Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

“Ralph, I have the distinct impression that our conversation did not quite reach its end. Or were you being enigmatic?”

  “I was wondering how to explain what was on my mind.” He took another sip of wine. “Do you know much about life in an Oxford college?”

  “Er, well, I think I can guess, from what I’ve seen so far.”

  “Would it disappoint you if I weren’t a professor there?”

  “Are you planning to move?” Marnie realised that this could be a bigger issue than she had imagined. She knew that Ralph had been offered jobs in America and she tried to grapple with the idea so that she was prepared to give a sensible reaction.

  “Hang on just a second,” said Ralph. He quickly stuffed some ingredients into ramekins, poured on some cream and covered the top with grated cheese. He put the ramekins into the Aga, rinsed his hands and wiped them on a towel. “Ten minutes,” he muttered, setting the timer. “Marnie, come upstairs.”

  Bewildered and without speaking, she followed him up to the landing where he led her into a small room without putting the light on. “I’ve had invitations like this before,” she said. Ralph pressed the light switch. Standing in the middle of the room was a tall object covered with a sheet. “On second thoughts,” she said, “I don’t think I have had invitations like this before.”

  “Pull the sheet off,” said Ralph. “It’s for you.”

  Muttering to herself, “I’ve always wanted a sheet,” Marnie tugged carefully to reveal … a long-case clock. It seemed to be made of oak and the face was painted with scenes from country activities in each season. Ralph stepped forward.

  “Do you see this picture here?” He pointed at a small illustration in the corner near seven o’clock. It showed what appeared to be a wagon piled high with hay, passing through tall grass. “Look at it from close up.”

  Marnie craned her head forward. “Is it a boat, Ralph?”

  “I think it’s on a canal, possibly taking the harvest to the mill. I thought it would be just right for you and Glebe Farm.”

  Marnie put her arms round Ralph and kissed him warmly. “It’s magnificent. I know the very place to put it in the hall. But it must have cost a fortune.”

  Ralph shook his head. “It didn’t, actually. The case cost nothing. It was in the attic when we came here. I bought the workings in a junk shop for ten quid and got them repaired by a clockmaker in Abingdon.”

  “You sure know how to impress a girl,” said Marnie.

  *

  The first course was smoked fish in a cream sauce topped with melted cheese. It went well with the muscadet.

  “Ralph, what made you suddenly think of the clock when you were starting to talk about possibly not being an Oxford don?”

  “Well, it was the thought that you’re very much based at Knightly St John, and I wasn’t expecting you to give all that up. The clock just seemed to fit in perfectly with that part of your life.”

  “What about your life?”

  Ralph sighed. “It’s complicated, but there might be a chance of changing direction. I’ve not completely made up my mind, you understand, but I’d like to know what you think.”

  “I don’t suppose this would have anything to do with your sabbatical on the canal, would it?” said Marnie. “Spending time on a boat can have a strange way of changing your attitude to life. Look what happened to me.”

  “Quite. And yes, in a way, that is part of the story. Another part was seeing you in hospital, thinking you were about to die. And then there was the thought that I’ve had the same job for all my professional life so far.”

  “So what would be the next step for you?” said Marnie. “Would you become head of a college, perhaps?”

  Ralph shook his head. “Not really my scene, running a college, chairing committees, administration. Of course, there are all sorts of compensations.”

  “Such as?”

  “Being on government bodies, travelling, meeting interesting people.”

  “But you do all that at the moment.”

  “Yes. Without being tied down.”

  “What is it you’re thinking of doing, then?” said Marnie, wondering if being married would not seem to Ralph like another way of being tied down.

  *

  Outside the air pressure was falling and thick clouds were piling up all over the countryside, dropping handfuls of wet sleet on the garden. Ralph put a few more logs on the fire and they settled down to roast duck, helped on its way by a bottle of claret.

  “This is marvellous,” said Marnie.

