Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  “It looks lovely,” she said, “like a Victorian Christmas card.”

  “That’s the general idea.”

  Anne slipped her arm through Donovan’s and leaned against him.

  “Marnie phoned. She should be back in the next ten minutes or so.” Anne looked skywards. “You’ve lit the stove. That woodsmoke smells wonderful.”

  A light grey plume was rising vertically from the chimney into the darkness, undisturbed by any breeze.

  “I’ve never had a real white Christmas before,” Anne said. “I expect you get them every year in Germany.”

  “Most years. Perhaps I should get the Archbishop of Canterbury to reprogramme Christmas to January over here. That should improve the odds.”

  “Good idea. By the way, did I see Ben helping you?”

  “Yes. He’s gone home to change into his tuxedo.”

  Anne laughed. “Is that the dress code for the evening?”

  “Of course. Will you be inviting your friend to come?”

  Anne stiffened. “My friend? What friend?”

  “Ronny. I saw him earlier when he came to visit you.”

  “Absolutely not. If he gave you the impression he was –”

  They were interrupted by the sound of a car approaching and the sweep of headlights across the courtyard. The Discovery swung past the farmhouse and turned towards the garage barn. Anne looked up at Donovan.

  “Not my friend. Is that clear?”

  “Message received. Now I’d better finish off what I was doing. See you in quarter of an hour?”

  Anne kissed him and was gone. Donovan was pushing open the front door of the cottage when he felt a tug at his sleeve. Ben had materialised from nowhere, this time undetected. The boy looked anxious. Donovan ushered him inside.

  “What’s bothering you, Ben?”

  Ben looked towards the courtyard. “There’s someone here, someone watching you, a man. I didn’t think you believed me before, but he is out there.”

  Donovan pulled Ben into the kitchen. “Where is this man?”

  “By the garage barn. He was watching you talking to Anne.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I don’t think so. I came round the back of the office barn.”

  “Can you describe him?”

  Ben shook his head. “Too dark.”

  “Tall? Short? What was he wearing?”

  Ben reflected. “Tall, I think, wearing a long coat … and a hat.”

  “Baseball cap?”

  “No. You know, the sort they wear in old films.”

  “With a brim all round?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you think he was watching me?”

  “He was definitely watching you. I’m sure of that.”

  *

  Marnie was glad to be back in Knightly St John. It had been a productive day for her work, but driving in the ice and snow had been tiring and now, as she turned into the high street, she was looking forward to a relaxing evening with friends. Christmas, take two! Typical Donovan, she thought, always different from everybody else.

  Passing the village shop, she saw Molly Appleton bringing in the billboard for the evening paper, the lights in the shop dimmed, ready for closing. Molly recognised the car and waved. Marnie gave a friendly toot on the horn.

  A short way further on, the pub looked warm and inviting on a winter’s evening. Marnie could picture the log blazing in the inglenook, the lights reflected off the bottles behind the bar and horse brasses hanging on the oak beams. She noticed that Donovan’s Beetle was no longer in the car park.

  The flight-path of lanterns hanging on sticks brought a smile to Marnie’s face when she turned down the field track. Already the strains of the day were dissolving. Behind her in the boot she could hear the chink of bottles. Donovan had insisted on providing everything in authentic German style, but a little extra wine could never go amiss, she thought.

  At the approach to the cluster of buildings, Marnie sensed rather than saw movement. She swung round by the back of the farmhouse and caught a brief glimpse of people in the courtyard. All her attention was focused on making the tight turn, when she saw an unmistakable shape in the headlights. She braked to an abrupt halt to avoid a collision, and the wine bottles clashed together in their cases like an alarm bell.

  Marnie climbed out of the Discovery.

  “Mr Dekker. Sorry if I gave you a shock. I didn’t expect to find anyone round the corner.”

  Maurice Dekker raised a hand. “No, no. It’s quite all right. My fault. I thought I’d be out of your way here. I should’ve realised.”

