Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  When Anne bounced into the office she found Willow already ensconced with Marnie, while Ralph was opening a bottle of sparkling wine in the kitchen area. For a man famous for his ineptitude in all matters technical, he had a deft knack of opening champagne and the like without spraying those present or spilling the precious liquid. He had been taught by a concert pianist friend that by holding the bottle at forty-five degrees to the vertical, the only outcome, except on rare occasions, was likely to be a satisfying pop! The noise made Marnie and Willow jump.

  “Where are the other menfolk?” Anne asked, reaching for bowls.

  “Ben’s round seeing to Poppy in her stable,” said Ralph, pouring wine into flutes. “Donovan’s gone with him. He wanted to have a chat.”

  Moments later, the door swung open and the menfolk entered. Donovan was looking thoughtful. Ben was all smiles at the sight of Anne. Ralph handed round the glasses and they drank a toast to the return of their friends.

  Willow gave a short report on Glastonbury’s progress south. The journey had proceeded without incident until somewhere near Boxmoor they heard the first rumours of trouble ahead. By the time they arrived at Apsley the position was clear: a major landslip south of Rickmansworth had resulted in the closure of the navigation by British Waterways. No-one could give a reliable estimate of how long the closure would last, but every account was gloomier than the previous one. After waiting around for two days, Willow decided that the only course open to them was to abandon their plan and head back to Knightly St John.

  “I hope you don’t think I’ve got a cheek, Marnie,” she said. “I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”

  “Good decision.” Marnie raised her glass to Willow and Ben. “Glad to have you back.”

  “It seems to be the season for friends returning,” said Ralph, glancing in Donovan’s direction.

  “Are you visiting Anne?” Willow asked.

  “Not exactly,” said Donovan.

  “We asked him to come to help us.” Marnie looked hesitant. “There have been developments since you left.”

  She told Willow about the visits by Dominic and Karen Brodie and about Dominic’s road accident. She explained Maurice’s reasons for going into hiding, following the death of his wife and their baby.

  “Now Maurice has gone,” Marnie concluded. “We don’t know where.”

  Ben looked at his mother before speaking. “Dudswell,” he said.

  “He went south?” Marnie said. She sounded as if she did not believe it. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Ben told me he thought he’d seen Maurice’s boat one day when we were on our way back,” Willow said. “One of those Northwich traders,” she added.

  “It’s a replica, really,” said Ben.

  “And you’re sure it was his boat?” Ralph said in a tone that betrayed his scepticism.

  “He’s usually very reliable about things like that,” Willow said.

  “You don’t see many of them around,” Ben added. “And his boat was done all over in sort of primer.”

  “Even so,” said Ralph, “going south from here is the last thing I would’ve expected.”

  Anne looked quickly at Donovan, who returned her glance but said nothing. Marnie noticed the exchange.

  “We thought Donovan might be able to help track Maurice down,” she said.

  “Do you have any particular reason for doing that?” Willow asked.

  Marnie smiled. “I think that’s a subtle way of asking is it any business of ours what he does. Am I right?”

  Willow looked momentarily uncomfortable. “Sorry, Marnie. I didn’t mean it to come out like that, but I do wonder why you want to be involved, if you see what I mean.”

  “It’s a fair point,” said Marnie. “To be honest, we don’t want to meddle in Maurice’s affairs. They’re a private family matter. The thing is …”

  “The things is,” said Ralph, “Maurice’s family is seriously worried he might do something desperate. They want to help him.”

  “Then why doesn’t he just go back to them?” said Willow.

  “In a word, fear.”

  All eyes turned to Donovan.

  “You mean fear of his own family?” said Marnie.

  “I’ve no way of knowing,” said Donovan, “but it seems to me he’s taken such desperate measures to stay hidden, he must be frightened of someone.”

  “But why go south towards London?” said Marnie. “That’s the place he’s been fleeing from.”

  Donovan sipped his wine.

