Gifthorse: The next instalment of the riveting Marnie Walker series

by Leo McNeir

  If anything was going, it ought to be Anne. She surreptitiously glanced at her watch. Her meeting time with Donovan was fast approaching and here she was, cornered by the police.

  “Put the kettle on, Anne,” said Marnie. “I’ll make coffee while you put the shopping away on Sally.”

  Anne immediately filled the kettle. She had to find a reason for getting away without attracting Lamb’s suspicion. Marnie obviously had a plan in mind and, while Anne switched the kettle on, it became clear.

  “Okay.” She grabbed the carrier bags and headed for the door. “You can save the good news till I get back.”

  Outside, Anne took the path through the spinney but quickly veered off towards the garage barn. She heaved the shopping bags onto the back seat of the Mini and returned to the office.

  “Guess what?” she said from the doorway. “I forgot the milk. Amazing. We’ve only got a drop in the fridge here. I’ll have to go up to the shop. Oh, and another thing. I’m almost out of petrol.”

  Marnie laughed. “You can tell what kind of day we’ve had, Cathy.” She turned to Anne. “If you’re going up to the garage, can you call in at Towcester and collect my dry cleaning.?”

  “No probs. I’ve got the ticket. Cathy, I’ll get your news from Marnie when I get back. Seeya!”

  She breezed out and rushed to the car. With any luck she should just be able to reach the rendezvous with Donovan on time.

  *

  Margaret Giles had learnt from years of experience that being head teacher guaranteed neither infinite wisdom nor the ability to control every situation. After seeing Cathy Lamb off the premises, she had returned to her office and written a list of possible solutions to the problem of funding Ben’s personalised learning programme. She was expecting the chair of governors to arrive shortly, and she was not looking forward to telling her that this problem had arisen at such a late stage in planning.

  It was a short list, and she quickly dismissed the option of asking Willow to pay for everything. Similarly, she was sure she could guess how the local education authority would respond to a request for more money. She drew a third line through the possibility that she might be able to contribute something from the school’s own budget. As usual, she had nothing left in reserve.

  In her training for headship she had been taught the mantra that a problem shared was a problem halved. She pondered this for a few moments, then wrote OU GC Unit on her list. It meant swallowing her pride to do it, but she saw no other choices before her. She consulted her address book, picked up the phone and dialled the Gifted Child co-ordinator at the Open University. Confessing that she had overlooked the crucial matter of resourcing the programme for Ben, she asked the senior lecturer in the education department if he had any ideas. To her surprise, he had quite a few.

  To her even greater surprise, he rang back within ten minutes of her putting down the phone on their call.

  “Margaret, it’s Terry. Listen. I’ve had a quick word with Gemma Longfellow. You know, chair of the Longfellow Trust? Well, it seems they have a trustees’ meeting on Tuesday. They have some end-of-year moneys in hand, and she’s sure they’d be willing to consider helping out.”

  “That’s brilliant, Terry!”

  “Hold on, there’s one small point.”

  “A snag?”

  “No, it’s no big deal. It’s just that the application has to come from the parents. They don’t help official bodies like schools or LEAs. That’s outside their rules.”

  “So how does Willow apply?”

  “They have a simple form, which I’m getting Gemma to fax to you. It’s quite straightforward and they’re willing to accept a late application. The only thing is, this is their last meeting before the end of the financial year, and they don’t meet again until June. Gemma can’t guarantee they’ll have money available at that time, so Willow has to make sure she applies immediately.”

  “Can she apply by fax?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thank you, Terry. I’ll get it to them pronto.”

  Two knocks on the door brought Valerie Paxton in with the chair of governors. Margaret was now in much better spirits.

  “Excellent. Valerie, can you please phone Marnie Walker and ask her to get Mrs Haycroft to ring me as a matter of urgency.”

  Having settled the chair of governors and the head teacher with cups of tea, Valerie rang the number for Walker and Co. It was engaged. Good, Valerie thought, and crossed the name off her list.