  In the headlight beams he looked ashen and pinched with cold. What was he doing here? Then she remembered her invitation. Donovan’s arrival had put other thoughts out of her mind. Now here was Maurice Dekker. He had kept his promise to come back. Leaving the car where it stood, she took his arm and began leading him towards the courtyard.

  “Come on, Mr Dekker. Let’s get you in the warm.”

  He allowed himself to be guided by Marnie.

  “Maurice,” he said in a low voice. “My name is Maurice.”

  “And I’m Marnie. But of course you know that.”

  Rounding the corner, they found the courtyard empty, though light was spilling out on both sides from cottage number three and the office barn, adding to the glow of the security lighting. With a delicate haze of snowflakes softly falling, it looked like a stage set for A Christmas Carol.

  Marnie pushed open the door to the office barn, led her guest in and offered him a chair. He sat down wearily as if he had trekked for miles in the snow. The office was empty but overhead they could hear sounds of movement from the attic. Marnie walked across to call up the wall-ladder leading to Anne’s room.

  “I’m back. I’ve brought Mr Dekker with me … Maurice.”

  “Just getting changed. Down in a minute.” Anne’s voice sounded muffled, as if she was pulling something over her head.

  “What time are we starting?” Marnie asked.

  “About now,” came the reply.

  Marnie saw that it was coming up to six o’clock. She turned to Dekker.

  “We’re having a kind of impromptu early supper. I’d be very glad if you’d care to join us.”

  He made as if to stand up. “Oh, I couldn’t impose on you like –”

  “It’s not an imposition, Maurice. Really it isn’t. Tell me something. How did you get here?”

  “A taxi to this end of the high street. Then I walked down the path marked out in the field with lanterns.”

  “Right. After supper I’ll take you back to your boat in my car. Where are you moored, by the way?”

  “Near Blisworth, but I wouldn’t want to –”

  “It’s no trouble. Truly.”

  Marnie studied him. In the office lights he looked washed out. For all his height and his imposing appearance, he struck her as having a delicate constitution. She was convinced he shouldn’t be wandering about in that weather and wondered if he ought to stay the night in the cottage and return to his boat in the morning.

  “Is your boat warm enough, Maurice?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Only, I was wondering, perhaps –”

  “No. The boat is fine, thank you. You’re very kind, Marnie. It will be nice to stay for supper, and then I’ll get a taxi back. It’s no problem.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Anne chose that moment to climb down the wall-ladder. She was wearing black trousers and a cream woollen top, tied at the waist with a belt, Cossack-style. Turning at the foot of the ladder, the lights reflected off gold ear-studs, and Marnie saw that Anne had applied discreet eye shadow and lip gloss. Marnie suddenly felt under-dressed. When Anne greeted Maurice Dekker, he stared at her for some seconds.

  “Good evening,” he said. “I understood this was an early supper, but is it perhaps a special occasion?”

  “It’s Christmas,” Anne said with a broad smile.

  Dekker looked
confused. “Are you Orthodox, perhaps?”

  “No. We’re just running late this year.”

  “Epiphany has come and gone,” Dekker observed. “Do you belong to some sect or other?”

  Marnie chuckled. “Nothing so mysterious.” She held out a hand. “Let’s go across. Our host will be waiting for us.”

  “Our host?”

  “He’s called Donovan.”

  “Would that be the young man I noticed when I arrived?”

  “He’s an old friend. You’ll like him.” She took Dekker by the arm. “I’ll explain everything as we go.”

  Dekker inclined his head towards Marnie as they reached the doorway. “I’ll stay just for a short time. I feel I’m intruding.”

  “Nonsense. You’re very welcome. Just think of it as hospitality between fellow boaters. Oh look, here’s Ralph. Our party’s complete. Let’s go and have some fun.”

  “Since you put it that way …”

  “Relax, Maurice. You’re among friends.”

