by Leo McNeir
He wouldn’t understand
He’s a good man
I’ve never known anyone better
But this kind of thing isn’t his scene … not his forte
Not like you
[Another long pause]
You said you weren’t sure about the tape I gave you
Maybe not a good idea, you said
What if Charles found it?
Do you think I hadn’t thought of that?
Charles never goes through my things
It would never occur to him not to trust me
But I liked your idea … Deutsche Grammophon boxes
Very highbrow
An affair of quality
I’ve got loads of them … cassettes, I mean
Who knows, perhaps we’ll need a lot
Perhaps just a few
Who can tell?
And don’t come over all sensitive
I don’t want you getting all intense
There’d be no fun in that
One of our ground rules, remember?
Coming back to your question
You know the one I mean
I told you it was out of order
We’re not going to talk about things like that
If we’re not going forward, we’re not going anywhere
But some subjects are out of bounds
You agreed
So that’s it
[Another pause, another sigh]
Why is it always raining when I do these tapes?
It’s been fine all week and now there’s a real storm out there
I got drenched running from the taxi to the house
If I go down with double pneumonia I shall blame you
[She laughed]
If I die of it, I’ll come back and haunt you, so be warned
[More laughter]
You wouldn’t want that
It might cramp your style when you pursue your next conquest
And what was all that frankness thing about?
I didn’t want to know about Judy or … Sonya, or whoever it was
Although once I got used to the idea, I have to say …
Well, it did spice things up a little
How many have there been in your life?
Don’t answer that
Yes, do
It doesn’t really matter … I can’t hear you anyway
And another thing … why did you want to talk about them?
You can’t be getting tired of me already
You demonstrated that all right
And you ask a lot of questions
I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you about my past
It’s no concern of yours really
I may decide to talk about it … I may not
You’ll have to wait and see
I haven’t made up my mind yet
But you won’t find out by pestering me
So don’t try
You don’t want to get me annoyed … believe me
You said we shouldn’t have secrets from each other
Why not?
A woman should be a creature of mystery
Oh, it’s getting late
I need my beauty sleep
But first [laughter] it’s plug-hole time for you
I think it’ll be a soak in the tub tonight
All those bubbles
Wash you away
I might burn one of those joss sticks you gave me
Light a candle
Very atmospheric
Just like … you know
[A pause]
I’m yawning
Time to go
Good night, sweet prince
Good night
Good night …
33
“Did you get your paper written?” Marnie came into the sleeping cabin from the shower wearing her bathrobe. “Are you all ready for the symposium?”
Ralph looked up from his notes. “More or less. I’ve just added some more bullet points, a few more slides. I can ad lib from them. That’s how I usually do my talks.”
“Good.”
“How about you? Did you listen to any more tapes?”
Marnie sat on the bed. “Just one. I can only manage one at a time. Mind you, I went through it twice.”
“And?”
“Do you want to hear it?”
Ralph shook his head. “No. The first one was enough. I got the flavour.”
“If anything, this one was even more intimate than the first. Intimate seems to have been one of their favourite words.”
“Did you learn any more about their relationship?”
“Not much. They were obviously very close, but we knew that.”
“Anything about Charles?”
“Praise from Barbara, again. She said she’d never known anyone better, said he trusted her and wouldn’t go searching through her things.”
“So no risk of him finding the tapes, presumably. Anything else?”
“I get the impression Neil was trying to get Barbara to say how committed she was to the relationship.”
“The L word?”
“Could be. She warned him off becoming too intense about things.”
“You know, Marnie, I’m not sure you’re going to find anything of great significance in those tapes. I can’t see any real evidence coming out of them, can you?”
“Not if they just carry on in the same vein, no.”
“Perhaps you should try a different approach.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe take a whole day and listen to them all in one session.”
“Phew! That could be a mind-blowing experience.”
“But it would concentrate your attention, give you an overview of everything. Then you could home in on any tape that might be of special interest. Might be the best way to complete the task.”
“Mm, I see what you mean. But when can I afford a whole day? We’ve got to bring the boat up this weekend and I’m under enough pressure from work as it is.”
Ralph leaned back against the pillow and slotted his notes into their folder. “Perhaps you should start with the last tapes and work backwards from there.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. My idea was to see how their relationship developed over time.”
“That’s why I suggested tackling all the tapes in one long sitting. You’d get a concentrated view very quickly. Still, I suppose speed isn’t the main consideration in getting the task accomplished. Neil has all the time in the world. A day or two won’t make much difference one way or the other.”
Marnie turned and stretched out beside Ralph, propping her head on her hand. “I’m not so sure about that. Time’s weighing very heavily on him. You know what he said today? The prison where they’ve moved him has the worst record for suicides in the country.”
“Really? I thought they had a special programme for –”
“That’s not all. He said a life sentence was less merciful – in some ways – than being hanged, said it was a lifetime in hell.”
“That was one of the arguments used against abolishing the death penalty, of course.”
