by McNeir, Leo
It was later that evening, while Anne was screwing up her eyes to read the tiny print on the box of a cassette that she was playing, that Ralph appeared in the hatchway in his dressing gown. He looked drawn, but not desperate.
“Palestrina, Missa Papae Marcelli,” he said softly, his voice huskier than usual.
“I can’t make out the name of the group singing,” said Anne with a smile.
“It sounds like Pro Cantione Antiqua,” said Ralph. “Very distinctive.”
“How are you feeling?” said Marnie standing to pull up a chair.
“Surprisingly human. I’ve just come over to thank you for bringing me back. Sorry to be such a nuisance.” He brushed aside their protests. “Also, I wanted to thank my guardian angel. Your tablets were marvellous, Anne. They made a tremendous difference.”
“My mum swears by them.”
“So will I from now on. Anyway, I’d better get back to bed.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” said Marnie, touching his arm. “Something to drink, perhaps?”
“No thanks. I just need some sleep. I’ll be fine by morning.” Ralph put an arm round Marnie’s shoulder and squeezed her gently. He smiled at Anne before taking his leave and she sat lost in her thoughts.
“Are you okay?” said Marnie, noticing the change in her mood.
Anne hesitated before replying. “Marnie?”
“Something bothering you?”
“Will Ralph be all right, do you think?”
“Yes, of course he will. Especially after your tablets.”
“No, I mean, will he be all right over on Thyrsis … by himself?”
“He’ll be fine. No problem.”
“I wouldn’t want to be in the way,” said Anne.
Marnie sat beside her. “I know. And you’re not. It’s nice of you to be so considerate, but it’s really not like that. Right now he just needs to sleep.”
While Marnie washed up, Anne dried and put things away. The music played softly in the background.
“Marnie, were you surprised when Ralph recognised the Palestrina and the group, Pro Cantione Whatsit?”
“Not really, though offhand I can’t think of anyone else I know who could have done that.” Marnie suddenly thought back to the drowning man she had pulled out of the Oxford Canal a year before. She thought of All Saints College, Ralph’s early fame, the fall from grace, his fightback to regain a reputation. “Nothing about Ralph would really surprise me, I suppose.” She put the last plate in the drying rack and Anne looked at her speculatively as she picked it up to dry.
That night, after Marnie had put out the light, she lay awake in the darkness for some time, wondering about Anne and what she had seen in her relationship with Ralph. There was so much waiting to be done and she had promised herself that she would devote all her energies to her career. At least until she had become established in her new direction. And then what?
Anne, reasonably comfortable on the camp bed in the saloon, slipped easily into a contented sleep, her mind filled with the sound of angels singing. Guardian angels.
*
Wednesday was a Good Day. Anne worked happily while Marnie liaised with the builders outside in the yard and launched the renovation programme. They had started two weeks earlier than expected. The weather had returned to full summer and in the old gardens at the back of the farmhouse and cottages, flowers had appeared in profusion. Delphiniums, hollyhocks and sweet peas had thrust themselves up through the undergrowth. Nasturtiums that had seeded themselves added bright splashes of orange and gold along the edges of forgotten paths, and roses were blooming.
Returning from a morning coffee run to the builders, Anne discovered a vase of honeysuckle on her desk. Their scent was heady and rich and as she leaned forward to smell them, she saw the card propped against the clear glass vessel: For Anne, with love and thanks. Ralph. She had not seen him come or leave and she guessed that he had found the flowers growing in one of the abandoned gardens. The gesture touched her deeply. Marnie came into the office and Anne saw that there were no flowers on her desk. Marnie began searching among her papers, picking up a set of notes that she had made at the meeting with the builders earlier that morning.
“At this rate we should be in the first cottage ahead of schedule and have the second one ready well before Christmas.” She finished reading the notes and looked up, noticing the flowers.
“They’re lovely,” she said.
“They’re from … Ralph.”
