by McNeir, Leo
“What was that about?” she cried in astonishment.
“You’ve got the farm,” said Roger, beaming at her.
“Who told you?”
“You did, of course. It’s written all over you!” They laughed and Marnie pulled a bottle of Champagne out of her bag. Roger ushered her on board to tell Marjorie the news. They raised their glasses and drank a toast to Glebe Farm.
“I ought to be toasting you, really,” said Marnie.
“I’ll drink to that,” said Roger.
“I mean it. I followed all your advice and got a tremendous reduction. It means I can almost afford to live there!” There was a knock on the door and Jane Rutherford looked in.
“Did I catch a sight of Marnie coming aboard?”
“You did indeed,” said Roger. “We’re celebrating her good news. Come in, come in.” He poured Jane a glass of the wine and it foamed over the rim. For half an hour they chatted about Marnie’s plans, until she announced that she had another call to make in Little Venice before she could go home.
“Must you really go?” said Marjorie. “Why not stay and have supper with us?”
“Love to,” said Marnie. “But this evening I can’t, I’m afraid. I have responsibilities, a future to plan, a cat to feed.”
On route to her next call, Marnie passed Sally Ann at her mooring. She looked with affection at the boat that had become such an important part of her life, examining her from bow to stern. This was more than a simple survey; there were important considerations if Sally was once again to move to centre-stage in her life. She remembered past times, people, places, encounters from the previous summer. It still surprised her to think that a boat like this, forty-five feet long, all but seven feet wide and weighing fourteen tonnes, could have had such a dramatic effect on her life and her outlook. And this place, Little Venice and the whole network of thousands of miles of waterways criss-crossing the country almost in secret had come to mean so much to her. Now it was going to take her away again to change everything she had and knew. In a matter of weeks the life she had built in London would be in the past. She felt a momentary anxiety, but not so great as to blunt her eagerness to make a start now that the decision had been taken.
“Come in, Marnie. I thought I spotted you beside the boat a minute ago. I just happened to be passing the window.” Mrs Jolly took in Marnie’s open gaze. “Yes. I know you suspect me of being a lace curtain twitcher.” Smiling, she closed the door and led Marnie into the living room. “Do you want to tell me your news first, or shall I make tea?”
“What do you mean?” said Marnie. “What news?”
“Haven’t you got some news to tell me? You give me that impression.” Marnie was beginning to wonder whether her brain was wired up for sound and linked to a BBC transmitter.
“Oh, that news,” said Marnie. “I was forgetting. You must mean the news that my whole life is going to change for ever.”
“Good gracious,” said Mrs Jolly. “I think that calls for Lapsang Souchong.” She took out her best china before leading Marnie into the kitchen. While preparations were made, Marnie outlined her story. They settled themselves in the living room and, to mark the importance of the occasion, Mrs Jolly put out her best chocolate-coated Bath Oliver biscuits.
“Well, I think your news is the most exciting thing I’ve heard in a long time,” she said. “I am glad you’ll be keeping your contact with Little Venice and that I’ll be able to see you.”
“I hope you’ll be able to come and visit me,” said Marnie. “At least, once I’ve got the place in some sort of order.”
“Delighted, my dear.” Mrs Jolly took a sip of her tea. “Tell me what’s bothering you, Marnie.”
“I think I must be totally transparent. What makes you think something is bothering me?”
“I’m not sure, but I sense that it is. It would be reasonable for such a big step. You’re selling a flat that you’ve made into a beautiful home, giving up a job that anyone would regard as a good one and starting from scratch in a place that you don’t know.”
“You’ve missed out the bit about the place being in ruins,” said Marnie in a cheerful voice.
“Oh yes, thank you, I overlooked that part. But I think there’s more to it than that. Or am I mistaken?” There was a moment of silence while they both drank.
“Mrs Jolly, you’ve lived in villages. Do you think they’re a pleasant environment?”
