by Leo McNeir
“No. I’m here as a guest. I left Everett Parker to start my own practice two years ago.”
“Probably a wise move.”
Before he could continue, Wainwright noticed that Marnie’s attention had shifted to a point over his left shoulder. He glanced round. A small party was approaching at a determined rate. In the vanguard was the chairman, Clive Adamson himself, flanked by Judith Gross and Philip Everett, with several minions following in their wake.
Just before the group reached them, Ian Stuart edged closer to Marnie and murmured, “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Marnie was wondering if that was a promise or a threat when the chairman’s entourage engulfed them. Adamson beamed at the small group.
“I might’ve known I’d find you out here, avoiding the dreary speeches, probably doing multi-million pound deals behind my back. How the devil are you?”
Adamson shook hands with Stuart and Wainwright, who this time did not attempt the hug routine. The chairman was running on the adrenalin of the hour and seemed noticeably more relaxed now that the formal proceedings were concluded.
“It’s only just dawned on me that I should’ve bought shares in Aston Martin.” Adamson twinkled a smile behind the gold rims. “Everyone I engage on a project immediately rushes out to buy one.”
“Everyone?” Stuart asked.
“Yes. I gather Piers is the latest owner. Isn’t that right?”
The artist gave a slight bow. “You’re well informed, Clive. But with your money you don’t need shares. You could buy the factory. It wouldn’t surprise me if you already had.”
“I think someone got in first.”
Adamson gave the slightest inclination of his head towards Judith Gross.
She picked up the signal. “This is Marnie Walker, chairman.”
“Ah, yes.” Adamson extended his hand. “So glad you could come.”
Philip joined in. “Marnie used to head up our interior design team. She handed over to Faye Summers two years ago.”
“I hope you approve of your successor’s work, Marnie.”
“I do. More to the point, perhaps, I hope you do.”
“Very much. Have you had a chance to look round the building?”
“I was hoping that might be possible.”
“I’m sure we can arrange it.” Another barely visible nod towards Judith Gross.
She came in on cue. “Mr Everett has offered to give the guided tour, chairman.”
“Excellent. Who better?”
Marnie could see why some women found power an aphrodisiac. Clive Adamson had only to wish for something for it to become an immediate reality. She could also see why Barbara might have found him attractive. He was reasonably personable, but more than that he gave you his complete attention without the odour of confrontation emitted by Piers Wainwright or the self-love of Ian Stuart. Adamson focused on you with the aim of pleasing you, she thought. Few women would find that unappealing.
“Presumably, Marnie – if I can call you Marnie – you also came here in an Aston?” The smile twinkled again. “I seem to be the only person without one these days.”
“I’m afraid not. I have a four-by-four.”
“And is it true what they say, such vehicles are only used for going to Sainsbury’s and collecting the children from school?”
“I live at the bottom of a field some way from the road. Four-wheel drive’s pretty essential for me, especially in the winter.”
“How interesting.”
While Adamson steered the conversation to include the others present, two further thoughts occurred to Marnie. She was now in the company of four men who had slept with Barbara Taverner, and she had heard Barbara talk about them all after her death. It was the strangest feeling she had ever had. Marnie felt a chill down her spine. She was virtually surrounded by men who could be involved in the murder of their ex-lover, her friend.
As rapidly as they had arrived, Adamson’s posse withdrew and the host continued the rounds of meeting his guests. Marnie was relieved that both Stuart and Wainwright had become locked in conversation with other visitors. And she noticed that both of them now had a woman by his side. It came as no surprise to see that Stuart’s consort was Amanda Gilbert-Reeves, the young woman from the reception desk at Bermuda Reach. Where had she been when Stuart had approached Marnie? This is a delightful surprise, he had said. Was it a surprise? Had he told the girl to occupy herself elsewhere while he sought out Marnie? She could imagine him: Can you go off and powder your nose for a while, darling.
Wainwright’s companion looked as if she had stepped out of the pages of Vogue magazine. Marnie could guess which designer label would be found inside the well-cut suit she was wearing. Her hair was beautifully groomed, her shoes hand-made from calf leather. Apart from the colouring, she could have been Barbara’s sister. That was obviously Wainwright’s taste in women. Or was it? Did he just seek them out as potential clients for his paintings and then drop them once they had helped line his pockets?
Marnie had had enough of the reception. She did not want to offend Philip, but she had no desire to wait around until he came back to give her the guided tour. Who could tell when he might be free? As architect for the new building he would be sought after by many of those present, and it would be unfair to expect him to spend time with her when he might be gaining new clients in the City. She turned to lean against the terrace rail for a last look at the view before leaving. Power and domination, she thought. Wainwright had not disagreed. He had expressed these forces clearly in his painting. The power of the major institutions dominating the City and the people who lived in its shadow. That was something Barbara’s men seemed to have in common. They were all dominant characters, each in his different way.
“Marnie.”
It was a quiet voice but it still made her jump. She had not noticed the man who had come up behind her.
“Mike. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Mike Brent smiled. “Nor I you. What’s your connection?”
