by Leo McNeir
Marnie struggled to organise her thoughts. “You know, you told me you’d heard he’d had to leave his company under a cloud.”
“What made you bring that up?”
Before Marnie could reply, Ralph stepped in. “You seem to be suffering short-term memory loss, Mr Blunt. May I remind you that you were the one who raised the question of Maurice Dekker when you were taking your photographs.”
Blunt hesitated. “So I did.” That smile again.
“Now you’ve got me wondering why,” said Ralph. “I mean, it’s not exactly breaking news, is it?”
“That depends what you mean, Professor Lombard.”
“It’s simple enough. Dekker appears to have left his company – under a cloud, as Marnie said – a couple of years ago. Why has he come to the surface again? Why now?”
*
Anne came across the item at almost the first attempt. She searched back in the bundle as far as the earliest copy of The Independent and began trawling through the business sections. Uncertain about what she was looking for, she skimmed over every article hoping to find anything that connected with what little she knew about Maurice Dekker. And there it was.
Inspectors of the Inland Revenue Service had launched a complete investigation of the financial dealings of City finance company, Smeeton Clarke. The examination would cover their activities for the previous five years. It was believed that the IRS had received complaints from a number of firms that had suffered severe losses thanks to one of Smeeton Clarke’s fund managers. Insider trading was suspected.
Anne cut out the article and continued her search through the papers. Her only other find was a brief reference to Smeeton Clarke suspending their operations pending the outcome of the IRS inquiry. She read the main article a second time and realised how little she knew about the workings of the financial sector.
What was a hedge fund? Curious name. Was it like hedging your bets? How did such a company fit into the scheme of things with banks and building societies? What did the Stock Exchange actually do? With a sense of shock, she found she had no answer to the most fundamental question: what was money?
She thought of all the work Marnie did, the meetings with clients, the designing, the costings, engaging suppliers, appointing contractors, agreeing the timescale, managing all the processes so that at the end of the projects there was a tangible result. Perhaps a Wow! factor. And when all that was completed, what did Walker and Co have to show for it? A piece of paper with numbers on, a cheque that was handed in at the bank, more numbers appearing in the bank statement. All this enabled them to carry on with their lives. Yet what was it? A game. An illusion.
“Anne, are you ready, love?” Her mother was standing in the garage doorway. “We’d better get going.”
“Mum, do you ever think about money, I mean, what it really is?”
“Money? Of course. It’s what pays the bills.”
“Sure, but do you ever ask yourself what it actually means?”
Jackie laughed. “As long as there’s enough to get to the end of the month, I don’t really care.”
*
More than anything, at that moment Marnie wanted Quentin Blunt to leave. She resented his insistence that she keep his business card close to hand so that she could contact him if and when she decided to let the apartment again, or even sell it. He promised her the best possible terms in either case. She also resented his I-know-something-you-don’t-know attitude, if anything even more than his you’re-not-telling-me-all-you-know insinuations.
Marnie shook hands and ushered him towards the front door. He walked slowly, grudgingly, as if unwilling to give up his hold on the property. Marnie could feel his resentment at her assumption that she had the right to control what belonged to her. Nearing the door, he stopped just far enough from it to prevent Marnie reaching round him to take hold of the doorknob.
“Do please keep in touch, Mrs Walker, and if there’s anything we can do for you, don’t hesitate to give me a call. I promise you my personal attention at all times.”
What’s the good news? Marnie wondered. “Thank you.”
She stepped to one side, moved forward and twisted the doorknob. Blunt had positioned himself in such a way that she was unable to open the door wide.
“You know, it’s funny you mentioning Maurice Dekker like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“I got the impression you knew more about him than you were letting on.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Blunt shrugged. “Perhaps to see if I knew anything that might be of interest?”
“Is there more to know than you’ve already mentioned, Mr Blunt?”
“That’s a question I’ve often asked myself over the past year or two.”
“What is it that so intrigues you about him?”
“Mrs Walker, I’ve handled the sale of several properties that had to be put on the market because of financial ruin caused by that man. Then out of the blue I find that you’ve had dealings with him. Coincidence? Possibly.”
“Definitely,” Marnie said.
Blunt moved his face closer to hers. “Be careful, Mrs Walker. There’s more to his disappearance than meets the eye. People are asking questions about Maurice Dekker, people who want to find him.”
“To prosecute him?”
He studied her face for some seconds. “There was something else.”
Marnie waited. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me. I really have no idea what you’re getting at.”
A pause. “Yes. I think I believe you.”
“Mr Blunt, whether you believe me or not –”
“In his private life. Ring any bells?”
Marnie shook her head. “Not even the faintest.”
“I fear I’m as ignorant as you appear to be, Mrs Walker. But somewhere in his background something happened. I don’t know what it was, but some people do, and I’m sure they’d be very interested to know his whereabouts.”
“Is that the word on the street, Mr Blunt?”
“It’s the word in your ear, Mrs Walker.” He pulled the door open and stepped out into the lobby. “A friendly word, and you’d do well to heed it.”
