No Secrets (MARNIE WALKER Book 6)

by Leo McNeir

  Contemplating the irony of trying to resolve one deception by creating another, she lost track of how long she was sitting at the table. It was the rocking of the boat that first made her aware that the shoppers were back from their expedition. They brought the bustle of the outside world with them, both chattering as they swung the bags down onto the galley floor.

  “Sorry we took so long, Marnie. I got snarled up in a one-way system. If it hadn’t been for Anne’s excellent organisation we’d still be in the supermarket –”

  “But Ralph’s a dab hand with a shopping trolley. You should’ve seen him … Marnie? Are you all right?”

  Marnie looked up from far away and focused on them. “Come and sit down.” She gestured. “I want to talk to the two of you.”

  Her sombre tone changed the atmosphere on board in a trice. Two serious faces confronted her across the table. She began by recapping on all the events leading up to the time of Barbara’s death, including the affair with Gerard and the other lovers.

  “That’s the story so far.”

  “We knew all that, Marnie. You’ve told us already.”

  “There’s more. I’ve, I’ve been to see him again.”

  “You told us that, too.”

  “No. It was just now. I went to the prison while you were shopping.”

  Anne looked at Ralph. He frowned. “Was that a spur of the moment thing?”

  “I made up my mind on the drive down.”

  “That’s why you wanted us out of the way.”

  Marnie studied Ralph’s face. “Yes.”

  “I see.”

  “And that’s why I’m telling you now. I hate the idea of deceiving you, either of you.”

  “What was your purpose in going to see him?” Ralph asked. “And the timing of your visit?”

  “It was talking to Sarah on the phone this morning, and then that business with the newspaper. I saw how convinced she was, the anxiety on her face in the photo, how desperate she was.”

  “You wanted to see Gerard by yourself without Charles there to influence things.”

  Marnie nodded. “That must’ve been part of it.”

  “I’m glad you told us this, Marnie.” He grinned. “I knew you were up to something.”

  Surprise. “You did?”

  “I had my suspicions.”

  “And you’re not annoyed with me?”

  “I’m glad you explained.” He spotted Anne’s list on the table. “And you can give us the rest of your story later. I’m sure there’s more to come. But don’t you think we ought to get going before anyone – like a tabloid reporter – sees Perfidia and starts getting interested?”

  Marnie rose at once from the table. “You’re right. Time for a quick getaway … at four miles an hour.”

  By the time Marnie had the engine running again and Anne had pushed off fore and aft, Ralph had Boxmoor Top Lock ready to receive Perfidia on her run through the Winkwell and Bourne End locks up to Berkhamsted and, beyond that, the long pound of the Tring summit.

  They estimated the run at around twelve miles and seventeen locks, and even with Ralph preparing most locks in advance, it took over eight hours. When they cleared the last of the Marsworth flight there was still daylight and travelling time ahead of them, but Marnie had other ideas. Entering the Tring Cutting, she eased back and pulled over in a secluded spot with steep slopes, overhung with trees. While Ralph and Anne made Perfidia secure on mooring pins Marnie inspected the boat, turning the knob to grease the stern gland, switching to leisure battery, checking the bilge pump was turned off, the little things Barbara as a good boatwoman would have done routinely, she thought to herself.

  They felt rejuvenated and pleasantly tired after the long spell of exercise. On any other evening they might have set off for the nearest canalside pub, but this was an exception. They were eating on board. Having been responsible for the refurbishing of several of the pubs along the canal, Marnie was known in the area. Perfidia was now an infamous boat, and canal users took note of passing vessels. Marnie feared it was possible that together they could excite comment, and word of their presence might get out. Ralph was not convinced of the danger. He took the view that most people never gave the waterways a thought and would not go looking for Marnie – the unidentified woman – or even Perfidia – on the canal, obvious though that might seem to the group of them. Alone on their remote mooring, Marnie was confident that no-one would come looking.

  After hours of rapid walking along the towpath and working the locks, Ralph muttered that he would welcome a change of clothes, and he was packed off to the shower room. Marnie and Anne meanwhile made supper. Anne offered to make a tuna pâté and toast as a starter; Marnie prepared a vegetable stir-fry with basmati rice. Yogurts were keeping cool in the fridge. An opened bottle of Aussie Shiraz stood breathing quietly on the workbench. A perfect meal for the end of an enjoyably strenuous trip.

  Ralph had been thinking through the situation during his shower and launched straight in as soon as they began eating. “Visiting Gerard like that, Marnie … you did the right thing if you really believed his story.”

  Marnie took a sip of wine. “Do you think Gerard’s innocent?”

  “Is that really the point here? Does it matter what I believe?”

  “It matters to me, Ralph.”

  His turn to sample the wine. “All the evidence suggests otherwise.”

  “Damn. What about you, Anne?”

  “I think I’m out of my league on this one. I’ve only seen what’s been in the papers and on TV.”

  “And you’ve met Sarah.”

  “So? I’d do all I could to stick up for my brother if he was in trouble.”

  “Would you have lied to help him, if he was accused of murder?”

  Anne fingered her glass. “Probably.”