  *

  Darkness was coming down quickly, and Donovan asked Maurice to close all curtains in the boat before putting on any lights. In his nocturnal solo travels he had learnt it was important to develop night vision gradually without the intrusion even of cabin lights. He had rarely if ever navigated in total darkness and, even on those nights when the clouds were darkest, he had found it possible to feel his way along the canal, albeit at a reduced speed. Such travel was comforting, for if he could see almost nothing, anyone watching could scarcely see him.

  They approached the rendezvous bridge a few minutes earlier than planned. Donovan could just discern its outline in the distance. It had a single arch, carrying a minor country road, and the map indicated no habitation nearby. Donovan shifted into reverse and slipped backwards, manoeuvring the boat towards the bank at a spot where the bridge was just out of sight. He called to Maurice to stay below, dragged the mountain bike onto the counter and pedalled off along the towpath. Reaching the bridge, he found it completely deserted, with no lights showing from houses in any direction. A perfect spot.

  Donovan was congratulating himself on a good choice of meeting place when he heard a car approaching. Having spent much time renovating a collection of old vehicles – a Porsche sports car and a BMW motorcycle from the 1950s, plus his elderly VW Beetle – his ear was attuned to the differences between engines. The power unit in Anne’s Mini was a development of one that was far from new when the first versions rolled out in 1959. The car now growing nearer was more modern, with a deeper, smoother tone. Donovan leaned his bike against the parapet hidden from the road and crouched beside it.

  The engine note of the oncoming car changed as it slowed and came to a halt just short of the bridge. A door slammed. Footsteps drew near and stopped on the bridge. Donovan risked a quick look round the end of the parapet. It was difficult to make out who was now leaning on the brickwork, but it seemed to be someone of about his own build, wearing dark jeans and a hooded top. The newcomer was staring into the darkness down the canal.

  As he waited, Donovan heard a new sound, another car on the road some way off. More footsteps, hurried this time, as the watcher returned to the car parked the other side of the bridge. The sound of its engine starting up, the distinctive whine of a car moving quickly in reverse gear. Donovan guessed it had pulled off the road. Its lights were extinguished, and it lay concealed in shadow.

  The new car was closer now, and Donovan was convinced it had the light, perky engine note of Anne’s Mini. It was nearing the bridge and slowing down when Donovan crawled out onto the road and waved, hoping he was not within the watcher’s range of vision. The car continued slowing. Donovan waved more urgently, signalling it to continue on its way. It speeded up and drove on. Donovan was relieved to see it was indeed Anne, and he pointed down the road as she looked sideways at him in passing.

  Donovan waited while the sound of the engine faded in the distance. Shortly afterwards he heard footsteps again. This time the watcher paused only briefly on the bridge before returning to the car. When its engine started up, the car took off in the direction from which it had come. Donovan leapt onto his bike and set off at full speed to follow Anne. He had gone barely half a mile when he saw the Mini parked in a field entrance, its lights extinguished. Donovan peered in at the side windows. The car was empty.

  “What was that all about?”

  Anne’s voice was quiet as she emerged from the dark. Donovan turned and kissed her lightly. He explained about the watcher
on the bridge and the change of plan.

  “So the stealth narrowboat rides again,” said Anne. “Could your watcher see Maurice’s boat from the bridge?”

  “No. I hung back.”

  “What now?”

  “Give me five minutes start, then drive back to the bridge. Dump the shopping bags by the wall and get off home. I’ll pick them up from the boat.”

  Anne checked the luminous dial of her watch.

  *

  About half an hour later Anne walked into the office barn as Marnie was shutting down her computer for the day. Cathy Lamb had gone.

  “So what was that all about?” she asked. “I seem to be playing catch-up today.”

  “How d’you mean?” said Marnie.

  “I asked Donovan the same question when we met.”

  “Referring to what?”

  “Never mind, long story. The gist is, he’s going to do an all-nighter, hopes to get back some time tomorrow.’’