  “Suppose Donovan manages to find him,” said Willow, “what would he do then?”

  “Tell him how much his family wants him back,” said Marnie.

  Donovan shook his head. “He already knows that, Marnie. Didn’t you say his brother-in-law wrote to him and asked him to go back?”

  “Well, yes. But what else can we do?”

  “He won’t listen to anyone else.” Donovan’s tone was firm. “He’ll look at his options and decide for himself.”

  “So we have to wait and see what he has in mind,” said Marnie.

  Another headshake from Donovan. “We already know that.”

  Again, they all looked at Donovan.

  “Go on,” said Ralph.

  “His only choice is to come north again. He’ll try to break out and make a run for it.”

  “You make him sound like the Scharnhorst,” said Ralph. “Or the Bismarck.”

  Donovan returned his gaze. “And look what happened to them.”

  Chapter 44

  Pursuit

  It was a struggle getting Donovan’s mountain bike into the back of Anne’s Mini on Thursday morning, but they eventually succeeded with much muttering on both sides. With the bike securely stowed, Donovan threw in his small black rucksack and lowered the front passenger seat in place. Marnie waved them off under a grey sky, holding her jacket closed tight against a blustery wind.

  Anne focused on avoiding the ruts and keeping out of the mud on the field track, while beside her Donovan studied the road map and related it to the Grand Union cruising guide. Driving along the high street, Anne thought back to their last trip together the previous year. That journey had taken them across France and Belgium to Germany in Donovan’s classic 1950s Porsche. She asked Donovan if he was sharing her thoughts.

  He gave a wry smile. “I try not to think about it,” he said, returning to his study of the maps. As an afterthought he added, “Thanks for transporting me, Anne.”

  “No probs.”

  The fact was, Anne loved being involved in Donovan’s plans. Everything he did was different from the commonplace. She smiled across at him.

  “You’d better start giving me directions. I’m assuming we turn left when we reach the dual carriageway. Where to after that?”

  Donovan plotted their course towards the southern reaches of the Grand Union Canal below the Chiltern Hills. There, the canal’s banks had been breached, and somewhere in that sector he expected to find Maurice Dekker and his boat with no name.

  When they arrived at a suitable intersection of road and canal, they stopped just long enough to unload the bike. He hitched up the rucksack, tucked the cruising guide inside his jacket and slipped a pair of lightweight binoculars into an outside pocket. Anne kissed him, wished him good luck and watched him head off down the towpath until he was out of sight. He did not look back.

  *

  Walking up the field track, Willow smiled to herself even though she was battling against the wind and feeling the first intimations of rain against her cheeks. She thought she must have looked like Mary Poppins in her long dark red winter coat and black velvet hat.

  She turned right at the field gate and made her way along the high street to the village school. As she crossed the playground and turned to close the school’s front door behind her, she caught sight of Marnie passing in the Discovery.

  The school had that familiar smell of floor polish, plasticine and damp clothes hanging in the cloakr
oom. Willow made for the head teacher’s office, knocked on the outer door and went in to meet the unwelcoming scowl of the school secretary. Valerie Paxton made no effort to conceal her disapproval as she looked Willow up and down.

  “Yes?”

  Willow gritted her teeth and attempted a smile.

  “Good morning.” She paused for a reply that did not come. “I’d like to see Mrs Giles, please.”

  “The head is in a meeting.”

  “Do you think she’ll be free soon?”

  Valerie gave a how-should-I-know look and said nothing.

  Willow continued undaunted. “Perhaps I could wait a while.”

  “The meeting is with the chair of governors,” said Valerie. “It could go on all morning. I can’t interrupt them.”

  “Then perhaps I could fix a time to see her later on?”

  “You should write in to ask for an appointment.”

  Without another word, Willow turned and left the office. Her stomach was churning as she retreated across the playground. Perhaps coming back to Knightly St John was not such a good idea, after all. It seemed she had no alternative but to do as Valerie Paxton had said. She would write a brief note and take it in that afternoon. No, she would post it; anything rather than subject herself to the scornful gaze of that secretary woman.

