Kiss and Tell

by Leo McNeir

  “Let’s wait till things are sorted out before congratulating ourselves. We’ve still got a long way to go. Anything can happen.”

  Ralph put a hand on her shoulder. “Marnie’s right. I won’t be able to rest until we’ve completed our part and sent off the photos and statements.”

  “Oh well,” said Anthony, “Not long now. It’ll be a big relief to me, I can tell you.”

  “Are you ready to face the press?”

  “Yes, Ralph. I’m ready.”

  He turned the handle and pulled the heavy Georgian door open. Late afternoon sunshine poured in, inviting them onto the doorstep. They shook hands, Anthony smiling, Marnie and Ralph turning to walk back to the car. From the corner of her eye, Marnie caught sight of something across the street. She reached out to touch Ralph’s arm, but he had seen it too.

  “What is it?” Anthony said, recognising their concern.

  Marnie pointed. “Over there by that tree.”

  As she spoke, a face looked out, below it the end of a long camera lens. The man raised the camera quickly, bracing himself against the tree trunk. Marnie dived to one side. Ralph pushed Anthony in the chest.

  “Get back inside! Quick!” He began to race across the road, but Marnie pulled his sleeve, half spinning him as a car scorched past, inches away from running him down. A horn blared. When they looked up, they saw a man sprinting off. He leapt into a car, hit the starter and pulled out with tyres squealing. It was a blue Ford Sierra.

  Marnie held on to Ralph, who looked shocked after his near miss with the passing car. Anthony was still frozen in place on the doorstep, mouth half open.

  “Damn!“ Marnie said hoarsely. “Are you all right, Ralph?”

  “Thanks to you, yes.”

  Anthony said, “Was that – ”

  “Yes,” said Marnie. “It was.”

  Anthony thumped the wall with his fist. “They’re onto us. Jesus!”

  “They’re onto us,” she repeated. “And it’s all coming apart.”

  39

  It was a common enough sight. The jogger trotted up over the field towards the village from the direction of the canal. At that time on Monday morning, around seven, the only stirrings in Knightly St John involved commuters heading towards the station ten miles away to begin their trek to the capital.

  The jogger pounded steadily up the slope, lightly-built, in green tracksuit, dark glasses, bobble hat and Walkman, turning right at the gate at the end of the track, keeping a regular pace past the primary school, past the church and on towards the shop. At the last moment, the jogger changed course abruptly just as one of the newspaper boys pushed the door open to heave a bundle of papers into the pannier on his bike, and darted into the shop before the door closed.

  Once inside, the jogger pulled off the hat and glasses, gasping for breath, to reveal a head of very short pale blond hair.

  “Ouf! The things I do for Marnie! I must be mad.”

  Molly Appleton, checking newspapers at the counter, smiled broadly. “I didn’t know you were a jogger, Anne. Is this a new hobby?”

  “I’m in training for the Knightly St John Marathon.”

  Molly looked bewildered. “There isn’t one.”

  “Great! I can announce my retirement.”

  She crossed to the counter and examined the papers.

  “Tim’s taken your Guardian, Anne. He’s just gone out. You might still catch him if you hurry.”

  “No, it’s all right, Mrs Appleton. I only wanted to see what was in the other papers. Can I look through them?”

  “Help yourself. Looking for anything in particular?”

  Anne sifted through the pile and found the Globe. There on the front page, under an Exclusive banner and the headline Bingo! was the photo of a man in a doorway. He was bearded, with dark thinning hair, and staring straight at the camera. On either side of him, mostly out of shot, were two blurred shapes, probably a man and a woman. Below the photo was a question: Is this the missing MP? Another photo – Anthony without the beard – invited readers to compare the likeness and judge for themselves.

  As casually as she could, Anne said, “I’ll take this one, Mrs Appleton.”

  *

  They bent over the table in the galley on Thyrsis and studied the article. Anne was pulling off the tracksuit, still panting in the background.

