by McNeir, Leo
Randall shrugged. “True, but remember, Pontius Pilate washed his hands to get rid of a problem.”
*
Marnie found Anne waiting for her by the field gate, face turned up to the sky, eyes closed, bag of shopping at her feet.
“What are you doing?”
“Sun bathing.” She gathered up the bag and they turned onto the old track.
“You’ll be lucky. Looks like rain.” Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon.
“Was the vicar at home?”
“Yes. I saw him.”
“So you know.”
“About him leaving? Yes.”
“They were talking about it in the shop.”
“Of course, the old bush telegraph.” Marnie tapped the side of her nose.
*
The rain came as no surprise in the middle of the afternoon. While Marnie was on the phone to Willards, the sky darkened so much that Anne switched on the desk lamps. She stood in the doorway for a few moments, watching the great drops hitting the dry ground and suddenly thought of Sally Ann and Thyrsis. She grabbed the boat keys from the hook, picked up an umbrella and jogged off through the spinney to check windows and hatches. By the time she returned, the yard was awash and the wind was driving the rain against the windows. Still talking on the phone, Marnie swivelled in her chair and glanced in Anne’s direction. She hesitated in her conversation and pointed a finger up to the sky. Anne gave a thumbs-up. Marnie excused herself briefly, put a hand over the mouthpiece.
“Better check the loft. We don’t know how secure that roof is.” Anne half ran up the wall-ladder. As she stood up and groped for the light switch, a drop of rain hit her on the cheek. There were drips in several places, though the bed was untouched. She moved around the loft, pulling aside the rugs and the few pieces of furniture, already damp.
“How bad is it?” Marnie’s head protruded at the top of the ladder.
“Could be worse. I’ll get some bowls to catch the water. The bed’s dry. What about downstairs?”
“No leaks so far.” Marnie surveyed the situation. “We’ll need several containers. I’ll see if Ralph has any on Thyrsis.”
Soon they had every leak under control and the floor of the loft looked like an impromptu game of garden draughts. “Back to Sally Ann for you till this lot dries out,” said Marnie. “We don’t want you getting pneumonia.”
The rain continued sporadically for the rest of the day. They spent the evening warm and dry on the boat and Marnie prepared a supper of artichokes followed by bean casserole, one of Anne’s favourites, and a quite presentable cheese board. Not bad for left-overs, thought Marnie to herself as she reached into the cellar, otherwise known as the cupboard under the sink, for a bottle of Rioja.
When they had finished and cleared away, Anne made coffee, lit a candle and put on a Brandenburg Concerto. They settled in the saloon, Anne reading a design magazine, Marnie looking through the booklet about the church.
“You’re not still thinking about that tower are you?” Anne broke into her thoughts.
“Maybe it’s all in my imagination. Or maybe I’ll work it out just as I’m dropping off to sleep.”
But she did not. They both drifted off that night to the sound of the rain pounding on Sally Ann’s steel roof.
*
Tuesday 27 June
The early morning was miserable, chilly and wet with drizzle blown about by a stiff breeze. Alan the postman made his rounds in discomfort in semi-twilight, the sky unseasonably grey, the rain finding its way up his cuffs and down his neck. He trekked up the path by the village shop to the adjoining house of Richard and Molly Appleton and met Richard on the doorstep bringing in the milk.
“What’s this, Richard, having a lie-in?”
“Late breakfast today, Alan. Just seen the paper boys off. “
“Oh, ’course. Molly’s still down in London?”
“That’s right. Her sister’s had quite a do. Big operation. She’ll be staying for a few days. Fancy a cup o’ tea?” Alan looked down at his sodden trousers and soaking shoes. He had already made a puddle on the quarry tiles.
