Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “This was another boat, a grey one. Did you see it? Try to remember.”

  She paused. “I may have done.”

  “May have done? Aren’t you sure?”

  She shrugged. “Boats are coming and going all the time. A lot of them are grey. It’s one of the standard undercoats,” she explained helpfully.

  “Yes. I know.” Christ Almighty! he thought. “Look, this other boat – the grey one – can you remember seeing it in the past couple of weeks?”

  “Yes. I think I can.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Yes. I’m sure I saw it.” She looked as if she was thinking hard. “It was moored near here for a few days.”

  “Do you know who owned it? Did you see him? Think carefully.”

  She really was thinking carefully. What do I say that will mislead him most? “I’m trying hard to think.”

  “Good girl.”

  Yuck! “No, it’s no good. I can’t remember seeing anyone on board. Sorry.”

  “Can you remember which way it was travelling?”

  She thought carefully again. They took it south. “North.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Well, it was pointing that way at its mooring.”

  “Okay. And what colour was it?”

  “The grey boat? It was ... grey.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Definite. Grey, and it was pointing that way.” She raised her arm.

  He turned to leave and hesitated in the doorway. “Do you know a pair of barges that go along selling coal and stuff, sometimes tied together? Totteridge and Shardlow.”

  “Not barges,” said Anne. “Narrowboats. They’re sometimes breasted up.”

  “That’s them. Good. Do you know the people who run them?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many are there? Do you know what they’re called?”

  “There’s Andrew and Kate.”

  “Ah.” The stranger narrowed his eyes.

  “They’re on Shardlow, the butty. And the other one’s Tony. He’s on Totteridge.”

  “Tony? You mean there are three of them? You’re sure about that?”

  Anne nodded. She looked as innocent as a schoolgirl. The man frowned.

  “How long has he been with them, this Tony?”

  Anne shrugged. “As long as I’ve known them. Ages.”

  The man opened the door and walked quickly away. Anne waited till he had turned the car and driven off up the field track before ringing Marnie’s mobile.

  *

  The consensus of opinion was that the paparazzi – or at least their local representative – might leave them in peace for a while. Anne’s performance might just have done enough to earn them a brief respite from outside attention. Marnie rang Andrew who confirmed that the three of them had set off from the boatyard on Totteridge and Shardlow early that morning and were heading towards London. Moving targets. Anthony’s boat was moored at the boatyard in its red undercoat, its contents stacked in the box room of Andrew’s cottage.

  They had done everything they could to withstand attack. Now, all they could do was wait for Rachel to be in touch for the next stage.

  Marnie took Anne to her driving lesson in the MG. There was a warmth in the air, and they revelled in running on the open road with the hood down, the little car growling gamely along despite its advanced age. When Marnie returned to the office there were no strange cars waiting for her in the yard, but the red light glowed on the answerphone. She pressed the button.

  “This is Rachel Rutherford. My mother asked me to ring you. I’m back for a couple of days. I’m not sure if I can help, but let’s have a chat. I’ll give you my mobile number. Ring any time you want. See you!”

  Marnie scribbled down the number. In one way she felt exhilarated; things were falling into place. In another way she felt anxious; things would be getting tricky from now on. This was the hardest part.

  *

  Anne was disappointed. She drove slowly along the village high street with no-one to see her at the wheel. But then, she thought, arriving in a Metro covered in red letter Ls was hardly the ultimate in cool. She pulled over at the gate by the field track, thanked her instructor for the lesson, waved him off and turned down the slope to home.

  After a minute the buildings came into view and she branched off from the main track to walk across the field and approach the complex from behind the outer barns. This route gave her a clear view of the yard, and she was relieved that no cars were parked outside the farm. As she drew nearer she saw Ralph’s Volvo standing with the boot open. Inside was Marnie’s overnight bag. Anne walked round to the office.

  Marnie looked up from writing on a pad. “How did the lesson go?”

  “Okay. I’ve been doing three-point turns – well seven-point actually – and reversing round corners ... nearly. Shall I pack?”

  “You’ve seen Ralph?”

  “No. But I’ve seen your bag in the boot of the car. You don’t normally have to stay overnight for a hair appointment, or are you having a general anaesthetic this time?”

  Marnie outlined the plan. She was seeing Rachel the next morning. Ralph would drop her off at the station on his way to Oxford and collect her the next evening after a meeting in London. Anne could choose whether to stay on at Glebe Farm, promising to take no nocturnal strolls, or go with Marnie and stay in Simon’s flat in Docklands. It was no contest.

  *

  They dined out that evening and spoiled themselves. Marnie wanted to give her haircut an outing in polite society and chose a smart restaurant at the other end of the block from Simon’s flat. They had a table by the window with a view of Tower Bridge and across the Thames to Saint Katharine Docks.

  It rekindled Anne’s enthusiasm for interior design, and she was enchanted. The decor was restrained, the service calm and efficient, the food traditional but imaginative. She loved this way of life and she loved Marnie for giving her the chance to embrace it.

