Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “So the person whose life story they’re telling thinks they’re doing something else.”

  “That’s the idea, and suddenly ... surprise, surprise! It’s your Lifeline! Then they have the usual ego-trip orgy with famous people queuing up to say wonderful things about them. It’s all hugs, tears, dorling-dorlings. You know the thing.”

  “Sounds ghastly.”

  “Sure,” said Anne. “That’s why millions switch on to watch it.”

  Ralph glanced up at the mirror. “Millions?”

  “Prime time TV,” said Marnie . “No editing, no script.”

  “Is this somehow relevant to us?” said Ralph doubtfully.

  “Not as such. It’s just that Becky Thornton knows so many people through working on the show, she’s got loads of contacts.”

  “Good. It must be the most interesting sort of research, delving into people’s private lives.”

  “And all top secret,” said Marnie. “If the word got out, all the spontaneity would be lost. This is our turning up here, Ralph. This road leads straight to Randall’s place.”

  Anne said, “I saw it once. It was a star from Coronation Street. They were all practically in tears. Not your sort of thing, Ralph. I bet you haven’t even heard of Coronation Street.”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Ralph,” said Marnie. “This is our ... er, that was our turning. Didn’t you hear me? It’s all this talk of television. It’s true what they say. Too much television warps your brain. What are you doing now?”

  “Turning the car to go back.”

  “No need. We can take the next on the right. It’s just as quick.”

  Ralph pulled over and stopped, waiting for traffic to go by before turning the car.

  “I think I’ve become invisible,” said Marnie. “That’s why you can’t hear me.”

  Anne snorted in the back of the car. “What are you doing, Ralph?”

  “Apart from doing a U-turn, I’m wondering if the blue Ford Sierra that’s just gone past has been following us since we left Knightly.”

  *

  Randall had wasted no time. He had been in the rectory for less than a year and it looked as if he had lived there all his life. As they stood in the hall shaking hands, kissing cheeks, Marnie quickly took in the decor that was unmistakably Randall: primrose yellow walls and dense matt white paintwork, set off by a carpet of deep blue Wilton. None of these came cheap.

  Randall ushered his guests ahead of him into the living room, turning to Marnie, who was last in line, to mutter, “In case you’re wondering, the diocese pays for the materials and I do the work myself. Not the normal arrangement, but I got them to do a deal so I could get what I wanted.”

  “You’re very perceptive, Randall. You know you’re destined for promotion as soon as they bring back the Holy Inquisition.”

  “Great,” he said instantly. “It’s starting up again next week. I’ve ordered the instruments of persuasion from a catalogue. And I’m taking Spanish lessons.”

  Marnie gave him A Look. He put an arm round her shoulder and squeezed affectionately. He really did not seem like a normal churchman at all. She wondered why he was so frisky. As he moved aside to let her enter the room, she saw Angela Hemingway sitting in an armchair, smiling. Of course.

  Randall insisted on serving the tea himself. Angela looked as if she enjoyed being served. She also looked as if she was part of the furniture. When they were settled, Randall came straight to the point.

  “When you first asked me if Anthony – Tony – could come and stay at the hostel, I must say I had some misgivings. I wondered how he’d cope. He was used to enjoying status and privilege. Coming here could cause severe depression. I was sure he’d see himself reduced to living in a community of tramps.”

  “You’re right,” said Marnie. “He thought he was coming to a doss house. Sorry to put it like that, Randall, but that’s what he said.”

  “Understandably. But that feeling didn’t last. Very quickly I realised he was coming to terms with his situation. And I think I understand why.”

  Marnie said, “It’s obvious, Randall. You took him in and offered him – ”

  “No. Well, perhaps partly yes. But I believe his time on the canals had a big impact on him. And so did all your efforts to help him survive, especially after the death of his wife.”

  Ralph said, “Did you hear the verdict of the inquest on the radio this morning?”

