by Leo McNeir
“Don’t worry about the terrace,” Stuart called over. “It’ll just be teak decking with steel balustrade.”
“We’ll want to be sure the whole scheme blends in together,” Marnie explained. “Are you an architect yourself by training, Mr Stuart?”
“Ian – do call me Ian. No. Merchant banking. Came to work in the City, saw the opportunities opening up, started my own company …”
“And never looked back,” Marnie completed his sentence.
Stuart looked thoughtful. “Something you should never do … look back.”
Half an hour later, Stuart was opening the door of a cab summoned by his secretary to take Marnie and Anne back to Euston station. He leaned in to speak to the driver. “Put it on our account, Kenny.”
“That’s kind of you, Ian.”
“No trouble. We like to look after our colleagues … and friends.”
As they shook hands, Marnie glanced up at the name board. “What’s the connection with Bermuda?” She hoped it had nothing to do with the slave trade.
“None at all. There is no connection. It used to be called Tannery Dock. I thought Bermuda Reach sounded more appealing, more in tune with the aspirations of our clients, so I changed it for the brochures and put up signs with that name on.”
“No objections from the borough council?”
“Nobody even noticed it, tucked away down here. I’d paid good money for the place, so I decided I could call it what I wanted.”
Ian Stuart and Barbara Taverner … birds of a feather, Marnie thought.
Settled comfortably in their seats on the train home, there was none of the usual talking over of the project that was now underway, none of their usual excitement. Anne pulled out her book to settle down for a read. Marnie was staring out of the window. When they did speak, both began at the same time. They grinned at each other.
“After you, Anne.”
“I was only saying I liked Bermuda Reach … very smart. I can’t wait to see your design.”
Marnie smiled broadly. “I’ll keep it in the blue folder, of course.” They laughed together. None of the other passengers noticed. Everyone was too occupied with their mobile phones. “You saved my bacon there. As soon as we get back to the office, I’m going to commission a statue of you to take pride of place in the courtyard.”
“Well, you did seem to have wandered off into a world of your own.”
“My mind was on other things. Do you think he noticed?”
Anne shook her head. “Probably too busy worrying about his hairstyle. Did you see that mirror on the wall?”
“Yes. Thanks for your presence of mind, Anne … the blue folder.” They laughed again.
“What was the document you were looking at actually, Marnie? I didn’t think you’d worked out a detailed timetable yet.”
“I hadn’t. I was consulting the travel expense forms that you printed off this morning.”
They laughed out loud. Again no-one noticed. Everyone was staring at their mobiles. The train had gone into a tunnel.
25
Marnie may have learnt nothing about the relationship between Stuart and Barbara on the visit to London, but it had brought her one positive outcome. It had led her back to focus on what she did best. She was able to concentrate for almost the whole of Friday morning on the interiors at Bermuda Reach. And for almost the whole of that morning she managed to distance herself from the Gerard case.
On one side of the office barn was a workbench over which the wall had been fitted with corkboard. Here she pinned up the plans given to her by Stuart and around them Anne’s Polaroid photographs. On the bench she laid out swatches of materials and colour cards of paint and emulsion. For a few hours she immersed herself in light, shade and texture, moving from subtle pastels to bold statements in strong colours, from sandy shades to stark black, white and grey. She was edging towards understated neutral tones that blended with the teak decking of the terrace, when she caught sight of the architect’s name in the corner of a drawing and remembered she had not yet spoken with Philip Everett.
With no need to look up the number of the firm that had employed her for nine years, she picked up the phone and pressed buttons automatically. Philip was available and they talked over the project. His own inclination was towards a bolder treatment to counter-balance the broad expanse of the grey-brown waters of the Thames and the low-rise buildings on the far bank. The conversation moved to a close.
“How did you get on with Stuart?” Philip asked.
“All right … knows what he wants, a good client in that respect. And Bermuda Reach is an absolute goldmine. He’s got a good eye for an opportunity.”
Philip chuckled. “He’s got a good eye for a lot of things, Marnie. I think you were wise to take Anne along for the meeting. Or perhaps you didn’t know about his reputation?”
“A woman doesn’t need to know about someone’s reputation, Philip.”
“No, I suppose not. Anyone can see he fancies himself as a real lady-killer.”
Marnie froze. She could feel the hairs rise on the back of her neck. A lady-killer … It was a common enough expression, quite harmless. But it suddenly brought the whole Barbara Taverner affair flooding over her and she felt as if she was drowning, sucked under the grey-brown waters flowing past Bermuda Reach.
“Marnie? … Hallo? …Can you hear me? …Marnie?”
She swallowed and cleared her throat. “Sorry.”
“Are you all right? What’s happened?”
“It was nothing. Sorry, Philip.”
“Marnie, I’ve known you for a long time. It wasn’t nothing. Did something I said upset you?”
“No, of course not … well, yes, in a way. Look, I am sorry. Perhaps we can talk a bit later.”
