by McNeir, Leo
“Will you be all right by yourself?”
“Of course,” said Marnie. “I’ll have Dolly for company and plenty to do.”
“You won’t mind being alone at Glebe Farm?”
“The builders are here all day. Anyway, this is the country. Nothing happens here.”
Marnie was looking up Ralph’s number when the phone rang again.
“I hope it’s not too late to ring, Marnie? I’ve tried your number for the last half hour and it’s been engaged.”
Marnie closed her address book. “Talking to Beth,” she said. “It’s nice of you to ring, Ralph. How are you?”
“Fine. But I’m concerned about this headstone business. Any news about that?”
“I gather Toni’s going to have the grave shifted inside the churchyard. She told Anne. The headstone is now safely tucked away in the crypt.”
“You must be very careful about everything connected with the church, Marnie. It worries me. Any ideas about who might have been responsible for the damage?”
“Not a clue, nor has Toni. It’s not the sort of thing you can casually ask about. Oh, by the way, have you vandalised any gravestones lately?”
“Quite. Whoever it was and for whatever reason, obviously someone there doesn’t like Sarah Anne and what she stood for. It could be dangerous for the vicar, and for you, too.”
“It seems absurd,” said Marnie. “How can it matter so much after hundreds of years?”
“Marnie, you’re the one who often reminds me about the situation in Northern Ireland. Hatred and bigotry can go on for generations. How long is it until Anne goes on holiday?”
“She’s off tomorrow afternoon.”
“So soon? I wish I could come up, but I’m going to America for a few days, always assuming you’d want me to come, of course.”
“Ralph, for such a successful person, you’re sometimes very coy about things. I could almost think you don’t know that you’d be welcome any time.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever described me as coy before. It’s just that our circumstances are … unusual. I’d never want you to think I cared about you because of what happened when we first met.”
“I don’t think that matters,” said Marnie. “I never even think about it. It’s what’s happened since then that matters. But if it makes you feel better, let’s make a deal. I’ll let you save my life some time, then we’ll be quits.”
*
Friday 28 July
The clock in the oak-panelled boardroom at Willards had looked down on meetings for almost a hundred and fifty years. Nowadays only the exterior of the clock was the original, the workings inside having been replaced by an electric mechanism a few years previously. The company liked to see itself in a similar light, traditional on the outside, modern below the surface. It was the point the deputy chairman was making as Marnie found herself once again glancing up at the Roman numerals. She had been in the meeting since it began at ten-thirty and now it was a quarter to twelve.
“I think we have to use our own judgment,” said Malcolm Cawdrey. “It’s true that sales aren’t as buoyant as we hoped, but they’re still at a reasonable level given the overall market conditions.”
“Depends what you mean by reasonable,” said one of the older directors. “If you look at Bass Charrington, they’re increasing their market share throughout the Midlands and we can’t match them. They’ve got the resources behind them. We’re a small concern in comparison.”
“My point precisely,” said Cawdrey, glancing to his left at the chairman, Henry Willard. “They are expanding because they’re investing. They’re investing in their existing pubs and restaurants and people want to use them. They’re attractive places. The customers are choosy about where they spend their leisure time. Also, we know they’re planning to open a new series of pubs with an Irish theme over the next year or two.” He looked to the chairman for support, but received only a nod of acknowledgement. Henry Willard seemed determined to be even-handed in the debate, favouring neither one side nor the other.
“A bold move,” said the chairman. “Interesting. I think we’ve given that discussion a good airing.” A good airing, thought Marnie. They had been going over the same ground almost from the start of the meeting. There were two main factions. One group of directors wanted to appeal to customers by investing in more attractive premises and decor, attracting them by improving facilities and atmosphere. The other group was more cautious, wanting to see clearer signs of the so-called green shoots of economic recovery before spending money on buildings.