  “But Sarah didn’t,” Ralph observed.

  Anne looked up. “No, but she didn’t think she had to, did she?”

  “Ah, now that’s the point.”

  Marnie shook her head. “We’re going round in circles, covering the same old ground again. The trouble is, there’s no evidence to go on. What if Gerard produces these names, her other lovers?”

  “Producing names won’t prove anything, not in itself. You’d need much more than that to get the police to re-open enquiries.”

  They finished off the pâté, and Marnie got up to tackle the stir-fry while Ralph cleared the first course debris. By the time Anne had put out the rice, Marnie was serving vegetables from the wok. The air over the table was laced with steam and the smell of soy sauce. Before taking her first mouthful Marnie made a pronouncement.

  “I think you’re right, Ralph. Nothing’s going to make any difference.”

  20

  It was the next day, a Sunday morning in spring. A quiet stretch of canal under an overcast sky, with only a solemn heron looking on from a distance. Not a sound from the outside world, no birdsong, not even church bells ringing at the early hour when Ralph and Anne untied ropes and pulled out mooring pins.

  They made steady progress throughout the day, cruising through open countryside that Marnie always found surprisingly remote, given how close they were to the huge city to the south. Ralph again spent most of the time walking from one lock to the next, but shortly after Ivinghoe he was caught by a sudden shower and took shelter under the bridge by Horton Wharf.

  He ventured out to work the lock, envying Marnie in her waterproof jacket and rain hat. Once they were in clear water again he stepped onto the gunwale in the bridge hole and was delighted to be welcomed on board with a change of sweater and a mug of coffee reinforced with brandy. The rest of the journey passed without incident. They left Perfidia by arrangement at a boatyard in Leighton Buzzard.

  They walked along to the pub car park and collected Marnie’s Discovery. Driving back to Hemel, they picked up Ralph’s Volvo. Within half an hour they were motoring down the high street in Knightly St John in convoy and turning off the road to take the
field track home.

  Marnie swung in first and slotted the car straight into its place in the garage barn. Ralph pulled into the next bay, and they were lifting their overnight bags from the car boots when Angela Hemingway came round the corner.

  “Hi! You gave me a surprise there. Did you forget something?”

  Three pairs of eyes focused on her while their owners tried to make a connection.

  “Say again,” Marnie urged.

  Angela spoke slowly and clearly. “When I heard you the first time I came out to say hallo but you’d already gone.”

  “The first time … when was this?”

  “Five or ten minutes ago, at a guess.”

  “It wasn’t us.”

  “What made you think it was?” Ralph asked.

  “I … mm … I’m not sure. I knew you were expecting to be back about now and I just assumed it was you.”

  They ushered Angela into the office barn where Anne prepared tea. Marnie took her seat opposite Angela.

  “Okay. What did you see or hear?”

  “I heard a car outside.”

  “What colour, what make?”

  Angela shook her head.

  Ralph joined in. “What about the sound … anything?”

  “It was just a car.”

  “Think carefully. Could it, for example, have been a diesel, sounding like a Land Rover?” Angela looked doubtful. Ralph continued. “Or perhaps it might’ve been a more powerful car with a loud engine?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t notice anything special about it.”

  “And you didn’t catch a glimpse of it through the window?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I’d just got back from evensong and I was changing my clothes upstairs. I don’t normally parade in front of the window in my underwear.”

  While Ralph struggled to untangle his thoughts about female vicars and underwear, Marnie took over.

  “You say you heard it from upstairs. How?”

  Angela pondered, frowning. “Gravel … I heard it on the gravel.”

  “Going quickly?”

  “No, quite slowly, come to think of it. It surprised me a bit because you always just turn straight into the barn, don’t you?”

  “Where was your car?”

  “I’d just left it in the courtyard for a few minutes. I’d carried in a box of new hymnbooks. They were heavy and I didn’t want to have to lug them too far.”

  “So the driver wouldn’t have seen your car in the courtyard until he drove round the office barn.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And whoever it was, they decided not to stay.”

  Angela look worried. “Do you attach any particular significance to that, Marnie?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  There was no pretext this time. Marnie simply told Ralph and Anne that she wanted to phone Sarah. She left them putting supper together in the galley on Sally Ann and returned to the office barn to make the call. Predictably she got the answerphone. Her first reaction was to hang up, but she decided to leave just a brief message.

  “Hi. It’s Marnie Walker. Could you give me a ring when –”

  The phone was snatched up. “I’m here. These days I screen all incoming calls … media attention, you know.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “You’ve been to see Neil again.”

  “You too?”

  “I go every Saturday and Sunday, especially since … I’d go every day if I could. You’re phoning me about those names.”

  “Names?”

  “Neil promised to let you have the names of Barbara’s lovers. He’s given me a list. I was going to send them by e-mail, unless you want me to read them out now?”

  “No, e-mail’s fine. I’m really phoning you about something else. Have you been here today?”

  “Where’s here? Where are you phoning from, Marnie?”

  “From home, from Glebe Farm.”

  “I’ve never been there, don’t even know where it is. How could I?”