  “He’ll be zonked out,” said Marnie. “We’ll be having to nurse him as well as Maurice.”

  “Donovan’s a survivor. He’ll manage. Tell me about Cathy Lamb.”

  “Well, it seems you no longer feature on the Wanted-Dead-or-Alive posters.”

  “Glad to hear it,” said Anne. “What does it mean?”

  “Cathy told me about Dominic’s statement to the police about his crash. He said an oncoming car in the middle of the road forced him to swerve off. He described it as a Range Rover type of vehicle, a big four-wheel drive.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Anne, forming her hand into a pistol and pointing it at Marnie.

  “No, it’s okay. He said it wasn’t my Disco. It was a BMW or a Merc, something like that.”

  “That’s a relief. So Cathy’s a happy bunny.”

  Marnie looked thoughtful as she tidied the things on her desk.

  “Not a happy bunny?” said Anne.

  Marnie shook her head. “Not quite. She still didn’t know why we were so keen to protect Maurice’s privacy, even from his own family. I told her it was a private matter and nothing to do with the police or anyone else.”

  “I bet that pleased her.”

  “Absolutely. She knew there was nothing she could do about it, so she just had to let it drop.”

  “The police aren’t actually trying to find Maurice, are they?” Anne asked.

  “No, but they’re really curious to know why he’s gone into hiding, and although they’ve got no right to do so, it’s my guess they’d like to ask him about that if they could find him.”

  Anne thought of the watcher on the bridge and Donovan’s elaborate precautions to elude him. “They’re not the only ones,” she said.

  *

  Thirty miles or so to the south of Knightly St John a boat covered all over in red oxide paint, bearing no name and showing no lights slipped through the black waters of the Grand Union Canal. Its steerer was navigating the boat with intense concentration, threading his way along a route that was illuminated only as he passed moored craft with interior lights burning behind closed curtains, by the odd street lamp near bridges, by the brightness of the occasional canalside inn and by the glow of stars when the clouds parted.

  Chapter 47

  Camouflage

  On Saturday morning Marnie opened the sleeping cabin curtains and greeted the day. The first object that came into focus was a boat moored opposite. It was painted a dull red all over. She had not heard it arrive in the early hours of the morning.

  Behind her, Ralph asked something, but his question was muffled by a yawn. She turned to look at him, lying with eyes closed, his hair tousled on the pillow. She grinned.

  “O wondrous fair one, I think the answer to whatever your question was meant to be is, we have visitors.”

  Another yawn. “Donovan back?”

  “Yep.”

  “I didn’t hear him.”

  “There’s a surprise. But not really. Donovan has a way of turning every boat into a stealth boat.”

  “Today’s Saturday?” Ralph sounded uncertain. He still had his eyes closed.

  “Good guess. Got any plans?”

  “I’d like a break from the computer. Too many statistics this week. Bad for the eyeballs.”

  Marnie looked back out of the window and saw patches of pale blue between the clouds. “The weather seems to be improving. We could go for a tootle.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  And that was what they did, but not in the way they had in mind.

  *

  Anne was the first to arrive on Sally Ann for breakfast and was surprised to find a note held down by a stone on the entrance hatch.

  Need to sleep a while.

  Maurice not good, but refuses to see a doctor.

  Staying on board with him for now.

  See you later.

  D

  Marnie and Ralph read the note when they appeared on board, and they were discussing the merits of asking a doctor to visit Maurice despite his wishes, when Marnie’s phone rang. It was Ian Samuels, owner of a marina and boatyard south of Milton Keynes.

  “Sorry to bother you this early, Marnie, but I’m a bit desperate.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Are there any mooring spaces up by you? I’ve tried Cosgrove, but it’s chocabloc.”

  “There’s clear bank on the towpath side up here.”

  “You see, Marnie, we’ve got boats all over the place. I can’t fit ’em all in, can’t work on them all at the moment.”

  “What’s happened, Ian?”