  “Yes. I got a case from the merchants who supply the college cellars. You can’t find this in the shops. It comes direct from a small chateau in Pauillac.”

  “No, not just the wine, everything, the whole meal.”

  “Good. Try and leave some room for dessert. It’s my pièce de résistance.”

  Marnie was intrigued but could not remember anything else on the workbench and there was nothing in the Aga. She smiled across the table at Ralph. “So, you were telling me about your mid-life crisis.”

  “No I wasn’t!” Ralph protested. “At least, I don’t think that’s what it is. I just feel like a change.”

  “And you’ve had some interesting offers.”

  “Yes. I’ve got two books lined up after the one I’m working on now. My publisher’s made me a good offer, a very good offer, in fact. One of them could involve a TV programme, or even a series. And there are lecture tours on the continent and in the States, as well as consultancy work.”

  “It sounds as if you’ll have a busy time.”

  Ralph shrugged. “That’s nothing new.”

  “But you’d have to give up your chair at Oxford?”

  “Not necessarily …”

  *

  Christmas that year was the most indolent time Marnie or Ralph had known for as far back as either of them could recall. For people accustomed to living their lives by the clock, working against deadlines, always having to think ahead to the next meeting, the chance to spend two whole days with nothing more to take into account than the time of the next meal and whether to go for a walk or stay by the fire was more than a luxury.

  There were two main topics of conversation. The first was Ralph’s pièce de résistance, his Christmas pudding made of ice cream. Marnie had been surprised when he had announced the pudding and then turned towards the freezer. It was a masterpiece and he would only drop vague hints about its recipe, a secret formula known only to generations of Lombards stretching back to the Middle Ages.

  The second was how to manage the future. The more they thought about it, the clearer it became that Oxford was as central to Ralph’s career as Glebe Farm was to Marnie’s. If the university was willing to let him remain as a visiting professor with an agreed number of lectures each year, he would have the advantage of the title and prestige coupled with the freedom to pursue a wider range of activities. Marnie was worried that he might be thinking of giving up his life at Oxford on her account.

  “No. Not really,” he had said over coffee and brandy by the fire after dinner. “The other day I was sorting out one of the drawers in my desk. You wouldn’t believe the clutter. I came across an old envelope that I’d put there when I moved years ago. On the back of it I had written a list of what I wanted to achieve while at All Saints. There were six items and the last remaining was – I know it sounds like vanity – to become a professor.” He shrugged. “So that was that. I’d done it all. No better time for a change of direction.”

  “Vanity, ambition, call it what you like,” said Marnie, “we all need something to motivate us.”

  “Not all of us are lucky enough to find that something,” said Ralph. “And then for some, like the people I deal with, it can become an over-riding passion, even an obsession.”

  “The politicians, you mean.”

  Ralph nodded. “Yes. Among others. There are also media people, celebrities in different fields, and academics of course, all striving to reach the heights as they
see them. It starts as a goal in life and ends as the only thing they have to hold on to. You must see it in your profession, too.”

  “Of course. There are plenty of designers and architects chasing their own dreams. It doesn’t bother me so much. All I want to do is run my own little corner of the market as well as I can. As long as the work keeps coming in and it’s interesting, I’m happy.”

  “That’s a credo that many would envy, Marnie.”

  “And you really want to change direction? It’s not just, well, because I’ve come along? It would be soul-destroying if one day you realised you’d thrown away the most important part of your life on a whim.”

  “It’s not like that. You’re part of it all, but not in that way. No. If you’re willing to accept me, then I’d like us to plan together.”

  From there was a short step to the other topic of conversation. “I can’t help feeling amazed that anyone would want to line up with me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Everywhere I go I seem to run into trouble.”

  “Well,” said Ralph, “you’re certainly not boring!”