Marnie screwed up her face. “But it had to be abolished. It was barbaric, cruel, medieval. And mistakes were made. Innocent people were hanged.”
“All reasons why it was abolished. But a life sentence was never intended as an easy option.”
Marnie rolled onto her back. “I’d never really thought about it like that. But I’ve seen the effect it’s having on Neil. Of course it’s better like this. At least we have a chance to get him freed, if we can prove he’s innocent. It would all be different if he’d been … executed.”
“Better not to think about that, Marnie.”
“No. I keep thinking that for Neil every day is another day in hell.”
“You’re right. It’s a slow dreadful life in place of a quick dreadful death.”
34
Marnie was beginning to worry about Charles. S
he rang the house in France on and off throughout Wednesday. No reply. Fearing that she might be dialling a wrong number, she checked it more than once and even rang the operator to check the regional code. By Thursday she was systematically trying all his numbers in rotation. Nothing. Ralph suggested calling his business number in the City. A secretary explained that he was away from the office, and she was not sure when he would be returning. She offered to take a message. Friday morning followed the same pattern. Ringing tones and silence. No response to her message. Where are you, Charles?
On the other two evenings that week Marnie had settled down on Sally Ann to listen to more of the Barbara tapes. It was the mixture as before, and she wondered if Ralph had been right. Maybe it would be better to blitz the whole set and identify what tapes, if any, held useful information. The only noticeable change in tone was a gradual increase in tenderness. There was no mention so far of any third party except Charles. The words wild goose chase had begun flitting across Marnie’s mind.
Just before noon on Friday Marnie and Anne packed their kitbags for the trip on Perfidia. Ralph packed a suitcase for his weekend in Oxford. They gathered on Sally Ann for lunch. Marnie mixed tuna with mayonnaise to fill warmed pittas, plus the remains of salad from the fridge. Anne added squeezed lemon juice into sparkling mineral water. Ralph prepared a cafetière of coffee.
In half an hour they were ready to climb into Ralph’s elderly Volvo for the journey to Leighton Buzzard. Before locking the office barn Marnie gave final instructions to Angela about feeding Dolly. At the last minute she left Anne and Ralph at the car to rush back into the office to check the answerphone. No red light. No word from Charles.
As they drove south Marnie asked her companions if they thought she should notify the police about Charles’s apparent disappearance. The consensus was that he was a grown man, free to go where he pleased and that they had no legal right or obligation to question his whereabouts. When Marnie pointed out that he was supposed to be at his house in the Dordogne, Ralph asked if she seriously thought they had grounds for concern that would persuade the French police or Interpol to organise a manhunt. She answered with a sigh.
Perfidia lay safely at her mooring alongside the boatyard in Leighton Buzzard. No vandal had damaged the boat, not so much as a pigeon dropping was visible on the paintwork. Ralph kissed Marnie and Anne good-bye and wished them a safe journey. They agreed a rough time for their rendez-vous at Blisworth on Sunday evening. A brief call in at the boatyard office to pay the mooring fee, ten minutes to check the boat’s systems and they were on their way. Thoughts of amorous tapes, potential suspects, a missing husband, concern for a man unjustly imprisoned for life, all of these cares were set aside as Perfidia eased her way quietly through the water.
The first lock was upon them in minutes. Marnie jumped onto the bank and went ahead to operate the machinery. While she waited for the chamber to fill, she looked back at the boat and saw Anne holding her in mid-channel, waiting to enter. A sudden thought struck her as she looked at the thin pale blond girl who had become such an important part of her life. How bloody thoughtless of me! A wave of guilt swept over Marnie and she was cursing herself inwardly when Anne called out and made a gesture at the gates. The chamber had filled, and the gates were parting as the water pressure reduced. Marnie pulled on the balance beam, and Anne slowly brought Perfidia in through the narrow opening, careful not to nudge the other gate. Marnie looped the bow-rope over a bollard and set to with the paddles. Anne held the boat close to the side of the chamber with the rope, feeding it out as Perfidia descended. Marnie needed no prompting from Anne this time and leaned back against the beam so that the gate began to swing open as soon as the water reached the lower level.
Stepping onto the counter, she stowed the windlass in its slot by the door and turned towards her friend. “Anne, I am so sorry.”
“That’s all right. I could tell you were thinking about something and I saw the gate move.”
“No, not that. I just realised, here we are at Leighton Buzzard and it never occurred to me you might want to look in on your family. Typical! I’m so bound up in –”
“Marnie, that’s fine. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us and we’ve got to make progress.” Anne grinned. “If we turned up at our house, mum wouldn’t let us leave without wanting to feed us. We’d never get away.”
Marnie shook her head. “Even so –”
“No. If I’d wanted to do that I could’ve said something.”
“But –”
Anne pointed ahead. “Tight bend coming up. Why don’t you take over here while I go down and make coffee. There’s a few miles before the locks at Soulbury.”
