by McNeir, Leo
The next area was a sitting space with built-in sofa and fitted cupboards, the sofa in old rose and the same sage green carpet on the floor. It was bright, with a porthole on each side and a roof light with brass fittings.
“I mainly use this for keeping my clothes.” He pointed at the cupboards as Dolly jumped up onto the sofa.
“A narrowboat with a dressing room,” said Marnie. “Whatever next?”
“Mock not,” said Ralph, grinning and pushing open the door into the next area. “I had to plan the boat to meet my needs. This is the business end.” He stood aside to let her into the front cabin and watched her expression change.
“Blimey!” she said. The front cabin was as long as two of the other spaces, perhaps a little more than sixteen feet. It was the fitting out that took her by surprise. Half of one wall was equipped with built-in bookcases from floor to ceiling. Apart from the door leading out to the cratch, the furthest wall was taken up by an L-shaped desk with a computer and a library lamp with green glass shade, faced by a leather chair. Further back towards the bookcases was a printer and a hi-fi system, with racking above it for tapes and discs. In one corner on a tiled surround stood a wood-burning stove with framed prints of Oxford either side of the flue. Light poured in from roof lights and portholes. It was an inviting workspace. In the evenings, with the stove lit and the brass wall-lamps switched on, it would be magical.
“It’s extraordinary, Ralph. Marvellous. You’ve created a floating Oxford college!”
“Exactly,” he replied, looking out on the canal side. “In fact, wherever you moor, you can see Magdalen Bridge from the porthole … on a clear day.”
They strolled over to Sally Ann for coffee. “Well, I must say, for all his faults, Gary’s done a fine job. He really has.”
“Not Gary, actually,” said Ralph. It took Marnie an effort of the imagination to see Ralph running a narrowboat. Even now, he was not wearing the usual canal dress, jeans and T-shirt. In blue slacks and navy blue shirt, he had something of his usual aura.
“Who did the restoration, then? One of the boatyards in Oxford?”
“Actually, I did it,” he said.
“You? I thought you implied that Gary had been involved. At least, that’s what I understood.”
“No. In fact, Gary’s involvement with Thyrsis has been rather less than he would have wished, in all sorts of ways.”
“So you bought the boat from him and did the work yourself?”
“Nearly everything. I had the engine serviced in Oxford. It just needed routine maintenance. I had some work done on the wiring. Also the new roof lights. I did the decoration.” There was something about the colour scheme that Marnie found familiar. “I’d never have thought of doing this at all, if it hadn’t been for you, Marnie. My contact with the canal in Oxford when you fished me out was meant to be my last.”
“I know where you got that colour scheme. It’s just like a Harrods carrier bag!” Ralph raised his hands in mock horror, aghast. “You poser!” she said.
“Moi?” he replied. “Poseur? Actually, it’s meant to be the colour of a Barbour jacket but I mixed the wrong colours at the paint shop.” If it had been anyone else, Marnie would have struck him firmly in the ribs.
“Tell me about it over coffee.”
While the kettle heated up, Ralph installed himself in a chair and explained how he had had to learn decorating as a young academic doing research and newly married. It was at that time of his life that he became interested in D-I-Y, as his wife, a postgraduate student herself, had no inclination towards practical things, much preferring mediaeval lyric poetry.
“So you just got on with it,” said Marnie. “What about Gary, then? What happened to him?”
“Ah, yes, Gary.” Ralph leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Well, he told me about this boat he knew that was going to be restored. It wouldn’t be cheap, but it would be good. I agreed to have a look and my suspicions were aroused when I had to go to a place in Birmingham that was very much off the beaten track, or whatever that may be in canal terms. I asked who owned the boat and Gary said it belonged to a mate who did not want to be on the water anymore and needed the money. I said I’d think about it.”
“What colour was it then? Was it faded green and grey?”
“Yes, it was. The outside was sound. The interior was clean. The engine was fine.”
“So you bought it and took it down to Oxford.”