“It all depends on the people, my dear. I grew up in one Hampshire village and lived in three others. They were all different, one or two friendlier than the others. As a child I had my friends to play with and when I had my own children I knew their friends’ parents and I had my family all around. That’s the best kind of arrangement where villages are concerned. Also, I liked going to church and joining in the local events.” She passed Marnie the plate of biscuits. “Now I’ve lived in London for nearly thirty years and I have friends here. Since Charles died I’ve continued to live here, but sometimes I’ve wondered about going back to the country. The trouble is, I have no roots there now, no relatives or friends. You’ll have your career and your contacts that way.”
“The man selling Glebe Farm says the village is cursed,” said Marnie. “And they still talk as if the Civil War was on.”
“Oh yes. You sometimes get these odd occurrences. It’s best to take no notice. It’s not as if the Roundheads or whatever are going to come and pillage. No-one can do you any actual harm. In a small community you can choose how involved you become. It pays not to get too close to that side of things. You’re a resourceful person, Marnie. You’ll manage things the way you want them.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
*
The shops were open late in the West End and Marnie took the tube to Oxford Street before going on to Beth and Paul’s. The package was larger than she had expected and Beth glanced at it as soon as she opened the front door.
“We’re eating in the dining room instead of the kitchen, as it’s a special occasion,” said Beth, taking Marnie’s jacket.
“Who said it was a special occasion?” said Marnie, wondering if a carrier pigeon had reached them from the office or a semaphore signal had been sent from Little Venice.
“Come on, Marnie. You can’t fool me. I know what this is about and I think it’s very nice.” Marnie was quite bewildered, but at the same time glad to have her sister’s approval.
“But there was really no need,” said Beth. She looked pointedly at the package and Marnie saw the light. Paul came down the stairs, wearing the slightly short-sighted look that showed he had been working on his research notes. He kissed Marnie on both cheeks and she held out the package.
“Sorry it’s not gift-wrapped, but it is a special edition.” Paul took the bundle with an expression of total surprise. He opened it, a boxed set of the video of Casablanca with a book on how the film had been made. It was a special presentation to mark the film’s fiftieth anniversary.
“No wonder you’re my favourite sister-in-law,” he said, kissing her again. “Brilliant.”
Over supper Marnie tried more than once to bring up the subject of her move to Knightly St John and Glebe Farm, but each time, the conversation moved in a different direction. When the chance eventually came, it was not the way she wanted. Paul was again worried about his position at the university. Marnie had asked how his research had been going and spotted the warning sign of a brief exchange of glances between Beth and Paul.
“The actual research isn’t going too badly,” said Paul. “The question is, will it be completed in time to preserve my job. It’s the usual rumours of cuts in research funding, the departmental budget, staffing. You’ll soon be the only one of us left with a steady job, Marnie. I hope you’re feeling fit.” It was the moment of truth, now or never and it had to be now.
“Actually,” she began, realising that Beth had noted the tone of voice in an instant. “Actually, I’m contemplating a change myself.”
; “Seriously contemplating?” said Beth. Marnie nodded emphatically. “The place in the village where the vicar has all the trouble and the buildings are falling down?” Marnie nodded again. “You’ve made an offer on it?” A nod. “You’ve got someone to buy your flat?” Same again. “You’ve made an appointment with a psychiatrist?” Marnie raised her chin for the start of a nod.
“What?”
“Have you actually resigned your job, your steady, well-paid job?”
“I’ve discussed it with Philip, yes. In fact, he’s going to put a contract my way, the biggest contract I have on my list at the moment. It’ll be a good start.”
“But I thought you said the whole place was a ruin, uninhabitable.”
“Y-e-e-s.”
“Have you thought about the small problem of having a roof over your head, somewhere to live while the ruins are turned into a hovel?”
“Oh yes. That’s the easy part. No problem.” Marnie took a sip from her wine.
“Marnie,” said Beth. “Where are you going to live?”
Marnie took another sip. “Guess,” she said.
