by Leo McNeir
“All of it. I’m surprised you have to ask.”
Anne was flabbergasted by his bare-faced cheek. “Then I’ll be interested to hear the true version.”
He counted on his fingers. “I couldn’t turn up for a good reason. I didn’t have the means of contacting you. I can explain about Uschi. And I wasn’t following you. I was driving up to see you at home when I spotted you ahead of me. It took a while to catch up with you.”
Anne stared at him without speaking.
“Look, I’m twisting my neck here. Come and sit in the car.”
Anne did not move.
“Please.”
“I can hear you well enough from where I’m standing.”
“All right.” Donovan pushed the door open. “Give me a hand.”
Anne could see pain written in his features as he struggled to swing round in the seat. She moved forward, still acting cautiously but slowly, becoming convinced that something was wrong.
“Anne, if you’ll hold the door firmly, I can pull myself out.”
She looked into the car. Donovan’s left foot was encased in dressings.
“Stop! What have you done?”
“Had a stupid accident. You’ll have to help me if you want me to climb out.”
“No. Stay where you are. I’ll come round.”
When they were both inside the car, Donovan gave his explanation.
“I was carrying a suitcase downstairs for my aunt. God knows why she has to bring so much luggage. I stumbled and fell from about halfway down. The case landed on my left ankle and bruised it rather badly. That’s why I wasn’t able to come up to you yesterday.”
“But you didn’t phone. We were worried. That’s why I came down this morning.”
“I was stuck waiting in casualty all morning, didn’t have my mobile or your number. Next they took me off for an X-ray and then –”
Anne frowned. “Oh God, I had no idea.”
“They gave me something to help me sleep and let me out last night, on condition I had someone around in case I needed help. Uschi did try to phone you earlier this morning. There was no reply so she left a message.”
Anne had a sudden image of an attractive young woman, attractive naked young woman, emerging from Donovan’s bedroom.
“My aunt and uncle had to go on to Worcester for the funeral –”
“Funeral?”
“My uncle’s cousin. So Uschi volunteered to stay behind. She didn’t really want to go to the funeral anyway and –”
“Uschi? What kind of name is that?”
Donovan had pronounced it to rhyme with whooshy. “It’s German, short for Ursula.” He pronounced it like oor-zoo-la.
“So she’s a relative, a cousin?”
“Yes, a first cousin. She’s the closest I have to a sister.”
“She was in your bedroom.”
“Sure. She used my room and I slept downstairs on the sofa where she’d been the night before.”
Anne recalled an image, a pile of bedding on an armchair.
Donovan pointed at his leg. “No way I could get upstairs like this.”
“She wasn’t wearing anything. I just blundered up there and invaded her privacy. Funny, she didn’t seem all that bothered about being … undressed.”
Donovan shrugged. “German girls aren’t the same as Brits in that way.” He smiled. “You saw her upstairs, undressed, as you put it, and you thought …” He laughed, then stopped abruptly, wincing and gritting his teeth.
“What else would I think? Though really, I had no right to be in your house like that and –”
“For the record, Anne, the last time I saw Uschi without clothes on, we must have been about three years old. Okay?”
*
Marnie went back to the office to check the answerphone. Damn! Someone had left a message while she had been with Ralph. She pressed the button beside the red light.
“Hallo. This is a message for Anne. Nikki has … no, I mean Donovan has damaged his foot and was not able to come to see you yesterday. He asked me to phone you because he was falling asleep with the drugs. He will phone you today when he is awake. Goodbye.”
Marnie was puzzled. Nikki alias Donovan? Drugs? And who was that girl? Why was she passing on messages from Donovan? She seemed to have a slight foreign accent.
Marnie tried Anne’s mobile again. She disconnected when the voicemail message cut in. Where was Anne? Why was she not in touch?