“Not immediately. Something strange happened. I asked about the registration certificate and Gary said it had got lost and they’d have to register the boat as new. It would be ‘less hassle’ that way. I realised that something odd was going on and said I’d think it over. Gary did not know that I’d seen a registration plate lying in the corner of the main cabin. The next day I rang British Waterways and asked them if they could tell me who owned the boat with this number. They said the registration had not been renewed last year and they’d written without success to the owner. They couldn’t give his name over the phone.”
“I could guess what the name was,” said Marnie.
“No doubt,” said Ralph. “Anyway, I rang Gary, told him about my conversation with BW and said I didn’t really think I could go ahead in the circumstances.”
“That would’ve pleased him.”
“He was horrified. Wanted to know if I told them where I saw the boat, who had it or any other details.”
At that moment Sally Ann rocked gently at her mooring and a shadow appeared in the stern doorway. “Hey, Marnie, whose is that boat blocking us in?” Anne came down into the cabin and caught sight of Ralph. He stood up and held out his hand.
“Good afternoon. I’m Ralph Lombard.”
“Hallo. I’m Anne. Anne Price. I’m Marnie’s colleague.”
“Have a seat. I’ll pour you some coffee,” said Marnie.
“I don’t want to interrupt your conversation.”
“That’s okay. Ralph was telling me how he acquired his boat, the one blocking us in.”
“Lovely boat,” said Anne, sitting down, putting a letter on the table. “It’s funny, I’ve often thought that Harrods colours would look nice in a canal setting.”
Ralph laughed. “I see it’s no use claiming originality for my design. I can’t fool you two.” He turned to face Anne directly. “I take it that you are also a designer?”
“Anne is much more than that,” said Marnie, bending down to open the fridge. “She’s helping to set up the office and work with me before starting her formal training. Oh dear. You know what I forgot at the shop? There’s no milk. What a nuisance. It’ll have to be the emergency powdered stuff, I’m afraid.”
“No,” said Ralph. “I’ve got plenty on Thyrsis. Your cat is certain to want some. I’ll go and fetch it.” After some protests it was agreed that Anne would go for it. As she set off, Ralph observed: “I expect she’s curious to see the boat, anyway.”
“I’m sure. Now, where were we with the story? You told Gary you weren’t prepared to buy stolen property and he was worried that BW might be able to trace the boat to him.”
“Correct. I also hinted that as you were Old Peter’s heir, in a sense, perhaps the boat rightfully belonged to you. Just as I was about to put the phone down, Gary said that sometimes boats are abandoned and taken over by other people. ‘Like a salvaged wreck at sea?’ I suggested. Gary agreed. I wished him luck with trying to dispose of it that way and he said would I not like to buy it on that understanding.”
“What difference would that make?” said Marnie.
“At salvage value? I asked. Gary wasn’t keen, but knew it was all he’d get, at least from me. He also probably thought I might tell you about it and then he might risk losing the whole thing. In the end I gave him five hundred in recognition of his salvaging the boat.”
“And that’s how you could restore her to such a high standard.”
“Exactly.” Anne’s footfall could be heard on the aft deck and she re-appeared with
the milk. “What did you think of the boat?”
“Beautiful,” said Anne. “I love the way she’s been fitted out.” A sudden wary look came over her face.
“I’m glad,” said Ralph. “I meant to suggest that you might look her over.” Anne looked sheepishly at Marnie, who poured her coffee and put some milk in a saucer for Dolly.
“I was going to ask you about the name,” Marnie said to Ralph.
“Matthew Arnold,” said Anne. They both stared at her. “The poet. Oxford. The Scholar Gipsy and all that. We did him in English Literature. I got an ‘A’ for the course work.” At that, Marnie laughed, went over to Anne and hugged her.