“Better not,” he sighed. “Thanks all the same. I’m behind anyway.” He passed Richard a small bundle of letters and squelched off down the path. Richard quickly flicked through the mail: postcard from a friend on holiday in Greece (lucky blighter), special offer from Reader’s Digest (now there’s a surprise), more junk mail (straight in the bin) and a business envelope with the crest of the Bishop’s Palace (what might you be?). This last item was addressed to Molly and looked impressive. Bishops did not usually write about special offers or prize draws for subscribing to the church magazine. Recognising its importance, Richard stood the letter on the mantelpiece beside the clock and went to put the kettle on.
*
“Cor, look at this lot.” It was shortly after seven o’clock and Marnie was tipping water from the bowls into a bucket. “I think you’d have got mildew if you’d stayed here last night.” She and Anne had enjoyed the luxury of nearly-hot showers on Sally Ann before tramping through the spinney to inspect the barn. While they dealt with the influx of water, rolls were warming in the oven and coffee was filtering on the workbench in the galley.
“The forecast said it would brighten up later on,” said Anne. “I heard it while you were in the shower.”
“It must have been referring to Syria,” Marnie suggested, emptying the contents of a saucepan. “This whole place smells of damp. It’ll be some time before you sleep up here, I think. We’ll get the builders to give the roof a thorough going over as soon as it’s dry enough.”
“Okay.” Anne had no objection to staying on Sally Ann, as long as Marnie did not feel crowded in. “Marnie? Did you see there’s a message on the answerphone? I’ll empty this if you want to check the machine.” Marnie went down and pressed the button. It was Ralph asking her to ring. She dialled his number. The phone rang once.
“Lombard.”
“Ralph, it’s Marnie. I just got your message. I hope it’s not too early.” In the background she thought she could hear a printer working.
“No. It’s fine. Thanks for ringing. Is that offer of a lift still on?”
“When would you like to come?”
“Ideally today, but tomorrow if that’s no good.” They agreed on a late afternoon rendezvous at the bus station in Milton Keynes. “Oh, by the way, Marnie, I’ve been doing some research.”
“That is news?”
“For you.”
“Ah!”
“One of the Fellows here is an expert, possibly the expert, on the history of the English Civil War period. A few years ago he did some work on religious factions and he’s given me a copy of a paper he wrote. Your part of the world is mentioned and he’s quite knowledgeable about what happened.”
“Good. Perhaps we can talk about it tonight. You’ll come for supper?”
“If I can tear myself away from the fleshpots of Knightly St John, I’ll be delighted.”
*
At eight forty-five the phone rang at the village shop. Richard Appleton was expecting Molly to call before he opened up.
“How’s it going, my love?”
“Not too good, really. They said the operation was a success, but when I rang just now the nurse on duty said she had a comfortable night, but was having breathing difficulties. I should phone before going in to see her.”
“Oh dear. Did she say what had caused this?”
“The anaesthetic, apparently.” Molly sounded worried.
“Well, she’s in good hands. I’m sure they’ll sort it out. This kind of thing probably happens quite often.”
“That’s what she said. It takes a while to get over it. I’m to ring again at lunch-time.”
The news about his sister-in-law and Molly’s anxiety put all other concerns out of Richard’s mind. The last thing he thought of was the letter from the Bishop’s Palace propped up against the clock on the mantelpiece.
&nb
sp; *
“They seem to have got it right,” said Marnie, looking up from her desk as Anne appeared with mid-morning coffee. The clouds were beginning to part, as the weather forecasters had predicted, and occasional splashes of sunlight were flitting across the yard.
“You know something, Marnie? I shall always look back on this time as a wonderful part of my life, whatever happens.”
“That’s very philosophical for a Tuesday morning. I’m sure you’ll have many wonderful times in your life, Anne.”
“Who knows? But this will be special.”
Marnie wanted to tell Anne that everything would work out fine, that she would give her a job, she would go to art school and become a designer with a career ahead of her. Perhaps one day they would be working together in a thriving company. But Marnie could not bring herself merely to make sympathetic noises. There were too many unknowns in her own life to be able to make promises about the future to anyone else, least of all to Anne, who believed in her and trusted her. So much depended on the success of contracts not yet won, work not yet done and a property market still in decline. Not to mention the exam results due in August. Marnie looked at Anne standing by the window, just a thin girl. There was nothing she could say.
