Death in Little Venice

by Leo McNeir

  “Good idea. I feel quite envious.”

  “When’s your meeting?”

  “Half three.”

  “And what’s our fall-back position? What do I do if for any reason …”

  “There won’t be any trouble.”

  “No, but I’m not going through all that worry again, like the time you went off with Mr Carter and I had no idea where you were.”

  “Call the Fire Brigade,” said Marnie flippantly.

  “I mean it, Marnie.”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “But you know what a worryguts I am. We always have a –”

  “I know, okay. I give in. You’re right, of course. I expect I’ll be at Malcolm’s flat till about five o’clock. If you don’t get a call from me by half past five, ring Ralph and get him to come and meet me there. That’ll be my excuse to leave. And if Ralph rings first, you can suggest he goes to Malcolm’s for five. Okay?”

  Anne nodded and made notes. She looked much happier.

  *

  Marnie paid the taxi driver and walked up the steps of the house where Malcolm Grant’s flat occupied the first floor. In her bag she carried the hip-flask, still muddy and wet, in its polythene food bag. When the buzzer sounded she pushed open the door and walked up the stairs to be received by Malcolm in the doorway, holding a phone. He welcomed her in as his conversation came to an end.

  “It’s been like that all day. I’m sorry to greet you in the middle of a phone call. Most uncivilised.” He kissed Marnie on the cheek. “Let me take your coat. My goodness it feels cold. You must be frozen. Come and warm up.”

  “I’ve come at a busy time. Are you sure it’s convenient?”

  “Of course it is. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you, Marnie, and I’m dying to see what you’ve prepared for the flat. I find the whole thing very interesting.”

  “To tell you the truth, Malcolm, I always feel nervous at this point, just before showing a client my proposals. Even after years of doing this sort of thing, it still gives me butterflies.”

  “I can quite understand that. It must be like talking in the chamber of the Commons. You think it would only be the maiden speech that makes you nervous. Believe me, for some of us, it never leaves you.”

  “I saw a clip of you speaking on television a while ago. You looked very calm and composed to me.”

  “All a facade. Inside, I was trembling. It’s as tough as going into action. In the army, at least you’re doing what you’re trained to do. You’ve got backup, support. You’re part of a team. Standing up there in the House facing the other side, you’re on your own. Benches or trenches, it’s all adrenalin. You need have no worries, Marnie. I know that you’ll produce something splendid.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Of course. You’re among friends, well, a friend. Nothing to worry about. But first things first. Make yourself at home. How about tea? I have some of that Darjeeling you like … with lemon?”

  *

  Kensington High Street looked as if a plague of locusts had hit it, and Oxford Street was not much better. The January sales had started just before Christmas, and Anne was half expecting to find Easter eggs and bunnies creeping onto the shelves depleted of stock after more than two weeks of scavenging by London’s shopaholics. She began working her way up from Selfridges to Hennes and Mauritz via the flagship Marks and Spencer and John Lewis stores, calling in on smaller boutiques along the way.

  Just as she was beginning to think she had missed the boat and could only see clothes that she would not touch with a barge pole – amazing how her thoughts were dominated by canal images these days – she came across a whole rail of dresses that were her size in one of the big stores. She tried on two or three. They had designer labels and would normally have been well out of her range, but the ‘Final reductions’ tags had brought them down to what she could afford. Just. They were long and in deep colours, burgundy, purple, russet and olive green, ideal for going to formal meetings.

  She looked in the full-length mirrors in the changing cubicle, turning from side to side, and could see at once why they were still on sale. Only a girl built like a stick insect stood a chance of slipping into these creations. She walked out of the changing rooms to get a better view on the shop floor. Standing at a distance from the mirror, she made up her mind. Beside her, another girl was trying on a jacket. She had what the retail trade would call a fuller figure, and glanced at Anne from the corner of her eye. Turning sideways, Anne noticed her.

  “I hope you’re not going to say does my bum look big in this?” the girl said quietly.

  Anne smiled, thinking of how Dodge had described her. She changed into her own clothes, took the dress to the till and paid. The other girl was there in front of her, buying the jacket.

  “It really suited you,” she said. “The last time I could’ve worn anything like that, I was about twelve.”

  “Being skinny has advantages sometimes,” Anne said. “But not often.”

  When it was her turn to pay, the sales lady said: “You’re lucky to have the kind of figure that most girls would die for, like a model. The dress looked good on you.”

  “I just wanted something nice and simple for meetings at work.”

  The sales lady folded the dress and slipped it into a bag. “I’d say it was restrained and elegant. It suited you well. But that girl was right. You have the kind of figure that would look good even wearing a sack.”

  Anne was happy as she left the store, thinking how lucky she was to have her life. If only they could get the murder business sorted out and back to normal, everything would be perfect.

  *

  Marnie had laid the cuttings and sketches out on the floor of the drawing room, and she knelt beside Malcolm as she explained her proposals. For almost an hour they discussed her plans in detail, occasionally standing up to walk from room to room while she related the wall colour to the curtain samples, picking up how they fitted in with the carpets, soft furnishings and fitments. Malcolm asked intelligent questions. Will the existing curtains fit in with that wallpaper? What about the hall? Should we change that to match the wall colour in the drawing room or the dining room? Have you assumed that the dining room will be mainly used in the evening? The hall carpet is starting to wear. What colour should I get to replace it?