“I came to admire Philip’s achievement.” She made a gesture towards the building. “We worked together for years and still do projects together. What about you? Are you a member of the Aston Martin Owners’ Club?”
“No. Despite what Adamson was saying just now, I’m not one of the fortunate ones made rich by his dealings.”
“But you have some interest in the company?”
“You didn’t listen to the chairman’s speech, Marnie.”
“No, not very carefully.”
“Then look down there. What do you see?”
“The river Thames?”
“Well observed. Beside it, going round the building?”
Marnie craned forward and saw for the first time a stretch of water like a tributary to the river, a docking area. On both sides were promenades, new paving and lamps in the shape of globes. Two boats were moored together. One was a river police launch, the other a floating gin palace.
“That’s your connection, Mike? I thought the Thames with its by-waters came under a separate body.”
“It does, but BW has one or two interests related to it. That used to be a canal serving local industry. It’s a kind of anomaly, but somehow we ended up owning it. Because there isn’t anybody else to liaise with, Head Office asked the Little Venice team to keep an eye on it for this project. So it came down to me. You should’ve seen it. The place was a real mess before work began.”
“It looks charming now.”
“Yes. He’s good, your friend Philip.”
It was a casual enough chat between two people who had known each other for a few years, but Marnie could not help thinking of Mike Brent’s involvement with Barbara Taverner. She now knew five people, six including her husband, who had slept with her. She felt like a poker player with a full house. The experience was heightened by the thought that one of them, possibly one of the four she had seen that day, might also be her murderer.
Marnie excused hers
elf from Mike Brent. He wished her a safe journey as she went off to find the exit. By chance her path crossed that of Judith Gross near the lifts. She had been escorting a VIP guest from the function and organising his transport.
“I must be off, I’m afraid.”
“Of course. Everyone has such busy lives. It’s been nice to meet you, Marnie, even if only briefly.”
“Could you possibly tell Philip that I’ll call him soon.”
“Certainly. It’s a pity you can’t have your tour of the building. Come back another time. Just give me a ring and I’ll arrange it for you.”
“I’d like that, thanks.”
“Is there anything else you need before you go? They’ll call you a cab from main reception downstairs. I have a taxi firm on standby.”
Marnie smiled. Judith Gross was the power behind the throne. “Actually, there is one part of the building I’d like to visit before leaving …”
“No problem. To avoid the queue, take the lift to floor one. You’ll find the Ladies just round the corner on your right as you come out. Don’t go left or you’ll be heading for the car park.”
As the lift doors closed, Marnie did not see one of the guests detach himself from the crowd, speak quickly to one of the staff and make a discreet exit by the door to the stairwell.
There was a New Modern feeling in the toilets that Marnie recognised as typical Faye Summers design. She was just reflecting that Faye would get on well with Anne, when she noticed the beginnings of a ladder in her tights. Determined to stop it spreading below her knee and becoming visible, she quickly dug in her bag and found a pot of nail varnish. The repair was simple, and she waited a short while for the dab of varnish to dry. It had been an odd trip and she realised that she now wanted nothing more than to rush back immediately to Glebe Farm and the rural haven of Knightly St John. It was not to be.
A rapid brush of the hair, and Marnie was ready to face the world and the journey home. She was just leaning towards the mirror for a final check of teeth – no mark of lipstick – and eye shadow – no smudging – when she heard a low rumble from somewhere in the vicinity. It reminded her of those buildings that have the Tube running not far beneath them, but the Underground did not extend to this area. A noise from the lift shafts? Some kind of generator starting up? She could think of nothing in a modern building that would produce that kind of sound. Hitching the bag over her shoulder with a mental shrug, she pulled open the door and exited the Ladies. At that very moment the fire alarm began ringing.
The nearest door was beyond the lifts and led to the car park. The alarm in the lift lobby was uncomfortably loud. Marnie raced to the door and yanked it open. It was like walking into Hell.
Marnie was still in a state of shock while travelling north on the train. By the time she reached Euston station the rush hour was in full swing. Unable to cope with the crowds of commuters, she found a single window seat in first class and flopped down, grateful for the relative peace and extra space. She made a quick call to Anne to give her arrival time and learned that Ralph was already heading back.
She wondered if there would be a problem in upgrading when the ticket collector came along. She held out her standard class ticket. “I’d like to pay the extra for first class, please.”
He took one look at her and bent down to speak quietly. “Are you all right, miss?”
“Er, yes, thanks.”
“Don’t mind me saying this, but you look a bit …”
“I’ve just witnessed a rather bad accident and I’m not quite feeling myself at the moment. I’ll be all right.”
The man looked vaguely at her ticket and handed it back. “One minute, please.”
He walked off down the carriage, leaving Marnie wondering if there was some kind of procedure he had to follow. She really could not be bothered with any more hassle.