Marnie spent the time while Anne was below resolving not to be so obsessive. All the time concentrating on the long bend, she straightened her back, breathed in deeply and became aware that they were passing through a gentle but beautiful landscape of meadows and woodland. Anne emerged with a tray of coffee and biscuits.
“Look at all this, Anne. I suppose this is your home county, isn’t it?”
Anne handed her a mug. “Practically my back yard.”
“There’s a bridge round here somewhere. I remember it’s where we first met.”
“In circumstances I’d rather not remember.”
Anne was fifteen at the time. Her father had been made redundant, and she had been running away from home to ease the family finances.
“I’ve still got that sketch you did of Sally Ann under the trees.” She laughed. “You made her look really charming.”
“She’s a lovely boat,” Anne protested.
Marnie nodded. “What do you think of Perfidia?”
“A very fine craft.”
“Yes, she is. Even now she looks better than most other boats, but when her hull is freshly blacked, we’ve done some touching up and maybe got her a new name painted on, she’s going to look like new.”
“Yeah.” Anne’s tone was flat. “I used to like this boat a lot.”
“Not any more?”
“The further we get dragged into the Barbara Taverner affair, the more I’m getting to dislike everything connected with it.”
Marnie was taken aback. “I can understand that but It’s a pity. Perfidia’s a beautiful boat, not an old tub like Sally Ann.”
Anne stared at her. “That’s just how Mike Brent described her, an old tub.”
“Mike Brent? When did he say that?”
“He was teasing me on the phone when I talked to him about moving Perfidia and doing the works on her.”
“That’s typical Mike. You know I can sometimes understand why …” She stopped herself. “No. I’ve made a vow not to be obsessive. I’m banning all mention of what you call the Barbara Taverner affair. Let’s just enjoy the trip.”
Anne made a face. “You, obsessive, Marnie? Whatever gave you that idea?”
They were a good crew and worked calmly and unhurriedly together, neither needing to speak where managing the boat was concerned. Each took turns at the tiller in the long pounds, though Marnie usually handled the locks. Although both were slim, Anne’s slight frame did not allow performance on paddles and balance beams to match her willingness to share the work. The best way, literally, for her to pull her weight when they encountered the locks was in steering.
They ate up the miles, travelling without incident, heading north away from the Chiltern Hills. Light cloud cover and intermittent sunshine with only the lightest of breezes was perfect boating weather, and they met numerous craft enjoying their weekend on the water. Both noticed that other boaters sometimes looked thoughtful when they read the name on the side, and often they attracted a second glance … or a third.
Unlike the crew on a sailing boat, often remaining in close proximity with each other, the crew of a narrowboat can spend lengthy periods of time apart. On several occasions Marnie opted to walk on to the next lock rather than waste travelling time bringing Perfidia into the bank for her to jump aboard. Each lock
required around ten or fifteen minutes to operate, and even a short flight of three might result in an absence ashore of up to an hour.
Despite her resolution, Marnie inevitably found her mind wandering. The hypnotic effect of watching water pouring into or out of a lock triggered trains of thought from which she could not hide. Even when she lay on a balance beam and closed her eyes in the sunlight, the rushing of the water seemed to float her mind back to the subject that occupied almost every waking hour. Her only consolation was that she was able to keep her thoughts to herself without imposing them on Anne.
Marnie began to realise that although she probably now knew as much as anyone about the Barbara Taverner affair, her knowledge had only left her with a new set of doubts and questions. She was certainly no nearer to working out which suspect might have been Barbara’s killer, or even if she had the killer’s name on the list of candidates.
What if it was not one of them at all? Could it have been a prowler or a stalker or a burglar, someone with a drug habit who knew Barbara and Charles were wealthy and might have money or jewellery on board? No. She dismissed that idea as ridiculous. That kind of intrusion would have resulted in more conventional spontaneous violence. Marnie shut out the idea.
The names of the people involved in the case, even peripherally, whispered themselves in her head in harmony with the gushing water in the locks. More than any others, two names persistently rose to the surface. The first was her preoccupation for the past few days. Where are you, Charles?
It was not that she believed he had killed his wife. Marnie was coming to realise that her anxiety was about what he might do to himself. Now she regretted telling him to go away. Who knows what action a tormented man might take when alone and far from home with only his thoughts for company? She kept telling herself that he was mature and practical, an intelligent person unlikely to succumb to a fit of depression. Even while thinking that many highly intelligent people had taken their own lives under emotional stress, Marnie suddenly saw the truth. Charles’s whole approach to the question of his wife’s death was absolutely clear. His only concern was to find Barbara’s murderer beyond any doubt. That was why he had persisted in his contacts with Neil Gerard. That was why he would not commit suicide. What had Barbara said about him? … self-absorbed … driven by ambition … His sole ambition now was to remove all doubt about what really happened that night the previous winter. It would never occur to him not to trust me. Poor Charles. He must be bleeding inside at the thought that the woman who was at the centre of his whole life had betrayed him. Only certainty would bring some measure of understanding. And only then would he be able to get on with his life.