Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “We should make it to Leighton Buzzard by mid-morning,” said Marnie, calculating the lock-miles.

  “No probs,” said Anne. “We can take on more stores at Tesco’s and then on to the Tring summit.”

  Marnie grinned at Anne. “Your nose is bright pink.”

  “You can talk!” They laughed gently in the lamplight.

  “Much more of this and we shan’t need the headlamp at all,” said Marnie. “Are you feeling better now?”

  The question caught Anne off-guard and she took a sip of coffee to gain time before replying. “Sure. Fine.”

  “I happened to see you after you got the gennie going.”

  “I think it was the bending down to get it started,” said Anne. “I just felt a bit wobbly, had to steady myself. Vertigo, I expect.”

  Marnie put her hand on Anne’s. “Look, I’m concerned about you.” Anne started to protest, but Marnie refused to be interrupted. “This isn’t a holiday trip, Anne. It’s quite a tough journey.”

  “But isn’t that why you need me to be with you?”

  “Not if you’re not well. I shall be worrying about you in these conditions.”

  “So I’m a liability, not able to pull my weight.” Anne’s face was the picture of misery.

  “Of course not!” Marnie protested. “You could never be that.” She chuckled. “Come to think of it, if we had to rely on your weight, we’d never get very far, would we?”

  Anne tried to puff up her thin shape in her sweater to look bulkier than she was. She spluttered. “No. I suppose I’m not exactly Man-Mountain Super-thingy.”

  “You don’t have to be. You’re still my best member of staff … after Dolly, of course.”

  “That’s a great comfort,” said Anne.

  “So, back to my question. How are you feeling?”

  “Back to my question,” said Anne. “How could you manage without me as crew?”

  “I’ve done all my long journeys solo in the past,” said Marnie. “I’ve got my system worked out. I can take it gently and the locks will help warm me up. That’s not the important thing. Your health is the important thing.”

  Anne sighed and sneezed. “Right on cue,” she said, reaching for a tissue.

  “Any other symptoms?” said Marnie. “Apart from the dizzy spells.”

  “A few aches, the occasional shiver, a slight pain in the head.”

  “Are you aiming for martyrdom?”

  Anne laughed. “Not deliberately. It just comes naturally.”

  “Okay,” said Marnie. “We’ll ring your parents when they get in from work and say you’ll be home a little earlier than planned. If we stop by the shops in Leighton Buzzard, it’s an easy walk. I can see you home.”

  “Are you sure you can manage without me, Marnie?”

  “Don’t worry about it. As soon as you’re better we can meet in London and bring Sally back together. Everything will be fine.”

  *

  Marnie was right. After seeing Anne home at Leighton Buzzard, she set Sally Ann’s nose on a southbound course and was once again on her own. At first it felt strange not having Anne to share the running of the boat but, though colder than it had been, the weather stayed fair and she soon slipped into her old single-handed routine. The locks took longer and for the first day they were nearly all set against her, so that she had to work twice as hard to empty or fill them before she could drive Sally Ann into the chamber. Each evening she felt pleasantly tired after a run of around eight hours and she went to bed soon after supper, sleeping soundly until the alarm went off. They were crisp, sharp days with morning mist in the semi-darkness as she checked over the boat ready for departure, and evening mist in the semi-darkness as she went about the routine tasks in the engine compartment, checking the drop filter and turning the stern gland.

  Marnie missed Anne’s company as friend and crew member, but she rang her each evening to catch up on her progress. It seemed to be an attack of flu’, and Anne was sensibly following doctor’s orders to weather the storm and get back to full health as quickly as she could.

  As on her solo journey of the previous summer, Marnie felt elated to be in command of her boat. She loved the cold air and the wintry landscape, the animals and birds, the pastoral surroundings and the freedom. She had had this feeling before, that she had escaped and was playing truant. She was travelling on a highway that led on to every waterway and ocean in the world. She could go anywhere and do anything. It surprised Marnie, not normally given to flights of fancy, that she could think like that. But travelling on the canals had this effect on her, especially when she was alone and her imagination was free to wander for hours at a time, while the engine chugged below her feet and the country slipped by.