The chairman raised a hand in Marnie’s direction. “Talking of Irish themes, I think we’ve kept Mrs Walker waiting long enough to bring us up-to-date on progress with The Irish Navigator and the other projects she’s been working on.” Marnie stood and went over to the table where an overhead projector and a slide projector had been set up for her. The chairman continued. “Most of you know Marnie. She’s done a number of projects for us over the past two or three years when she was with Everett Parker Associates in London. Now, she has her own company and Everetts have allowed her to continue working on our schemes. As I said at the beginning of the meeting, you’re very welcome here, Marnie. Please regard yourself as among friends. Perhaps you could start with The Irish Navigator and then we’ll see how things go from there. We may have a break for lunch before you deal with the rest of the programme, if everyone’s in agreement.”
“Thank you, chairman. The Irish Navigator is a good starting point because it embodies many of the principles on which my other designs are based.” She clicked the button and the first slide appeared, an early nineteenth century water colour of the inn, a pastoral scene with sheep grazing in fields in the background, men sitting outside on benches smoking pipes and a horse-drawn barge laden with barrels, going by on the canal. “Much has changed since the inn was first built in 1793, but the atmosphere of the canals still appeals to us today.” She clicked the button a second time and the slide changed to a view of the inn as it appeared before the bomb. “My design aims to invoke the atmosphere of that age, but with all the comforts and facilities that we now expect. The next series of slides shows my sketches for the interior …”
*
“We’ll miss you when you’re off on your holidays, me dook,” said Bob the foreman, taking his steaming mug of tea from Anne’s tray.
“Marnie will be here to look after you, don’t worry,” she said.
“But who’ll be looking after Marnie? I don’t like a young woman to be all by herself. It’s not right this day and age.”
“She’ll be okay.” Anne turned back to the office, convinced that Bob was right. Even now, she wished she could find some excuse for not going. And yet, she could not quite explain her misgivings. Why should Marnie not be perfectly fine? It had always been her plan to live and work here alone, at least for the initial year or so. She put the empty tray down by the sink at the back of the office and went to go over her list again. Two o’clock. When the phone rang ten minutes later she was not surprised at what Marnie said.
“We’re only just resuming and I’ve barely described one job so far. I have a feeling I’m going to be on for at least an hour.”
“How’s it going?”
“Fine.” The flat tone of Marnie’s voice told Anne that there was someone else in earshot.
“Are you persuading them?”
“Probably. Anne, about your lift to the bus station. I think the best thing to do is for me to take you home when I get back.”
“Don’t worry. Toni said she’ll take me.”
“Oh, right. Well, let’s see how it goes. I don’t want you to worry. I want you to get off to a good start and have a really nice holiday. Anyway, I have to go now. Talk to you soon.”
Anne gave it half an hour before ringing Toni.
*
“If there are no more questions?” The chairman looked around the boardroom table. He saw the relaxed expressions of his fellow d
irectors and knew he had been right to give them a brief taste of Marnie’s work, followed by a good lunch and a long session with Marnie weaving her magic. By the end of the presentation he could sense that they not only wanted the programme to continue, but were impatient for every project to be implemented at once. He indicated Marnie’s chair and she switched off the equipment and walked across the room to her place. “Thank you, Marnie, for a most interesting, inspiring exposition of the programme.” To his, and Marnie’s, surprise, the directors applauded. She acknowledged with a smile and sat down, wondering if it would be acceptable to leave or whether she had to wait to be invited to withdraw. She wondered what the founding fathers of Willards Brewery would make of it if they could see the board of directors being lectured by a woman, a young woman (well, youngish), playing her part in the running and future of their company.
*
“I’m afraid the car’s a bit of a mess,” said Toni, heaving books off the front passenger seat to let Anne climb in. “I’d apologise for its exceptional state, but it’s always like this with me. I never seem to get around to sorting it out.”
“Don’t worry,” said Anne. She trod on something soft in the foot-well and reached down to pick it up. It was an old brown bear.
“Oh, there he is!” said Toni. “I wondered where he’d got to. That’s Augustine, my bear. I suppose that’s fairly obvious.”
