by Leo McNeir
Ben moved into the sitting room from the hall and paused in the entrance for the next verse. As he reached the end of the fourth and final verse, he stood in the middle of the room and turned towards the tree in the corner beside the window.
“And He leads His children on, to the place where He is gone.”
At the end of the last line everyone applauded. Ben slowly raised his hand and pointed. His audience took the action at first as a kind of dramatic gesture in keeping with the sense of the words, but that impression vanished when Ben spoke.
“There’s a face. Somebody’s there, outside.”
Everyone turned to look, but they saw nothing but the darkness and intermittent snowflakes passing the window.
“Probably just a reflection,” Ralph began, but as he spoke, the security lights came on.
Donovan was the first to move, quickly crossing the room, heading for the front door. He had barely reached the hall when a sound stopped him, a thud from the far corner of the room. He turned just as Marnie twisted and took a step backwards. Anne rushed to her side and knelt down beside her.
“Mr Dekker’s fainted,” she said.
Chapter 24
Black Christmas
As soon as Marnie woke up, she knew something was wrong. She lay still for a few moments, gathering her wits, before reaching up to the shelf over the bedhead for the alarm clock and the torch. Just after six-thirty, her normal time for rising. Beside her, Ralph was breathing rhythmically, his dark head just visible on the pillow. She flicked off the torch, slid her feet from under the duvet and was surprised she had to steady herself against the cabin wall.
Opening the porthole curtain, Marnie looked out. Sunrise was over an hour away, but moonlight reflected off the snow and ice, casting a pale glow over the frozen water and the icy bank beyond. Ralph stirred. Was that a groan? She turned her head to speak to him. Bad move. The pain stabbed her in the temple. She raised a hand to her head, closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Was this a hangover?
Then Marnie remembered the Glühwein, that most innocuous of festive drinks. She took her dressing gown from the bed and groped her way towards the galley.
From the medicine box she extracted a pack of soluble paracetamol and codeine. The tablets fizzed softly in the water. Watching them dissolve, Marnie thought back to the previous evening. A party that began with someone passing out was something of a novelty in her experience.
Maurice Dekker was insistent that he did not need medical attention, but he acquiesced when Marnie suggested he should lie down, and allowed himself to be assisted upstairs to the spare bedroom. Looking in on him ten minutes later, Ralph found him asleep, and they eventually left him where he lay, fully clothed under a blanket for the rest of the night.
With that one small blip, Donovan’s Christmas was a success. The buffet was delicious. The flavours of the salmon, plus the ham and sausage varieties blended well with the side dishes – coleslaw, potato salad, sauerkraut, cucumber salad, onion cake. Somehow he had even managed to bring back a few loaves of German bread – black rye, mixed wheat and a crusty white rustic loaf – together with a giant bread pretzel from which he invited them to tear off chunks. It was an evening of discovery, and the wine flowed freely throughout.
Marnie winced at the thought and gulped down her glass of painkiller.
Donovan had thought of everything and even had enough gifts to include Willow and Ben in his generosity. Marnie’s present stood on the galley workbench beside her: a gift box containing a bottle of 4711 eau de cologne plus a tube the size of a lipstick, a solid perfume called Ice. It was intended to be drawn across the forehead as an instant refresher. Marnie lined it up mentally as phase two of her revival programme for the morning.
Thinking of revival, she remembered Ralph’s murmur and dropped two more tablets into a tumbler of water. His capacity for alcohol was no greater than hers and he was always anxious to avoid any possibility of a migraine. His present from Donovan stood beside Marnie’s on the workbench: a bottle of Asbach Uralt brandy from the Rhineland. It was a generous gift but she guessed he would not be sampling it that day.
For Anne, Donovan had brought something really unusual. He produced it with some hesitation from under the tree. Wrapped in shiny red paper with a sprig of holly as decoration, he held it out, warning her not to catch her fingers on the sharp leaves. Taking the box in her hands, Anne wondered if like Marnie she too was about to receive perfume, but the container was lighter than she expected. Inside was a cardboard box, roughly the dimensions of a postcard, as thick as a paperback book. The lettering on the box was faded, and she carefully removed the lid.
Inside she found a set of postcards, two or three dozen perhaps, each one bearing the name Bauhaus on the reverse side. The images were mostly of buildings and furniture, all designed by members of Germany’s most famous school of architecture. It was perfect for Anne, who had completed a major project on the Bauhaus the previous year at college and won a prize for her work.
She kissed Donovan on both cheeks and was speechless as she examined the cards. Then she saw a name and her expression changed.
“Donovan, this is lovely, but you simply can’t give me such a present.”
“Why not?”
Anne held up one of the cards. “Kandinsky,” she said quietly.
“He designed it, yes,” said Donovan. “What’s the problem?”
“I know what this is.”
“What is it?” Marnie asked.
Anne passed her the box. “These are from the Bauhaus exhibition of 1923. It was held in Weimar and various famous artists designed postcards and posters for it. Kandinsky was one. This is his card design.”
Marnie examined the card. “Didn’t Paul Klee do a design, too?”