  The hours of daylight were imperceptibly growing shorter as she guided Sally Ann over the Chilterns and down through the rolling countryside of the Home Counties, descending steadily lock by lock, down towards the great city and the shortest day.

  *

  Friday 16 December

  “This is the best time of the day here in winter,” said Marnie, standing at the hatch and looking down the tree-lined banks of Little Venice. It was late Friday afternoon and dusk was falling. “It’s beautiful to see the lights going on in the windows and the smoke coming from the chimneys on the boats.”

  “Talking of chimneys,” said Albert, longest standing resident among the boating community, “are you thinking of closing the door some time, or shall we just put our coats back on?” He spoke without malice.

  “Sorry! Just wanted to admire the view.” She pulled the door closed and turned back to the group of friends she had invited in for tea and biscuits. They were sitting round the table in the saloon with gins and tonics.

  “I think it’s the ice in this gin that’s making me feel the cold,” said Albert amiably.

  “You poor old sod,” said Roger Broadbent, Marnie’s solicitor, who just happened to be looking in on Rumpole on his way home early from work.

  “Cheers, anyway,” said Marnie raising her glass. “Do you think those mince pies are warmed through?” she said to the fourth member of the group, Mrs Jolly, the old lady who lived across the road. She was the only person from the neighbourhood outside the railings who made the quantum leap to join the canal fraternity and she was as well known a character of Little Venice as any of the boaters.

  “Any minute now,” she replied, adding, “Isn’t this cosy? I do love the old traditions.”

  “Like Christmas mince pies with gin and tonic?” said Marnie.

  “Much loved in Palestine at the time of the Nativity, or so I understand,” said Mrs Jolly unabashed. “I expect it was Gary who told me.”

  “A leading expert on all biblical matters,” said Marnie. “Anyway, where is the old crook?”

  “For anyone else, that would be libellous,” said Roger brightly. “He’s probably doing a deal with someone to rent them their own boat or offering them protection from accidental sinking while they’re not here.”

  “It’s a wonder he didn’t appear when you opened the gin,” Albert suggested, taking a large gulp from his glass.

  “You know this really must be the prettiest stretch of the whole canal system,” said Marnie. “It was lovely when I came down towards the pool and under the bridge by the toll house. I don’t know how you keep your garden flowering so late in the year, Albert. Those tall pink roses are amazing, must be all of nine feet tall.”

  “Queen Elizabeth. Had’em for donkeys years. They often go on till Christmas. Which reminds me, are you going to be here for the carols on Sunday, Marnie? You’d like that. The boats gather in the pool on the far side and they’re all lit up with candles. Pity we can’t sing, but apart from that, it’s a lovely occasion.”

  *

  “It’s amazing how much gin can be consumed by so few people,” said Mrs Jolly later, after the others had left, holding the almost empty bottle up for inspection. She handed it to Marnie, who was putting the washed and dr
ied glasses away.

  “Albert’s liver has been replaced by a sponge,” said Marnie, lining the glasses up in the cupboard. “It was the first transplant of its kind.”

  “Wonderful what they can do these days on the National Health,” said Mrs Jolly, giggling. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so flippant. Could it be the gin?”

  “Surely not.”

  “No. I think it’s because I’m starting to look forward to Christmas. I’m glad you’ll be here for the carol singing, and with your famous friends!”

  “Oh, I hardly know them really. Only met them once. Still, I am looking forward to it. I only wish Anne could be here. Poor old thing.”

  “Never mind,” said Mrs Jolly. “Can’t be helped. She can come another year.” She folded the tea towel and hung it on the front of the cooker. “You’re quite right, Marnie. It is very special here, quite magic, really. Do you have any regrets at leaving Little Venice for your country idyll?”

