by Leo McNeir
“We can worry about that later,” Marnie said. “For now, you have to disappear, the further away, the better. Any ideas?”
“Not sure. Maybe the cottage in France. I could drive there, avoid the airports.”
“That would probably be wise, but don’t go in the Jaguar, or in Barbara’s BMW. They’re too conspicuous. Perhaps you could hire something like a Ford or a Vauxhall.”
“Good idea.”
“You’d better get going.”
“Yes. Thank you for everything, all of you.”
The phone clicked off. The three of them sat quietly with their private thoughts. It was Anne who broke the silence.
“Oh well, I suppose that’s it.”
Marnie nodded. “I don’t like the way he said, no-one will link Marnie with Gerard, rather than no-one would. He’s taking me for granted … as usual.”
Ralph frowned.
Anne did one of her theatrical sighs. “I think I’d better put in an order for a false beard and dark glasses. Sounds like you’re going to need them.” She stood up and headed for the door. “I’d better take Paul’s bike back. He’ll be needing it.”
Marnie looked up. “And you should look in on Ronny while you’re there. Wish him well from me.”
“I will. And there are other things I have to say, so he doesn’t have the wrong idea.”
Anne was soon back and found Marnie reading through notes on fax paper. There was less information than she expected, just one page of extra details. It took only two minutes to go through the comments. Ralph and Anne read them over her shoulder, after which they sat down.
Marnie tapped the first item with her finger. “There’s nothing very enlightening here. Look at this about Clive Adamson: might go back some years … What does that tell us? They met through his involvement in my company … So what? He is younger than me, older than Barbara. Gerard thinks the affair must have lasted about a year.” Marnie shrugged. “He moved to new company, had less time for social life … This is not exactly … ah, wait a minute … may have hurt Barbara …” She repeated, “… may have hurt Barbara … I wonder what that means.”
“I would’ve thought it meant she was distressed when they split up,” Ralph suggested.
“Probably. I don’t suppose it meant they indulged in S and M and it went too far.”
Anne looked up, curious.
“It was through Charles that she met Wainwright, too,” Ralph observed.
“You think that’s significant?”
“Only in the sense that it probably meant he hadn’t suspected anything between Barbara and Adamson. He’d hardly be introducing her to a man with Wainwright’s reputation with women if he thought she might be susceptible.”
“You see that as a sign that Barbara was good at covering her tracks.”
“Partly, although we already knew that. I wonder if it’s a sign that Charles might be rather naïve.”
“Or very much in love with his wife and unable to imagine she’d be unfaithful.”
“Why did he introduce them?” Anne asked. “I’m getting confused.”
Marnie looked down at the notes. “… I commissioned a portrait.”
“Oh, yes. She had that strange name for him.”
Marnie read further. “… called him “an English Michelangelo” because of his strong physique … He seems to have been her bit-of-rough – hard drinking, unkempt, tempestuous – as well as an acknowledged genius. That could be quite an attractive mixture to some women.”
“I think I’d find that rather scary,” said Anne. “But then, what do I know?”
Marnie consulted the paper again. “She might’ve agreed with you, Anne. It seems like she could only manage him for a short time … a matter of a few months, it says here … he didn’t like it when she dropped him … That’s interesting.”
“That she dropped him or that he didn’t like it?” Ralph asked.
“Maybe both.”
“And Stuart came next, isn’t that right? Charles’s notes don’t reveal whether she left Wainwright to start a new affair with him, do they?”
“Not specifically, but there can’t have been much time between her breaking off with Wainwright and starting up with Stuart.”
“Or between any of them,” Anne added.
Marnie agreed and read on. “Charles – or rather Gerard – describes Stuart as a quite different type – English public school, Cambridge, City, “old money” … Barbara perhaps grudgingly admired him for his achievements –”
“Meaning his wealth, presumably,” Ralph interjected.
“No doubt, and his looks too, I expect … the playboy image … handmade shirts, gold watch, Aston Martin.”
“I wonder,” Ralph began. “Did they all pursue Barbara, or did she go after them?”
“That isn’t clear from the notes. Charles has written: Stuart had an eye for younger women, always surrounded by them … liked to cultivate dashing image. That’s it.”
Ralph sat back in his chair. “I can’t quite see Mike Brent in with this lot. He’s the odd one out. What did Gerard write before about him not being in Barbara’s class, or something like that?”
“What are you getting at?”
“I’m not sure I’m getting at anything really. It’s just that he stands out from the others as being more … ordinary. Perhaps to someone like him, the affair might’ve meant more. He might’ve been more upset when they split up.”
“You’re assuming they did split up, Ralph.”
“Gerard says they had, though he did mention that Barbara had had contact with Mike quite recently, didn’t he?”
“He also thought they might’ve had a one-night stand rather than a full-blown affair.”
“Are you thinking there might’ve been some overlap, Ralph, the possibility of jealousy or rivalry?”