  “Yes,” said Angela. “That’s what made us think of asking you to come round.”

  Us, Marnie thought. Out loud she said, “How did Anthony take it? Did he hear it himself or did you tell him?”

  “I went to tell him straight after breakfast,” said Randall. “But he already knew. I found him in the chapel.”

  “In the chapel?”

  “Yes. It’s not so unusual, Marnie. People do turn to God in times of trouble.”

  “Of course. But it’s just, well, Anthony.”

  “I found him in tears. He seemed to be praying. I asked if he wanted to be left alone. He said he’d heard about the inquest and it had brought it all back. He asked if I could stay and hear his confession.”

  “Confession?”

  “Yes. I sat with him and we talked for a while.”

  “What did he ...” Marnie began, but checked herself. “Ah, confession. That would be confidential, of course.”

  Randall seemed to ignore Marnie’s interjection. “He told me that he’d caused her death, that he was responsible for killing her.”

  The three visitors all but gaped at him. Marnie broke the silence. “He said what?”

  “Yes,” Randall said quietly. “And I’m quite sure he meant it.”

  “But he was at Knightly,” Ralph protested. “Anyway, why should he want to do such a thing?”

  “There’s more than one way to kill someone,” said Randall.

  “You think,” Marnie said, “he meant he’d driven her to take her own life?”

  “More than a possibility, don’t you think?”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “Well, I told him that he should think very carefully about what he’d done and what he’d told me. I asked him what he wanted to do, and he said he was almost ready to face the world, but not quite yet.”

  “That’s what he always says,” Ralph muttered.

  “In my job I‘ve had quite a bit of experience of people who’ve hit rock bottom. I believe he was genuinely sorry for what happened, contrite and ready to repent. I’m sure you all helped him to get that far.”

  “How did you leave things?” said Marnie.

  “I took his confession and gave him absolution. It was all I could do, what I had to do.”

  “I suppose so,” said Marnie. “Thank you for telling us the details.”

  “Of course, if he’d actually confessed to murder, I would’ve kept the details, as you call them, strictly confidential.”

  “And would you still have granted him absolution?” said Ralph.

  “Yes. A priest isn’t a judge. That’s out of our hands.”

  Marnie said, “It must’ve been a great comfort to be able to speak about his sense of guilt for Melissa’s death, get it off his chest.”

  “No doubt. I also think I may have found a possible solution to his problem.”

  Randall glanced at Angela. They had been discussing this. She smiled.

  “A solution?” Marnie said. “What is it?”

  “You’ll probably think it strange, but we’ve been wondering if the Church might offer him a way out, a future.”

  *

  They were in the galley on Thyrsis, Marnie and Ralph making supper together, a simple pasta with tomato and basil, garlic bread in the oven already adding a spicy note to the air. Marnie washed grapes and peaches, dried them on kitchen paper and put them in a bowl. Anne had gone over to Sally Ann to fetch a bottle of bardolino from the ‘cellar’. She seemed to have been gone a long time.

  Marnie heard her m
obile warbling in the sleeping cabin and skipped along to find it.

  “Hallo, Marnie Walker.”

  “Did you say Marnie Walker? Sorry, you’re rather faint.” A man’s voice. Not one she recognised. Crackly.

  Marnie moved quickly out of the cabin and down to the boat’s side entrance. “Just a sec.” She put her head through the hatch. “That better?”

  “That’s fine. A friend gave me your number.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Marnie had the feeling this was not about a redecorating job on a barn conversion or a loft in Docklands.

  He continued. “You were asking about Jeremy Hawksby. Is that right?”

  “You know him?”

  “I used to, quite a long time ago. A very long time ago, actually.”

  Gently does it, she thought. “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “Possibly.”

  “But not on the phone?”

  Marnie wanted to ask a hundred questions, but reined herself in, worrying that she might frighten him away if she pushed too hard.

  “No.”