  “I never have regrets about anything, Mrs Jolly. But when I see Little Venice, I know why I fell in love with canals and boats. I never dreamt it would change my life like this. You must come up to Knightly again – perhaps in the spring.”

  “And your plans are going well, now that you’re recovering?”

  “Oh yes, now that the dreadful murder business is over. All I want now is some peace to get on with a normal life. I don’t care how ordinary it is. I’ve had enough upheaval and adventure to last me a lifetime. It’s a quiet life for me from now on.”

  5

  Sunday 18 December

  Marnie was half out of bed before she realised where she was. She blinked at her surroundings, the familiar sight of the cabin on Sally Ann, but something was different, something had happened to startle her awake. Outside, the wail of the siren echoed off into the distance down the Edgware Road. A fire engine. She rubbed her eyes, focused on the luminous hands of the alarm clock glowing in the dark and tried to remember what day it was. It must be Sunday. Six-forty. She yawned.

  You are becoming a country bumpkin, my girl. Brought up in London, Marnie was surprised at how quickly she had grown accustomed to the stillness of her new home, deep in the countryside. At Knightly St John, living temporarily on the boat, there were no sounds to wake her, even the early morning birdsong too faint to be heard through Sally Ann’s thick steel bodywork. Instead, she had woken at times in the night during her first week or two because of the intense, unfamiliar silence.

  Sunday. Exactly one week to Christmas. The memory came back to her of a sound in the night, possibly an ambulance from the hospital round the corner at Paddington. She had never noticed any sounds before when sleeping in Little Venice, but now she was aware of cars going by, even at this time on a Sunday morning. London never slept. She reached across the cabin to turn up the thermostat on the heating and lay back to doze for ten minutes while the interior warmed up.

  Sunday. The day of the carol singing. A day of rest. She had spent part of Saturday finishing her Christmas shopping in the West End and had been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people in Oxford Street and Kensington High Street. She had had dinner with Beth and Paul and turned down their offer of a bed for the night to come back to Sally. There were last minute jobs to be done, a few cards still to be written and sent off, an invitation to coffee with Mrs Jolly and lunch with Priscilla Barnes and Anthony James. After that, she would move Sally Ann round to join the other boats in the pool of Little Venice for the carols. All very festive. An ideal start to the Christmas season. Almost ideal. Without Anne.

  *

  Heads turned in the restaurant as the couple made their way across to the table where Marnie was waiting for them. Opinions were exchanged on where they had been seen before and heads turned again to confirm recognition. For a few moments all the conversation centred on the man and woman whose faces were known in every living room in the land. They reached Marnie smiling, hands outstretched, asking if they were late, if she had been waiting long. They kissed her on both cheeks and took their seats. Marnie found herself wondering about fame, how it felt to be known wherever you went, the pleasure of meeting fans, looks of recognition, ingratiating smiles. How long before the novelty wore off, if it ever did? At what point did it become a bore, a nuisance? Certainly, the couple who now sat with her showed no sign of weariness with their lot.

  “Did you know this place already, Marnie?” said Anthony. “We used to eat here quite often when we lived up the road.”

  “I’ve been a few times. It’s handy for the mooring. Have you come down on your boat?”

  “Not actually,” said Priscilla. “Slight change of plan.” She looked meaningfully at her husband.

  “Er, yes,” he began. “One of those things, I’m afraid. Sometimes your life’s not your own in our business.”

  “Problem?” said Marnie.

  “Oh, no, not really. I had a call on Friday asking me to appear on a TV talk show this morning, that’s all. Had to re-arrange the schedule at short notice. We’re reviving a Noël Coward in the West End next month and the PR machine is rolling, so I get the odd invite to talk about it.”

  “Which means,” said Priscilla, “that we don’t have our boat here yet for the carol singing.”

  “Hence the change of plan,” said Anthony.