“Hallo, Augustine,” said Anne. “Shall I put him on the back seat?” She pulled the door shut and Toni eased the elderly Austin Allegro out of the yard towards the field track. The builders, who were just clearing up for the weekend, waved her off.
“This must be a far cry from that stylish car of Marnie’s,” said Toni. “She’s a very smart lady.” Her voice stopped abruptly as she hit a rut in the dry soil and they bounced in their seats.
“It’s very good of you to take me,” said Anne breathlessly. Looking back at the farm, she caught a glimpse of Dolly crossing the yard, her tail held high.
*
At that moment, Marnie was standing in the brewery’s car park in Leicester listening to the ringing tone on her mobile. After several rings the answerphone cut in and she heard her own voice telling her there was no-one available to take her call, but she could leave a message after the tone.
“Anne, hallo … it’s me, Marnie … “ She waited to give Anne time to pick up the phone if she was still around. “Have you gone? … If you’ve gone, please pick up the receiver and let me know.” She half expected at any moment that Anne would reply and laugh at her feeble joke. With a feeling of disappointment and anti-climax she finally hung up. She had not meant it to be like this. It felt as if Anne had disappeared like the boats that tie up near you on the canal at night and slip away in silence in the early hours.
*
It was strange arriving back at Glebe Farm to find everything shut up and silent. Marnie realised how she had come to rely on Anne always being there, a smile and a cheerful word at every homecoming. On her desk she found her list – her lists – but no message. The office was neat and tidy, everything in its place, everything clean and orderly. Not only was Anne the organiser and the unobtrusive supervisor of the builders; she was also the office cleaner and washer-up, the emptier of bins and the tidier of shelves. Marnie suddenly recognised that she, enlightened, liberated, pinko-liberal that she was, took her friend for granted. It made her feel even more guilty that she had not been able to take Anne to the bus station or drive her home. For an irrational moment she felt annoyed with Anne for going like this. It’s not as if Marnie begrudged taking her down to her parents. But of course, Anne was only trying as she always did, to lighten her load. Marnie sighed and locked up.
Walking through the spinney, she found Dolly at her side and reached down to stroke her head. She told her about the meeting, enquired whether she had seen any good mice lately and asked what she would like for tea. It was a predictable conversation.
Putting the key in the lock on Sally Ann, Marnie noticed the corner of a piece of paper tucked into the door. She pulled it out, expecting Anne’s handwriting, but this was typewritten and unsigned.
“I’ve got a problem. There’s something very strange. You’re the only person here that I can talk to. If you’ll look in at the vicarage I’ll put you in the picture. Thanks.”
Several possibilities flashed through Marnie’s mind: more vandalism, a break-in in the crypt, a threatening letter, a hostile reaction to moving the grave. She read the note again and picked up the phone. The answerphone voice was cheerful and chatty.
“Hallo. This is Toni Petrie at the vicarage. Sorry to miss you, but please keep in touch by leaving a message after the tone. God bless.”
“Toni, it’s Marnie. I’ve got your note. I’ll call round. See you soon. Bye!”
*
Marnie prepared supper for one, a Greek salad with olives and feta cheese stuffed into a warm pitta, a glass or two of red wine, inspired by Beth’s recollection of holidays in the Aegean. Outside, it was clouding over, breezy and cool. She ate in the saloon, listening to Radio 4. Something was happening in Northern Ireland, statements, activity behind the scenes, intrigue, accusations, denials. She glanced at the note from Toni and sighed. Old conflicts. She poured coffee and rang Anne’s number.
“I’m sorry I missed you. The meeting dragged on and on.”
“No, I’m sorry to leave like that, but I didn’t want you to have to do all that extra driving after your long day. How did it go? Do I sign on at the Jobcentre?”
“No.” Marnie laughed. “No. They approved the whole programme. We carry on as before. Don’t worry about it. You can enjoy your holiday. Have a good time.”
It was only moments after putting the phone down that Marnie heard the raindrops on the roof and saw the first streaks on the windows. With the hatch shut, the doors closed and a baroque tape in the cassette player, she poured another glass of wine, opened the latest edition of a boat magazine and put her feet up. She was ready for an early night.