  Quietly she said, “Would you like us to meet?” There was a long silence. Marnie decided to ride it, but after a while she wondered if he had gone. She tried again. “We could find somewhere neutral. I’m in the country about fifty miles north of London.”

  “I’ll ring you back.”

  Marnie immediately pressed a button on the phone. The message in the mobile’s tiny window read: Number withheld.

  *

  Anne had found the wine as soon as she opened the cupboard door. Putting the bottle on the workbench in the galley, she went along to the key rack, bursting with impatience. When they had returned from Brackley, Marnie and Ralph had headed straight for Thyrsis to make supper, still talking about Anthony’s apparent change of character, his repentance. They had stopped at a supermarket on the way and each of them was carrying bags of groceries, so Anne had been obliged to walk through the spinney to the docking area. Now she was desperate to find out if Marlene had kept her promise and phoned her.

  She grabbed the key and ran out of the boat, taking the shortest track through the trees to the office barn. When she saw the number 4 in the answerphone window, she had a foreboding that Marlene would not be one of them. She pressed the button and reached for the pad. One: Beth. Two: the builders’ merchants wanting instructions about slates. Three: Willards wanting to discuss completion dates. Anne knew the last message would not be Marlene. She was right.

  *

  “You don’t think it might have been one of the rat pack?” Ralph said. “The man who’s been watching Anthony?”

  “He seemed different,” said Marnie, looking out of the window. “I wonder what’s happened to Anne.”

  “What do you mean? She’s here on board, isn’t she?” Ralph put the garlic bread into a dish and rinsed his hands.

  “No. I sent her to get a bottle of wine on Sally some time ago. Where can she be? “

  “Don’t get paranoid,” said Ralph. “She’s not going to get abducted again. Not here. Anyway, I think she’s coming. I can see movement in the spinney.”

  Marnie peered out. “The spinney? You’re sure it’s her?”

  “It’s her.”

  They saw Anne step aboard Sally Ann and re-appear moments later holding a bottle. She looked pre-occupied, and Marnie had her usual feelings of guilt at exposing her young friend to so many problems. She wandered along the corridor and pushed the side doors open as Anne approached.

  “What’s up? You look glum.”

  Anne turned to come in backwards down the steps, sighing. “No message from Marlene. I don’t suppose she’s tried on the mobile?”

  Marnie took the bottle of wine. “No. But I had a call from a man. I think it was the contact from Judith.”

  “Did he give his name?”

  “No, hardly said anything.”

  Anne pondered for a few moments. “You don’t think it could’ve been someone from the press?”

  “Don’t think so. Come on, let’s eat.” She turned and led the way towards the galley. Over her shoulder she said, “Anything interesting on the answerphone?”

  “Nothing earth-shattering. I’ve made a list.”

  *

  Marnie poured the last of the wine into their glasses. She and Ralph helped themselves to fruit while Anne put the dishes in the sink. In the cleared space on the table Marnie put a notebook.

  “I’ve been drafting a press release and writing a sort of plan of campaign.”

  Ralph quickly read the details: girl made pregnant by Hawksby, boy sexually assaulted at school, Anthony set up with girl in garden, hounding in the paper, girl’s disappearance, hounding all over the country, wife’s suicide. Marnie turned the page.

  “I’ve put all that in the press release. I’m going to send it as soon as I get names of contacts in the media world.”

  “From this Becky Thornton?” said Ralph.

  “Or whoever.”

  “You’re still hoping Marlene will contact you?”

  “Perhaps she’s been delayed,” Anne said, sounding unconvinced. “Do you think she could be in any danger?”

  “Who from?” said Ralph. “Hawksby? I doubt it. He got what he wanted from her. My suspicion is she might just decide to lie low.”

  “That’s what worries me,” said Marnie. “I have this feeling that after everything we’ve done, it’s going to lead nowhere.”

  29

  “So things aren’t going too well,” Beth said sympathetically. “Must be disappointing.”