“Oh yes, and lots of really important artists. These are very rare collectors’ items. Most of them are in museums and private collections of wealthy people.” She turned to Donovan. “That’s why I don’t think you should be giving them to me, even though I think they’re fantastic.”
Donovan shook his head. “I chose them specially for you, Anne. They’ve been lying in a cupboard for thirty or forty years. You’ll give them a good home. They’re yours now.”
Marnie wondered how Anne was feeling at that moment in her attic bedroom. If Anne had not put in an appearance on Sally Ann by the time she was ready for breakfast, Marnie would go along and check how she was.
Back in the sleeping cabin, Marnie touched Ralph’s shoulder. He moaned.
“Good morning, Ralph.” She spoke softly. “How are you feeling?”
A groan. “Can you get this elephant off my head?” he muttered.
“Sure. Sit up and take this.”
He rolled onto his elbow and squinted up at her. “What is it?”
She handed him the glass. “Breakfast.”
*
On Glastonbury Ben was up at his usual time and padded along to the saloon for his first task of the day while his mother was using the bathroom. Putting on special gloves, he opened the door of the stove and threw in two shovel-loads of coal. Willow had banked up the fire last thing the night before and had revived the glowing embers half an hour previously. Ben checked there were adequate supplies of coal and logs in the boxes before returning to his cabin to dig out clothes for the day.
The boat was warm and snug inside. He had enjoyed being in the cottage for the Christmas party but only the boat felt like home. Willow called out to him that the bathroom was free, and by the time he had washed and dressed, the kettle was boiling and the table laid for breakfast.
“Do you think German boys have chocolate marzipan with their breakfast on Christmas morning?” he asked his mother, eyeing the box of chocolates from Lübeck that Donovan had given him the previous night.
“In a word, no,” Willow said firmly. “And in any case it isn’t Christmas.”
“If last night was Christmas Eve –”
“Nice try, Ben, but the answe
r is still no.”
He grinned at his mother. “Worth a try.”
*
When Marnie went on board Sally Ann, she found the boat in darkness. Dolly wrapped her tail round Marnie’s ankles as she began turning on the oil lamps. Thanks to time-switches, electric heaters had warmed the interior to a comfortable level, and Marnie responded to the cat’s subtle suggestions by putting out her food and milk before setting off through the spinney to see how Anne was faring.
It looked as if there had been no new snowfall in the night, but the air was raw and damp, poking and prying at Marnie’s clothes to try to find a way in to freeze her bones. A mist hung in among the trees, and Marnie was glad she had a warm boat to sleep on and Ralph to cuddle up with under the duvet. At that thought she stopped in her tracks. What if Anne wanted someone to snuggle up with under her duvet? How embarrassing would it be to find Donovan in the attic bedroom?
Donovan had offered to stay in the cottage overnight to be near at hand if Maurice Dekker needed assistance. He had brought his own sleeping bag and had made himself at home in an adjacent bedroom. But had he stayed there all night? Marnie shrugged. Did it matter?
She felt the cold seeping through her jeans and pressed on along the footpath, crunching the snow where she trod. The office barn was in darkness, but when Marnie reached the kitchen area she found a box of Solpadeine open on the workbench and an empty wrapper lying beside it. She walked over to the foot of the wall-ladder and called up in a stage whisper.
“Anne?”
After a few seconds a reply drifted down. “Mm?”
“Are you okay?”
“Mm.”
“Can I come up?”
“Mm.”
Marnie interpreted the response as a positive and mounted the rungs. Anne was in bed lying on her back with both eyes closed.
“Have the tablets begun working?”
“Mm.”
“That’s reassuring. Will you be joining us for breakfast some time soon?”
A sigh. “Yes. I need to keep my strength up.”
“That’s a good sign. You can take it easy this morning.”
“No. I have things to do. Today’s the day of the murder.”
“What?” Marnie’s tone was louder than she intended.
Anne winced. “I’m going to murder Donovan.”
“Donovan? As in the Donovan who gave you the priceless Bauhaus present?”
“As in the Donovan who gave me the Glühwein.”
Marnie reflected for a few seconds. “Good thinking. Perhaps we should form an orderly queue.”
*
While Ben cleared away the breakfast things, Willow checked the dimensions of the porthole in the bathroom.
“Ben, come and have a look at this,” she called out.
He found his mother holding up a picture painted on glass against the frosted glazing. It showed a castle on a hill, but not the traditional Bavarian-style castle beside a lake, painted with roses on narrowboats. This was like a miniature stained glass window, round and roughly half the size of the porthole, rimmed in lead with a matching chain to suspend it. At the top of the image a scroll fluttered like a banner, containing the name, Heidelberg, in Gothic print.
When he had presented it to Willow the previous evening, Donovan had explained that his grandfather had once taught a series of seminars at the university in the beautiful old town. He thought it would look good when hung in a porthole, and Willow agreed.
“What do you think?” she asked her son.
“Great,” Ben said. “I like the way the light shines through it.”
Willow lowered the glass picture and turned to face her son. She looked serious.
“We’ve got to reach a decision,” she said. “Are you going to go back to school? If you are, I’ll have to see Mrs Giles and make arrangements.”
Ben looked no less serious than his mother. “There’s no need. I’m not going back, not after what that man did.”