“A nice thought,” said Marnie. “He was very pleased about your tablets. You really saved him from a migraine.” Anne said nothing and looked awkwardly down at the honeysuckle. Marnie walked over to her. “Don’t you like them?”
“Of course, it’s just that …” Her voice trailed away and Marnie understood.
“Did you think I’d be jealous?”
“Oh no! Well, I suppose I’m not sure what I thought.”
Marnie laughed. “I’m delighted that Ralph has thanked you for what you did. I couldn’t possibly be anything but pleased.”
“That’s good,” said Anne. Her voice was matter-of-fact. “No-one’s ever given me flowers before.” Marnie put an arm round her friend, unable to remember the first time she had been given flowers but sure that Anne would always remember this. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“Anne, who do you think lent him the vase?” They laughed together and went back to work.
“I must thank Ralph as soon as I can.”
“Well, give him some time. He’s working on his book this morning. You’ll see him this evening. I’ve invited him to supper.”
*
Ivy Matthews spent her morning in the shop stacking the shelves and pricing tins. She was happy in her work, especially as Richard had offered her a part-time job, and she went from rack to rack humming a tune that only she recognised. The atmosphere in the shop had improved greatly since she started on Monday, with Richard silent and thoughtful in his glass booth, scarcely speaking to her. Now, things were better. Molly had phoned just before they opened to say that her sister was making a rapid recovery, walking around the ward, some of the colour returned to her cheeks. They were talking about letting her go home very soon.
*
“How’s your loft coming along?” Ralph enquired, sipping a Pimm’s on the aft deck of Sally Ann that evening.
“Almost dry enough to move back,” said Anne, holding up her glass to admire the deep burnt orange colour of the drink. Another first. It was a memorable day. “ A few days yet, I think.”
“The tarpaulin adds a touch of insouciant elegance to the barn,” Ralph observed as Marnie appeared from the cabin and picked up her glass.
“I see you’ve made a full recovery,” she said. “And you’re quite right. Electric blue is so discreet, I always think.”
“Blends in so well with the countryside,” said Anne. “At least it will stop any more rain getting in. Is the soup ready?” Marnie nodded and Anne rose to fetch it. “You two sit down and I’ll serve.”
She had just placed the bowls of chilled gazpacho around the table and set out the side dishes, when from inside the cabin the mobile phone began to ring. Marnie, muttering under her breath, excused herself and left Anne and Ralph with their Pimm’s, promising to be as quick as she could.
“Marnie says you’re very busy at the moment,” said Anne.
“Yes. I want to get this book written.”
“Will you be able to stay for the pig-roast?” She wrinkled her nose at the thought of it.
“Tell me about it.”
Anne began to explain when Marnie emerged from the boat. Ralph looked up and called across to her. “Come on Marnie, your soup’s getting warm!”
“Sorry about that. It was Beth, of course, confirming arrangements for the weekend. They’re coming for the pig-roast.”
“Anne was just telling me about it. Sounds splendidly mediaeval.”
“That’s what Beth said. Will you be he
re for it?”
“I could be. It would be interesting to see the locals. This gazpacho is delicious. Just the right balance. I think I sometimes put in too much garlic.”
“Talking of locals, you said one of your colleagues had done some work on the Civil War in these parts,” said Marnie.
“Ah, yes. Very strange. Do you know Hanford?”
“Not exactly. I know where it is. A few miles up the road.”
“And Yore?”
“That’s a bit nearer and it’s on the road further up the canal.”
“Do you know that to this day the people of Yore will have nothing to do with Hanford?” Marnie looked puzzled. Ralph continued. “It seems that there were incidents during the Civil War that have left their mark on these communities. Yore was a centre of Puritanism, Anabaptists apparently. Before the battle of Naseby, a squadron of royalist cavalry passed through Hanford and heard about the puritans who were for parliament. They rode over, knocked the folk about and burned their thatch. Nothing too nasty, I gather, no killings, but it left Yore in a sorry state. After the battle, units from Cromwell’s army came by and saw what had happened. A group set off and burned half of Hanford to the ground.”