  *

  In the overcast darkness Ronny Cope trudged along the high street with snow falling steadily again. He was fed up with the never-ending winter but determined to sort out his relationship with Anne. Relationship? What relationship? Turning through the field gate onto the track down to Glebe Farm, he backhanded snowflakes from his eyelashes and blinked at the sight before him. The lanterns dangling on poles presented a cheery spectacle, and he took them as a good omen, lighting his way.

  The closer he came to Glebe Farm, the more Ronny began to feel optimistic about their meeting. He had no real faith in the idea that absence made the heart grow fonder, but he had hopes that he and Anne might at least be able to make a fresh start. During the months he had spent in North America he hoped Anne might have mellowed in her feelings towards him. The moment of truth was approaching.

  He knew that Marnie and Anne were usually in the office for the last hour of the working day between six and seven. By arriving just before they ended their late coffee break, he hoped he might be able to persuade Anne to chat for a few minutes. She would feel relaxed, being on home territory, and Marnie was always pleasant to him. Those would be the most favourable circumstances for his plan.

  He passed the first few barns and approached the farmhouse from the side and the rear, following the drive between the house and the office barn. He realised that his plan was not working out as he expected when he looked round the corner and saw no lights in the office. The barn doors had been pulled shut. Walker and Co had closed for the day.

  In contrast, one of the cottages on the opposite side of the courtyard was ablaze with lights. They shone from every window, with unfamiliar shapes illuminated all over the house like decorations on a Christmas tree. He was sure he could hear music. Ronny strained to listen. A choir was singing in magnificent harmonies, the descants soaring above tenors and altos, the baritones laying down a rich backdrop. What was going on?

  He crept across the yard, half bent to avoid being seen from a window. Standing with his back against the wall of the cottage, he listened. While he stood there motionless, the security lights went out in the courtyard. As if on cue the lights in the cottage began to be extinguished. The choral music faded away. Ronny caught the sounds of voices but could not make out what they were saying. Moments later the last lights faded, leaving only a dim glow from inside the building. It was bizarre.

  He was on the point of turning to peer in at the window when something happened to make his heart freeze. The front door opened and someone stepped out into the darkened courtyard. Ronny recognised him as the boy with the horse and felt foolish at being discovered eavesdropping. But the courtyard lights did not come on, and the boy did not look in Ronny’s direction. He stared towards the office barn, taking a series of deep breaths. Then he turned and walked into the cottage, leaving the door ajar behind him. As he turned he spoke, but Ronny failed to catch his words.

  Seconds later Ronny heard more singing, this time a single voice unaccompanied, a treble solo, firm and clear, confidently striking the highest notes. Ronny could not fail to be moved, moved and mystified at the same time in equal measure. The boy was singing a Christmas carol in the middle of January on a Wednesday evening far removed from any festival Ronny had ever known. What was this? Ronny knew that Marnie and Anne could be unconventional, but this was strange even by their standards.

  He inched towards the nearest window and hesitated before peering in. The boy was still singing, walking slowly forward in a room lit only by candles on a Christmas tree. He spotted Anne, her expression enchanted, her blonde hair reflecting the candlelight. Beside her, Ralph was looking on in wonder, one hand resting on Marnie’s shoulder.

  The room was quite small, and it was difficult to make out the other people clustered together. He could see another blonde head and a woman who could have been the boy’s mother. At the far side of the room stood a man, tall and thin with a long face and dark hair, stooping slightly. Everyone was focused on the boy as he came to the end of the carol and turned towards the tree standing in the corner.

  The boy lowered his face at the end of the carol, then looked up, surprised at the applause from his audience. A smile was spreading across his face when he suddenly raised a hand and pointed at the window. Damn! The boy had seen him.

  Ronny turned and bolted, sliding on the icy surface. Reaching the corner of the office barn, he glanced back and was relieved to see that no-one was pursuing him. Feeling foolish, he ran as quickly as he could up the field track, grateful for the hanging lanterns lighting the way. He did not pause again until he reached the gateway. Panting for breath, he gazed down the field, resting his hand on the gatepost. He was alone.

