Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

Anne paused before replying, sensing that the atmosphere across the table had changed. The girl took her hesitation for reluctance to answer.

  “I’m not snooping.”

  “Just curious?” said Anne.

  “I know that part of London,” the girl said.

  “I was down there looking for someone.” Anne kept her voice matter-of-fact. “A friend of mine. She’s sort of living away from home at the moment.” At the other end of the room she could see Marnie chatting by the trolley with the tea lady and hoped she would not return too soon and scare the girl away.

  “On the street?”

  “Probably.”

  “On the game?”

  “I don’t know. I heard she’s been hanging out over by Commercial Road, up one of those streets near the old Town Hall.”

  The girl shook her head. “No. No-one hangs out over there.”

  “No?”

  “No way. Wouldn’t be no point. No-one goes looking round there, wrong part. You’ve been wasting your time.”

  “I know.” Anne was aching to ask where she should look, but knew she had to avoid a direct question. From the corner of her eye she saw Randall arrive in the doorway in his distinctive long black cassock. He went over to Marnie and joined in her chat with the tea lady, who was patting the urn. “I’ll just have to keep looking. I might be going back there tomorrow.”

  “Well don’t go over Commercial Road.”

  “No?”

  “No. You want to try round there.” She held up the matches.

  “Round Butlers Wharf?” Anne sounded as if she did not believe it. It seemed highly improbable.

  “No.” The girl was emphatic. “It’s posh round there, further back, away from the river.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give it a try.”

  The girl got up and picked her way through the tables, passing Marnie and Randall as they came over with cups of tea.

  “Had to wait for the water to boil,” Marnie said in explanation as she sat down.

  “I’m glad you did,” said Anne.

  *

  The Volvo turned off the high street in Brackley and headed towards the main road south. Anne calculated no more than thirty minutes before they reached Oxford city centre unless the early evening rush hour thwarted them. There was little need of map-reading as the road ran direct to their goal.

  “You did well getting the information out of that girl, Anne.”

  “She seemed to know the area, and I’m sure she was right about there being no point hanging around where Ralph took me.”

  “No. So back to Simon’s, I suppose.”

  “Do you really think there’s any point, Marnie? I mean, do you think we’ll ever find her? Surely, she’ll be miles away by now.”

  “What choice do we have? I reckon we’ve got to keep plugging away at everything we can.” Marnie turned onto the motorway and pushed the big car up to cruising speed. “What did you make of Anthony?”

  Anne thought for a few seconds. “Somehow different. What do you think?”

  “Outwardly he was calmer, more composed. It may have been the effect of the shower and the change of clothes. Just that simple white shirt and the black trousers. And he’d trimmed the beard. I thought he looked nice. But it was his manner. I’m sure Randall had spoken to him.”

  “That girl in the hostel said Randall was soft.”

  “Then she was mistaken. Randall is not soft. But he is careful about how he uses his authority. My guess is he told Anthony things could only get better from now on. Extraordinary.”

  “What is?”

  “I think Anthony actually believed him.”

  “Don’t you believe him, Marnie?”

  “Not sure. We’ve been having a tough time lately. And it could get tougher once we come out and attack Jeremy Hawksby in public. Still, at least for the moment, Anthony’s in the safe house.”

  “Do you remember when you spoke Russian to Anthony after he asked if you were the KGB?” Anne shrieked with laughter and added, “Was it really Russian?”

  “Yes, though I can’t vouch for my pronunciation.”

  “It sounded good to me. What did it mean?”

  “It meant ... you shouldn’t tell lies to children, or something like that.”

  “Why did you say that?”

  “It’s the only Russian I know. It’s from a poem by Yevtushenko. I saw him years ago on one of his tours. I liked the poem and the way he performed it. I memorised the first line.”

  “And you went to see him performing in Russian?”

  “Yes. It was a big arts festival in London. I went with Simon when I was a student. It was the first time we ever went out together.”

  25

  Mid-morning on Saturday, the three of them back in London in the Volvo. Over Tower Bridge, turn off the main road, down to the underground car park. Marnie took the overnight bag up to Simon’s flat while Ralph went off with Anne. There had been a major economic initiative announced in Tokyo, and he needed to find a newsagent.

  They were in luck. Anne waited outside reading the postcards on the notice board in the shop window, while Ralph went in to buy papers. She scanned the cards: mainly advertising second-hand computers and CD players, interspersed with offers of top rates for cleaners and domestic help. One or two offered unspecified personal services. A sudden tug on her elbow made Anne turn round. She was confronted by a young woman with attitude in a tank top, very brief skirt and white ankle boots. The attitude was not friendly.

  “Here, what’s your game?” she said in a menacing whisper. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

  “This is my pitch so you can sod off.”

  “I don’t understand.” Anne looked at the woman. She was pretty underneath a layer of make-up that had been applied with a trowel. “Oh yes, I do understand. And it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “Don’t give me that.”

  Just then Ralph came out of the shop. “Hallo. You seem to have found a friend, Anne. Or do we have a problem?”

  “Don’t worry, Ralph. I can handle this.”

  “You reckon?” said the woman.