  They took a walk after dinner in the gentle spring evening, looking at the galleries and boutiques, boggling at the property prices in estate agents’ windows. They wandered along the river promenade and saw the lights coming on like a theatre backdrop. For a few minutes they leaned on the railings and watched pleasure boats go by.

  “Marnie? I don’t want to spoil things ...”

  “Good idea.”

  “But, you remember that boat that went past during the night? Do you think it could’ve had anything to do with the newspaper people?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, it was very odd, wasn’t it?”

  “Some people travel at night if they’ve got a long way to go in a limited time.”

  “Without lights on? Don’t you find that strange?”

  “People do strange things, Anne. That summer two years ago when I went off on my first solo journey.” She smiled at the memory. “One night I couldn’t sleep and I just set off in the dark. It was wonderful, the water, the peace, the sun coming up. Waterways can be magic.”

  As they stood together in silence, a Victorian Thames barge glided upstream, red sails furled, leeboard stowed clear of the water against its dark hull.

  Anne sighed. “Isn’t this gorgeous!”

  Marnie nodded. She decided not to tell Anne that where they were standing was the place where in centuries past they hanged river pirates and left their bodies to rot on the gibbets.

  They turned to walk back, and Anne said, with urgency in her voice, “Wouldn’t it be good if we could find somewhere like this on a canal somewhere and create a Mini-Docklands of our own?” Her eyes were sparkling.

  “Why not?” said Marnie. “But shall we get Glebe Farm finished first?”

  “Oh yes. That’s wonderful too. That’s home.”

  “I take it you won’t mind being in the flat by yourself tomorrow until I get back from seeing Rachel?”

  “No probs. I might just go out for a little walk.” She saw M
arnie’s expression. “In broad daylight.”

  23

  Halfway across Tower Bridge Anne stopped and looked down river. She was on her way back to Simon’s place from seeing Marnie off on her journey to west London to meet Rachel. Although buffeted by the turbulence thrown up by lorries and buses, nothing was going to spoil this for her.

  This was London Docklands, providing des res for the capital’s fashionable classes. Converted Regency and Victorian warehouses interspersed with new blocks had created a city within a city, offices, plazas, lofts and penthouses scattered over a vast area, bounded by the river and the broad sky. It had brought employment and prosperity to hundreds of thousands of Londoners, untold wealth to speculators and builders and international reputations to architects and designers. Standing on the most distinctive bridge in Europe, Anne looked down at the wide river bending away to the left, the great tower of Canary Wharf rising up on the horizon.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she was looking at the parliamentary constituency of Docklands West, whose representative was Anthony Leyton-Brown MP. Momentarily she shuddered, though whether it was from that thought or the blast of air whirling round her, she could not tell.

  *

  Marnie sat in Rachel’s living room surrounded by the chaos of homecoming. The flat was virtually one large room with a kitchen, bedroom and bathroom attached. The living room contained a double futon, a scrubbed pine dining table and bentwood chairs, with a small desk in a corner on which stood a laptop computer in its carrying case. On a low table a mound of mail had been dumped.

  Occasional cries came from the kitchen where Rachel was battling with an espresso machine, a flat-warming present when she had moved in a year ago. This was its maiden outing. “You do like espresso, don’t you Marnie? I don’t seem to have any sugar. Oh, yes I do. Panic over. Biscuits, biscuits. Now, where ...?”

  Marnie could see the resemblance to her mother as Rachel bustled in carrying a tray. She turned round in a circle like a cat preparing to sit and, finding no clear surface big enough for it, she squatted down and laid the tray on the floor. She sat cross-legged beside it, and Marnie slid down from her chair to join Rachel on the carpet.

  “How very Japanese,” Rachel said in a cheerful voice and poured thick murky liquid into tiny cups of dark blue with a gold rim.

  Rachel had the pleasing looks of her mother, but her features were less fine. Like Jane, she conveyed the impression of being arty and more than a little disorganised, her curly hair pulled back into a loose bun. She listened quietly while Marnie outlined the problem. Once again Marnie found herself dreading the reaction of another person to her improbable plan. But strangely, she found that she was starting to believe in it herself.

  “So where do I come in, Marnie?”

  “You’d be willing to help?”

  “If I could ... if I can.”

  Marnie smiled with relief. “Most people who know about this – and there aren’t many – think the whole idea is completely far-fetched. It’s comforting to hear you say you’re willing to help.”

  Rachel laughed. “Oh, I think the whole thing sounds unbelievable, but I just figured you had it all worked out and knew what you were doing.” Seeing Marnie’s expression she added, “You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

  *

  Anne was at heart a practical person, but that breezy spring morning, as she turned into Butlers wharf, her imagination permitted her a small indulgence.

  She walked between the renovated wharf blocks, stepping lightly on the cobbles between the converted warehouses in the yellow brickwork so common in London, that had been scrubbed and repointed to look as good as new. In her imagination, Anne saw herself as a new Terence Conran, designer of lifestyles. She pressed her code on the security keypad, took the lift to her floor. She opened her front door as the phone began ringing – Simon’s phone – and instantly felt like an intruder.