“Can anyone join in?” said Ralph. Taking her place again at the table, Marnie quickly gave Anne a résumé of Ralph’s story of how he acquired Thyrsis. Anne listened with rapt attention, glancing at Ralph like a fellow conspirator. The three sat talking together over their coffee like old friends, until Ralph stood up, saying he had interrupted their day and was sure they had many things to do. Anne looked genuinely disappointed.
“Are you doing anything this evening?” said Ralph.
“The choice of nightlife is a little restricted in Knightly St John on Fridays,” said Marnie. “There are only two casinos and the night-clubs are usually fully booked.”
“What about supper at the village pub, then?”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Would it be convenient for both of you?” he asked.
Anne looked uncertain. “Oh, you don’t have to include me. I’ve got lots to do.”
“I’m sure you have. But I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t mean it and if you can come, I’d really like that.” They agreed to meet at seven-thirty on Sally Ann.
“What a nice man,” said Anne. “I’ve never met anyone like that before. What does he do?”
“He’s Reader in Economics at one of the Oxford colleges, very well known in his field. Quite a celebrity, really.”
“And that’s why his boat’s called Thyrsis,” said Anne. “What should I call him? ‘Mr Lombard’?”
“He’s Dr Lombard, actually.” Marnie thought about it. “I’d avoid calling him anything at first. See how it goes.”
“His boat looks like a library at the front. It doesn’t look like a holiday boat at all.”
“It’s not a holiday. He’s on sabbatical leave, writing a book.”
“Travelling alone?” said Anne.
“Yes. Like me last year.”
“What about his wife?”
“He’s a widower. She died some years ago. Why do you ask?”
Anne hesitated. “I just wondered.” She turned to clear the coffee things from the table, putting them carefully on a tray. In her mind was the photograph she had seen on the small black range in the sleeping cabin. She had certainly been a beautiful woman.
*
At the end of the school day, most of the children were off the premises by about four o’clock. It was then that Valerie Paxton liked to have the place to herself to finish her work in peace and quiet. There was no sound from any part of the school. The head had left promptly for once, the cleaners had not yet arrived and even the caretaker was not in evidence.
Now it was as quiet as the church on the days when she did the cleaning and changed the flowers. The church was filled with the deepest peace, centuries old. Why could the village not just let the vicar do what he wanted? What did it matter if he wanted to use a different prayer book, or take out the old pews or use different words in the service? It was not as if the congregation was really listening to what he said. They were just thinking about the Sunday lunch or going out in the afternoon. Why could they not just leave him to get on with his job? Suddenly she was filled with an anger that made her want to shout out loud that everyone should just get on with their own lives and not cause trouble for others.
In her mind she saw the vicar, kneeling at the altar in prayer at evensong. She heard his voice clearly intoning, “… and grant us a quiet night, O Lord …” It was one of her favourite lines.
“You still here, Mrs P? I thought the place was deserted. Quiet as the grave.” The caretaker stood looking at her from the doorway. She busied herself to conceal her surprise, gathering papers from her desk and putting them in the drawer, pushing her paper knife to one side. She picked up a small bundle of letters and a shopping list.
“That’s everything for now,” she said. “I’m off. Bye.”
“Have a nice weekend, then.”
“Thanks. And you.” She swung a bag over her shoulder and left. Walking across the small playground, she caught sight of the vicar passing the school and quickened her pace to intercept him by the gate.
“Good afternoon, Randall.”
“Hallo, Val. Finished for the day?”
“I’m sorry about the meeting last night.”
“Oh, these things happen. Just one more cross to bear.” He sounded casual enough about the situation, but Val sensed his disappointment.
“What do you think will happen now?”
“Well, that depends on other people, doesn’t it? It depends what they do about the vote that was taken. I appreciated your voting for me, Val, but I have to face the fact that things aren’t looking good at the moment.”
“But what can anybody do?”
“They could do all sorts of things, complain to the Archdeacon or the Rural Dean, approach the Bishop, even.”
“Will it make any difference? Any real difference, I mean.”