  “Listen.” She stepped closer to the woman who backed up against the wall, and spoke looking her straight in the eye. “My name’s Anne, Anne Price. I’m not on the game or anything else, okay? But I am looking for a friend of mine who may have been ... working round here. Her name’s Marlene. Do you know her?”

  “No.” There was no hesitation.

  “She’s tall and slim, slight north country accent, wears a yellow cagoule. Ring any bells?”

  The woman said nothing. Anne continued. “She’s not in any trouble as far as I know, not from me at any rate. I just want to find her and talk to her. I want to know she’s all right.”

  “You haven’t got a north country accent.”

  “Leighton Buzzard isn’t up north, that’s why. It’s where I come from.”

  “So how do you know your friend’s round here?”

  “Another girl told me.”

  “What other girl?”

  “Someone I met in a hostel. I don’t know her name.”

  “What a surprise.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  The woman turned on her heel and began walking away. Over her shoulder she called out, “Just watch yourself and keep away ... for your own good.”

  Anne watched her go, feeling desperate. From behind her Ralph said, “Well, at least you tried.”

  Ignoring him, Anne chased after the woman and caught her by the arm. “The girl who told me about Marlene, she had a small scar on her chin.” Anne pointed at her own face. “Here, like a new moon, tiny.”

  *

  Simon’s cleaning lady had done a good job. No doubt he paid top rates. Everything was neat and tidy, fresh towels in the bathroom, clean tea-towels in the kitchen, sheets changed on the bed. Mrs Hedges was a treasure.

  Marnie hunted for any clue as to when Simon wa
s returning. There was a note from Mrs Hedges: she would be coming in the afternoon the following week, rather than the morning; she had to take her mother to the clinic again. Passing the answerphone, she noticed the number 4 glowing in the messages window. That’s odd, she thought, convinced that it had previously been a 5. So, Simon had been checking his messages from wherever he was. She wished she had asked him exactly when he was planning to come back. The last thing she wanted was for him to get in very late to find her in his bed.

  The phone rang, a gentle hi-tech warble. It had a device for vetting incoming calls. In its window was a single word: Simon. Marnie grabbed the phone before he could start checking the messages.

  “Hi! It’s me.”

  “Oh! Still there?”

  “No, just got back, actually. When are you returning?”

  “Do you want to stay on?”

  “Please.”

  “Fine. Make yourself at home.”

  “Thanks. Would you mind if Anne slept on a sofa?”

  “You’ll find a fold-up bed in the glory hole. She’ll probably be more comfortable on that. Sheets and things are in the airing cupboard.”

  “Great.”

  “Any progress with your boating visitor?”

  “Only very slow.”

  “Well, watch out.”

  “I will. You’ve got four messages on the machine here, by the way.”

  “I’ll get’em later. Gotta go, just having a break from a meeting.”

  “Okay. And thanks, Simon.”

  “No problem. You take care of yourself.”

  Good, that was sorted. Marnie was turning to fetch the spare bed when the phone rang again, Simon having an afterthought, perhaps. But there was a number in the window that seemed familiar. It took Marnie a second or two to realise it was her own mobile.

  “Hallo, Anne. Everything all right?”

  “How did you ... Look, I’ve met someone. You ought to see her. Are you ready to come down?”

  “Where are you?”

  “We can meet you by the entrance to the car park.”

  “Give me two minutes.”

  *

  On her way down in the lift, Marnie had entertained thoughts of taking the new person for a drink at one of the bistros in Butlers Wharf, but one look put her off the idea. She only lacked a flashing neon sign reading: I am a hooker, to complete the ensemble.

  Anne introduced the woman, who had not given her name, explaining that Marnie was her boss and they were all legit. She had remembered that word from television dramas set in the underworld. Marnie confirmed that they just wanted to speak with Marlene and introduced Ralph, Professor Ralph Lombard of Oxford, as further corroboration of their credentials. The woman looked at them suspiciously.

  “So you aren’t from Social Services,” she said. “Or the law.”

  Marnie reached into her shoulder bag, pulled out a business card and handed it to the woman.

  “That’s who I am. Anne’s my assistant. Ralph is my partner.”

  The woman read the card. “Where is this place?”

  “It’s a village, about fifty miles north of London. Look, we’re just worried about Marlene. Do you know where she is? Do you really know her?”

  “Avril.”

  “That’s your name?”

  “That’s the girl you’re looking for.”

  “No,” said Marnie. “She’s called Marlene.”

  “It’s Avril. Take my word for it.”

  “Well, whatever it is, we’d like to talk to her.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  Marnie knew the woman was only stalling. If she was not prepared to talk, why was she still there? “We can’t talk out here on the street.” She wondered where they could possibly go with a woman dressed to catch the eye of kerb crawlers.

  “There’s a caff round the corner,” said the woman.

  The improbable group arrived at the caff in two minutes. In any guide to the watering holes of the capital it looked from outside as if it would have merited three crossed greasy spoons.