Beth and Paul frowned. Suddenly, Beth looked Marnie straight in the eye “You mean …?”
Marnie nodded and smiled charmingly.
Beth gave an exaggerated, exasperated sigh. “You know, Marnie, sometimes I think you’d get away with murder.”
Marnie smiled at her sister. “ I like the idea of making a getaway, but I can do without the murder.”
*
As usual there was only one other car in the car park when Marnie arrived at the office the next morning. Wondering if Philip ever slept or even went home at night, she went in through the rear entrance and could hear a phone ringing somewhere in the building. It was her own direct line.
Before the voice spoke, she knew who it would be. “Marnie Walker, good morning. What can I do for you, Mr Dyson?”
“Sorry to bother you so early, Mrs Walker. I’m just anxious to get things underway. There’s a lot involved in buying a property. Could I trouble you to let me have the name and address of your solicitor and your building society, plus written confirmation of your offer and your acceptance of my clients’ conditions?”
“Conditions, Mr Dyson? I don’t recall you mentioning any specific conditions.”
“I’m about to tell you what they are. First, contracts have to be exchanged within three weeks of the date of your offer, with completion to follow one calendar month later. The property is to stay on the market until exchange is carried out, after which you will agree to accept liability for the condition of the property and take out any necessary insurance.”
“The answers to your questions are yes, yes, yes and no. I’ve put in the post the name and address of my solicitor and building society and confirmation of my offer. I have not accepted your conditions because I didn’t know about them, but I will mention them to my solicitor. Tell me, are these your normal terms of business?”
“Not exactly, but then this is no normal property.”
It was ten minutes later that Philip, with a serious expression on his face, walked into her office. “I’ve just had Willards on the line, Marnie. There’s been some trouble. Do you know The Irish Navigator?”
*I don’t think so.”
“It’s one of their restaurants on the canal. There’s been a fire during the night. Quite bad. Part of it is almost gutted. They want to get on with repairing it as a matter of urgency. I said we’d get someone up to have a look at it today, only we haven’t got an architect free just now. Any chance of you going? The interior design would be, will be, one of your jobs.” Marnie checked her diary.
“Do we have the address?” Philip passed her a note.
“Here,” he said. “It’s not far from your new place, I think. All we need do today is find out how bad the damage is and assess what steps we can take to sort it out PDQ. The manager’s called Henderson and he’ll be on site.”
“I’ll go straight away.” Marnie took a notepad, mobile phone and Polaroid camera from a drawer and checked the address. She stood up to leave as the phone rang.
“I have a call for you, Marnie.”
“If it’s Dyson, tell him I’ve gone for a site meeting in Timbuktu.”
“It’s a girl. Says her name is Anne.” The call was put through.
“Anne, hallo! How are things? Are you revising hard?”
“Not exactly. Would you believe I’ve been told to rest for a few days? The doctor says I’ve been overdoing it. I kept getting headaches through working late at night. I just rang to see how you were. Sorry to bother you at work.”
“I’m very pressed at the moment, so I can’t really talk right now.” She glanced down at the address of the Irish Navigator. “Do you know Fawley?”
“Yes. Near Leighton Buzzard. Why do you ask?”
“Do you have a headache at the moment?”
“No. I’ve only just got up. I’m supposed to go for a walk and get some fresh air. Why?”
“Suppose I took you for a drive and you got some air while I had a meeting? Then I could take you for a spot of lunch. I’ve got some news I want to tell you.” There was a pause at the end of the line. “Anne? Are you all right?”
“Yippee! Yes, yes! I’m fine. When are you coming?”
“I just left.”
*
They made good time over Dunstable Down. The morning was bright with a few light clouds as the Rover purred along heading north while Marnie explained to Anne about the fire. Anne read the road atlas and gave directions to the turn-off for the canal.
“Has this got something to do with the news you want to tell me?” said Anne. She was looking tense and pale and her sharp features seemed even more pinched than usual.