*
As the two cars came to a halt in the cobbled yard at Donovan’s house, Uschi came out carrying crutches. She helped Donovan ease himself out of the driving seat, and Anne could hear her obviously admonishing him in German.
They had driven back in convoy, this time with the black Beetle leading. Anne was trying hard to give all her attention to driving, but Donovan’s explanation kept coming into her mind. She examined it from all angles and concluded that it was plausible. He had no reason to lie to her, especially now that they were going back to his house where Uschi – Uschi? – would be waiting for them.
What would Anne call her? Somehow she couldn’t imagine herself calling anyone Uschi. It was the kind of name you gave to a pet poodle or a fat pony at the riding stables. Anne had never actually been riding, but that did not negate her opinion on the subject of names.
Now she was faced with Uschi for the second time. Donovan made the introductions.
“Anne, this is my cousin, Ursula. This is Anne, a friend.”
Anne managed a smile. “Nice to meet you, Ursula.” She was amused to hear herself calling the girl by her name in the German way.
“I’ve made tea,” Ursula said casually. “Shall we go in?”
Both young women moved to help Donovan but he shrugged them away and hobbled unaided on his crutches into the house.
*
Anne had stayed for lunch and was pleased that Donovan had remembered she ate no meat. Ursula soon became Uschi as Anne prepared the meal with her in the kitchen after making a quick phone call to Marnie. They ate in the small paved yard at the back of the house.
On the drive back to Glebe Farm Anne’s head was filled with pleasant memories. She had apologised to Uschi for barging in when she was about to take a shower, and the matter was forgotten. It had been a strangely tiring day and Anne retired to her attic, leaving Marnie and Ralph to their tootle without her.
The story of her visit to Donovan’s house would keep for another time.
Chapter 14
Donovan
Anne awoke refreshed on Monday and was surprised to find she had slept for over nine hours. It was just after seven when she climbed down the wall-ladder and padded to the shower. Inevitably her thoughts strayed to Uschi and their first encounter the day before.
After lunch in Donovan’s yard Uschi had insisted on doing the dishes while Donovan showed Anne round the house. She noticed that when Uschi spoke to her cousin in German she seemed to call him Nikki, and when they were alone together Anne remarked on this.
Donovan explained that his first name was in fact Nikolaus after his maternal grand-father, the great professor, persecuted by the Nazis before the war. Donovan Smith was in fact the family surname, and that was what he used while growing up in Britain.
Donovan’s home was comfortably furnished with a mixture of antiques and modern pieces which Anne thought might be mainly early Habitat. The walls were emulsioned in white throughout, giving it a cottage-like appearance, and the floors were varnished woodblock with rugs. There were book-cases everywhere, filled with volumes in English and German. Despite this, the house felt as tidy and uncluttered as Donovan’s boat.
Uschi called out that coffee would be ready in five minutes.
Under his breath Donovan murmured, “She may not look it, but Uschi’s a bit of a Hausfrau.”
Anne looked pointedly around the living room. “She’s not the only one.”
Donovan smiled. “Come on. I want to show you my inner sanctum before Mutti drags us in.”
A
nne repeated the name. It rhymed with sooty. “Mutti? Would that be like mummy, by any chance?”
“You guessed.”
Anne took the keys to the side door of the garage building while Donovan hovered on his crutches. She pushed the door open, expecting the usual array of equipment, shelves filled with grimy cans and old oil stains on the floor. Following Donovan’s instructions, she located the light switch. Several fluorescent tubes flickered and blinked into life. What confronted her was unlike any garage she had ever seen before.
Like the house, the walls were painted white and the interior was divided into stalls. Anne turned to see Donovan smiling in the doorway behind her.
“It started life as a stable. I think the house originally belonged to a greengrocer. This was where they kept a pony or two and the cart they used for market.”
