked if she could use the toilet. Mrs Giles indicated where to go, said good-bye and returned to Mr Meadows. Willow told Ben to wait for her. Left to his own devices in the empty office, he wandered along to the entrance hall to look out at the falling snow.

  Ben was standing alone by the door when a man and a woman approached from outside. He pulled the door open for them and stood quietly while they wiped the snow from their shoes.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Have you come to see Mrs Giles?”

  Benevolent smiles. “Yes we have, young man,” the woman said. “Are you our reception committee?”

  “I can show you the way to her office.”

  Ben turned and walked off while they followed. Behind his back the visitors smiled at each other, amused to have been received by an envoy sent by the head. Ben led them into Valerie Paxton’s office which was still empty.

  “Mrs Paxton had to go out for a minute,” Ben said.

  “Well it’s very nice of you to come to meet us.” The woman gave him a condescending smile. “You’re a great credit to the school.”

  Ben walked across the room and knocked on the door. Moments later Mrs Giles appeared and greeted her visitors. They thanked her for the welcome they had received. As she showed the couple into her office Mrs Giles turned to look back.

  “Thank you, Ben. That was nice of you.”

  On hearing his name, the man and woman snapped round, their faces incredulous, to glare at the boy.

  “Please come in, Mr and Mrs Collinson. I hope you haven’t had to wait long.”

  She closed the door behind them. Ben hardly had time to move when the office began to fill again. Valerie Paxton returned from her errand and looked displeased to find the boy still in her space. Almost at once Willow came in. She was guiding Ben towards the door when she heard a sniff from behind her. She turned and looked at the nameplate on the desk.

  “Paxton?” she said.

  Valerie scowled at her. “Mrs Paxton.” She almost spat the words out.

  “Sorry. Yes, of course. It’s just, well, your name …”

  “What about it?” Valerie’s lips were a thin rigid line.

  “I’ve come across it before. It’s a travellers’ name, isn’t it?”

  Willow heard the spluttering behind her as she walked with Ben across the hall and out through the door.

  *

  Mrs Giles’s latest visitors had barely had time to take their seats before Valerie Paxton entered the room with a tray bearing coffee and biscuits. As she handed round the refreshments, Valerie smiled at Mr and Mrs Collinson and at Mr Meadows in a way that Margaret Giles found oddly conspiratorial. She realised it was not only Mr Meadows who had taken against the newcomers.

  Although on the surface the scene in the office was civilised and orderly, an underlying tension was evident in Mrs Collinson’s body language. She could not wait to unburden herself of her feelings and, as soon as Valerie left the room, she began to speak. The words came out in an incoherent bluster that was all but incomprehensible.

  “Was that … I mean … the boy out there … that one who … well him … was it –”

  “Mrs Collinson,” Mrs Giles’s tone was quiet and calming. “Shall we begin at the beginning and clarify why we’re here this morning? Would that be the best way to start?”

  “But did you send that boy out to meet us deliberately? Was that your idea?”

  “I didn’t send anybody out, Mrs Collinson. You know the way to my office. You were here quite recently.”

  Both parents narrowed their eyes at this reference. The last time they had been invited to see the head, their son had been accused of causing an affray in the playground. It had been the day Mrs Giles first met Ben, the day Robin Wright had been collected by his mother and taken home before school even started. That day the nose bleed and bruising had been investigated and the trail had led to Geoffrey Collinson. Today Geoffrey’s parents had asked to see the head, filled with a sense of righteous indignation.

  “I’d like,” Mrs Collinson began. She corrected herself. “We’d like to know what you intend doing about the current situation.”

  “It’s clearly unsatisfactory,” said Mrs Giles in a conciliatory tone.

  “Of course it is. Geoffrey’s been telling us about the wild boy who causes trouble the whole time.”

  “I have asked the school nurse to look at Geoffrey –”

  “Good idea.”

  “And the other boy involved.”<
br />
  “But, but that boy wasn’t hurt in the least,” Mrs Collinson stammered.

  “Not Ben, Mrs Collinson. I’m referring to Robin.”

  A knock on the door. Valerie Paxton announced the arrival of the nurse, Mrs Culpepper. Another cup of coffee was served. After introductions Mrs Giles invited the nurse to report on her findings.

  “It seems quite straightforward.” The nurse was a motherly woman in early middle age with a local accent. “The injury was consistent with –”

  “We know that,” Mrs Collinson interjected. “It was a punch in the face, a vicious punch.”

  Mrs Culpepper continued unabashed. “I was going to say it was consistent with being hit by a hard object, probably a stone. When I asked if this was the case, Robin said it had been rolled up in a snowball.”

  “What has that got to do –” Mrs Collinson stopped and glanced sideways at her husband.

  Mrs Giles spoke next. “Does that remind you of anything?”

  Mrs Collinson fell silent. On their last visit, their son had been accused of – and had admitted to – throwing what the children called a stone snowball at Robin Wright.

  “Do you think this sounds rather too much of a coincidence?” Mrs Giles asked.

  After the interview had ended and the visitors had left, Mrs Giles reminded Mr Meadows he had a duty of care towards all his pupils, even those who might only be at the school for a short while. He agreed to monitor the situation to ensure that no further incidents took place.

  Ushering Mr Meadows out into the secretary’s office, Mrs Giles asked Valerie to prepare a letter for Mrs Haycroft.

  “No need, surely,” said Valerie.

  Mrs Giles stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The boy’s gone, left with his mother, left the school. I saw them through the window.”

  “Left the school?” Mrs Giles was horrified.

  “No great loss, I’d say.”

  “No Valerie, he hasn’t left the school. We haven’t failed him already. Come into my office, please, and take a letter. I’ll ask Anne to collect it later on.”

  Valerie picked up her pad and tore off the top sheet.

  “What’s that?” Mrs Giles pointed at the paper as Valerie put it down.

  “The boy’s mother’s married name,” Valerie said flatly. “For the school file.”