by Leo McNeir
Bringing her thoughts back to that Thursday morning, a glance at the clock told Marnie she had to be on her way. She gathered up a notebook and pens and thrust them into her briefcase. Celia Devere was expecting her at Knightly Court.
*
As instructed, Marnie parked the Discovery beside the Audi on the drive of Knightly Court. Built of the local stone in a pleasingly symmetrical style, the house was externally a Georgian manor, though Marnie guessed it had much earlier origins behind the façade. Hidden depths, she thought.
Celia Devere walked out onto the drive, wearing a cream silk shirt and light blue jeans, to receive her visitor with a friendly smile. She exuded informality and elegance. Greeting Marnie with a handshake, she showed her through to a morning room at the rear of the house. It overlooked a perfect lawn and herbaceous borders with distant views over the countryside. Crossing the entrance hall, Marnie noted the wallpaper. It was classical in style, but the pattern was washed-out, faded grandeur, as if the house had grown tired.
Celia poured coffee from an insulated flask into cups of bone china.
“So nice of you to come, Marnie – is it all right if I call you by your Christian name? – I’m sure you must be very busy, and this is rather short notice.”
“I can usually be flexible. A friend of mine once said that being self-employed gave him total freedom … to work seven days a week.”
Celia laughed. “Please call me Celia, by the way. I expect you’re wondering why I asked you to come.”
“You mentioned on the phone that there were one or two things. I can probably guess one of them.”
“Can you?”
Marnie took the notebook from her bag and set it down on the sofa beside her. “You said interior decoration was one of the matters.”
“Yes.” It was the expected reply, but Marnie had the impression it was of only secondary interest.
“This is a lovely house. Have you lived here long?”
“That depends what you mean.”
Not the expected reply. Marnie thought the question had been unambiguous. She tried to conceal her surprise and sipped coffee waiting for Celia to continue.
“The family’s been here for generations.”
“Ah, yes. I meant you personally.”
“We moved into this wing when we returned from our honeymoon. That was six years ago. My father-in-law lives in what he calls his apartments at the other end of the house.”
“I see.” Marnie was well aware of the complications that can arise when refurbishing such a house piecemeal.
“I wonder if you do, Marnie. Before we talk about decoration, and other matters, there was something else. Has Rob Cardew been in touch with you?”
“No. I don’t think I know a Mr Cardew.”
“He’s Dr Cardew, actually, archaeologist. He’s running the overall project.”
“Is this about Sarah’s grave?”
“No, though I expect he’ll be interested in it. You’ll have to get him to explain it all, but the local universities are looking at settlements in the area – something to do with land use since the Romans?” She flapped a hand in the air. “That sort of thing.”
“Why would he want to talk to me about it?”
“They want to dig holes all over the place to investigate what’s under the ground.”
“I still don’t follow.”
“They want landowners to let them dig on their land.”
“Great. They can come to Glebe Farm and dig us a pond in the garden. You think this Dr Cardew will want to talk to me?”
“Definitely. I’m sure he’ll be in touch. When he came here he was eyeing the lawn with interest. I told him not to even think about asking.” Celia laughed. “It’s hundreds of years old.”
Marnie boggled. “Literally?”
“Absolutely. Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, decoration. Dorothy Vane-Henderson said you did the … what do you call it – makeover? … at Hanford Hall. You did a marvellous job, apparently.”
“Is that what you want here, a makeover? This house is rather larger than Hanford Hall. It would take me a while to fit it into our programme.”
Celia stood up and poured more coffee. “It would just be this wing of the house, at least initially. My father-in-law wouldn’t want his part to be touched. He’s quite elderly and wouldn’t want the fuss.”
“Does he own the house? Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but it is relevant.”
“Questions like that are never simple with these old manor houses, Marnie. Marcus handed the property over to my husband some time ago, one of these schemes to avoid death duty, you know. But it still feels like it’s his house.”
Marnie was taking notes. “I only want to establish that we’re not going to run into objections when we’ve reached an advanced stage in the work. That’s another reason why I’m keen for your husband to be involved in the project.”
“If you’re worried about him paying your fees, there’s no need. We have joint accounts and I’ll deal with all that side of things. There won’t be any problem.”
Marnie felt her cheeks redden. She thought of Anne blushing the previous day and wondered if she now looked like a clown in make-up. “That wasn’t my concern. I believe it’s important for all the people affected by the scheme to be comfortable with it. After all, you’ll be living with the design for years to come.”
“Yes, and you wouldn’t want people going round saying you produced something that one of your customers didn’t like. It could be bad for business, I can see that.”
Marnie was beginning to wonder why Celia had not asked her to use the tradesmen’s entrance. “I wasn’t thinking of it in those terms. Design can have a major impact on your surroundings and on your life. That’s why I’d like your husband to see the eventual proposals and be happy with them.”
“All right, but he has a lot on his mind at the moment.”
“I can understand that. I’m sure he’s very busy with his work.”
Celia turned her head to look out through the French windows into the garden.
