by Leo McNeir
Anne did not bother to reply. She had another question. “Do you know where Charles Taverner’s staying at the moment?”
“He said he was going to leave and go to their cottage in France. Immediately.”
“Are you sure he’s actually left?”
“No.”
“So what if –”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should ring him.”
“Where?”
“Here, I suppose. I’d hang up if he answered the phone.”
“He could get your number with one-four-seven-one.”
“I can withhold it.”
“But didn’t you say he used the answerphone to screen calls before taking them?”
“Damn!” Marnie breathed out impatiently. “This is getting too complicated.” She turned the ignition key. “Come on, let’s just do it.”
They drove calmly to the marina and pulled up at the lodge. The security man came out and walked round to the driver’s side, eyeing Anne with interest.
“Good morning. Miss Walker? You didn’t say you’d have someone with you.”
“Hi.” Very casual. “My assistant, Anne Price. She should be on your list. We were both here the other day seeing Mr Stuart.”
She gave him their two business cards. He read them and handed them back with a faint smile. “So you’re both staying down in London.”
“We’re a busy firm. Shall I park over there by the flats? I don’t want to disturb people more than necessary. We won’t be long.”
“There aren’t many people to disturb. They go away a lot at weekends, and some of the flats are still unoccupied.”
“I see. Well, we’ll get on. We have to be back in time for a lunch engagement.”
Marnie drove on. Anne snorted indignantly as they parked close by the entrance to the residences.
“Did you see the way he looked at me, Marnie? And you.”
“I don’t care if he does think we’re a couple of dykes, as long as he lets us in and we find what we want. Come on. First we’ve got to wander over to the restaurant and look busy. Bring your notepad or something.”
They mooched around inside for several minutes before venturing back out. Standing in the restaurant doorway, Marnie could see across to the lodge. Inside, the security man seemed to be reading his newspaper. They stepped out and walked unobtrusively along towards the car, keeping close to the buildings, Marnie fingering the Taverners’ bunch of keys at her side. She was ready for the door leading to the penthouse, praying that the security man would be engrossed in stories about priests and choirboys or sightings of Elvis in Rotherham.
The easy part was turning the key of the front door and entering the lobby. The lift was on the ground floor but they climbed the stairs.
“What if the security man comes looking for us and finds us here?” Anne asked.
“We’re calling in on our client, Charles Taverner, as we happen to be in the area.” It sounded quite convincing, Marnie thought.
“What if Mr Taverner’s in the penthouse?”
“I could tell him the same.” A shade less convincing.
“Then we find the tapes and sit round listening to them, like a townie version of The Archers – an everyday story of city folk?”
“Hell, Anne, I don’t know. But we’re about to find out.”
Breathing heavily they arrived on the topmost landing. Marnie could feel her palms sweating as she slid the key into the lock.
“Actually, you’re right, Marnie. If we found Mr Taverner here, you could just tell him the truth and it would be okay, wouldn’t it?”
Marnie hesitated. “Yeah, I suppose so.”
Anne spoke softly. “That’s not the real problem, is it?”
Marnie stopped turning the key halfway round. “The real problem being?”
“If we get in and find the flat empty but the burglar alarm switched on. If we set off the alarm, the security man would be over here in a flash and the police would be on their way and –”
“Thanks, Anne. I get the picture.”
Marnie drew a deep breath, the key clicked and she pushed the door. There was no tell-tale peep-peep from an activated alarm, no motion sensors winking from the corner of the ceiling. The penthouse flat exuded the unlived-in smell of new joinery and fresh paint. They walked on woodblock flooring into a spacious living area that spanned the building, giving views on one side down to the river and on the other to the marina.
Furniture stood around in groupings, everything covered with dust sheets. Boxes marked Pickfords Removals were piled up in the corners. The whole flat was flooded with light from curtain-less windows. Marnie relaxed and looked into the other rooms. The place was unoccupied. Its uncompleted condition explained why Charles was not yet staying there. Her interior designer’s mind was longing to draw up plans for the decor and finishes, but she forced herself to concentrate on the task that had brought them there.
“The views from up here are fabulous,” Anne said. “You can see all the way down the river to Canary Wharf.”
“Great. But for now we have to focus on finding boxes of tapes, right? I reckon we can stay for ten minutes, no more, before the guard gets curious about where we are.”
“They’ve got labels on,” Anne observed. She began reading out loud. “Clocks, candlesticks. Here’s one labelled statues. Never seen that before. When we moved we had labels like tea set or kitchen things.”
“Try that room over there, Anne. It’s got built-in shelving, might be a place for books and music. I’ll try this one.”
Marnie drew a blank. She had chosen a bedroom, though there was no sign of a bed.
“Bingo!” Anne called from her room. Marnie hurried across.
Anne was kneeling beside an open box. “What are we looking for exactly?”
“Neil said she’d used boxes for recordings on the Deutsche Grammophon label. They should be easy to spot: yellow labels, two m’s, no e on the end.”
“You think Barbara would use the same system for hers?”