It was absurd, but she felt tears running down her cheeks. She pressed the button to disconnect the call and slumped down at her desk, dropping the receiver onto the surface and with head in hands she closed her eyes. For some minutes she sat motionless and was taking deep breaths trying to compose herself when she felt a hand touch her shoulder. Anne had silently descended from the loft and stood beside her. There was no need for words between them. Without a sound Anne withdrew, and moments later Marnie became aware of the heady aroma of brandy close by. She heard the glass being pushed towards her.
“Here, Marnie. This might help.”
A paper tissue was pushed into her hand, and she wiped her eyes. “This is ridiculous,” she murmured, but took the brandy and sipped it gratefully.
“No prizes for guessing what this is about,” Anne said gently. “What brought it on?”
Before Marnie could answer, Ralph came into the office. He kissed the top of Marnie’s head.
“Philip’s just phoned me. He was really worried about you, couldn’t understand what had happened. He said one minute you were talking about the job, then without warning you suddenly went all strange and hung up on him.”
“Lady-killer.” Marnie spoke quietly, her chin over the brandy glass. “He said Stuart was a lady-killer. I know it’s stupid, but it caught me completely off-guard.”
“I knew it had to be that. I promised I’d investigate and let him know how you were.”
“Did you tell him anything?”
“I came straight over. But I’ll phone him back and explain.”
“It’s all right, Ralph. I’ll talk to him, least I can do.”
Marnie finished her brandy and asked to be left alone to talk to Philip. A good and trusted friend, he had helped Marnie to establish her business when she left London. She had been head of interior design at his company, and he had provided her biggest client, Willards Brewery. He was also a good listener, and once she had started to explain, she brought out the whole story without being interrupted.
“… so seeing Stuart was more than just a site meeting, Philip.”
“I can see that. And what I said about him must’ve been –”
“You weren’t to know. It just cau
ght me on the hop.”
“Thanks for being so frank with me, Marnie. You know I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“You don’t have to tell me that.”
“So … Clive Adamson and Piers Wainwright … how do you propose getting in touch with them?”
“I don’t. Charles can sort that out.”
It had to be done, and Marnie left the call to Charles until just before the lunch break. With a feeling of relief she listened to his answerphone.
… and leave a message with your name and number after the tone. Thank you.
Did anyone else hear the messages, she wondered. Did Charles have a secretary who dealt with his calls, or was this purely a private line? It was a different number from the one she had used when phoning Barbara. Marnie realised how little she knew of Charles’s private life. She decided to play safe.
“It’s Marnie. I’ve had a site meeting at Bermuda Reach – with the owner – and I need to talk to you. I’m in the office all day or you can reach me over the weekend. Bye now.”
Marnie hesitated before hanging up in case Charles was using the answerphone to screen his calls. After a few seconds had elapsed she replaced the receiver.
26
The next morning Anne wanted nothing more than a quiet start to a quiet weekend. At breakfast they had planned their day like any normal Saturday: tidy up the week’s loose ends in the office, pack a picnic lunch and head off up the canal on Sally Ann for a relaxing afternoon. It was worth a try, but it turned out differently.
Anne’s first duty was to look in on Ronny – newly released from hospital – before visiting the village shop to fetch a few provisions and pay the weekly newspaper bill. She had picked him a bunch of spring flowers from the overgrown wilderness behind the farmhouse. As she was ringing the doorbell she heard the sound of tyres on gravel and turned to find Ronny’s younger brother returning from his paper round. He flipped a leg effortlessly over the saddle and leaned his bike against the porch.
“Hey, Anne, that’s funny. I was just thinking of you.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Something in one of the papers, the Sun I think it was, or the Globe.”
“What was it?” she snapped. “Sorry, I mean, can you tell me what it was, please?”
“Well, it wasn’t really about you, it was that bloke who bought the vicarage, the one whose wife got –”
“I know who you mean, Paul.”
“I saw their photos.
“Mr Taverner … and Marnie?”
“Marnie? No. Mr Taverner and the murderer – wotsisname?”
“Neil Gerard?”
“That’s the one. They were on the front page.”
“What did it say about them?”
The front door opened behind Anne but she paid no attention to Mrs Cope.
“Er, well, I just saw the headline.”
“Hallo, Anne.” Mrs Cope tried to attract the attention of her visitor.
Anne spun round and thrust the posy of flowers into Mrs Cope’s hands. “Hi. These are for Ronny. I’ll come back later.” She rattled the words off like a machine gun. To Paul she barked, “Can I borrow your bike?”
Before he could reply, she grabbed it and raced up the drive. Rounding the churchyard wall, she left Martyrs Close and accelerated up the high street. The bike clattered on the pavement outside the shop as Anne dismounted on the run and almost went sprawling on the ground. Keeping her balance, she pushed open the door and made a lunge at the rack of newspapers.
“That’s funny …” Molly Appleton began.
“The Sun,” Anne interrupted breathlessly.
Molly pointed. “On the end, if there’s one left.”
Anne saw the photo on the front page. An actress from a TV soap. Definitely not male. No doubt about it.
“The Globe!” Anne shouted.
“None left. Last one went just two minutes ago. You wouldn’t believe it –”
“Sorry, Mrs Appleton, gotta go.”