*
Marnie showered before breakfast on Saturday morning and slipped into jeans and sweatshirt. Her first glimpse of the day revealed clouds breaking up to let the sun through, but everywhere was sodden and she had heard heavy rain in the night. She pushed open the doors and almost fell over Dolly who leapt in on route to the galley, leaving damp marks on Marnie’s jeans. Feeling guilty at leaving her out all night, Marnie fed her at once and rubbed her down with an old towel.
It was one of those summer mornings when the air is steamy and cool, promising warmth for the rest of the day. Marnie stood on the aft deck, enjoying the birds, the light and the watery smell from the canal. She wanted to shout in pleasure and understood Toni’s excitement at attaining her dream. Oh god, I’m so lucky! Probably the same words that Toni uttered, thought Marnie. Capital G in Toni’s case, of course.
She brought a chair out onto the deck and fetched her coffee. Dolly followed her out, rubbing her nose against the chair leg.
“You poor bedraggled thing. Stay there. I’m going to brush you.”
Dolly settled down on Marnie’s lap and the vibration from her purring fell in with the rhythm of the brush strokes. Soon, the black fur was sleek and smooth, though some of it came out in the brushing. It clung to her jeans and she swished it away as best she could. Programmed as she was by Anne, Marnie knew she could not plan the day without checking the Saturday list. It included a trip to the shop that she would combine with a visit to the vicarage, anxious to deal at once with the ‘problem’ that was bothering Toni.
*
“I don’t suppose you’ve seen the vicar this morning?” said Marnie in the shop.
“She was in here not ten minutes ago,” said Molly Appleton.
“That explains why she wasn’t at home when I called in just now. I haven’t passed her on the way. Any idea where she’s gone?”
“You could try the church.”
“Sounds logical,” said Marnie. “When she came i
n, did she seem all right?”
“I thought so,” said Molly. She glanced sideways at Richard sitting in his post office cubby hole.
“I thought she was a bit sort of, subdued,” said Richard. “I said so to you, didn’t I Molly? A bit quieter than usual.”
“I didn’t notice,” said Molly. “But it’s funny you should ask, after Richard thought that too. But you said you hadn’t seen her.”
“No, I haven’t. But I need to have a word. I’ll go round to the church. If you see her, could you tell her I’m looking for her?”
“Will you be in this afternoon?”
“No, actually. I’m going to see my sister in London. How’s your sister getting on? Is she better now?” It was a bad move. Molly’s answer was comprehensive, biological, graphic and lengthy. It was several minutes before Marnie could extricate herself.
The church door yielded when Marnie leaned on it and she stepped inside. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the church seemed brighter, fresher, more cared for than it used to be, as if the spirit of the new vicar had swept everything clean. All was silent and Marnie had the unmistakable feeling that the building was empty. She walked down the centre aisle as far as the altar. Why was the church open? Someone must be here. She tried the door to the tower and it swung open.
“Hallo!” Her voice echoed up the stairs, spiralling up to the top of the tower, bouncing off the hard stone walls. No reply. She returned to the main door via the aisle on the far side. There was nowhere Toni could be without Marnie seeing her. It was just like that night in the Civil War. No-one could conceal themselves in this church.
She went back to the vicarage and rang the bell. There was no reply. No-one in the garden. No car in the garage.
“You’ve missed her, I’m afraid.” Marnie turned to see George Stubbs standing on the drive, raising his hat. He wore his customary Harris tweed and polished brogues. “I saw her drive out of the village a few minutes ago.”
“I seem to be chasing her shadow,” said Marnie.
“A well-turned phrase, my dear.” Marnie tried not to cringe. A sudden vision came into her head of George Stubbs writhing on the ground clutching his groin. She suppressed an involuntary laugh, but could not prevent it from becoming a smile. George looked delighted and beamed back at her. He knew how to please a woman, he thought. They all like a little flattery, bless’em.