Ralph shook his head. “I’m not really suggesting anything. We don’t have enough evidence – if you can call those notes evidence – to be able to arrive at any kind of firm conclusions.”
“You’re right. I don’t think these notes add anything material to what we knew before, apart from a rough timescale.”
“It’s like chain smoking,” Anne said. “She hardly put one out before going on to the next.”
Marnie and Ralph looked at her. It was a compelling image.
“And what do they tell us about her?” Ralph wondered.
“That her life with Charles didn’t fulfil all her needs?” Marnie suggested. “That’s been my feeling all along. Unless … unless something happened between her and Charles about five or six years ago that led her to look elsewhere for excitement.”
“You don’t think it might be that old line about marriage? A woman marries a man thinking she can get him to change, but he doesn’t. A man marries a woman thinking she’ll never change, but she does.”
Marnie smiled grimly. “We’ll never know, not now.” She re-read the notes.
Ralph steepled his fingers against his lips, thinking. He made a gesture across the desk towards Marnie. “Whatever they tell us, those comments don’t give us anything like the whole picture.”
“No, and only Barbara could answer our questions.” Marnie laid the paper on the desk. “Although …”
“What is it?”
“I was just thinking. Gerard could tell us more. He might feel able to say more to us than he could to Charles.”
Ralph looked concerned. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t know, no, or perhaps … I don’t know what I think.”
Anne stood up and went to switch on the kettle. “Oh well, he’s only just moved. You can afford to wait a few days to decide what you want to do, if anything at all. He’ll be settling in first in his new cell.”
“What did you say, Anne?”
The sharpness of Marnie’s tone made Anne look round in surprise. “I only meant there was no need to rush into anything. He’s only just moved to the new prison. No-one would expect –”
&
nbsp; “Anne, you’re a genius.”
Anne looked surprised. “True. Could you just remind me in what particular way?”
The new city of Milton Keynes is the most modern in Europe and its planners laid it out on a spacious grid pattern, each intersection forming a roundabout. While Marnie drove along the V roads – vertical, running north-south – and H roads – horizontal, running west-east – Anne gave directions and followed their progress with a finger tracing the route on the street map. Their goal was the nearby prison, presumably as modern as the town itself.
With one of her lightning decisions, Marnie had phoned the prison to ask if a visit to Neil Gerard was possible that day. An efficient voice informed her that visiting that afternoon began at two o’clock. No appointment was necessary. Anne had not been surprised at Marnie’s proposal. It was typical of her to seize the initiative. Anne had insisted on coming as navigator. They took Ralph’s old Volvo as camouflage.
Marnie had only half-reluctantly agreed to Anne’s presence, but had insisted that Ralph stay behind. On arrival in the prison car park Anne pointed to a corner slot at the end of a row and asked Marnie to drive forwards into the space. They split forces. When Marnie was inside with Gerard, Anne was to stay in the car and keep a lookout for any journalists or photographers. Marnie would switch on her mobile as soon as she exited the prison gates and ring Anne for clearance to return to the car.
Anne climbed into the back of the Volvo, slipped on a baseball cap and settled herself low in the seat. For extra cover, she had brought a book, hoping she would look like a child waiting for its parents to return. Under the peak of the cap, from her vantage point she could keep the whole car park under surveillance without it being obvious to an outside observer. Moving around to get comfortable, she looked at the other cars to see if any of them contained a passenger. As far as she could tell, every one was empty.
Bringing both feet up onto the seat, she rested the book against her knees and looked over them to scan the area. All clear. Beside her, the mobile lay ready. Now it was up to Marnie.
Marnie’s first impression on seeing Neil Gerard again was that he seemed thinner than before. In the hospital bed it had not been obvious, but now in the visitors’ room, in grey shirt and trousers, with matching complexion, he looked like a man recovering from a long illness.
He rose stiffly when she entered the room, shook hands and offered her a seat. His grip was feeble, his hands cool. He waited until she had taken her place before sitting.
Marnie was determined to keep proceedings business-like. She deliberately refrained from asking how he was feeling and came straight to the point. On the table she placed Charles’s extra notes.
“So you’re following up the leads?” His voice too was more subdued than before.
“There’s nothing to follow up here, nothing of any substance.”
“I suppose not. But how do you talk to a man about his wife’s infidelity? It’s not easy. I know he’s more interested in finding out about Barbara than in helping me, but he’s gradually realising that it amounts to the same thing. He knows I didn’t kill her, I’m sure of that. He must want her killer found and punished. At the same time he’s torturing himself with thoughts about what she was doing during the latter years of their marriage.”
“You’re doing the same,” Marnie said. “You’re wondering about her affair with Mike Brent, if she was being unfaithful with him at the same time she was involved with you.”
A hesitation. “Yes.”
“Do you suspect him?”
“Yes, definitely, but I have to suspect all four of them.”
“What about the others?”
“The others? What do you mean?”
“Barbara’s ex-husband, Charles’s ex-wife. Couldn’t they be suspects too?”