  Willow closed the school gate behind her, at first not noticing the car pulling up at the kerbside just clear of the safety barrier. As she turned to resume her walk, she saw the front passenger window slide down. Marnie called across.

  “Going my way, by any chance, ma’am?”

  “Thanks.”

  Willow climbed in and smiled at Marnie, desperate to conceal her feeling of dejection.

  “What’s up?” said Marnie, preparing to set off. “Something wrong?”

  Willow gave an outline of her encounter with Paxton. Marnie slotted the gear lever back into neutral.

  “That bloody woman. She’s a real pain.”

  Willow sighed. “I don’t think I’ve got much choice but to do what she says.”

  Marnie stared across the school yard, thinking. “Ah.”

  “What?” said Willow.

  Marnie nodded towards the school. Margaret Giles could be seen shaking hands with another woman at the front door. She turned and went back to her office as the woman walked towards the staff car park.

  “I think Margaret’s meeting is over,” said Marnie with a grin. “This could be your big chance.”

  Willow shook her head. “I don’t want to go back and get turned away again.”

  Marnie could read despondency in Willow’s eyes.

  “No, of course you don’t.” She swivelled round and reached over to the back seat, grabbing her shoulder bag. She pulled out her mobile, scrolled down the address list and pressed a button.

  “Good morning. This is Marnie Walker. I’d like to speak to Mrs Giles, please.”

  “Mrs Giles is in a meeting.”

  “I think you’ll find the meeting is now over, Valerie.” Marnie’s tone was pleasant.

  “What makes you think that?” Paxton’s tone was as chilly as the weather.

  “The chair of governors is just driving out of the school grounds in a blue Peugeot. Would you like me to give you its registration number?”

  “That will not be necessary. I’ll check if the head is available.”

  Marnie thanked her, but she had already been put on hold.

  “Marnie, good morning. How are you?” Margaret’s tone was as usual warm and friendly. “What can I do for you?”

  “Willow is back and would like to talk to you about Ben, when you can find a moment.”

  “That’s excellent news. When would she be able to come in?”

  “We’re in the village now, actually.”

  “Perfect. I just happen to be free right now.”

  When Willow arrived in the outer office for the second time that morning, she found it empty. She knocked on Margaret’s door and was greeted with a smile and a handshake.

  “I’d offer you coffee, but Valerie seems to be out at the moment.”

  “That’s fine,” said Willow. “I wouldn’t want to impose on her kindness.”

  *

  For the first half hour, Donovan met no-one on the towpath and passed not a single boat moving on the water. He was grateful for the knobbly tyres of the mountain bike, but even with their extra grip he had to give full attention to staying on the path, keeping clear of the slippery grass and frequent patches of mud. Approaching a lock, he met his first traveller of the day. A narrowboat was in the chamber, an elderly man at the tiller, a somewhat younger woman pushing the gate open. Donovan dismounted and put his back against the balance beam to assist its sliding open. The woman thanked him.

  “Pleasure,” said Donovan. “If you’d like to get on board, I’ll shut the gate after you.”

  “That’s kind.”

  “Not much traffic today,” he said in a conversational tone.

  The woman smiled. She was in her fifties, he guessed, with a ruddy complexion that spoke of an outdoor life. Live-aboards, he surmised, noting the piles of coal bags and the stack of logs on the boat’s roof.

  “Even fewer than usual,” she said. “Not surprising, though, with the blockage down the line.”

  “I was hoping I might run into a friend of mine hereabouts. I wonder if you’ve seen him.”

  “What’s his boat called?”

  “Actually, it doesn’t carry a name. He’s been repainting it. Last I heard it was covered all over in primer or undercoat, dull red. It’s quite distinctive, a replica Northwich trader, about sixty foot.”