  *

  When Marnie and the others went across to the cottage, there had been an awkward moment. Donovan had been standing in the kitchen, chatting with Willow and Ben. When Maurice Dekker came through the door, a cloud had passed over Willow’s face. But when Marnie made the introductions the tension passed.

  “Your surname is Haycroft?” Dekker asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “And Ben is your son.”

  Dekker held out a hand which Ben took, looking up at the man with his usual candid expression.

  “How old are you, Ben?”

  “I’m ten.”

  Dekker smiled at the boy. “A fine young man.”

  “Are you ready for us to begin?” Marnie asked Donovan.

  “Sure.”

  He stepped into the little hall and opened the sitting room door. There were gasps of wonder. Donovan had transformed the cottage into a small corner of Germany. It was not only the tree, candles and decorations that created the effect, but also the smells. An inviting spicy aroma filled the air, and no sooner was everyone gathered together, than Donovan served glasses of mulled wine – Glühwein – to each guest.

  The exception was Ben, for whom Donovan produced a glass that bore a marked resemblance to the adults’ drinks, but which he assured everyone was based on warm apple juice with spices and herbs. Ben took a wary sip and was surprised at how much he enjoyed it.

  Ralph proposed a toast – to Donovan and the spirit of German Christmas – and they raised their glasses. Donovan gave a slight bow and took a sip of his wine.

  “We’ve put out food on the table in the kitchen,” he explained. “Please help yourselves when you’re ready. On Christmas Eve – what we call in German Heiligen Abend – the traditional meal is fish, usually trout or salmon in my family. Obviously I couldn’t bring a fish all the way from Germany, so I brought one up from London. There are various types of ham and sausage and some side dishes, all from Germany. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy everything. Guten Appetit!”

  There were responses of Guten Appetit all round, and Marnie noticed that Maurice Dekker’s pronunciation sounded as authentic as Donovan’s.

  “Oh, one thing I forgot to say,” Donovan added. “We owe thanks also to Ben for helping me with the preparations. He
took particular care when we put the candles on the tree, so as not to burn the house down.”

  “I’m relieved to hear it,” said Marnie.

  When the laughter died down, Ben’s voice was heard. “I’d like to do something more to help, well to contribute, really.”

  “Fine,” said Donovan. “You can top up the glasses from the Glühwein jug, if you like.”

  “No, well yes, I’ll do that if you want, but I meant something from me, to do my bit for your special Christmas.”

  All eyes turned in Ben’s direction.

  “What do you have in mind?” Donovan asked.

  Ben hesitated before replying. “D’you think we could have the candles out, all except the ones on the tree?”

  Marnie looked over at Willow, who shrugged in reply. When all the candles were extinguished, the air was infused with the smell of smoking wax. They looked again in Ben’s direction and were surprised when he walked out of the front door. No-one spoke.

  Moments later, Ben turned and stepped into the hall. “Look at the tree,” he murmured.

  Everyone followed his instructions and waited. In the semi-darkness Ben cleared his throat. And then he began to sing, walking slowly forward, the traditional Christmas introit.

  “Once in Royal David’s city stood a lowly cattle shed …”

  His voice was strong and unwavering, his enunciation precise and clear.

  “Where a mother laid her baby in a manger for his bed …”

  Marnie felt her cheeks tingle and she reached sideways to take Ralph’s hand. He squeezed hers in return.

  “Mary was that mother mild, Jesus Christ her little child.”

  As Ben continued on to the next verse of the carol, Marnie stole a glance at the others in the room. They were still looking towards the tree as he had asked, everyone entranced by the singing. Donovan slipped a hand round Anne’s waist. They were both smiling. In the subdued candlelight, Willow’s expression was difficult to read, somewhere between mystified and enchanted. Dekker was behind her in the corner, out of her range of vision.

  Marnie heard a sharp intake of breath and turned to see Maurice Dekker staring at Ben. The look on his face seemed to combine joy and pain. In the faint light from the tree candles she saw the tracks of tears reflected on his cheeks.