Sally Ann's Summer (Marnie Walker)

by Leo McNeir

  “Did you not consider that the man might just have given up caring?”

  “Then why bother having them repaired at all?”

  “Could it just be that they were letting in water and had to be repaired?”

  Marnie felt suddenly annoyed that her carefully thought-out theory was being rejected. She retorted mildly. “I think that’s cobblers.” A pause. “Oh dear, I can’t believe I said that.”

  The man put down his cup, threw back his head and laughed. “Wonderful!”

  “And rude of me –”

  “No, priceless and very apt.” He looked at his watch. “Sorry. I have to go. May I offer you dinner this evening?”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s –”

  He stood up. “Are you leaving to continue on your journey?”

  “Not today.”

  “Then let me help make up for your spoiled clothes. I know a restaurant not far from here.”

  “It’s kind of you, but I … well, I should eat on the boat . I’ve got food on board that has to be used up.”

  “I understand. Then I’ll bring the wine. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

  “But I don’t even –”

  The man reached out his hand. “My name is Lombard. Ralph Lombard.”

  Marnie set off at a rapid pace armed with a list of things-to-do. She noticed Peter’s legs protruding from the trailer of the small boat parked on the slipway.

  “Peter, can I ask you something?”

  A voice from under the hull. “If you don’t mind me not getting up.”

  “The owner of this boat. How long have you known him?”

  “Not long. But it’s her not him. She’s just bought it.”

  Marnie was bewildered. “It wasn’t that man who came in the yard?”

  “No. I’d not seen him before. He was interested in boats. I said he could look round. He didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”

  “No, not at all. I’m sure you’re right, Peter, probably just … interested in boats.”

  On the way into town Marnie had an idea. Her first stop was Blackwell's, the biggest bookshop in Oxford. She made her way through its labyrinths until she found the reference books section. The latest edition of Who’s Who included an entry for Lombard, Ralph Anthony MA, DPhil (Oxon), economist, Fellow of All Saints’ College, Oxford.

  There was his life, summed up in one neat paragraph: born 1953 in London, PPE at Balliol College, MA 1974, DPhil 1979, married Laura Gregson 1980, widowed 1988, no children. There were his appointments from assistant lecturer to his present post as Reader, followed by a few lines of book titles. Marnie was surprised to discover one that she recognised: We're Going Wrong. She knew it was also the title of a famous song, but she had definitely heard of the book. When it came out in 1982 Lombard, still in his twenties, had been snapped up by the media, becoming famous, even notorious, for denouncing the government’s economic policies. The pro-Thatcher press had pilloried him.

  Lombard became an icon for the radical tendency. For a time his opinions were received like Holy Writ, his books best-sellers. He became the darling of the intelligentsia. Students wore T-shirts emblazoned with his name.

  Who's Who listed a few more books, but nothing in the past few years. The entry gave his interests simply as ‘thinking’. Marnie slotted the hefty volume back onto the shelf and walked through to the enquiries desk.

  “Do you have We're Going Wrong?”

  The young woman at the counter thought for a few seconds. “The music department is next door.”

  “Not the song, not Cream. It’s a book on economics.”

  “Who's the author?”

  “R.A. Lombard.”

  “Doesn't ring a bell.”

  “What about Public Need versus Corporate Greed? Same author.”

  “Lampard?”

  “Lombard.”

  “Just a moment, please.” She turned to a man who was checking a list of orders behind her and spoke quietly in his ear. He looked up at Marnie.

  “Lombard?” he said. “It’s a while since we had those in stock. I think they’re out of print. Are you with the Galbraith Colloquium?”

  “The what? Er, no.” Marnie felt she had strayed into a parallel universe. “I just wanted to read the books.”

  “Try the second-hand section.”

  Marnie gave up and went to the market. Buying vegetables in the everyday world seemed normal and reassuring. But as she picked her way among the stalls her thoughts kept returning to Lombard, his rise to fame and his apparent fall. Where had he gone wrong?

  “This is very good.” Lombard looked out of place on Sally Ann’s stern deck. In fawn slacks and cream silk shirt, with light tan slip-ons, his style was more suited to a cruise liner than a narrowboat moored in an urban yard. “How do you make it?”

  “Avocado, plus a few bits and pieces.”

  “A secret handed down by generations of the Walker family?”

  Marnie grinned. “I think it comes from the Galilee. I doubt if many Walkers are living over there.”

  “I'd really like the recipe, then, if you don't mind.”

  “You take one ripe avocado and scoop out the flesh. That was one of the reasons for suggesting we eat here tonight – the very ripe avocado. Chop up two hard-boiled eggs and half an onion. Add them to the avocado with a tablespoon of mayonnaise and seasoning. Mix it all together. Serve cold with a French stick and butter, accompanied by a very good claret brought by a guest.” She raised her glass.

  “I could make that.”

  “Shall I write it down for you?”

  “Thanks. I'm always interested in new dishes. You see, I'm a widower. I live alone.”

  “I know.” Marnie bit her tongue.

  “You know?” He smiled. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “I hope you don’t mind, Dr Lombard.”

  “Ralph.”