  Eventually, they sat back on the sofa, Malcolm mulling over the whole scheme, Marnie feeling that she had done justice to her ideas and to the flat. It was time for Malcolm to give his verdict.

  “Frankly, Marnie, I’m impressed on two counts.”

  “Only two?”

  “Two very important counts. First, I think your design is a knockout.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You can’t have had any doubt about that. It’s brilliant. I wish I’d known you years ago.” He hesitated before going on, looking down at the sketches. Almost inaudibly he said: “For all sorts of reasons.” He smiled inwardly. “But secondly, and most importantly, I don’t need to spend the million that you threatened when you came before. No need to spend a fortune.”

  “No. When the basic structure is as good as this, really fine, the main thing is to let its own strengths come out. I just chose to understate, to bring out the quality of the flat itself, its proportions, its detailed features and fittings. Look at these windows and doors. They’re beautiful. There’d be no point in swamping them with excessive patterns that would compete and overpower them.”

  “I admire what you do, Marnie, and you make it seem so easy. I’d never have thought of all this, but you make it appear obvious what has to be done.”

  “It just took a little time and thought, and getting to know the flat and its situation.”

  “But you’ve been bold, where most people would have been cautious.”

  “Being bold has got me into scrapes in the past, but not in my work. What did you expect me to produce, magnolia walls and brilliant white window frames?” She laughed.

  �
��Exactly. But you didn’t do that. Look at all this. Beats me how you worked it out.”

  “I tried to provide what would suit your life. The original architects would probably have chosen very muted colours. That’s what was around at the time. But looking at the way the light falls in through those windows, I wanted to use richer, warmer colours to brighten the room. I wanted it to be lively, still elegant, but more stimulating and uplifting. The new curtains in here will add to the effect. And I thought the dining room could take more bold colours. It’s mainly an evening room for dinner parties, candlelight, cut glass and silver. Why not be bold?”

  “Sounds just right, Marnie. And may I be bold? Perhaps I might tempt you to come to dinner here? I’d like you to meet a few of my friends. I’m sure you’d find some of my colleagues more pleasant and better company than you might expect. Perhaps, when all that other business is behind us?”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  Malcolm leaned over and touched her hand. “We’ve been through a lot together, you and I, Marnie.”

  “We certainly have,”

  *

  Walking to the tube station, carrying her new dress in a bag bearing the designer name and logo, Anne glanced in the shop windows with only a modicum of interest. She had spent almost all her Christmas present money, and did not want to spot something else that might bring a twinge of regret to her afternoon outing. She had to wait to cross the road and looked vaguely in a shop window as the traffic flowed past. She noticed her reflection and found herself wondering about the strange world of fashion, a world in which she was to some extent involved. On one level, she saw it all as superficial nonsense. But she liked to think that in her work and Marnie’s they were bringing colour and pleasure into people’s lives. In her reflection in the shop window she saw a smart young woman in fashionable clothes, her long skirt, blouson jacket, apricot scarf and beret.

  Feeling the need to cut herself down to size, in case she was too carried away with her own image, she remembered how Dodge had described her: skinny bint, no tits. The memory brought a half smile to her face. In that moment, glancing down, she saw another face looking up at her. It was not a reflection. On the pavement, against the shop window sat a beggar with a handwritten sign: Homeless and hungry – Please help me and a hat lying next to it. Anne swallowed, her smile disappearing.

  She was immediately overcome by guilt at her good fortune and reached into her bag to find a coin. She quickly walked over to the beggar and dropped the coin into the hat. With a sense of shock she saw that the face looking up at her was a girl’s. The beggar was about the same age as Anne. The pedestrian light on the crossing changed to green and Anne turned to go on her way. In her mind she saw again the boy tramp at Randall’s hostel. She felt like throwing her designer bag and its designer logo into the gutter. She wanted to go back and talk to the beggar girl. But she knew she could not live her life for her and she had no wish to patronise her.

  Anne tried to work out why she had reacted so strongly. Was it that the beggar had seen her apparently smiling in self-contentment at her reflection in the window? A complacent young trendy with designer clothes! Was it Randall’s hostel? Was it Dodge? Or was it the fact that it was almost a matter of luck that she was not in the same position herself? She rarely forgot that she had set off to run away from home two years before when her father was made redundant. Anne had looked at the beggar girl and seen herself.

  In the tube station was a sign urging travellers not to give money to vagrants, “many of whom operate in organised groups.” The management suggested that donations be sent to recognised charities who cared for the needy. What about the needy who stare you in the face, Anne thought. Was that girl part of a group? Would she pack up at five o’clock, at the end of her shift, and go home to some latter-day Fagin? Perhaps she lived in a hostel like Randall’s. Anne hoped so. And what about Dodge? Where did he get money? Why did he live on a pallet under the blow-up bridge? It was crazy. There had to be a better way to live than that. In her mind she saw Dodge lurching towards her, but she was not frightened of him. She could smell his beery breath, hear his gravelly voice … you’re a real mate, love ...