*
Ralph had suggested they book a table at one of the restaurants in the street below. It had been a wise decision. Not only was the food excellent, but without a reservation they would have been excluded. On the short walk to the end of the block they encountered gusts of icy wind but little more than slush in the gutters.
Before setting off, Marnie had phoned the Buxtons in cottage number one to check that all was well at home and that Dolly had been fed.
“Everything’s fine, Marnie,” Jill had said. “Though we’ve had to cancel our trip to the flicks this evening. We’ve left the car in the high street again to save risking the field track. What are conditions like in London?”
“Oh, you know, not bad. The streets are pretty clear. Nothing settles here for long.”
When they returned from the restaurant they found a message waiting for them on the answerphone. Anne had found something in the papers that might be of interest. She would ring the next day.
When Marnie reset the answerphone she found Ralph looking in the drinks cupboard for a nightcap. He settled on a brandy. Marnie opted for a glass of sparkling water.
“This is really too good for a casual drink,” Ralph observed, holding the cognac up to admire its colour.
“What is it?” Marnie asked.
“Martell XO. Very superior.”
“Simon seems to have developed a taste for the finer things in life.”
“And the income to match,” Ralph added.
Marnie realised they had never been alone in the flat together before. She looked at Ralph, relaxing on a cream sofa, crystal brandy goblet in his hand, at ease with their situation, with their life together. And yet … Marnie acknowledged another dimension to their presence in the flat.
Ralph looked
up and noticed Marnie’s expression as she gazed in his direction. In that moment he understood what she was thinking. There was an illicit quality to their presence there, a sense of intrusion, that at any minute Simon – as Marnie’s husband – would return unannounced and catch them together.
They had never had an illicit relationship, and Marnie never had been unfaithful to Simon. Their divorce had been settled before she ever met Ralph, and he had been alone for years since the death of his wife, Laura. But somehow they both felt the presence of some aspect of their past lives intruding that evening. Fleetingly, Marnie wondered about Maurice Dekker and whatever had happened in his past life that might be coming back to haunt him now.
Marnie knew they had to lay all the ghosts to rest so that they could move on. The flat was now hers alone. Ralph was now the foundation of her new life. She didn’t want the past getting in the way of the present or the future. A fragment of poetry by Christina Rossetti flashed through her mind.
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad
She smiled at Ralph. “Have you finished your brandy?”
“Yes.” His expression was uncertain.
“Leave the glass there. I’ll deal with it in the morning.” She held out her hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
Chapter 20
Graeme McKinnon
Life in the metropolis. What a contrast, Marnie thought, with rural Northamptonshire. She rose early as usual that Sunday morning and left Ralph in bed asleep. It had become an automatic ritual to go into the living room and gaze down from the big windows at the riverscape below.
The city was still cloaked in darkness, and lights twinkled like a carpet of stars away into the distance. Every few seconds she caught the flash of light from the top of the pyramid roof of the Canary Wharf tower a couple of miles to the east. The light was opaque, filtered by mist or perhaps low cloud. Peering down to street level she could see a dusting of snow on the unwalked pavements.
Marnie heard Ralph stirring in the bedroom and called out that he should use the en-suite bathroom. She wanted to try out the facilities of the second bathroom as part of getting to know the flat. It was all beautifully equipped and appointed, and she could not fault Simon’s taste.
She paused in the entrance to the bathroom and looked back through the lobby. In her ear she heard Blunt whispering like Mephistopheles.
… a valuable property, Mrs Walker, well in excess of half a million …
It was strange how Blunt had raised the question of Dekker again out of the blue like that. Unscrupulous people, he had said. Coincidence?
*
Graeme McKinnon was already seated when Marnie and Ralph arrived. He waved them over. At his request they met at a small Italian restaurant in Highgate village. It was a short walk from HBS and, having been divorced for some years, it was his preferred way of offering hospitality.
Introductions were made, menus consulted, drinks ordered. The waiter, who obviously knew Graeme well, brought olives, bread and a dish containing oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping. Marnie observed Graeme as he sampled the wine. He was shorter than Ralph, barely as tall as she was, stocky and balding. He radiated energy and self-confidence. It gave him an attractive personality to which he added a deal of personal charm.
“I am so delighted to meet you at last, Marnie.” He raised his glass to her, smiling warmly. “Here’s to you.”
She thanked him for his welcome, and they settled into easy conversation, ranging over their visit to the flat in Docklands, a brief reference or two to mutual friends in the academic world, and the new life Marnie and Ralph were making for themselves in what Graeme described as their rural idyll.
Over the first course Graeme asked several questions about Marnie’s business and appeared genuinely interested to know how she was finding the environment away from the capital. Marnie was emphatic that she had now acclimatised herself to country living and would not want to return to London.
“What about your flat in Docklands, though? Couldn’t that tempt you back?”