“It’s not just that, Marnie. You see, I know he’s having an affair.”
“Oh.” Taken by surprise, Marnie quickly took a sip of coffee. “You’re sure of that, you know the person involved?”
Marnie regretted asking the question; it just somehow slipped out. She regretted it even more when she heard Celia’s reply.
“I rather thought, Marnie, that the person involved, as you put it, was … well, you.”
Marnie was caught in the act, the act of putting down her cup. She jumped and missed her aim, dropping the cup on the rim of the saucer, with the effect that cup, saucer and remains of coffee crashed to the floor. More precisely, they landed on the antique Chinese carpet that Marnie knew was worth thousands of pounds.
“I’m so sorry.” Marnie bent down to clear up the mess, grateful to have something to do. Her thoughts were in turmoil. “Nothing’s broken, but I’m worried this will leave a stain and –”
“Leave it!” Celia’s tone was firm. “Just … leave it. I’ll have it seen to later.”
Reluctantly, Marnie regained her seat, having retrieved the cup and saucer, unbroken. She placed them with maximum care on the side table.
“You took me by surprise there, Celia. But then I expect that was your intention.”
“I must admit your reaction was not as calm as I expected.”
Marnie was astonished. “What did you expect me to do when confronted by an accusation like that?”
Celia shrugged. “Deny it, I suppose, unconvincingly.”
“Well of course, I deny it.”
“You do?”
“Emphatically.” Marnie paused for reflection. “You don’t really want me to do a design for the house, do you? That was just a pretext. You really got me here to accuse me of …” Marnie shook her head.
“You’re seriously denying it?”
“I’ve just told you I do. Look.” Marnie held up a thum
b. “First, I don’t know your husband. I’ve never set eyes on him.” Her index finger. “Second, I don’t even know his name.” Another finger. “Third, I’ve never had an extra-marital affair in my life, nor would I.”
Celia stared at Marnie without speaking for several seconds. “But I was convinced -”
“Well don’t be. Or at least not about me.”
More staring from Celia. Marnie gathered up her notepad and reached down for her bag.
“I’d better be going.” She stood up. “I have work to do.”
From her armchair, Celia made a gesture. “Please sit down, Marnie.”
Marnie remained standing. “I don’t think there’s anything more to be said.”
“I’m afraid there is.”
“If you think –”
“I do think, Marnie. And what I think is, I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“You certainly have. Let’s just forget about it and go our separate ways, shall we?”
“It’s not as easy as that.”
“It couldn’t be any worse, Celia.”
“It could.”
Marnie sat down slowly on the sofa. “How could it be worse?” In the absence of a reply, she worked it out for herself. “You’ve told someone of your suspicions.”
Celia nodded.
“Your solicitor? Your husband?”
“No. I’ve, er, told the police.”
Marnie was stunned. “The police? Why? What’s it got to do with them?”
Celia suddenly got to her feet and began pacing the floor. “Oh, I don’t know. I was feeling really pissed off about the whole thing. The detective asked me where my husband was. In a fit of pique I said he was probably with his mistress, and they could no doubt find him … at Glebe Farm.”
“Was that all you said?”
“Yes.”
“Well it could be worse. All you’ve got to do is phone them up – was it Binns? – and tell him you were wrong.”
“It was worse, Marnie.”
“Do you think you could stop walking around like that? It’s making me feel unsettled. What do you mean it was worse?”
“It was Binns, but he was standing next to Angela Hemingway when I told him.”
“Angela’s no gossip.” Marnie pondered. “When was this?”
“Yesterday.”
“I don’t suppose anyone else was in earshot when you were broadcasting this slander about me?”
“No.”
“So by now it’s all round the police station.”
Celia sat down. “I’m sorry, Marnie.”
“Celia, look me in the eye and tell me you know what you said was untrue.”
“I do know it.”
“Then you have to convince the police of that, and Angela. But first you start with Sergeant Binns. Even then, half the force will be muttering, no smoke without fire.”
Marnie got up and walked over to a side table. She picked up a cordless phone and took it across to Celia. “You’ve got some calls to make.”
*
Marnie was still fuming on the drive back to Glebe Farm. With Anne away, the messages would be piling up on the answerphone. There were letters to write and financial matters to deal with, quite apart from the actual work of designing schemes for the clients. And now she had wasted half the morning. Typically, Celia had not succeeded in speaking to anyone, but had left urgent messages on their answering machines.
Turning to drive into the garage barn, Marnie saw Angela’s old Ford Escort parked by the farmhouse. As she climbed out of the Discovery, she pulled the mobile from her bag and began pressing buttons. Angela gave her a sheepish look as she approached. Marnie waited until she heard ringing tone and handed the phone to Angela.
“Celia has something to tell you. Don’t say a word to me until you’ve had this conversation.”
Angela frowned and took the phone. “Hallo, Celia? This is Angela. I’m down at Marnie’s place. She says you want to talk to me.”
Marnie unlocked the office barn and went in, leaving Angela outside with the mobile. She was taking down messages from the answerphone when Angela walked in and put the mobile on the desk. Marnie finished the last note and pressed the delete button.