  Marnie had the feeling of being in the company of two players who had acted so long together that they could share each other’s lines. She shrugged. “I’m sure we can be flexible. What do you have in mind?”

  “Our son Marcus was going to bring the boat down for us, but now he thinks he’ll only have time to get her to Camden Lock. So we’ll have to go and collect her from there.”

  “Which means,” said Priscilla, “that we shall have time on our hands this afternoon waiting for him to get there.”

  “Can’t you just go and fetch the boat yourselves?”

  “Not as easy as that,” said Anthony. “He’s already set off, could be anywhere and there’s no convenient place to meet on that part of the canal.”

  The waiter made his way over and flourished menus. “Ah, such a pleasure!” He beamed at his guests and three faces smiled up at him. “Marnie, how nice to see you again. It’s been a long time since you moved. Too long.” The dark eyes sparkled with real delight.

  “Thank you, Luca. It’s good to see you, too. And you have distinguished guests today.” She indicated her companions.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” He bowed, kissed Priscilla’s hand and shook the hand offered by Anthony. “I will tell Giancarlo to be on his best behaviour in the kitchen. An aperitif? Please, as my guests.”

  It was a good meal, fresh ingredients in fine regional dishes, imaginatively prepared and presented. Giancarlo had been on his best behaviour. Anthony suggested a bottle of Barolo and Luca floated past from time to time to keep an eye on progress without crowding his customers. The conversation flowed as the meal went on. Marnie had a few acquaintances and clients who were actors and knew of their tendency to devote much of their conversation to themselves. She was pleased that her new acquaintances did not indulge in that habit and seemed to enjoy talking about boats and waterways, on which they proved to be knowledgeable, with a good supply of anecdotes. Marnie shared some of her own humorous stories and found it hard to believe they hardly knew each other at all. With the arrival of coffee, Luca offered them a liqueur and in the atmosphere of warmth and bonhomie it seemed churlish to refuse.

  “We don’t seem to have talked about the theatre at all,” said Marnie.

  “You can have too much of a good thing,” said Priscilla with a smile.

  “I wouldn’t like you to think I wasn’t interested in your work.”

  “Of course not,” said Anthony. “It’s nice to have a break from it now and then. Most often it’s the only thing we have in common when we talk to someone for the first time, so it’s understandable. With you, it’s different. We share an interest in boats.”

  “Talking of which,” said Prisci
lla, “we’ve got to get up to Camden Lock to collect ours.”

  “We’ve got loads of time,” said Anthony. “Marcus won’t be there for another hour or two.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the time. I was thinking of how much you’ve drunk.” She spoke quietly but using the unmistakable tone of a television role she had made famous, a nagging landlady with a Gracie Fields accent. Marnie chuckled, delighted with the private performance.

  “You know, you’ve got a point there, ol’ gel. I ain’t sure I could walk in a straight line if I could see it.” The smooth, cultured tones of the classical actor had given way to the Cockney twang of Eliza Doolittle’s father from My Fair Lady, a role Anthony had made famous on the London stage.

  “There must be times when you find it hard to remember who you’re living with,” said Marnie.

  “Most of the time,” said Priscilla. “But we still have the problem of getting to Camden Lock. We can neither of us drive after drinking the way we have been.”

  “It’s because of the pleasant ambience and Marnie’s excellent company,” said Anthony.

  Marnie picked up the last remaining finger of a grissini on her bread plate and pushed it into the corner of her mouth. “So what yer saying is it’s all my fault, is that it?” It was a very passable impersonation of Bogart and the actors grinned back at her. “You’re trying to pin the rap on me, right? Well it won’t wash.”

  “I hope you’ve got an Equity card,” said Priscilla in mock reproof.

  “I hope she hasn’t,” said Anthony.

  “No,” said Marnie in her normal voice, “but I have got a boat.” They looked puzzled. “I could take you up to Camden Lock on Sally Ann. You could leave your car here and collect it tonight or tomorrow. I can get you there in good time. What do you think?”