There were two stalls occupying half the width of the garage and half the depth. The clear space nearest to them was obviously where the VW was housed. The first stall was occupied by a motorcycle. Its black fuel tank and blue-and-white BMW badges gleamed under the bright lighting. A ground sheet was spread out on the floor beneath it, and parts of the engine lay in an ordered row alongside the machine. In the further stall a dust cover like the one Marnie used to protect her old MG sports car, protected another vehicle.
More than anything, it was the cleanliness that had surprised Anne. The garage was spotless, orderly and dust-free. It hardly even smelt like a garage. On the walls, tin plaques from a bygone age advertised Continental tyres, Bosch spark plugs, Benzin Aral and Castrol oil. One wall was lined with shelves holding boxes of tools, spare parts, canisters, ramps and jacks. A locker stood in one corner beside a metal chest of drawers, each identified by a printed label.
“This is where you were when I arrived, isn’t it? I heard a metallic sound when I went into the house.”
“I was tidying up. I’d been in here when my aunt was packing. I’d left tools lying around when I went to bring her luggage downstairs.”
“All these are yours.”
“They belonged to my father, his relaxation from academic work. He was good with mechanical things, enjoyed tinkering. Bought the BMW new in 1954, so it’s over forty years old. I try to keep it the way he would’ve liked.”
“And the Beetle?”
“1971. The family car for years. It needs some repairs, but gets about okay. Not as nippy as your Mini.”
“But the boat, Exodos, that wasn’t theirs.”
“No. I bought that and did it up myself.”
“You made a good job of –”
From outside they heard Uschi calling. “Kaffee! I mean, coffee!”
Donovan performed an awkward turn on his crutches and hobbled out, leaving Anne to switch off the lights and lock up. Walking across the yard, she wondered about Donovan’s future.
“Have you got any further with your plans?” she asked.
“What made you suddenly think of that?”
“Maybe you mentioning your father tinkering with machines as a change from university work. You dropped out of college, didn’t you? Will you be going back?”
“I’ve got a place on a course here in London. Media studies.”
Anne was surprised. People usually described that as a non-subject.
“Oh?”
“You’re thinking that doesn’t sound like a worthwhile thing to do.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did, actually, but not in words. It’s one of the subjects that gets the highest number of people into jobs. Did you know that? It isn’t just writing essays on trends in daytime television or studying the socio-economic backgrounds of the people who read tabloid newspapers.”
“Donovan, I didn’t –”
“The course I’ve found includes a lot of technical modules. That’s why I chose it.”
“Where will it lead, assuming you get to be in the highest number of people finding jobs?”
Donovan stopped. For some seconds he seemed to be considering his reply or, it occurred to Anne, considering whether she had the right to an answer.
“At the moment I’m thinking technical, creative, perhaps something like film editing.”
*
Anne thought over their conversation while she showered that Monday morning. She was getting to know Donovan Smith, but he was becoming no less of an enigma. It had been a strange meeting, and the strangest part had been when she said goodbye. He had come out to see her off, and she had complimented him on his immaculate collection of machines in the garage. Instead of looking pleased, his features had clouded over.
“I’d rather have my parents than a collection of old machinery.”
“I’m sorry, I –”
“Listen, Anne. You think I’m over-cautious about the far-right people, but I know they’re still after me.”
The sudden change of direction took Anne by surprise.
“They know who you are?”
“I’m not sure, but I can’t assume anything, can’t afford to take risks, for myself or my friends.”
“Don’t you think you’re being –”
“Anne, listen to me. You don’t know these people. They’re very dangerous.”
“But I thought all that Nazi business was over long ago.”
Donovan reached out and held Anne by the shoulders, still balancing on his crutches. She thought he was going to kiss her, but his expression was grim.
“You saw what happened last year in Northampton. They’re always there, biding their time, waiting for their opportunity to come. Be aware. Be watchful.”