“What about Knightly?” said Marnie.
“Also raided, apparently, but it doesn’t seem to have been so bad here. The people kept their heads down, though it was known that they were a divided community. A number of volunteers went off to join the Parliamentary army, but on balance neither side was really welcomed.”
“There must have been a horrible atmosphere in the village,” said Anne.
“No doubt about it,” said Ralph. He passed Anne a dish of diced cucumber. “Everyone in the area knew about the murder of the vicar and the village was regarded with suspicion, if not actual dread.”
“A place to be avoided,” said Marnie.
“Like the plague,” said Anne and shivered.
“That was a very long time ago,” said Ralph, spooning croutons into his gazpacho.
“Exactly three hundred and fifty years next summer,” said Anne. “I was checking the dates in the church booklet.”
“Then it’s high time the whole business was laid to rest,” said Marnie. “It’s one thing to do a project in the classroom. But life has to go on. I was thinking about the organisations that perform Civil War battles and wondering whether in centuries to come there’ll be re-enactments of the Troubles in Ireland. Will they be remembered for all the horrors there are, or will people think of them just as a colourful pageant?”
“I don’t think the re-enactments are meant to glamorise,” said Ralph. “I think the Sealed Knot and the English Civil War Society look at it in a serious, historical way.”
“Don’t they just like playing at war?” said Marnie.
“I expect some of them like that aspect, but many want to understand the complexities, the religious tensions and factions.”
“Sounds just like Knightly”, said Marnie.
“Certainly does,” said Ralph. “Perhaps the place has never quite recovered from it.”
“Do you think the vicar’s glad to be leaving?” said Anne. Ralph raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“He’s going to be the Rural Dean of Brackley,” Marnie explained. “He told me it’s a promotion, but half the village wanted him out. They wrote to the Bishop and the next minute the vicar leaves. Do you think it looks as if he’s been pushed out?”
Ralph frowned. “Either the Bishop is weak and bowed to public pressure or he was going to promote the vicar anyway and the time had come. A variant on the theme of ‘church outing’.”
“I can’t make up my mind about it,” said Marnie.
Ralph leaned forward with his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers. “Of course the Bishop may have his own agenda.”
“What do you mean?” said Marnie.
“I’m not sure, but we may soon find out.”
*
As the week wore on, a buzz of activity settled over the village. Outwardly the place seemed much the same as usual, quiet and serene, basking in the warm summer weather. The estate agent’s brochure had described Knightly St John as a ‘sleepy English village’, but Marnie thought this was too superficial. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing sleepy about her way of life. She was as busy as ever.
The new change in tempo brought the occasional delivery van heading towards the parish hall with consignments of supplies for the pig-roast. George Stubbs and Albert Fletcher would be seen in the adjacent village field pacing out the distance for lighting cables, supervising helpers marking out the positions for stalls and the area for children’s sports and games. Contractors’ vans trundled each day down the rough field track towards the cluster of ruins at Glebe Farm. Already skiploads of rubbish were being cleared away and sections of scaffolding revealed where rebuilding was in progress. Marnie made forays out to suppliers of decorating materials and fabrics for the renovation of The Irish Navigator. Anne crossed items off her lists and added new ones, moving discreetly among the builders to keep a watchful eye on developments while supplying mugs of tea and coffee. In the study on board Thyrsis, Ralph sifted and analysed his way through source material, typing drafts on the laptop, updating his list of further data required.
Meanwhile down in London, Molly Appleton’s sister was up and about in the hospital, gaining strength every day. She would be able to go home on Friday morning and it was agreed that Molly would return to Knightly St John on Saturday afternoon in time to help on the W.I. stall at the pig-roast.