  The woman narrowed her eyes, casting her memory back along the route they had travelled.

  “Maybe,” she said. Turning her head towards the boat, which was now exiting the lock, she called out, “You seen a Northwich trader, red primer, no name on it?”

  The steerer thought for a moment. He made a gesture with his right hand, thumbing over his shoulder like a hitch-hiker.

  “Yesterday.” He raised his voice over the sound of the engine. “A fair way back.”

  The stern of the boat drew nearer, and the woman stepped on board.

  “Good luck with your search, then, and thanks for your help.”

  “Have a good journey,” said Donovan, gripping the handle on the balance beam.

  As the steerer reached for the accelerator, the woman turned back to Donovan.

  “He all right, your friend?”

  Donovan stared at her. “That’s what I’m keen to find out.”

  Her mouth turned down at the edges. “He looked none too chipper to me.”

  *

  Margaret Giles pronounced herself delighted that Willow had agreed to take up the offer of a distance learning scheme for Ben. For half an hour they discussed detailed arrangements: learning materials, tutor support, assessment. Margaret explained that the proposal was not without risk, as she knew of no other learning programme of its kind in the country. It would be experimental. For her part, Willow was more than happy to accept the idea. At the very least, she would have support and guidance at an important time in Ben’s development.

  Margaret thought the next step should be a meeting with some of the academics from the Open University’s Gifted Child Unit. Her only concern was that it might cause Ben anxiety if too many people were involved. Margaret did not want Ben to be overwhelmed. Willow’s reaction was gentle laughter.

  “I don’t think you need worry, Mrs Giles. Ben doesn’t scare easily. He can hold his own in most situations.”

  “Of that I have no doubt,” said Margaret. “Thinking of practicalities, do we have your current contact details?”

  “Same as before,” said Willow. “We’re on the boat, staying down near Marnie’s place.”

  “And you’ll be remaining in the area for a while? It might take a little time to get the system up and running.”

  “We’ll stay long enough.”

 
“Excellent. Do we have a phone number for you?”

  “I’ve got a mobile,” Willow said, “when I remember to charge it up.”

  “Good. When I’ve made progress with the OU I’ll ask Valerie to –”

  “No,” Willow interrupted. “Sorry, Mrs Giles. I have to set a condition: no contact through your secretary. Mrs Paxton must play no part in any of this.”

  Margaret looked surprised. “No part?”

  Willow shook her head firmly. “I appreciate she’s your secretary, and I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but as far as Ben and I are concerned, that woman is poison.”

  *

  The first spots of rain began to fall. Donovan stopped under a bridge to take shelter. It was just after noon, almost an hour since he had met the boaters at the lock. Since then he had not passed one boat travelling or seen one walker or angler on the towpath. His only companions had been the occasional heron, that flapped away from the bank at the first sight of his approach. He had had no inkling of any craft remotely resembling a Northwich trader, replica or otherwise, though he had seen a few boats painted overall in primer or undercoat.

  It could be harder than anyone would imagine to find a boat that did not want to be found. In the past that thought had brought him comfort. But not on that day.

  The rain gained in intensity, blown into the bridge hole by a strong breeze. Donovan withdrew by a few feet to keep dry and decided it was time for lunch. Staying in the saddle, he swung the rucksack from his back and dug out the pack of sandwiches Anne had prepared for him that morning. Brie and cucumber. Great.

  The shower obligingly lasted just long enough for Donovan to finish his sandwiches and have a drink from his flask. He was on the brink of biting into a shiny red apple when the rain abated as quickly as it had come on and he made ready to resume his ride. The air felt colder now, and he was glad to be on the move again.

  He had barely travelled half a solitary mile, when the mobile on his belt began ringing. It was Anne.

  “Hi, Donovan. How’s it going?”

  “Nothing so far. One possible sighting down here yesterday, but that’s all. The canal’s deserted, on and off the water.”

  “Have you eaten yet?”