*
There was a real Monday morning feeling when they breakfasted on Sally Ann. Raindrops were drumming on the roof and streaking the windows. Looking out at the spattered surface of the canal, Ralph announced that he would like to spend the morning finishing some work in his study. That suited Marnie, who had plenty to deal with in the office. They noticed that Anne was quieter than usual and when she said she would catch up on some reading in her room, neither of them made any comment.
It took Marnie an hour to achieve her goals for the morning and when she put the kettle on she called up to the attic. Anne accepted the offer of coffee and Marnie took it up to her. There were no books or magazines open when Marnie put the mug on the bedside table. Anne was lying on her back.
“You okay?”
“I’m surprised you need to ask, Marnie.” Anne sat up with a wry smile. “That’s the kind of reply Donovan would give. Sorry.”
“Want to talk about what’s on your mind? As if I couldn’t guess.” Marnie grinned and sat on the bed. “I’m doing it now.”
Anne gave an account of her visit, including finding Uschi undressed upstairs, the pursuit up the motorway, Donovan’s house, the guided tour and his warning about the Nazis.
“Do you think he’s exaggerating all that, Marnie, building it up to more than it really is?”
“Who knows?”
“It seems to me he’s not told me everything he knows about that business.”
“Have you ever asked him about what happened to Garth Brandon?”
Anne shook her head. “Somehow it’s not the kind of thing you can really say, is it? Oh, by the way, Donovan, did you in fact shoot Brandon dead in the street that day?”
“But that’s what you think, isn’t it?”
Anne looked perplexed. “I think that would be … incredible. If he really did do it, I wouldn’t know what to think. And Donovan has never talked about it with me. I’m sure he doesn’t think I’d have the right to pass judgment on him.”
“I suppose not.”
“He told me to be aware and be watchful. But of what, Marnie? What am I ever likely to see down here? No-one just happens to be passing our door.”
“I think, Anne, on balance he’s just being careful. He’s known some pretty awful things in his life: the accident that killed his parents, the persecution of his mother’s family by the Nazis in Germany, the disappearance
of some of his relatives at that time. It’s no wonder he sees the world differently from us.”
As Marnie was speaking, the atmosphere in the attic gradually changed. A single shaft of sunlight fell across the floor. They turned their heads towards the window-slit.
“Hey, it’s stopped raining. Anne with an ‘e’, I think we should wrap up what we’re doing and go for a tootle on good old Sally.”
“But it’s a normal working day,” Anne protested.
“I don’t care. It’s our last free day before the diggers arrive. We’ll do a picnic lunch. And I’ve got some scones in the freezer. If I thaw them out we can have a cream tea on board this afternoon. How does that grab you?”
It grabbed Anne very well, and Marnie walked briskly through the spinney to put the plan to Ralph. Stepping round the puddles, she thought of Donovan and his worries. Was he making too much of everything? Was that just his nature or did he know more than he was saying?
Be aware and be watchful.
But of what, Donovan? And what was it that Anne had said?
No-one just happens to be passing our door.
Marnie thought back to the diary she had checked over that morning. The dig would begin on Tuesday. There would be plenty of people passing their door. Coming out of the trees, Marnie turned towards Thyrsis. Two narrowboats were gliding by, people passing their door. Maybe Donovan had a point.
Chapter 15
Contract
Tuesday began calmly like a normal working day, but that was not to last long. While Marnie worked on the design for the Willards’ Brewery hotel, Anne produced an invoice with a covering letter for Marnie to sign. It went out with the postman at eight-thirty, and Anne spent the next half-hour dealing with correspondence. At nine o’clock, everything happened at once.
Marnie and Anne heard vehicles arriving, doors slamming, voices calling out nearby. The army of archaeologists had arrived. Simultaneously, the phone began ringing. Inevitably, it was Celia Devere.
“I’ve been thinking about your designs, Marnie and, yes, before you ask, I’ve talked them over with Hugh. It was just as I said. He wasn’t the teeniest bit concerned about your costings and he left the choice of colour scheme to me. I’d like the blue, pink and white design.”