“I’ve found what I want at Glebe Farm, Graeme. Having the flat either as an investment or as a pied-à-terre gives me the best of both worlds.”
“Of course, it does. Too many of us think there’s nothing of interest outside London. I’m sure an escape to the country could be very appealing to the right sort of person.”
“An escape to the country,” Marnie repeated.
Ralph and Graeme glanced at each other. Graeme read Marnie’s thoughts.
“I wasn’t thinking of the gentleman Ralph asked me about when I said that. On the other hand, those words describe his situation rather well.”
They ate in silence until Marnie spoke quietly and slowly.
“Graeme, does the name David Dekker mean anything to you?”
“Certainly. How do you know him?”
“I’ve met his wife.”
Graeme stopped eating and stared at Marnie.
“His wife? Are you sure about that?”
“She’s staying near us at the moment,” said Ralph. “She lives on a boat with her son. They’re stuck fast in the ice.”
“Her son? You mean, David Dekker’s child?”
“Yes,” said Marnie.
“How old is he?”
“Ten.”
Graeme reflected for several seconds before speaking. “That figures.”
“In what way?” said Ralph.
Graeme put knife and fork together and sat back in his chair.
“David Dekker is what you might call the black sheep of the family.”
“He appears to have some competition for the title,” Marnie observed.
“Competition? Oh … Maurice, yes. Well, Maurice was always the star of the family until something happened to knock him off course. What that was we don’t know, but we do know that it led him into some ill-advised dealings that caused him to lose his job.”
“So what about David?” Ralph said. “What relation is he to Maurice?”
“They’re half-brothers, same father, different mothers. I understand David inherited quite a lot from his late mother.”
“You called David the black sheep,” said Marnie. “Why was that?”
“When his mother died it was assumed David would take over her family business. They’re insurance brokers, big time. But he took his share of the money and disappeared. I gather he said he didn’t want to be chained down to a desk for the rest of his life.”
“Or chained down to anything else,” Marnie added.
Their thoughts strayed to a woman on a boat with a ten year-old son.
“Did he abandon her, leave her destitute?” Graeme asked.
“He provides a monthly allowance, which I thought was not ungenerous until just now.”
“Do you know anything else about him, Graeme?” Ralph asked.
“The last I heard was just a rumour that he was living somewhere exotic, possibly Morocco? Sorry I can’t tell you any more.”
“You know a lot about the family,” said Marnie. “I’m amazed.”
“That’s not so surprising,” said Graeme. They’re quite well known in the City. They’ve been around a long time, hundreds of years. They were Dutch bankers, came over from Holland to avoid persecution at the time of King Charles … not sure which one.”
“What form of persecution?” said Marnie.
“They were devout Catholics.”
Marnie pictured Maurice Dekker at the lunch table in cottage number three, head bowed, intoning the Benedictus.
“That figures,” she said.
*
Marnie and Ralph caught a Virgin express from Euston late that afternoon. Its first stop was Milton Keynes Central, so Marnie rang Anne and arranged to meet her there.
On the run up through London they looked out on snow in suburban gardens, gradually giving way to an enchanted landscape as dusk came down and they headed north into the home co
unties. Their conversation was sporadic, both of them pondering questions about the Dekker family.
Why did they seem so intent on self-destruction? What had led Maurice to vanish into obscurity? Had he in fact gone into hiding for fear of investigation by the authorities or was there more to it than that?
Was David the drop-out everyone believed him to be? Had he really renounced conventional life to take off on the hippy trail to Morocco? Would he ever see his wife again? Would he ever meet his son?
When they stepped down onto the platform at MK Central, Marnie turned to Ralph and announced she had had her fill of the Dekkers and would cheerfully have no more to do with them. Once the snow had cleared and life on the canals had returned to normal, Maurice Dekker could come and go as he pleased. He could collect his own mail from the post office in Knightly St John or in Timbuktu, for all she cared.
“What about Willow?” said Ralph. “And Ben? They’re both Dekkers, strictly speaking.”
“They’ve been abandoned by the Dekkers, so they don’t count.”
They joined the crush of travellers climbing the stairs from the platform and walked along the concourse to the ticket barriers in silence.
Emerging on the other side, Ralph said quietly, “All the same, I’m intrigued to know what it was that caused Maurice Dekker to do what he did.”
“Isn’t that clear?” said Marnie. “I thought he’d caused mayhem by some ill-advised dealing and left the company to help them hush up the disaster.”
“That’s not what I meant. What pricks my curiosity is to know what it was in his private life that made a man so well known for his judgment and acumen suddenly lose the plot and bring his company to the brink of ruin.”
“Yes,” Marnie agreed. “I must admit I find that intriguing, too.”
“Ah, there’s Anne,” said Ralph. “Always a smiling face to welcome us home.”
In the middle of the station hall, Anne stood waving, her overnight bag at her feet. She hugged them both warmly as if they had been away for a month.
“You two were looking serious just then. Everything all right?”
“Absolutely,” said Marnie. “Especially now we’ve found you.”