“It’s a starting point.”
The search was not as simple as they had expected. The collection was substantial and highly eclectic. It took all their efforts not to spend time reading the labels. The Taverners’ taste ranged from grand opera to hits of the 60s and 70s, from New Orleans jazz to boxed sets of the works of the classical masters. One by one they opened the cartons, peeling back the tape that sealed them, hoping they would be able to leave them looking untouched after they left.
“Ah,” Anne murmured. “Yellow labels, Deutsche Grammophon … two m’s, no e on the end.” She looked up. “I think I might’ve found some.”
“Check the insides. I’ll keep on looking here.”
Anne flipped open a number of the box-lids. “Marnie. Plain tapes inside, just numbers on the labels. What do we do with them?”
Marnie continued her search. “With luck, we can just take the box and stow it in the car. That’s why I parked outside the door.”
Anne delved further. “Most of this box has those tapes.”
“Mm.”
“Marnie?”
“I heard you. Try another box.”
“No, Marnie. Listen.” Anne crawled towards the window and looked down. She gasped.
“What’s up?”
“Red Jaguar. It’s stopped next to your – oh no.”
“Charles?”
“Yeah. I suppose we’ll have to come clean.”
Marnie got up and ran to the side of the window. She peered round fleetingly. “He’s going over to the security lodge.”
“What do we do?”
Marnie looked at Anne’s open carton. “We can hardly wander out carrying a Pickfords box.”
“Can’t we just explain why we’re here? He’s bound to find out anyway.”
Marnie shook her head. “I’m not ready to tell him yet. I don’t want him to know about the tapes until I’ve listened to them first.”
“But –”
“Cram a
s many as you can into your bag. I’ll do the same. Try not to make it look bulky.”
With a shrug, Anne did as Marnie said, carefully fitting the tapes into her shoulder bag. She grabbed everything from the box indiscriminately until it was empty. As she worked she became aware of an overwhelming necessity to go to the loo.
“Marnie, I think I need to –”
“So do I. Don’t think about it. No time. Just grab what you can and stack the box under the others in that pile. Let’s go!”
Out on the landing, Marnie pulled the front door quietly shut. A sudden thumping sound followed by a low hum made them jump. The lift was travelling up from the ground floor.
Marnie pointed. “The stairs. Come on! We can avoid him.”
They raced down on tiptoe, one hand grabbing the rail, the other fighting their shoulder bags that were banging about, rattling their bizarre contents. Reaching the ground floor, they heard the change of sound as the lift arrived at its destination some way above them. Marnie had the Discovery’s tailgate open before they could draw breath. She yanked up the flap to the under-floor compartment and they pushed their bags into the well. They tried to look unhurried as they climbed in, panting.
“That was close,” Anne muttered. “I still need the loo.”
Marnie was letting in the clutch before Anne had the seat belt fastened. “I think I’m beyond physical things. I’ll never need the loo again.”
Anne permitted herself a smile. “Don’t make me laugh, Marnie. It could be fatal.”
Unhurriedly Marnie drove towards the site exit, preparing herself for a cheerful relaxed wave at the security man if he looked up when they passed. She would absolutely not be stopping, short of him lying in the road in front of her. She swallowed. The man was emerging from his lodge at the moment she changed up to third. She raised her gear-change hand to wave. He did the same, but it was a command not a sociable gesture, and he stepped out in front of the car, blocking the roadway. Marnie pressed the button to lower her side window for a friendly word. As she did so, her stomach turned over. Behind the security man, another man was appearing from the lodge. It was Charles Taverner.
“Did you get what you wanted, miss?”
“Yes, thanks.” The least said the better. Marnie smiled to conceal her rapid breathing.
Charles moved forward. “I thought the car looked familiar. Marnie?”
“Morning, Charles.”
“What was it you wanted?”
“A few details.”
Charles looked puzzled. “Details of the penthouse?”
The security man looked puzzled. “You mean the restaurant, sir.”
“Restaurant?” Charles repeated. “What’s the restaurant got to do with it?”
“I came in the week to see the owner of the whole development.” Marnie stared pointedly at Charles. “Ian Stuart.”
Charles suddenly got the picture. “I see, of course.” As the security man turned to look at him, he added, “I misunderstood.”
“But everything’s fine?” said the guard.
“Yes.” A chorus from Marnie and Charles.
Charles walked round to the passenger side of the Discovery. The security man went back to the lodge. Anne lowered the window for Charles to speak but Marnie got in first.
“Why are you still here, Charles?”
“That’s what I was going to ask you.”
“I thought you agreed to get away.”
“I’m going, but first I wanted to leave some things in the flat. So are you going to explain why you’re here, Marnie?”
“I needed to clear up some more details.”
“But the restaurant’s all locked up. I don’t understand.”
“You’re just going to have to trust me on this, Charles.” Those words again! Trust was in short supply these days.
“I’d like to, Marnie, but I think I need something more to go on. Why should I trust you? I mean, why do you say I need to?”