“I suppose that depends on what reaction they get. You never can tell. I have to accept that there’s some bad feeling in the village and things may not go my way. Perhaps my days here are numbered. We shall have to wait and see.”
“… my days here are numbered …” The vicar’s words echoed in her mind as Valerie continued her way down the road to the shop. In her pre-occupied state she almost posted the letters, before remembering that she had first to buy stamps. There was only one other person at the counter.
“Richard’s just out the back, Val. He’ll only be a minute.”
“Fine.” She put her letters and bag down on the counter. “I only need some stamps. No great hurry.”
“Have you met Anne? She’s living down at Glebe Farm. Just moved in. This is Mrs Paxton from the school.”
Valerie said ‘hallo’ with as much enthusiasm as she could muster and gave Anne something approaching a smile. “Glebe Farm? Down by the canal?”
“That’s right. I’m working with Marnie Walker. We’re an interior design company.” Anne expected to have to give the usual explanation but Mrs Paxton picked up her bundle of letters, sorted through them and handed her one.
“Could you give this to Mrs Walker, please? It seems a pity to use a stamp when you’re going that way.”
“I’ll make sure she gets it right away.” As Anne left, Molly called out her thanks for passing on the message to Mr Stubbs about the eggs and for coming in to report back.
“Did you say eggs?” said Valerie after Anne had left.
“We’ve run out and Anne went up to tell Mr Stubbs. She’s a very nice girl. Were you wanting some eggs, then?”
“Among other things.”
“Probably won’t have any in the shop until tomorrow, unless you can wait for Richard to fetch them.”
“No, it’s all right. I can wait till tomorrow. I’ll have to.” She shrugged. “One more cross to bear.”
*
After Ralph returned to Thyrsis, Marnie and Anne went back to the office to finish work. Marnie read the head teacher’s letter.
“Just as I thought,” she said and passed the letter to Anne.
“‘… and so I was wondering whether it would be possible for a group of older children to see your boat and learn about life on the canals …’ Yes. You were right. I bet they’d like that. Will you do it?”
“I don’t see why not. We could give them a tour of Sally Ann and maybe go for a trip. What else would they like?”
“Why don’t I type a programme?” said Anne, pressing buttons on the computer.
“Good idea. We can start with a visit to look over the boat.”
“Hang on a minute,” said Anne, setting up the machine. “Right. That’s Item One.”
“Then a short talk about the canals and how they were built.”
“And why they were built,” added Anne. “Item Two. We can do that in the barn.”
“Yes. More room than on Sally. I wonder how many there’ll be.”
“Twenty?” Anne suggested.
“I could give them tea in the barn, or beside the boat, a picnic if it’s dry.”
“Item Three.”
“Then a trip up the canal and through a lock.”
“Item Four. They’ll love that. What about life jackets?”
“Oh, yes. Pity to spoil the day with a mass drowning. We’ll have to see about that. Then they could do some drawing at the lock or back here.”
“Great!”
“I know,” said Marnie. “I can show them a few of my slides of Jessop’s drawings. The great aqueduct – I’ve got a video of that somewhere. A tunnel. Bridges. Just a few. Nothing too technical. Old shots of horses pulling barges.” The phone rang and Marnie turned to take the call while Anne printed the programme. It was Beth.
“Congratulations. The end of your first week. Well, almost. How’s it going?”
“We’re up and running, largely thanks to Anne. She’s turned out to be a computer wizard.” Hearing this, Anne looked up from the machine and pulled a face. Marnie told Beth about the work they had done and the people they had met.
“Not too lonely, then?”
“No. Far from it. We’ve even had a visitor.”
“Let me guess,” said Beth. “The vicar. Has your name been added to the flower rota?”
“No. Not the vicar. Ralph Lombard. He’s come here by boat.”
“Are you serious?”
“He’s on sabbatical. You should see his boat. And you’ll never guess whose boat it is … or rather was. “ The line went silent for a count of three.
“Old Peter’s?” There were occasions when Marnie was convinced that Beth could read her mind.