The images came flooding back to her. The overwhelming horror of the sight of the underground car park was etched into her mind. The fire, the heat, the smell, the noise. She had felt stunned when she opened the door by the lifts. By chance it led onto the first level, the level where she would have parked. It was mayhem. The fire seemed to be centred on a vehicle not far from the entrance. It stood tall, a four-wheel drive like her Discovery, a Range Rover perhaps or a Mercedes, engulfed in flames and black smoke. Worst of all, someone seemed to be caught up in the blaze. She hoped it was her imagination, a trick of the shadows, but her brain told her she was not deceived.
There followed some moments of indecision. What should she do? The alarm was already sounding. What could she do? The heat of the inferno was too intense for her to be able to get nearer to the car to investigate. Then the options were taken out of her hands. The door behind her burst open. Security officers raced in. Someone grabbed her and pulled her away. Everyone rushed to the stairwell, and Marnie found herself guided carefully but quickly down to the ground floor and out into the cool air. It took her some while before she realised that the man standing beside her, holding her arm, was Mike Brent.
“Marnie,” he was saying insistently, “Marnie, listen to me. What were you doing in there?”
He had to repeat the question several times.
“I was going to get my car.” She was speaking hesitantly as if not understanding what she was saying.
“Was it your car that was on fire?”
“I think … no, no. What happened? Who was that in there?”
Mike look horrified. “There was someone in there, in your car?”
“Not my car, no, another one. My car isn’t there.”
“Marnie, you’re not making much sense. Did you see what happened?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, thank God!”
Mike turned sharply at this new voice. Judith Gross had arrived. She looked agitated in the extreme.
“Thank goodness you’re safe, Marnie. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“You knew she’d be at the car park?” Mike said.
“No, no. Marnie didn’t come by car. She changed her plans at the last minute.”
“Then why was she down there? I don’t understand.”
“I sent her there to use the … the facilities. There was a queue on the twelfth floor, and she was on her way out, so …”
Mike turned his attention back to Marnie. “How are you feeling? You look very shaken.”
“There was someone there.”
“Someone there?” Judith repeated.
“Did you see who it was?” Mike asked. He was gripping her arm more tightly.
“By the car. I’m not sure, just a shape, horrible … horrible.”
“I think we need to get you medical attention.” Judith Gross was back in charge. “I’ll take her, Mr Brent.” She was in her element, head of secretariat, the person who gets things done. “You’ll need to make sure your name is on the list of …” She almost said survivors. “The list of guests evacuated from the building. This way, Marnie.”
And that was it. Marnie was presented to the paramedics who checked her over, saw that she had no physical injuries and passed her on to members of the company staff who were offering tea and biscuits. It was like a scene from the Blitz. After three sips of strong tea, Marnie slipped away from the crowd and minutes later she was on her way back to Euston by taxi.
She became aware of a hand touching her arm. A woman was holding a glass of water, the ticket collector hovering in the background. She had a kind West Indian face, etched with concern, and a lilting accent.
“Would you like this, my love? You’ve had a nasty shock, haven’t you?”
Marnie took the glass with a weak smile. “Thanks.”
“We’re getting you a cup of tea.”
The kindness of strangers. Where had she heard that phrase? The train staff gave Marnie space but let her know they were there if she needed them. When the express pulled into Milton Keynes Central someone came along to make sure she was ready to get off and operate the door for he
r. Marnie only realised days later that the conductor had not charged her the extra fare for the upgrade to first class.
Ralph was waiting on the platform and hugged her, keeping the other passengers from jostling her on the crowded stairs. He had arrived back some minutes earlier, already alerted by Anne that something was amiss. Anne had detected the strain in Marnie’s voice in her call from Euston.
Ralph drove the Discovery home. The journey passed in a blur, Marnie leaning back against the head restraint, eyes closed, with no questions asked and not a word passing between them. At Glebe Farm she took a shower on Thyrsis and afterwards accepted a glass of brandy. Over the lightest of suppers on Sally Ann Marnie told Ralph and Anne what had happened.
When she reached the end, Ralph said, “It was on the radio news. You were correct in your impression that someone was … involved in the fire. There’s been no announcement from the police about who it might have been. I don’t think anyone has come forward to identify the … person.”
“I saw who it was.”
“You did?”
Marnie nodded. “It was Ian Stuart.”
46
Tuesday morning was one of those days when it feels good to be alive. A shower of rain in the night had washed the world clean, leaving the air cool and fresh. The canal was sparkling, and to her surprise after the ordeal of the previous day, Marnie felt calm and restored. As usual Anne had gone on ahead to the office barn after breakfast while Marnie and Ralph returned to Thyrsis. With teeth brushed and hair combed, Marnie left the bathroom to Ralph and set off through the spinney. It was not yet eight o’clock.
If Marnie had been of a religious disposition she would have been giving thanks for her survival of the fire at Spice Quay. She was wondering how she could feel so elated after yesterday’s trauma and depression, when she saw Anne coming rapidly towards her through the trees. The girl’s face registered anxiety.
“We’ve got visitors.”
DCI Bartlett and DS Marriner were waiting at the door of the office barn. Bartlett managed his version of a sympathetic smile as Marnie let them in. Anne guessed correctly that this was an occasion when they would accept coffee. They even agreed to sit down.