“You have to trust me because if you can’t – or you don’t want to – then I’m walking away from the whole business with Neil Gerard, here and now.”
“So this is about Gerard, not the restaurant.”
“I’m not saying any more. The choice is yours. You can deal with Gerard alone, and I’ll pass the design projects on to one of the team at Everett Parker. I mean it, Charles. I’m not joking. I’ve had just about all I can take of this.”
“Very well, Marnie. I trust you, of course I do, though I haven’t any idea what you’re doing.”
“That’s what trust is about, Charles.”
Marnie wished she had not said that.
They drove in silence until they reached the M1 and settled down to cruising speed. Both were thinking about the strange cargo hidden in the back. It had been an unsatisfactory and unsettling journey. All Marnie’s instincts told her she should drop the crazy plan of helping Neil Gerard. They also told her it was too late. As usual she felt guilty about dragging Anne into her problems. She gave her friend what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
“You all right?”
Anne nodded.
“Sure?”
“Mm. I’d still like us to stop so I can use the loo.”
It was enough to lighten the atmosphere. Marnie gave her friend a genuine smile. “Sure. There’s a service station just up the road.”
“That’s the best news of the morning.”
“Absolutely.”
“By the way, Marnie …”
“What?”
“We don’t actually have a cockerel.”
Marnie’s brain struggled to make the connection and finally succeeded. “I know, and it’s just as well … for his sake. He had a lucky escape there.”
There was a spring shower that night. Marnie got into bed with Ralph on Thyrsis feeling more cheerful than she had been all day. She loved the sound of the rain on the window. It reminded her of squally nights when she was a child and she used to go to Beth’s room and snuggle up with her sister, feeling cosy and safe.
On their return from London they had taken the decision not to listen to the tapes. It required no effort of willpower. They had had enough of them for one day and wanted to spend their Sunday in more agreeable pursuits. Anne had found a cardboard box for them and volunteered to sort through it the next morning and make a catalogue of the numbering system. She would assemble the whole Deutsche Grammophon set in whatever order Barbara had listed them.
As usual Ralph was sitting up reading through the work he had completed that day. Still wearing her dressing gown, Marnie climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged beside him, running both hands through her hair. Ralph looked up.
“Marnie, I’ve been wondering … Why didn’t you just tell Charles the truth? You had every right to be at Bermuda Reach. You were following up what he’d asked you to do.”
“That’s what Anne said.”
“I think she had a point. What’s your answer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you really mean that? Can I suggest a reason?”
“Go on.”
“You don’t trust him.”
“Neil Gerard?”
“Charles.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Can you think of a better reason? Your list of suspects is growing by the day. You’ve got Gerard’s list of Barbara’s four lovers – former lovers – plus Gerard himself, of course.” Ralph held up his fingers to count. “Then you’ve added the two ex-spouses and now Charles. That makes eight.”
“How could I think that about Charles?”
“It’s not unreasonable. You’re casting him in the role of the jealous husband, always the obvious suspect in a case like this, I’d imagine, which is why I’m sure the police must’ve investigated that possibility. And they decided he had nothing to do with Barbara’s death.”
“Why is he pursuing this when Gerard is already in prison?”
“Sorry? You’ve jumped ahead of me there.”
“That’s how it seems to me. It could explain why you haven’t told him about the tapes. I’m assuming it’s not just to spare his feelings. After all, he’s going to know about them sooner or later.”
Marnie shifted onto her side and stretched her legs. “So if he is a suspect, why take all this trouble when Neil Gerard is convicted and serving time, and everyone’s convinced he’s guilty?”
“A number of reasons. Could it be to justify his action if he did it? Or possibly as camouflage, a smokescreen to keep in contact with Sarah and her campaign, to know what she’s up to and maybe influence it?”
“You think it’s all smoke and mirrors, Ralph?”
“No. Personally I don’t. I’ve come round to thinking that Charles is just trying to get at the truth.”
“However painful that might be?”
“He’s suffering already. However much it hurts, certainty is less agonising than doubt.”
28
Marnie was surprised when Anne arrived promptly for breakfast at seven thirty on Monday morning. She had fully expected her to be late, guessing that she would want to make an early start on cataloguing the tapes. Marnie reflected that she was wrong about so many things these days.
Ralph greeted her. “You’re bright and early.”
Anne hopped down the steps into the cabin on Sally Ann and checked the toast under the grill. As usual at that time the boat smelled of coffee. The table was set with a cloth of blue gingham. Marnie was pouring orange juice. It was an inviting start to the week. Putting the carton back in the fridge, Marnie looked up at her friend. Anne was wearing pale blue jeans and a yellow T-shirt. Her short blond hair was brushed and gleaming, freshly dried from the shower, her pale complexion touched with pink from the brisk walk through the spinney.
“Ralph’s right. You remind me of that line from Shakespeare … golden lads and girls …”
“From Cymbeline,” Ralph commented. “Better not to complete the quotation, though.”
“Not if it spoils the illusion,” said Anne, putting the first rounds of toast in a basket and loading more slices onto the grill pan.