“She’s explained?”
Angela nodded. “Have you had lunch, Marnie?”
“Is it that time already? No, I haven’t. Celia offered me cyanide soup, but I declined her hospitality.”
“I’ve got some sandwiches in the car. Have you time for a quick lunch?”
Marnie was puzzled. “You’ve brought food?”
“You’re always giving me coffee and things. I thought we could have a chat.”
“Ah, you came to have a quiet word about my morals, assuming Celia was right in accusing me?”
Angela looked shocked. “Absolutely not, Marnie! I told her she was completely off-target when she told me, you know …”
“I bet the police weren’t so charitable. She must’ve made their day.”
Angela shrugged. “Binns passed it off without comment. I think he’d only be interested if he thought it had something to do with the remains found in the grave.”
“Don’t be so sure of that.”
“What difference would it make to them, anyway?”
“What difference? Angela, you should realise that anything like that, any suspicion of illicit relationships is of potential interest to the police. Affairs lead to complications, which can lead to jealousy, conflict, strong passions. Get the picture?”
“I see what you mean.”
“If the police are always hanging round my door it looks bad for me and my company.”
“But if it isn’t true, Marnie, nothing can come of it.”
“Don’t you see, there’s the small matter of my reputation.”
Angela smiled. “That sounds rather Victorian. I think you’re worrying about nothing.”
“It isn’t something that only mattered in the past. Ever heard the expression, mud sticks? I have a business here. It involves me in going to people’s houses, sometimes having to call in at odd times to check details. Do you think any couple would be happy to engage me if they thought I might just try seducing the husband as part of the service? In short, I can’t afford to have anything said about me apart from, Marnie Walker does a great job; I recommend her.”
“I see, since you put it like that, Marnie … Well, you know I’d never say a word to anyone.”
Marnie nodded. After a few moments of awkward silence she spoke.
“So, talking of words, you said you wanted a chat. If it wasn’t about me as the Scarlet Woman of Knightly St John, what did you have in mind?”
“It was about archaeology, actually.”
“Oh yes. Celia said something about that.”
“Did she mention Dr Cardew? He’s the head of the project.”
“I gather he wants to dig some holes in my field. I thought he might’ve been involved in the grave investigation, if the remains turn out to be ancient.”
“He is interested, but things are still at an early stage. I told him you might be amenable to letting him do some test pits in your field. It seems quite a few people have been reluctant to let him dig up their lawns.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Oh, don’t you like archaeology? I thought you were interested in that sort of thing.”
Marnie let out a long sigh. “I think people have done too much digging up the past in this village. Sometimes it’s best to move on, let the past take care of itself.”
“I know what you mean. Anyway, how about those sandwiches? Shall I fetch them from the car?”
“Sorry, Angela, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I seem to have lost my appetite.”
After Angela left, Marnie sat staring ahead of her. There were times when she missed the anonymity of working in London. In a place like Knightly St John you could be too open to public scrutiny. Telling herself to snap out of it and get on with her work, she looked down
at the phone messages on the notepad. In fourth place a name stood out: Cardew.
It rang six times before the answerphone cut in. She left a message on the voicemail.
Chapter 5
Knightly Woods
Marnie’s mood had lifted by Friday morning and it improved further with the first phone call of the day. Anne rang the office barn at eight.
“Hiya! Just wanted to make sure you weren’t still lying in bed. How’s it going?”
“The joint’s jumping, as usual. How about you? Got any plans?”
“Coming back tonight.”
“Don’t you want to stay home for the weekend?”
“I can’t leave you alone in the office that long, Marnie.” She laughed. “You’d get everything in a mess.”
“Seriously, though. It would give you the chance to see your friends a bit longer.”
“Actually, Marnie, I was wondering … Perhaps my old school friend Danny could come up for the weekend. Would that be okay?”
“Sure. I don’t think I know … er, him?”
“It’s a her. Danielle. Danny Sullivan. She’s just finished year thirteen at school, did her last A level a week ago. I thought she might like a weekend away in a peaceful, stress-free environment.”
“Let me know if she finds one.”
“What?”
“Nothing. That’s great. If the weather’s good we’ll take her for a tootle on the boat.”
The next call came in at eight-thirty and was less welcome.
“Marnie, it’s Celia.”
“Hallo.”
“I’m phoning to apologise. I feel very badly about what I said yesterday.”
“Yes. Did you eventually speak to Binns and put him right?”
“I told him I’d been completely mistaken. In fact, I’ve just had a word with Constable Lamb as well.”
“You have?”
“She rang about bringing my statement round for me to sign, so I explained I’d been entirely wrong about you. By the way, she’s coming to see you too later today.”
“Right. Well, thanks for doing that.”
“Marnie?”
“Yes?”
“You said you thought my invitation here was just a pretext, but I’ve been thinking. It really would be good to have our wing of the house redecorated. It’s all looking so faded. I wondered, would you be interested in doing a project here?”