Gerard frowned. “They’re past history. No-one harbours a grudge that long, surely, assuming they had a grudge.”
“Who knows what’s happened in their lives since you all split up? Resentment can bubble up at any time. You don’t know how they might be feeling.”
Gerard breathed one word slowly under his breath. “Jesus.”
“Possible?”
“I dunno.” He tapped the paper. “Can’t we deal with these ones first?”
“We?”
“I’ve been dreading you saying you’re going to drop the whole thing.”
“I’ve had a meeting with Stuart and we’ve been in touch with Brent.”
It was a simple statement but it made Gerard jump. “You have? What did you find out?” His eyes were staring.
“Nothing really.”
“You must’ve learnt something, gained some idea …”
“I couldn’t exactly haul them down to the precinct and beat a confession out of them, could I?”
“I’m serious, Marnie.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. She hoped it sounded menacing. “So am I. What do you expect me to do? I don’t have any experience, any resources – apart from these few scrappy notes – any authority to do anything.”
To Marnie’s surprise, Gerard countered in the same tone. “And what do you think I can do from in here? Can’t you imagine what it’s like? You’re supposed to be intelligent and sensitive. Why don’t you –”
“I need more information. If you want me to do more than I’ve done so far, you’ve got to give me more to go on.”
Gerard shook his head. Far from it being a gesture of resignation, Marnie had the impression that he was wrestling with something inside him.
“What is it, Neil?”
He said nothing, stared in front of him as if looking into his memories.
“Neil, talk to me. I can do nothing if you hold back on me. Only you can give me the information I need if I’m to stand any chance of helping you.” Marnie could hardly believe she had let herself be dragged in this far.
“No.”
Marnie felt impatience well up inside her. She began pushing the chair back. “Then if you can’t talk to me, there’s nothing –”
“Barbara will have to tell you herself.” He spoke so quietly that Marnie was sure she’d mis-heard him.
“What did you say?”
“You need to hear the story in Barbara’s own words, from her own lips.”
Marnie felt the skin prickle all over her body. The world seemed suddenly shut out and distant. She felt suspended between the present and infinity. Into her mind floated words from a poem she had discovered the year before in a notebook of verses written by Simon, her late husband:
… And you will sleep with roses round your head,
Kissed by the lips of poets long since dead …
She had stepped out of time and place and heard herself speaking, but was unable to make out the words. Absurdly she wanted to ask herself to repeat what she had said.
“Are you all right, miss?” A hand was touching her arm.
She looked up. “How can she speak to me from beyond the grave?”
“Pardon? Are you feeling all right? Would you like a glass of water?”
“What?” She was looking up at a man in uniform. Her eyes moved across to where Neil Gerard was sitting, one hand reaching for hers.
The guard gestured to Neil to move back. “You’ve gone very pale, miss.”
“No, I’m fine, really I am. Thank you.”
“I think it’s probably time you were leaving.”
“Just two more minutes.”
“Are you being threatened?”
“Oh, no. It’s nothing like that.” She attempted a smile at Gerard. “Sorry. I haven’t had much to eat today … too much rushing around.”
The prison officer withdrew, keeping watch on Marnie as he walked away.
“What was that about?” Gerard asked.
“That’s my question. You tell me. What did you mean about Barbara?”
Gerard leaned forward again, glancing at the officer, careful not to get too close. “I’m not sure this is a good id
ea, Marnie, but I don’t think I have any choice.”
Marnie walked briskly across the car park without touching the mobile and pulled open the car door. Her speed took Anne by surprise. She scrambled out from the back and slipped into the front passenger seat, grabbing the safety belt and jiggling the catch to make it engage as Marnie gunned the engine into life.
“Blimey, you were quick! Wasn’t he in? Don’t tell me he’d popped out for a spot of shopping and a quick half down the pub?”
No reply. Anne looked at Marnie.
“What’s up? Hey, you look as if you’ve –”
“Don’t say it. I almost feel like I have seen a ghost.”
“Has something happened to Neil Gerard?”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“Did he come up with anyone else who could help?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Someone we know?”
Marnie let in the clutch and drove for the exit.
“Yes … Barbara Taverner.”
27
It had been another of Marnie’s decisive moves. Ralph was overruled. He would be spending the day in Oxford having Sunday lunch with the warden of his former college, discussing future collaboration. Anne would accompany Marnie to London. Early that morning there was little traffic as they sped down the motorway in light drizzle. Anne had been ominously quiet since Marnie had outlined the plan for the trip.
The drizzle eased off and Marnie gave the screen washers one last squirt before switching off the wipers. “You’re thinking this isn’t a good idea, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know. I did at first, but …”
“Changed your mind?”
“I …”
“Come on, what is it? If you’re worrying about me, it’s too late. I’ve decided I’m going to find these tapes, listen to them and only then take a final decision. If they don’t give us any substantial details, that’s the end of it.”
“And if they do?”