She went. Before she had reached full speed, the plan was forming in her mind. Back at Glebe Farm Anne would collect her Mini and drive to the nearest garage on the main road. They sold papers. On the way down the field track she made a mental note to increase Paul Cope’s Christmas box at the end of the year. In fact, she would commission a medal. He deserved it for delivering the papers down and up that treacherous slope in all weathers.
In the courtyard of Glebe Farm Anne attempted a smoother descent, lifting her leg over the saddle to glide like a ballerina in Swan Lake. But the classical ballet takes no account of cobblestones. She was vibrated off the pedal and managed a good impression of a dying duck as she landed in a heap outside the office door.
Inside, she was surprised to see Marnie and Ralph huddled together at Marnie’s desk.
“Just getting my car keys,” Anne blurted. “I’ve got to get a –”
She stopped, mouth open. Marnie was holding up a newspaper. On the front page, side by side, were two men, familiar faces. Beside them in large print was the headline: The Odd Couple.
Saturday’s plans were jettisoned. Ralph’s task for the morning had been to check out his cottage near Oxford, and he had called in at the shop for a packet of Polo mints on the way. Seeing the headline in The Globe, he had bought the paper – the last copy – and rushed back to Glebe Farm.
Marnie wasted no time in phoning Charles. She pressed the speaker button on the phone so that Ralph and Anne could hear the conversation. As usual the answerphone cut in.
“It’s Marnie. Listen, if you’re there, pick up the phone. It’s very important. I must talk to you before –”
“I’m here, Marnie. I was shaving. What is it?”
“Did you learn anything new from Neil Gerard yesterday? You were out visiting him when I rang you.”
“Nothing of any substance. He still maintains he’s totally …” He paused. “Wait a minute, how did you know where I was yesterday?”
“You’re on the front page of The Globe, both of you. You’re being described as the odd couple.”
“Christ!”
“They’re wondering why you’re spending so much time visiting the man who … well, visiting Neil Gerard. There’s speculation about whether you’re going to back his campaign for an appeal or a retrial.”
“Oh, God.”
“Are you going to do that, Charles? Is that what this is all about?”
“I don’t know. Everything’s just …” His voice faded.
“I need to know, Charles. I’m stuck in the middle and I haven’t a clue about what’s going on.”
“Well, yes, I did go to see him yesterday, just before they moved him up to near you. I wanted more information about Barbara’s … other men. He was quite forthcoming, told me roughly the times when she was seeing them. I’ve written it all down, things she’d said about them, things she’d said about me. He was –”
“Charles, with respect, that isn’t the top of our agenda just now. The report in the paper has changed all that.”
“But it’s given me information I needed. Frankly, Marnie, that is top of my agenda.”
Marnie sighed with impatience. “Look, the Globe is running a story. They won’t be running it alone from now on. The other tabloids will be wanting their piece of the action. At any minute they could be camping on your doorstep. Hell, Charles, I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”
“You’re right, I should get away.”
“Unless you want to be hounded day and night, yes.”
“You don’t think involving the press might lead to more public interest in the case, further evidence being uncovered?”
Ralph leaned towards the phone. “Charles, this is Ralph. I have to say that would be a very risky strategy. You’d be laying your private life wide open to exposure in all the media. Even the broadsheets would take this one up.”
Marnie again. “It would be as painful as when the trial was running.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you now?”
“Templars’ Wharf. Most of my stuff is over at the new penthouse, Bermuda Reach. The house here is almost empty.”
“Your clothes and personal things?”
“At the penthouse.”
Ralph joined in. “Is it widely known that you’ve bought the place in Bermuda Reach, Charles?”
“Not as far as I know. We didn’t get round to organising house-moving cards because of what happened.”
“Then that’s probably the best place to go at once,” said Ralph.
Marnie shook her head. “But only to pack things for a trip. You’d soon be tracked down to Bermuda Reach. You’ve got to get right away, Charles.”
“But –’
“Don’t say you’ve got nothing to hide. You wouldn’t want every part of your life to be hung out on the line for everyone to inspect. That’s what would happen.”
“Damn the bloody press!”
“Yes, but don’t let them damn you.”
“Marnie if I send you my notes, will you read them and see if there’s anything worth following up? Will you do that for me?”
“I don’t know, Charles. I might just make things worse.”
“So I just run and hide like a dog and that’s it. I never get to find out if Gerard is telling the truth.”
Ralph and Anne were staring at Marnie. She put her head in her hands, elbows on the desk, defeated. “Send me the notes and I’ll have a look at them,” she murmured slowly.
“I can send them by fax. Gerard said he might be able to provide more details. I was going to go back to see him some time.”
Anne looked alarmed.
Ralph cut in. “You’re asking a lot, Charles. This is putting a huge strain on Marnie. You probably don’t realise. What if she visited him and got targeted by the press herself?”
“There’s no need for anyone to know about Marnie, Ralph. I think it was just bad luck that someone recognised me at the other prison. No-one will link Marnie with Gerard.”