  *

  The inside of the café surprised them. From the street it had been obscured by condensation on the windows, and although it belonged to the neo-Formica school of interior design, with PVC chairs and tomato-shaped plastic ketchup bottles on every table, it was clean and only lightly scented with the tang of fried breakfasts. The place was run by a jovial Greek and bore his name, Asterios, in green neon letters over the door.

  They sat at a table away from the picture windows, and Ralph bought them cappuccinos which he and Anne ferried back from the counter.

  “What do we call you?” Marnie asked to open the conversation.

  The woman stirred sugar into her cup and took a sip. Eventually she said, “Fran.”

  “Well, Fran, I’m going to be absolutely honest with you. We believe this girl Marlene – or Avril – has got mixed up with some very dodgy people. We’re worried about her and we –”

  “So you keep saying. Why should you be worried? How well do you know her?”

  “Not very well. But we know she could be in trouble.”

  “From the law?”

  “No, from the people she’s got involved with.”

  “What people?”

  “The people who got her picture in the papers.”

  “How much?” said Fran. “What are you offering?”

  Anne butted in. “We’re not offering anything, not money. It’s not like that. We just want to see her. We want her help so that no-one else gets hurt. That’s all it is.”

  Fran took a mouthful of cappuccino, pushed the chair back and stood up. The eyes of other patrons focused on her thighs as she straightened the tiny skirt with the palms of her hands.

  “Tomorrow morning. Eleven o’clock. Here.”

  *

  That evening, after Ralph set off for home, they put up the folding bed in Simon’s living room. Anne put on sheets and a blanket while Marnie rang the office to check the answerphone. It was the usual collection, including a call from Mrs Jolly ... just wanting to keep in touch, my dear ... and a surprise.

  “Hallo, this is Judith. I’m ringing at seven-thirty on Saturday evening. I’ve had some ideas about one or two other people to contact. One in particular could be interesting. You’ve got my number. Bye!”

  Marnie wrote notes on the other messages, disconnected and rang Judith. Anne sat beside her at the dining table looking out at the Thames and the skyline.

  A man’s voice, friendly. “Sure. I’ll get her for you. She’s just looking in on Rosie. Won’t be a mo’.”

  Seconds later Judith arrived. “You got my message?”

  “Yes. You’ve had some ideas.”

  “One of my friends is a researcher. She may have something that could interest you.”

  “Can you give me a rough idea?”

  “Not easily. She’s called Becky Thornton. I’ll give you her mobile number. It’s a bit of a long shot, and she’s in a difficult position, very difficult, but, well, see how you get on. Marnie, I would just say, don’t push her too far. Her job could be on the line.”

  “Okay. This is all very mysterious, Judith.”

  “You should be used to that by now.”

  “True. Did you say there was someone else?”

  “Yes. Even more of a long shot, I’m afraid. He may phone you, or he may not.”

  “He? This is the man from Hawksby’s past?”

  “Could be. I can’t promise anything, but he may contact you.”

  “Where does he fit in?”

  “It’s hard to tell. He might not. He wants to think it over.” Judith laughed. “I can tell you, Marnie, this is quite a change from my usual daily life. It’s a far cry from potty training and the Teletubbies!”

  “But not too much of a nuisance, I hope.”

  “No, not at all. I said I wanted to help you. It just reminds me of what it’s like working on Panorama sometimes: informants, leaks, ins
ide information. You wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Sounds intriguing. And this mystery man, what’s he called?”

  “I’ll let him tell you that, if he gets in touch.”

  “How will I know who it is?”

  “You’ll know.”

  *

  Ralph, driving solo, turned off the high street at Knightly St John and steered the Volvo onto the field track. In the headlights, a sudden mass of movement, dozens of rabbits diving for cover, white tails like raindrops bouncing off the ground.

  Everything was quiet down at Glebe Farm, lights shining in the windows of the cottage where Jill and Alex Burton were leading normal lives. He walked by torchlight through the spinney and was joined by Dolly on her night prowl. He bent down and picked her up, and she settled herself over his shoulder, purring, the cool fur gradually warming against his ear. He knew how to make a girl happy. This one, at least.

  *

  Anne had been in bed for twenty minutes, lying awake in the darkness, her head spinning with a thousand thoughts, when she heard a sound from the other side of the room.

  “Is that you, Marnie?” Her voice came out as a whispered croak.

  “Have I woken you up?”

  “No. I’m wide awake.”

  “Me too. Do you think Simon’s got any cigarettes hidden away?”

  “Cigarettes? Marnie! You gave up years ago.”

  Marnie sighed in the darkness. “I know. Every now and then I get a need for a puff or two.”

  “You can put the light on and search around if you like.”

  “You sound as if you don’t approve.” There was no reply. “You don’t approve.”

  “I don’t think Simon would like it. I’m sure he doesn’t smoke. It doesn’t smell of cigarettes in the flat. But if you found any, you could always stick your head out of the window.”

  Marnie laughed. “Thank you for that practical suggestion.”

  She walked over to the window and drew back the curtain. The moon was reflecting off the river, lights from the streets and buildings shining from all directions. It looked like a scene from a film, and Marnie half expected Tinkerbell the fairy to fly past with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys on their way to Never Never Land. She became aware of Anne at her side in the darkened room.