  “It’s this damn blockage down south. I can’t get boats off because they can’t get through. I can’t just moor them anywhere. There’ve been break-ins round here just lately. I want somewhere I know they’ll be reasonably safe, or at least overlooked. That’s why I thought of you.”

  “How many are you talking about?”

  “Probably three, maybe four.”

  “That should be okay.”

  “Great. Now I’ve just got to find a way of getting them up to you, but that’s my worry.”

  “Could we help out?”

  There was a pause on the line. “Are you serious?”

  *

  Ian Samuels had not been exaggerating. When Marnie, Ralph and Anne arrived at the boatyard it looked like a Scottish harbour in the heyday of herring fishing. There was scarcely a patch of water to be seen, so densely were the boats packed together. They left Ralph’s old Volvo in the car park and reported to the office, to be greeted by a seriously harassed owner.

  “You are a very welcome sight, believe me.”

  Marnie introduced Ralph and Anne and assured Samuels they were pleased to help.

  “I know you don’t bring your boat here for blacking, Marnie, but next time you need it doing, give me a call. I’ll make you a special offer you won’t want to refuse.”

  “We don’t need payment, Ian. We’re pleased to help you out.”

  “Let’s get started, then. The best thing would be for you to take that sixty-footer near the entrance. With that cork out of the bottle, I’ll be able to start moving the rest.”

  “We thought we might take two boats between the three of us,” said Marnie. “Two steering, one working the locks. We’ve brought a bike.”

  “Brilliant! Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “If you can keep an eye on them up there for the next two or three weeks, along with, say, another two that I’ll send off later, that’ll take huge pressure off the yard.”

  “Will they all be like the sixty-footer, Ian, painted in primer?”

  “Yes. The weather’s not warm enough for putting on topcoats yet. They can wait a while. Meantime, we’ve got a fit-out to complete and other boats needing engine work and welding. You don’t mind them looking like that, do you? I suppose they’re not very attractive, but –”

  “They’re fine, Ian. Let’s get going.”

  With a hint of spring in the air, the two boats eased
their way out of the marina and onto the main line. Marnie was at the helm of the lead boat with Anne following in line astern. Ralph proclaimed that his years of cycling as a student in Oxford had not been wasted and set off on a bicycle loaned by the marina along the towpath towards the first lock.

  Once they had locked through, they had a clear run for some hours round Milton Keynes. With no time pressure, they decided to stop for lunch in an area that resembled open moorland rather than the environs of Britain’s most modern town. The temperature had risen by a few degrees, so they spread a rug on the ground to picnic outside.

  “This is a bit like the Idle Women in the war,” Anne said, biting into a cheese baguette. “They ran two boats with a crew of three, didn’t they?”

  “Never thought of myself as an idle woman before,” said Ralph. “I shall take it as a compliment.”

  “We all should,” said Marnie. “They were great. Actually, changing the subject, I was interested that Ian said all the boats coming up to us would be painted like these ones in primer, or whatever it is.”

  “The same thought had occurred to me,” Ralph agreed.

  “A good disguise for Maurice’s boat?” Anne said.

  “A perfect disguise,” said Marnie.

  *

  The run up to Knightly St John went smoothly for the next few hours. They passed through Cosgrove lock and twenty minutes later rounded the long bend south of the village to see smoke rising from the lum on Maurice’s boat. Drawing nearer, they saw Thyrsis on the opposite bank, with Sally Ann beyond, snug in her docking area. With the spinney as a backdrop, and one chimney of Glebe Farm just visible over the treetops, their home base presented a scene of peace and harmony.

  For a brief moment, Marnie experienced a feeling of dread, a kind of presentiment that something was wrong. She was not prone to premonitions or flights of fancy, but the sense of foreboding overcame her so strongly that she wanted to put off their arrival. She throttled back and allowed the boat to hover in mid-channel.

  Ralph was now standing beside her on the counter, having lifted the bike onto the roof for the last leg of the journey after Cosgrove lock.