“Going to school isn’t a bad thing, Ben,” Willow said in a reasonable tone. “Being here is a good opportunity to mix with other children.”
“Mum, they don’t want me there. That teacher doesn’t like me. The other kids think I’m some kind of freak. The secretary woman treats us both like we were tramps.”
“What do you mean, freak? Because you take Poppy to school?”
“Maybe, but mainly because I get everything right in the lessons. They do all this really easy stuff, then Mr Meadows says something like, Oh, top marks again, it’s all too simple for you, Ben. The rest of the class gapes at me like I’m super-brain or something.”
“Perhaps it’s my fault,” said Willow.
“How can it be your fault, mum?”
“I mean, maybe I’ve pushed you too hard.”
“I don’t think you’ve pushed me at all. We just do the work in the books. No, if anything’s to blame, it’s that school and me. I don’t fit in, and they know that.”
Willow frowned. It was not the first time she had been concerned that her way of life was making her son into an outcast, but she could see no other way forward. They lived on a boat and travelled the waterways. That was their life.
“It just seems such a pity,” she began. “Perhaps we should give the school one last chance. Perhaps I should go and have a talk with Mr Meadows.”
“Him?” Ben’s voice was hard, his expression grim. “I hope I never see him again. I hate him.”
“Ben, that’s not a nice thing to say.”
“I mean it. I really mean it. Him grabbing hold of you like that and –”
“Stop it, Ben! That will do.” Willow laid the glass picture down on the lid of the loo. Her tone softened. “Come on. Let’s do some reading. And we’ll hang the glass picture up later.”
Ben followed his mother out of the bathroom. He could not see her troubled face. She had never known her son react so vehemently, and it worried her.
*
Maurice Dekker had a light breakfast in the cottage with Donovan. Anne joined them, leaving Marnie and Ralph on Sally Ann. She brought a packet of croissants to supplement the German bread remaining from the evening before. At first Dekker would only accept a cup of black coffee, but Anne persuaded him to have a slice of toast to set him up for the day.
“It was kind of you to invite me to your celebration,” he said in his quiet rasping tone. “I apologise for what happened. I think I must have been too warm or something.”
“Not a problem,” said Anne. “Are you feeling okay this morning?”
“Much better, thank you.”
“Good. Do you have plans for the day?”
Dekker hesitated. “I, well, I’ll need to get back to my boat this morning.”
“I expect Marnie will take you back in the Discovery,” Anne said. “It can get through –”
“No, no. I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll call a taxi. That will be fine.”
Anne thought Marnie might have other ideas but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Dekker turned to Donovan. “I thought your German Christmas was a splendid idea and a great success, apart from, er …”
“Glad you liked it. Of course, the boy singing the carol was a departure from the usual custom over there, but he did it well.”
“He did it very well.” Dekker’s eyes lost focus as he remembered the scene. “Very well indeed.”
“You’re related to him, aren’t you?” said Anne.
“How did you know that?”
“Willow – his mother – was married to someone in your family, wasn’t she? Ben’s father?”
“Was married? Surely she still is married?”
“I’m not sure about the details,” said Anne.
Maurice sat back in his chair and exhaled. For a moment Anne wondered if he was feeling faint again.
“He sang beautifully and had a real presence.” Dekker’s voice was even quieter than usual. “A very fine boy. His mother can be proud of him, and his family, t
oo. He’s like a gift from God.”
Donovan and Anne glanced quickly at each other, both uncertain how to respond. Anne found the way.
“Would you like a little more coffee, Mr Dekker?”
“Maurice.”
“Oh yes, of course.”
She took his cup and filled it again. He did not seem to notice.
“Tell me what you know about Ben,” he said.
*
Anne was right. Marnie insisted on taking Maurice back to his boat herself. She reasoned that by the time she had driven him up to the village, it would only take her another ten minutes or so to get him to Blisworth.
With a faint frosty mist hanging in the air, they climbed the field track in low gear, and as they accelerated out onto the high street, only one other vehicle was on the road. A Vauxhall Vectra was turning in at the school gate.
During the drive, neither of them spoke, and Marnie gave her full attention to the roads. The main highways had been gritted overnight and there had been no further snowfall, but even with four-wheel-drive she took no chances on the treacherous carriageways.
Maurice Dekker seemed to have withdrawn into his own private thoughts, sitting with his head turned away, gazing out of the side window. On the approach to Blisworth he suddenly came alive.
“If you can take the turning on the Gayton side of the main road and run me down to the Blisworth arm I can walk along the towpath from there.”
“That’s the nearest we can get?”
“Yes.”
Marnie found a spot close to the canal bridge and pulled off the road.
“Thank you, Marnie. You’re very kind.”
“Not at all. If you need anything, feel free to call me any time. Getting stuck in this weather is no joke.”
Putting his hand on the door handle, Dekker turned to face her.
“I enjoyed last evening, what I saw of it. I hope I didn’t spoil it for you and the others.”
“Of course you didn’t. And you were there for the best part.”
Dekker nodded. “Ben’s singing. Yes, it was wonderful, uplifting. Tell me, what does he do about schooling?”