  9

  Tuesday 27 December

  For Marnie and Ralph, everything about those few days was magic. Even waiting to meet Anne at Oxford bus station the day after Boxing Day brought a tingle of anticipation, and Ralph actually found a parking space for the elderly Volvo close by. They chatted about their plans for the day, huddled arm in arm in the draughty building smelling of diesel fumes, while they looked forward to seeing the sixteen year-old with her short pale blond hair, the thin, waif-like figure with her sharp features who had come to play such an important part in their lives. At two minutes past ten the Bedfordshire bus rolled into the station and drew to a halt in its allotted bay.

  “Good timing,” said Marnie, her breath a cloud in the chill air as they made their way out to the bus stop. The passengers were filing out and they found Anne at the rear of the bus by the open tailgate, dressed in jeans, boots and black blouson jacket, a long apricot-coloured scarf trailing almost to the ground. She was pulling a package out of the luggage bay. It was the size of a suitcase but thinner. Ralph pulled it clear and Anne immediately began pulling out another package of the same size and shape.

  Marnie joined in and together they dragged it out. “What have you got here?”

  “These were too big to go inside the coach.” They hugged each other with their free arms, supporting the parcels with the others, before trooping out of the bus station to cross the road and find the car.

  “Most girls just carry a shoulder bag,” Marnie observed while Ralph delved in his pocket for the keys. “What have you got?”

  Anne shrugged. “Just some essential supplies. You’ll see.” Ralph loaded both parcels into the voluminous boot and they set off for home.

  “How was Christmas?” Marnie asked.

  “Great. All the trimmings. Mum and Dad like everything to be traditional. And I had a couple of old school friends round on Boxing day. So I caught up on all the gossip.”

  “Good. And how was your journey?” said Marnie. “Your bus was right on time.”

  “No probs. I was reading the paper and next thing, we’d arrived. Actually, there was an article about – you know – that MP. Did you know they found the tramp? It said he was in Limehouse Cut.”

  Ralph could see Anne’s face in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were like saucers. Marnie said: “Would you believe the police contacted me on Christmas Eve to tell me about it?”

  “They didn’t!”

  “They certainly did. Inspector Bartlett rang me on the mobile at Ralph’s.”

  “Bartlett? What’s it got to do with him?”

  “He’s keeping a friendly eye on me for the Met, I suppose.”

  “Blimey. In the article it said that Tim Edmonds would’ve become a minister.”

  “That’s what Malcolm Grant said on the box,” said Marnie.

  “Malcolm Grant,” Anne repeated. “He was mentioned in the paper. I think it said he was going to be made a lord.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m sure it did.”

  “Remember the rumour that Michael Blissett mentioned in the House last week,” said Ralph. Marnie nodded.

  “So they would both have been promoted together,” said Anne.

  Ralph opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind.

  “Not far now,” said Marnie, as the car turned off the dual carriageway and headed down a narrow country road. Soon they passed through the village and took the lane towards the river.

  “Murton looks like a picture postcard,” said Anne.

  “Wait till you see River Cottage,” said Marnie. They rounded a bend where the bushes overhung the track and scraped the side of the car before the cottage appeared ahead of them, half hidden by trees and planting.

  “Is that it?”

  “Welcome, honourable lady, to my unworthy home,” said Ralph pulling onto the drive under the low eaves.

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Anne. “Everyone’s idea of an English country cottage. Has it got lots of beams and an inglenook fireplace?”

  “Come and find out for yourself.”

  Marnie and Anne unloaded the parcels from the boot while Ralph disappeared inside. By the time she shut the boot, Marnie guessed he had already put a match to the fire so that Anne would see it as soon as she walked into the living room.

  Anne stamped her feet on the drive. “It feels cold enough for snow. My feet have been tingling all morning.”

  Marnie glanced up at the sky, heavy with grey clouds. “You could be right. Let’s warm you up.”

  They each took one of the unwieldy parcels and went in.