“Good,” she said.
*
“Richard? It’s me. I thought I’d catch you before I go out. I’m going shopping.”
“How are things, love?”
“I spoke to the doctor on the phone just now. They’ve got Susan’s breathing settled and she’s sleeping. I can go in this evening for a short visit. Obviously she won’t be coming out tomorrow, but she’s much better.”
“That’s great. I’ve been worried all morning.”
“How are you managing? Is Ivy there?”
“Yes. Everything’s fine here, don’t you fret. Ivy’s doing a grand job in the shop.”
“I’ll ring again tonight. Bye for now.”
*
In the afternoon Anne looked up at the clock and did a quick calculation. “Marnie, can I interrupt you for a moment?” Marnie looked up from the drawing board, her lips moving slightly, her mind engaged on colours, layouts and fabrics, and refocused her attention towards Anne. “You’ve got to get that finished before the end of today and you’ve got to collect Ralph this afternoon.” Marnie nodded agreement. Anne continued. “You’re planning to get some things from the shop on your way.”
“Yes.”
“If I go up there now, I can post the letters, get the shopping and be back before you set off. That’ll give you more time to get the design ready and you won’t have to rush.”
“Brilliant.”
“I’m on my way.”
As she reached the road at the top of the track, the distinctive shape of a Volkswagen beetle chugged past. The vicar was at the wheel, also unmistakable, dressed in his black cassock. Walking along the street, Anne wondered whether the vicar was deliberately trying to create an image, or whether he regarded his clothes as a kind of uniform. What sort of person became a vicar? she asked herself. It was hard to imagine anyone she knew wanting to go into the church. Why did they do it?
Ahead, Anne saw children coming out of school. The shop would be busy. She quickened her pace. Even so, her trip took longer than expected. There was a new person serving in the shop who had to check the prices. Everyone wanted to know about Molly Appleton’s sister’s operation and contribute their own stories of personal experience. At last Anne managed to extricate herself and set off back to Glebe Farm even more quickly than she had come.
Passing the church, she suddenly stopped in mid-stride. There was a strange sound in the air. Somewhere, someone was singing. A woman’s voice, strong and melodious, a siren call reaching her as if from a distance. Briefly, Anne was disoriented, her attention fixed on the voice that seemed to blot out everything else. The singing was beautiful, a trained soprano, she thought. The music was familiar, some kind of anthem. It was like hearing the voice of an angel. Anne turned to the church, wanting to go in and listen. Instead, she looked at her watch, gasped, and set off reluctantly at full stretch, her mind filled with the music that followed her on her way.
Marnie was reversing the car out from its shelter when Anne arrived back at the farm.
“Sorry, Marnie, I got held up.”
The car window slid down. “No problem. Did you get what we wanted at the shop?”
“Yes. It was crowded. Mums and kids from school.”
“Of course.” Marnie smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m in good time. I’ve got the mobile with me in case you need a word. See you in about an hour.”
*
“Walker and Co, good afternoon.” Anne handled several calls during Marnie’s absence and enjoyed being in charge. The best enquiry came from a woman, no a lady, with a frightfully-frightfully accent, who asked to be put through to the department that dealt with Country Houses. This called for quick thinking. Anne looked round for inspiration, as the only other member of staff present was Dolly, curled up on Marnie’s chair. “Actually, you need to speak with Mrs Marnie Walker.” Anne hoped to give the impression that Marnie was only one member of the talented Walker family running the generations-old company in their extensive offices. “I have her diary and unfortunately, she’s in a meeting …” (no reference to Milton Keynes bus station) “… out of the office … someone from the University of Oxford.” This seemed to press the right buttons and the tone from the caller was warm and encouraging. “Certainly. I’ll ask her to phone you when she gets … er, when she returns.” The name was of course double-barrelled and Anne was wondering how people knew of their existence. She was mulling over the need for a marketing policy when the phone rang again. It was Marnie.