  That was a blow. If the visitor had been Sarah, it would have been the simplest explanation. But if it wasn’t her … Sarah’s voice cut into her train of thought.

  “Are you still there, Marnie?”

  “Sorry, er, yes.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “A car came down here this afternoon and left as soon as it got close enough to realise someone was around.”

  “Is that unusual? Cars come past my house all the time.”

  “We live at the end of a farm track down a slope. It’s a few hundred metres. You have to cross a field to get here.”

  “So if it wasn’t me, who was it? That’s what you’re thinking?”

  “Exactly.”

  “My guess is the media. They’re out looking for you … the woman from the paper?”

  “But how did they know I lived here?”

  “Easy. You were followed.”

  Marnie decided this had gone far enough. “That must be it.”

  “I’m sure that’s the solution, Marnie.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sarah promised to copy Neil’s list of names and e-mail it that evening. They disconnected.

  Before walking back to the boat through the spinney, Marnie made a tour of inspection. She believed Sarah. Why shouldn’t she? Everyone believed Sarah. I’ve never been there, don’t even know where it is. She looked into the barns. She went to the back of the farmhouse, checked behind the cement mixer and the shed. She looked in the small patio gardens of the three cottages. No-one was lurking.

  As an afterthought she examined the grass at the edge of the gravel for tyre tracks, but Angela had gone over the ground when she drove her car out of the courtyard. And anyway, Marnie wondered, what could she have deduced from tyre tracks?

  Standing at the back of the office barn, she ticked off the possibilities in her mind. A courting couple looking for somewhere secluded to be alone together? All the locals knew Glebe Farm was occupied, and the couples who were the two most likely candidates in the area had now become her tenants. A stranger who had got lost? No-one would think of taking the field track to go anywhere.

  Through the trees she caught a glimpse of lights twinkling fifty metres away. With the day beginning to fade, they had switched on the cabin lights on Sally Ann, nestling in her docking area. It was a welcoming sight, and Marnie set off like a medieval traveller seeking shelter on the road. As she walked she itemised four certainties that were clear to her.

  One. This was the second time in the past few days that someone had made the journey down the field track to check out Glebe Farm and then left in a hurry.

  Two. Such a thing had never happened before they got involved with Neil Gerard … and the Taverners.

  Three. No-one had followed Marnie home. They arrived there before she did.

  Four. Someone was watching them.

  21

  Monday morning and Marnie’s first task was to fire up the computer and open the e-mails. There it was, third in the list of seven that had come in since yesterday. Sarah Cowan. She double-clicked on the sender’s name in the in-box. A short message with the paperclip symbol to indicate an attachment.

  Hello Marnie

  Here is Neil’s list, as promised. I’ve told him I can’t really see what you or anyone else can do about them, but he said you wanted to know who they were. If this makes Charles Taverner feel more inclined to give Neil the benefit of the doubt, maybe it will do some good. Anyway, it’s up to you to take whatever action you think fit, if any.

  Thanks for your interest,

  Sarah

  Marnie double-clicked on the attachment, and the list appeared. Sarah’s typing was neat and precise. The list was numbered with the four names and a few lines of notes under each one. Two of the names were unknown to Marnie. One was famous. The other was quite a surprise.

  1. Ian Stuart

  Owner of marina in Docklands at Bermuda Reach. He is very well-off. Barbara said he fancied hi
mself as a lady’s man. They had a relationship a couple of years back. From what she said, I think they may have had some contact recently.

  2. Clive Adamson

  A businessman and former colleague of Charles. I’m sure Barbara had known him for a long time. Not sure she even liked him, but was attracted by his “dynamism and energy’. Charles definitely disliked him and thought him unscrupulous. Interestingly, he seems to have treated Barbara as just another girlfriend among many. He dropped her, which is not usual.

  The famous name leapt off the page.

  3. Piers Wainwright

  The artist. Barbara met him at the opening of a one-man show at the Weatherly Gallery in Bond Street. Charles commissioned him to do a portrait of Barbara. You can imagine how the sittings went. I think it was about three years ago and lasted only a few months.

  The fourth name was the surprise.

  4. Mike Brent

  Manager of Little Venice. I think this may have been more of a flirtation that turned into a “fling’ than a real relationship. Not really in her class. (Do I flatter myself here?!) Barbara gave the impression she had seen him quite a lot while pottering about on Perfidia.

  A cacophony of thoughts and impressions crowded into Marnie’s mind. She herself had had relatively few lovers. There had been the usual propositions starting at the age of fifteen that had all been rejected. There was the customary run of boyfriends at college. But then she had met Simon. From that day on she had been a one-man woman. After they split up she threw herself into her career to the exclusion of all else, with the passing distraction of being pursued by a colleague of her brother-in-law, a lecturer at UCL. And then Ralph had come along.

  But Barbara. She was a different breed. Marnie had known a number of men who were predators. Was Barbara a female equivalent? If this was the recent list of her conquests, how many others had figured in her life? And why? Marnie thought she could probably guess. Curiosity and possibly boredom, dissatisfaction with the physical side of her life. Presumably dissatisfaction with Charles.