  Anne looked down at the answerphone and paused. Simon’s voice invited callers to leave a message after the long tone.

  “Ah ...” said a familiar voice, hesitant.

  Anne grabbed the phone. “Ralph! It’s Anne.”

  “Good. I was in two minds about –”

  “Yes. I understand. But I’m here. Marnie’s gone off to see Rachel.”

  “Already?”

  “She had to see her first thing. She’ll almost be there by now.” Anne could hear traffic noise in the back ground. “Where are you?”

  “In a queue of cars stuck behind a delivery van somewhere in the City. I think I’m not far from Tower Bridge. Can you give me directions ... assuming I ever get out of this jam?”

  “It’s easy. Just come over the bridge and take the first left. Look out for me. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  “Ralph?”

  “Yes?”

  “Have you got plans for this morning?”

  “I think I’m about to get some.”

  *

  Rachel thumbed through her address book. They were still sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  “Trouble is, most of my contacts are in drama or documentaries. The news and current affairs people tend to be a little world apart.” Rachel shook her head slowly.

  “I suppose it was just a long shot,” said Marnie.

  Rachel turned more pages, muttering. “I did have a friend who used to work on Panorama. No. She went back to Scotland, works with the Beeb in Inverness now. Ah ... I wonder if Judith, Judith Wilkins ...”

  “Is she at the BBC?”

  “Not any more. She left to have a baby and get married.”

  “The other way round, presumably,” Marnie suggested lightly.

  “Well no, not actually.”

  “I’m being old-fashioned,” Marnie said. “So, Judith married her baby’s father and is now living somewhere nearer than Inverness, hopefully?”

  “No.”

  “She’s moved to Shetland?”

  “She didn’t marry the baby’s father. That was rather the point. Actually, the whole business was a bit odd.”

  “After what I’ve been experiencing lately, anything goes.”

  “It’s a long story,” Rachel began, “and I don’t have a lot of time this morning. Also, I don’t know all the details. But the basic facts are, Judith worked on the Today programme as a researcher. Actually, she handled the piece about you when you were interviewed a couple of years back. She had an affair with one of the producers, Tim Rodgers. You’ve probably never heard of him, but you’ll probably know his partner ... Sue Groves?”

  “The newsreader on TV?”

  “Correct. Sue and Tim have been together for yonks and they’ve got two kids. But the rumour was that Tim had a fling with Judith, and she got pregnant.”

  “Not uncommon,” said Marnie. “And not without a number of possible solutions.”

  “For some of us perhaps, but tricky for Judith. She RC. Anyway, Judith had had a boyfriend who was mad about her. I gather she went to cry on his shoulder, and out of the blue he proposed to her. Just like that!”

  “She had to leave her job?”

  “Not much choice in the circumstances.”

  “Tim Rodgers is still there, presumably?”

  “Senior Producer.”

  “You don’t think Judith will be out of touch with the current scene?”

  “She’ll know more news people than I do.”

  “That’s assuming she’ll want to help me,” said Marnie. “Or even talk to me.”

  “Yes. I don’t know about that. Tread carefully. You see, Marnie, I think it’s possible that she still ... Anyway, the other thing is Sue, Tim’s partner. She’s not the forgiving kind, and he really loves their kids. She could make his life hell if it all got raked up again.”

  *

  Ralph spotted Anne waiting on the pavement after crossing Tower Bridge. She climbed in beside him.

  “Taxi?” she said.

 
“Where to, guv’nor?” It was as close to a Cockney accent as Ralph could manage, and it made Anne laugh.

  “To the other side.”

  The other side was where it had all begun. Anne navigated a route back across the bridge using Ralph’s A to Z street atlas. Near the old Limehouse Town Hall they took a left and pulled up outside a modern block of council flats.

  “This is it.” He pointed across the street. “If I understood the story correctly, that’s where Anthony met Marlene.”

  There were few people to be seen. Anne wound down the window, and the noise of the heavy traffic on the main road poured in, even though it was more than fifty metres away.

  Ralph added, “The constituency office must be down that street.”

  Anne nodded. She was trying to imagine the scene, those rainy days when Anthony had encountered the girl who was to change his life. The area was the usual mixture: blocks of flats built after the war between terraces of houses up to two hundred years old.

  Something was bothering Anne. She tried studying the street to see if it clarified the problem. On the opposite side stood a newsagent’s and a fish-and-chip shop. The other houses were residential. On the next corner was a phonebox, of the new grey variety, open on one side, and beyond that, a pillar box, its vivid red paintwork bringing life to dull surroundings.

  “No girl,” Anne murmured.

  “Did you expect her to be there?”

  “No, not really. I’m not sure what I expected. But whatever it was ...” She shook her head. “I wonder what Marnie would do.”

  “She’d offer me a cup of something after my drive from Oxford.”

  Anne smiled and reached in her back pocket to pull out a small wallet of black leather. It contained some of Marnie’s business cards.

  “Can you wait while I give these to the people in the shops? I’ll ask them to ring us if they see the girl back again.”

  Ralph looked doubtful. “It might be worth a try, I suppose, as we’ve come this far already.“