“Only indirectly. But first tell me about you. You’re looking tired.”
“The doctor says I’ve been working too hard, but I’ve really got to do well in the exams. My whole future depends on it.” Her voice was almost desperate. “I’ve finished my art project on the canals and Mrs Robinson says I’ll get an “A” for it. But there’s just so much to do. You work hard, Marnie. You know what it’s like.” Marnie concentrated on overtaking a lorry.
“I also know when to switch off and relax, but I suppose that comes with experience. When I notice I’m getting tired, I make something to eat, listen to music, have a drink.”
“Burn joss sticks,” added Anne.
“Exactly. How far to the turn-off?”
Anne looked down at the map. “About two miles or so, I think.”
“Right. We’re doing better than I thought.”
“Marnie, are you going to tell me your news, or do I have to stay in suspense all day?”
“I’m going to buy Glebe Farm. My offer’s been accepted.”
“Wow! But that’s great, Marnie! You must be very excited.”
“Not quite the word I would’ve chosen, but I’m pleased, at least I think I am.”
“When will you be moving?”
“That depends on a number of factors, not the least being whether the buildings, such as they are, manage to remain standing. It looks like a mid-June completion, probably the fifteenth.”
“My exams finish on Tuesday the thirteenth.” Anne pulled a face. She looked up quickly as they passed a road sign. “Our turning is next on the right, about a quarter of a mile ahead. I can see it from here.” Anne guided Marnie along the smaller country roads, through two or three villages, until they took the last turning before the canal. “We should come to it any time now.” The road curved gently to the left and suddenly they found their way blocked by fire service vans, a salvage lorry and a number of cars, at least one of them in police livery. Marnie pulled off the road and parked under a tree. Before getting out of the car, she rang Philip on the mobile.
“There’s quite a show here, fire brigade, police, the works. I hope they’ll let me in. I’ll ring you back if there are any problems. This is much bigger than I expected.”
With Anne carrying camera and notepad, they made their way towards the restaurant, or what remained of it. There was the sour odour of burned out buildings in the air and they could taste the smoke. Their eyes were smarting. As they reached the nearest van, a uniformed policeman stepped forward and blocked their way.
“Morning, miss. Can I help you?”
“I have a meeting here with the manager,” said Marnie. The man frowned. He glanced at Anne, the camera and the notebook. “My name is Marnie Walker. I’m from the company’s architects in London. We’ve been asked by Willards to advise Mr Henderson on reinstatement.” This seemed to reassure the man, but he stared at Anne, who seemed even younger than her sixteen years. Before Marnie could explain her presence, Anne chimed in.
“My name is Anne Withaney, I’m Mrs Walker’s assistant.” Her voice was firm, formal and confident, even a little deeper than usual, and she all but brandished the camera and pad. By way of further explanation she added: “I’m doing work experience with the company.” Marnie was impressed; it sounded highly convincing. She just managed to keep the smile from her face. The man asked them to follow him and led the way across the road towards the charred shambles that had once been part of a thriving restaurant. Marnie inclined her head to Anne and spoke in a half-whisper.
“Anne Withaney! Where did you dream that one up?” She smiled at her companion, her assistant.
“Don’t you get it?”
“Of course I get it. I suppose I should be thankful you didn’t describe yourself as my partner!”
“Give me time, Marnie.” Their grins vanished almost at once. The restaurant was an L-shaped brick building under a slate roof with a wing added probably in the fifties. It was the later wing that had been damaged by the fire. Everywhere the ground was soaked in water, people were dragging remains of furniture out of the shell and dumping them in blackened, sodden piles in the garden. They walked past mounds of curtain material, still steaming, and the air was acrid with the sickly stench of charred timbers and scorched brick. In a display bordering on bravado, the inn sign still swung jauntily overhead, bearing the picture of a cheerful workman, pick in hand, against a background of excavations for the canal. Above him, in green, white and gold letters, was the name: The Irish Navigator.