Saturday morning was bright and sunny, with a gentle breeze and light clouds, all that was best of an English summer day. Beth and Paul arrived at eleven, impressed by the progress on the resurrection of Glebe Farm, or at least parts of it, taking Anne arm-in-arm as if they were old friends and meeting Ralph when he was encouraged to emerge from his study. Marnie had collected an armful of flowers growing untended in the old cottage gardens and presented these to her sister as they began their tour of the domain. Paul and Ralph chatted about university matters, while Marnie, Beth and Anne walked round the buildings and looked in at windows to see how things were coming on. When she was sure they were out of earshot of the two men, Beth leaned towards her sister and spoke in a low voice.
“You didn’t tell me he was like that, Marnie.” Anne glanced at Marnie to see her reaction.
“Like what?” said Marnie in a neutral tone. They came to a halt among builder’s materials and a stack of ladders.
“So distinguished-looking, so … handsome.”
“Well, he’s not exactly a bit of rough, is he?” said Marnie. “I mean, he is a Fellow at an Oxford college.”
“Sure,” said Beth. “But I know academics and they’re not all like him. He’s like a sort of thoroughbred in the stable.” Anne spluttered and laughed and Beth turned to her. “I suppose Dr Lombard seems very old to you, Anne, but really, he’s quite something.”
“I think Ralph’s super,” said Anne with an impish smile.
Marnie had prepared lunch and the table was laid on the bank beside Sally Ann under the broad cream parasol. Anne put out smoked salmon while Beth and Ralph chatted at the table. Paul came through to the galley clutching a carrier bag that clinked slightly as he walked.
“Marnie, we brought some wine. It’s been in the fridge overnight and I wrapped it in newspaper, so it should be cold if you want to use it.”
“That’s great. Thanks. Is it one of your Ozzie Chardonnays?”
“Two, actually.”
“Perfect. I’ve made an asparagus soufflé. These are just right. Can you open one of them and stand it in the cooler? There should be room for the other one in the fridge.”
Paul set about his tasks. “So, that’s Ralph Lombard,” he said. “He’s much nicer than I expected.”
“What did you expect?” Marnie began tossing a salad.
“Oh, you know, these eminent types who write books that make them famous. A lot of them beco
me very aware of their own importance. He seems very natural.”
“Like an ordinary person?” suggested Marnie.
“No.” Paul’s reply was unhesitating and surprisingly emphatic. “Not ordinary. He’s very authoritative. Sometimes the heavyweights seem almost bored with anything or anyone outside their field, as if they can’t be bothered to talk to you. I get the impression with him that he has a sense of, well, modesty, almost humility.”
“Humility?” Marnie repeated the word and saw again the image of the drowning man in the dark waters of the Oxford canal. She knew he had taken some knocks in his time, but she kept the thought to herself.
“He’s absolutely churning out the work at the moment,” said Paul. “Did you know that? He’s published a series of papers in learned journals over the past six months that have sparked off a good deal of correspondence in the Times.”
“I knew he was writing a book,” said Marnie. “The thoughts of leading economists aren’t widely discussed in the village shop here.”
“Well, he’s advancing some very interesting ideas and the word is that he’s much in demand in high places. I mean very high places.”
“Perhaps that’s why he’s taken to the canals to write his book,” said Marnie, rinsing her hands.
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” said Paul.
After lunch they decided to have a trip on Sally Ann as the great event of the day was to take place in the evening, with the pig-roasting over glowing coals and the field illuminated by flares and coloured lights strung through the trees. Fireworks were promised. Sally Ann, to her credit, started as usual at the first touch of the button and burbled happily along while her passengers drank coffee on the aft deck.
“I like the look of your boat, Ralph,” Paul had said as they reversed past Thyrsis to begin their journey.
“It’s a floating research library,” said Marnie. “Probably the first narrowboat to be connected to the Internet via satellite link.” Beth and Paul raised their eyebrows in comic unison.
“It’s true,” said Ralph. “I can’t deny it.” He seemed glad at being teased. Beth made a knowing face at her sister.