  *

  Marnie handled the guided tour while Ralph made coffee. She began upstairs, warning Anne of the places where she would have to duck to avoid low doorways and beams. Anne took in every detail, and Marnie was certain that her friend was making a mental list of things she would like to do with the interior. No doubt they would compare notes later. The stairs creaked as they made their way down to the hall.

  “Does it have a ghost?” said Anne.

  “Haven’t found one so far.” Marnie pointed to the kitchen. “The ground floor is mainly three spaces, not counting the hall and the cloakroom. Kitchen, of course. Large enough for breakfast.”

  “Or supper if I’m eating alone,” came Ralph’s voice from the kitchen amid the clinking of crockery.

  “The former dining room is now Ralph’s study.” They peeped in to find a spacious room fitted with bookshelves, and a view over the garden. “And this is the living room.” Marnie pushed open the door. The room was much larger than Anne had expected, furnished with comfortable sofas and armchairs, bounded by the inglenook stretching almost the full width, leaving just enough space for a small window in front of which stood the Christmas tree covered in white lights. The fire had already taken hold and the logs were crackling in the fire basket.

  Anne smiled and shook her head. “It’s super. Oh, and there’s a conservatory! You never said Ralph had a conservatory.”

  “It’s always been the dining room since I took over the real one as a study,” said Ralph bringing in the tray of coffee. “Come and make yourself at home. You haven’t even taken your jacket off. You’ll be warm by the fire.”

  Anne turned to hang her blouson in the hall and pulled a newspaper out of her pocket. “I don’t need this any more. Can I put it somewhere? Unless you want to see the article about the tramp and so on,”

  “Perhaps I’ll read it later,” said Marnie. “Can you put it on the hall table?” When Anne went out, Marnie muttered to Ralph. “We’ll not say anything about our plans yet, shall we? Perhaps we ought to get things sorted out first so we know exactly what we’re doing. What do you think?”

  “No rush,” said Ralph. “We’ll surprise her in our own good time.”

  Anne came back, showing off her new cream silk shirt, a present from her parents. She settled
on the floor by the fire, leaning against one of the armchairs like a contented cat as Ralph passed her a cup of coffee. She accepted a Christmas biscuit and licked a crumb from the corner of her mouth. “So … are you two a permanent item, then, or what?” she said.

  *

  That evening, Marnie and Ralph stood smiling self-consciously at each other in the hall, waiting for Anne to call them into the living room. Marnie put her face close to the door and called out. “Are you going to keep us out here all night? We’re dying of boredom!”

  A muffled reply came through from the other side. “You shouldn’t be. I’ve taken that into account, all part of my plan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Open your eyes and you’ll see.”

  Marnie was baffled until she noticed Ralph looking up at the low ceiling. Enlightenment dawned. Attached to one of the darkened oak beams was a tiny sprig of mistletoe.

  “She has insights, that girl,” muttered Ralph as he leaned towards Marnie.

  “Psychic,” she said.

  Anne’s voice was heard again through the closed door. “Glad you found it!”

  “See what I mean?”

  Ralph nodded. “What do you think she’s up to in there? She’s had us waiting out here for nearly five minutes.”

  Marnie shrugged. “You know what she’s like. She wants to make her contribution, show she’s not just a passenger.”

  In fact, Anne’s character had been stamped on that Christmas as soon as they sat down for coffee. Ralph had asked if there was anything special she would like to do and said he was flexible about meal-times. She suggested a snack lunch – just something to keep us going – some fresh air in the afternoon, returning for presents, followed by dinner in the conservatory. If they would let her, she wanted to make their second Christmas as enjoyable as the first. They let her.

  Ralph suggested a walk by the river, and they had spent an agreeable couple of hours sauntering along frosty paths and tracks, wrapped up against the chill air, till their noses turned pink and they pointed them back in the direction of River Cottage. Fresh logs rekindled the fire while Ralph and Marnie prepared coffee in the kitchen and Anne was left for a few minutes in the living room. They returned to find her standing on the threshold of the French windows leading into the conservatory, a thoughtful expression on her face.