  *

  “Assuming I can afford all this,” Malcolm gestured at the plans that were still spread over the carpet, “when would you be able to organise a start? Presumably you could find a decorator and someone to make up the curtains?”

  “Yes. I know some reliable people with fair prices. I’d have to get quotes from them, and timing would depend on how much work they have on, of course. But I think we could make a start within, say, two or three weeks. Four at the most.”

  “Soon as that? Very good. It’ll be nice to have something to look forward to for a change.” The phone rang and Malcolm muttered “Here we go again.” He excused himself to take the call in the kitchen.

  Marnie stretched her legs, pleased with the way the meeting had gone. If only all her clients were like Malcolm, she thought. It was good to be appreciated. He had a quick grasp of what she was proposing and showed trust in her judgment. She was looking forward to getting the job done.

  She stood up and walked around the room. They had been sitting or kneeling for the past half hour. Idly, she glanced at the sideboard, with its cluster of bottles of various spirits – bottlescape, she remembered, like Churchill’s painting. She liked that word. At one end of the sideboard there were several photographs in frames, some of them silver. The Christmas present in its smart wrapping was no longer in sight.

  Malcolm came back into the room. “Sorry about that, Marnie. Actually, we’ve had fewer interruptions than I’d expected. There’s going to be another call, though, in a short while, I’m afraid.”

  “Then I’d better go and leave you in peace. You can mull over the scheme and let me know what you think. Take your time. There’s no rush.”

  “Oh no. There’s no need for you to rush off, either. It’ll just be one of the Government Whips in the Lords wanting to talk about what committees I’m to serve on, that sort of thing. No quick decisions needed. The Lords goes at a more sedate pace than the Commons.”

  Marnie recalled Malcolm’s expression: put out to graze. She sat down again. “If you’re sure.”

  “Of course. I don’t want to push you out into the cold any sooner than is necessary, unless you have urgent matters to attend to.”

  “I can’t stay long,” Marnie said, “but there was just something I wanted to ask you. I wondered if you’d heard anything new about the police inquiry.”

  “They haven’t contacted me for a while,” said Malcolm. “Have they been in touch with you?”

  “No, they haven’t. But I’ve been thinking about the case a great deal, and I have an idea. It’s just a theory.”

  “Go on, Marnie. I’m intrigued.”

  “Well, I don’t think the police really regard us as suspects at all. I think they’ve been using us to see if we’d lead them to the person who did it, or at least give them some clues.”

  “Really?” Malcolm turned the idea over in his mind. “You could have a point there.”

  “I think it makes sense. You knew him better than anyone else, so you’d know all the people likely to associate with him.”

  “That’s certainly true. But you didn’t know him at all, Marnie.”

  “We both know that, but remember he had my business card in his wallet. One of my colleagues had given it to him, but they only had my word for that. Both of us stood a chance of knowing the murderer and we could either of us have given the police a lead on his identity.”

  Malcolm nodded thoughtfully. “That all adds up, but it presupposes that Tim definitely was murdered.” He stood up and went to look out of the window.

  “Personally I’m in no doubt about that,” said Marnie.

  “No. It’s just that the whole business is fraught with doubts and uncertainties. That’s why I intervened to get Cornforth to put that question to the Home Secretary.”
r />   “So that was your doing.”

  “Yes. I thought it might’ve helped to kick the police up the backside. I just want to get the whole matter settled and laid to rest … like Tim. All I want is for him to be able to rest in peace.”

  *

  Leaving the tube station at Warwick Avenue, Anne looked at her watch. Half four. She wondered how Marnie was getting on in her meeting, convinced that Malcolm Grant would like the design. It was a beautiful flat, judging by the Polaroids that Marnie had taken. Anne wished she could be there to see it. Ahead of her, two men were taking furniture from a van into a house, and she had to stop while they crossed the pavement carrying a bulky sofa. In her thoughts she was still pondering the design for Malcolm Grant when there was a sudden loud bang right beside her. She gasped in shock and jumped back. A third man looked round the back of the van, his face showing concern.

  “Sorry, love, did I give you a fright?”

  “Oh, er, yes, a bit.”

  “The shutter came down faster than I expected. It gave me quite a turn as well. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I was just miles away. Silly really.”

  “I’m ever so sorry.” He looked as if he meant it.

  “That’s okay. No probs.”

  She smiled and continued on her way feeling more than a little foolish. It was a reminder that the bomb that had destroyed Marnie’s Rover had exploded on the opposite side of the street from where she was walking. Anne reflected that reacting to loud bangs had started to become a habit. She had felt the same when Ronny had let off his jumping cracker. Making a mental note to try to be less nervous, she quickened her pace and crossed the road towards the towpath gate.

  Back aboard Rumpole, she switched on two fan heaters to warm the boat up quickly, hung the new dress in the cupboard and changed into her jeans. Automatically she put the kettle on and checked the mobile for messages that might have been left while she was in the underground. Nothing from Marnie, Ralph or anybody else. Be patient, she thought.