  Marnie was determined not to sigh. “Yes. I mean no. Both. In reverse order.”

  As she spoke, she put a line through Beth’s name on Anne’s list of phone messages. It was almost eight-thirty, Wednesday morning.

  “And this Anthony is over at Randall’s place. Is that right?”

  “Yes. Randall thinks he might want to take up Holy Orders. Can you believe that?”

  “He must’ve been reading books about monks and nuns in the Middle Ages,” Beth suggested. “We all know what they got up to.”

  “Something tells me you don’t have a high opinion of Anthony.”

  “Well, Marnie, after what I’ve read in the papers, what do you expect? Sorry if he’s become a mate of yours, and all that, but you know what they say about leopards and spots. Oh dear, was that a sigh?”

  “No,” Marnie said firmly. “I’ve given them up for Lent.”

  “Lent finished at Easter.”

  “I’m in training for next year. It’s all this talk about religion.”

  “Do you think he’s really changed his character?” said Beth.

  “Well, he’s certainly changed quite a bit since he first came here. Anyway, I’m past caring. All I want is to get things resolved. And nothing’s happening. It’s all gone ominously quiet.”

  “And you take that as a bad sign, that it’s all gone quiet?”

  “Sure. I’m trying to make things happen. That’s the whole idea.”

  “Oh well,” said Beth. “You never know. Look on the bright side. This might just be the lull before the storm.”

  “Thanks, Beth. That’s very comforting.”

  “We aim to please.”

  “Gotta go. Calls to make. Plans to lay. Decisions, decisions. I’ll ring you.”

  “Okay. Keep smiling.”

  Marnie checked her list and was about to ring the builders’ merchants when the phone rang first.

  “Hi Marnie.”

  “Simon, hi.”

  “Progress?”

  “What’s the opposite of progress?”

  “Ah ... Look, I’m going to a meeting in Birmingham on Friday. Any chance of calling in on my way back? You around?”

  She checked her filofax. “We’ll be here. What time?”

  “Late afternoon ... ish.”

  “Come for supper?”

  “Great. But I can’t stay late, early start on Saturday morning, business trip.”
>
  “We can have an early supper. No problem.”

  “Fine. And you can fill me in on whatever’s the opposite of progress. Oh, and I’d like us to have a chat.”

  Marnie made the rest of her phone calls, pleased that the real world seemed to be going forward. The only name on her list not to be crossed through was Marriner, yesterday’s fourth message. He was out of the office till after lunch. She turned to her drawing board and began finalising a scheme for one of the Willards’ jobs.

  Anne took the next call. “Walker and Co, good morning.”

  “Has anyone told you, Anne, you’ve got a very good telephone voice?”

  “Is that ... Mr Leyton-Brown?”

  “Yes. Anthony. Or these days, Tony. You sound very professional. You make a good impression.”

  “Good. I’ll pass you over to Marnie.”

  With Marnie on the phone, Anne made drinks for the builders and took them out on the tray, enjoying her few moments of friendly banter with the men on the site. By the time she returned to the office, Marnie was back at her drawing board, but there was a stillness about her, even seen from behind, that made it clear to Anne that her mind was not on colour schemes. Anne asked if she was ready for a drink and, when Marnie made no reply, Anne walked over.

  “Anything bothering you? Anything I should know?”

  “Anthony wants a talk. I said we’d go over this afternoon.”

  “I’ve got my driving lesson today.”

  “I know. I’ll go with Ralph. We’ll drop you off in Towcester on the way.”

  “Did he say what he wanted to talk about?”

  “He was on the payphone in the hostel, so he just said ... planning the next step.”

  “Sounds like progress. Is your mobile charged up, Marnie?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  “I don’t want to miss Marlene when – if – she rings.”

  *

  Anthony’s room was plain and simple, with two beds, only one of which was in use. There was one window, a chair, a wardrobe and a bedside cabinet. A landscape print on the wall. No crucifixes or biblical quotations.