  “Ralph,” she repeated. She poured him some more claret. “I must check the salmon.”

  They ate the rest of the meal in the saloon, lit by candles and oil lamps, and Lombard asked Marnie about boating and canals. She found it easy to talk to him about feeling stale and needing a break from work. He was a good listener.

  While Marnie stacked crockery, Lombard admired her small waterways library and picked up her sketchbook.

  “This is an extraordinary experience, sitting here, enjoying a delicious meal, charming surroundings, excellent company. It’s hard to imagine we’re in what I used to think of as a canal barge.”

  Marnie chuckled. “Narrowboat.”

  “As I now know. I can’t imagine all narrowboats are as stylish as yours.”

  Marnie shrugged. “Styles vary as much as people. You meet all sorts on the waterways.”

  Lombard lowered his voice. “Including the ones who end up drunk in the canal.”

  “Accidents will happen.” She poured the remains of the red wine into Lombard's glass, aware that he was watching her.

  “When did you work it out, that it was I who …?” His voice trailed away.

  “When I found out that you had no business in the boatyard, other than coming to see me. I did wonder how you knew I was the one …” Marnie’s turn to leave the sentence unfinished.

  “It was easy.”

  “So you weren’t unconscious?”

  “I must’ve been, at least part of the time. I vaguely remember thinking I was about to drown. I didn’t care. Then something hit me very hard on the back of the head.”

  Marnie grimaced. “Oh God, yes. Sorry about that. It was the boathook.”

  “I was already pretty groggy from the brandy. I’d drunk as much as I could hold down – almost a whole bottle – and I was passing out fairly rapidly. Your boathook must’ve completed the process.”

  “I had to pull you to the bank. I suspected I’d probably made things worse.”

  “You certainly prevented me from being able to resist.”

  “I thought I’d nearly finished you off.”r />
  “I heard a voice coming from far away. I felt I was out of the water. I didn’t know how. I tried to get back in the canal.” Ralph was almost whispering. “Then the voice was there again. I squinted up and something came into focus above me. I saw this lovely face in the dim light, filled with concern, someone telling me I’d be all right. Suddenly – don’t ask me why – I knew I wanted things to be all right.”

  “But you disappeared before the paramedics could help you.”

  “I had to, Marnie. I couldn’t risk people finding out what I’d done. I couldn’t pretend it was an accident, so I slipped away in the dark when the ambulance came.”

  Marnie put cups and saucers on a tray. “Coffee outside? It’s such a mild evening.”

  “Marnie, I wanted to explain –”

  “Ralph, you don’t owe me any explanation. Really not.” She took a carton of cream from the fridge. “On the waterways you have the right to privacy.” She smiled. “That’s how it is here. We don’t go in for kiss and tell.”

  Ralph started to get up from his chair. “Can I do something to help?”

  “Just relax and be comfortable. There’s no room for extra hands in this galley. I don't have any cognac to go with the coffee, I'm afraid.” Marnie regretted it as soon as she spoke.

  “Don't worry. I had more than enough last night.”

  “Sorry, Ralph. That was stupid and thoughtless of me.”

  To Marnie’s astonishment, Ralph laughed.

  “You could say I had enough to last me a lifetime … almost literally.”

  38

  Fall from Grace

  Wednesday morning began dull and grey. Marnie skipped across the yard to the shower block amid sprinkles of rain. That day, Peter would replace the injector nozzles on the engine, and Sally Ann would be geared up for the next stage of the journey. Turning her lathered body under the hot spray, Marnie knew it would soon be time to move on and she was ready. She would certainly not forget Oxford in a hurry.

  Working shampoo with both hands, her thoughts strayed to Ralph. He did not owe her an explanation, but she had anxieties about him nonetheless. Now she would never know the rest of his story. He had left not long after ten the previous evening with a polite handshake and a peck on the cheek.

  Towelling herself dry, Marnie pondered the obvious question: would he make another attempt on his life? She heard his voice, barely more than a whisper.

  … someone telling me I’d be all right. Suddenly – don’t ask me why – I knew I wanted things to be all right …

  He had certainly seemed to be in a more positive frame of mind during their evening together. But would it last? She would probably never see him again to find out.

  Gary was at a loose end that Wednesday morning. They were held up by a lack of parts on the refit, and Brendan had gone to price another job. Gary was not needed on the waterbuses. This left him free to loiter by the tube station. He arrived early and kept out of sight so that when Diane arrived she did not see him. Pacing up and down the pavement between trains, he watched and waited. By nine-thirty he had had enough.

  Outside the chemist’s he peered in through the window. Only Diane was visible, stacking shelves. Grimly he told himself this was one day he would not be seeking an excuse to talk. And he would certainly not be speaking to her. He waited until Diane retreated to the back of the shop before he went in, strode direct to the prescriptions counter and came face to face with the pharmacist.

  “Good morning. Can I help you?” The man in the white lab coat was holding out his hand to take the expected prescription.

  Gary at once felt at a disadvantage, having to explain himself to someone in a kind of official uniform. He cleared his throat but kept his voice low as he heard another customer enter the shop. “I want to speak to Sheena.”