“Anne, slight change of plan. Can you go over to Thyrsis and open up? Get a bottle of mineral water from our fridge and put it in Ralph’s sleeping cabin with a glass. Thanks.”
“What’s up, Marnie?”
“Ralph has a migraine coming on. I’m going to put him straight to bed. See you soon.”
“Marnie?”
“Yes?”
“How long has he had it?”
“Just starting now. Why?”
“Has he been sick?” There was a pause at the other end of the line.
“He says not.”
“There’ll be two tablets by the water in his cabin. They’re soluble. He should take them as soon as he gets back. They may help.”
Anne was up in her room over the office checking for damp when she heard the car arrive. Marnie drove past the buildings and on to the slipway by Sally Ann’s mooring. A few minutes later Marnie came in as Anne was putting the list of phone messages on her desk.
“How’s Ralph?”
“Rather washed out. I’ve given him your tablets. What are they? I didn’t know you got migraine.”
“They’re just pain killers, but they’re good. My mum takes them if she feels a migraine coming on. If she takes them in time they stop it. Just like that.”
*
It was quite late in the evening before Molly Appleton was able to ring home. “She’s sitting up and managed a little soup, but she’s still weak.”
“At least she’s showing signs of improvement,” said Richard encouragingly.
“Yes, but she’s so pale and she’s got all these tubes going in and out of her. I never thought she’d be like this.”
“What do the doctors say?”
“Making satisfactory progress, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”
“Cheer up, love. I’m sure she’ll be much better tomorrow.” Richard was upset to hear his wife, normally cheerful and optimistic, sounding so downcast. They agreed to keep in close touch the next day. Not a word was said about the shop or the village, such was the measure of their concern. After hanging up, Richard made his way slowly and thoughtfully upstairs to bed.
In the darkened living room the letter from the Bishop’s Palace leant against the clock on the mantelpiece.
&n
bsp; *
“I suppose we could get a de-humidifier,” said Marnie, thinking out loud as she cut two slices of water melon in the galley. Anne was going in and out, laying the table on the bank beside Sally Ann. “Some of them can take out more than a litre of water a day.”
“That might play havoc with the tagliatelle,” said Anne, looking in the saucepan boiling on the stove.
“Has anyone told you, you get more like my sister every day?”
“I thought she said I was getting to be like you.”
“Let that be a lesson to you! I was thinking about the dampness in your loft. I don’t want you going down with a chest or something.” Anne struck a pose that only emphasised her slender outline.
“No real danger of that with me, I think!”
Over the meal Anne told Marnie about the singing she had heard at the church that afternoon. “It really was like the voice of an angel.”
“It could hardly be choir practice at that time of day,” said Marnie. “I can’t think who it would be. Did you recognise the music?”
Anne shook her head. “I couldn’t put a name to it.”
“We always seem to be puzzling over that church one way or another. There must be some simple, logical reason for the singing.”
“Someone using the church to practise?” suggested Anne.
“Could be. The acoustics would be good, I imagine. Practising for a solo or a concert.”
“Perhaps just someone full of the joys of spring,” said Anne. “Someone with something to celebrate.”
“We’d better book you in for a session in August when the exam results come out.”
“Oh don’t,” said Anne with a weary sigh. “It’ll be a dirge in my case, I expect.”
“One way to solve the mystery is to ask the vicar. He’ll know who’s singing in his church.”
“Don’t bet on it. I saw him driving off as I got to the road.”
“Molly Appleton, then. She’s bound to know.”
“She’s away,” said Anne. “She’s staying in London to look after her sister who’s had an operation. Village shop. Bush telegraph.”
“I give up,” said Marnie. “Another mystery.”
“You’ve got quite a lot of choral music, haven’t you, Marnie? Perhaps I’ll go through your tapes and see if I can find it after supper.”