  “Sheena?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Sheena isn’t here.”

  “Why not? Where is she?”

  The pharmacist looked flustered. “I’m afraid I …I can’t tell you that.”

  “What d’you mean? Look, she’s a friend of mine, right? She’s been away for longer than a normal holiday. No-one knows where she is. I want you to tell me … now.”

  “But it’s company policy not to –”

  “I don’t care about policy.” Gary’s voice was getting louder. “I just want to know what’s happened to Sheena and you’re going to tell me.”

  “We never reveal –”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit!” Gary was shouting. “Just tell me where she is.”

  “Please keep your voice down.” Mr Pillbrow was now very agitated and shooting nervous glances over Gary’s shoulder. “There are customers in the shop.”

  “I don’t care if a coach party’s just arrived from Swindon. I want to know –”

  “Here, just take it easy.” It was a woman’s voice from behind him.

  Gary was furious. Even the customers were ganging up on him now. He whirled round to face the woman and tell her to mind her own business. She was holding up her hand as if to defend herself. Then he noticed what she was holding.

  On one side of the card was an emblem that looked vaguely familiar. On the other was a name and number, also familiar: WDC Anita Griffiths.

  A light drizzle was falling when Marnie came out of the shower block, rolling her towel as she had done as a child at the swimming baths. When she looked up she saw a man ahead of her advancing slowly, stealthily, towards Sally Ann. With a start of surprise she recognised Ralph Lombard.

  Her sandals were silent on the concrete as she fell into step not far behind him. What was he doing? He seemed to be carrying something, so that his posture was slightly stooped as he moved quietly closer to the boat. When he reached the stern, he glanced round to see if he was being observed. At that moment he came face to face with Marnie. They both jumped.

  “Oh my God! You startled me.” Ralph brought one hand up to his chest.

  “What are you doing?” Marnie was incredulous. The situation was like a Whitehall farce and she had to struggle not to laugh.

  Ralph looked discomfited. “You took me by surprise.”

  “Not for the first time.” She wished she hadn’t said that.

  Ralph held out his other hand. In it was a spray of tiny roses, white and pink and apricot. Attached to them was a gift tag with a message. It read simply,

  Thank You.

  Gary could hardly believe he actually had a woman detective sitting in the saloon on his boat. Anita Griffiths had accepted his offer as a chance to speak in private. He knew she wanted to check out his place and was annoyed that his failure to contact Griffiths put him on the back foot.

  “Look, er, I was going to come and see you.”

  “Really?” She sounded unconvinced.

  “Yeah. It’s a busy time for me, the summer, lots of work coming in. I can’t afford to let it go.”

  “You found time to go to the chemist’s this morning.”

  “I know. I had to find out about Sheena. I was going to come on to the station afterwards.” He knew it sounded like an afterthought.

  “What about Sheena?”

  “I just wanted to know when she was coming back from her holiday.”

  “That’s why you were shouting at her boss?”

  “Yeah. He was being … awkward about telling me.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno. Ask him.”

  “Were you asking for her address?”

  “Er … well, yeah.”

  “You’d expect an employer to give out private details of a female member of his staff to some man he didn’t know?”

  Gary raised his voice. “She’s my girlfriend, right?”

  “Then why did you have to ask where she lived?”

  Deflation. Gary had no answer.

  “If she really was your girlfriend,” Gary started to protest, but Griffiths raised a finger to silence him. “… I’d expect you to know where she lived. So le
t’s try again. Why were you asking for her address?”

  Gary murmured. “She just sort of disappeared.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that. One day she was here, then she wasn’t. It was weird. That was weeks ago.”

  Griffiths pulled out her notebook and flicked over the pages. “She phoned in to work saying she had a stomach upset. That was on the Wednesday. She was off sick for the rest of the week. Then she went on holiday –”

  “She wasn’t planning to go on holiday that weekend –”

  “She had to bring her holiday forward because of the course.”

  “Course?” Gary was puzzled. “What course?”

  “She was offered a place at the last minute on a company staff training course.”

  “She never told me about any course.”

  “A place came available … someone dropped out. Sheena altered her holiday plans so as to take it up.”

  Gary searched his memory. None of this rang true. Griffiths was studying him closely.

  “What I want to know –”

  “What I want know,” Griffiths interrupted, “is what concerned you so much about Sheena that you began making enquiries.”

  “I just got worried about my girlfriend when she went away like that. That’s not suspicious. It’s natural.”

  “Had you had a fight?”

  “No!”

  “Have you any idea why she didn’t contact you to let you know what was happening?”

  “No.” Less emphatic.

  “She presumably had your mobile number?”

  “Of course she … Oh …” Gary closed his eyes.

  “Oh what?”

  “My mobile. Bugger! I’d forgotten.”

  “Go on.”

  “I lost it.”

  “Really?” Griffiths sounded unconvinced again.

  “No, honest. It fell in the canal when I was driving a waterbus. I had to get a new one. It came with a new number. No way Sheena could’ve known it.”

  “When exactly did this loss take place?”

  “Not long after she left.”

  “So you have a new phone?”