  “Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!” Marnie muttered, turning the front page. “Wait a minute. Is that all it is? Where’s the rest?”

  She turned the next few pages before flicking back to the cover story. Ralph pointed to the foot of the page.

  “Look there. It says there’ll be more revelations over the next few days.”

  “They’re going to spin the story out like they did when they first printed the photos of Anthony with Marlene.”

  “That’s how you sell papers.”

  Marnie banged the table lightly with her fist. “What a drag!”

  “Mm,” Ralph began. “Could be worse.”

  “I’d love to know how. They’ve completely blown our cover. Any minute now the place’ll be swarming with paparazzi.”

  “No, it won’t. The Globe isn’t going to reveal where Anthony is. It wants the story to remain exclusive for as long as possible.”

  “Ye-e-s.” Marnie turned and looked out of the window across the canal. “Actually, I think you’re right, Ralph. And we could use that to our advantage if we move quickly enough.”

  *

  It was a common enough sight. Mid-morning and the vicar was going off on her rounds. In grey blouse with dog collar and grey skirt, she climbed into the Ford Escort and set off out of the village towards the Towcester road. At the Shell station she stopped for petrol and Polo mints. Two miles up the dual carriageway, she turned left into a narrow country road that led to Brackley through a series of byways.

  Arriving in the town centre, she turned off the high street and threaded her way round to park at the back of the hostel. From there it was just a short walk to the rectory where the Rural Dean invited her to stay for a chat. Half an hour later, she emerged and walked up to the shops.

  At about the time Angela was taking her leave of Randall at the rectory, a Volvo drove down the high street and parked outside the hostel. Ralph got out, rang the doorbell and was admitted by the housekeeper. A few minutes later, Randall let himself in with his own key. The two men came out of the building after a short while and drove off. They only went as far as the rectory before Randall got out, leaving Ralph to continue on his way back to Knightly St John.

  It was a quiet Monday morning.

  *

  It was almost noon when the vicar’s car crossed the ancient Roman highway of Watling Street and launched itself across the modern city of Milton Keynes from one roundabout to the next. In ten minutes she reached the eastern edge of town and pulled into the grounds of a canalside pub. She left the car at the far end of the parking area, almost under a willow tree within two steps of the water.

  The sky, which had been overcast all morning, was clearing and it was warm enough to sit outside. Angela took her sandwich and glass of cider out to one of the tables in the garden to enjoy her snack lunch overlooking the canal boats that lined the bank. As she took her seat, one of the boats a short distance away down the car park started its engine, burbling gently as the person in charge walked to the front end to push the nose out. It was painted in dark blue and cream. When the boat eased away from the bank, Angela and some of the other customers glanced up. The steerer was a girl with fine blond hair, cut very short. The name on the bow was Sally Ann.

  *

  Half an hour later, the same boat pulled in to the bank opposite another pub. This one was in a rural setting, far from any visible habitation, at a point where the canal was crossed by a minor road. This pub had been built two centuries earlier as a hostel for the men digging the Grand Junction Canal and was very popular with walkers. Barely five minutes had elapsed before a couple wearing jeans and sweatshirts came mar
ching along the towpath. They stopped beside Sally Ann to confer about their plans, exchanged a few words with the steerer, quickly stepped on board and went below.

  Some of the pub’s customers looked across at the boat when its engine started again, and they waved at the girl holding the tiller as she guided the boat out into mid-channel and headed north. The girl smiled and raised her hand to them. A pleasant day for a boat trip.

  Within fifteen minutes they found themselves in a remote spot with woods on one side of the canal and fields of cows and sheep on the other. Anne eased Sally Ann carefully in shallow water to tie her up fore and aft to trees on the opposite side to the towpath. She turned off the engine and went below.

  There was an appetising smell in the cabin of hot soup and rolls warming in the oven. Ralph and Anthony were sitting at the table that was set for four, Anthony checking the newspaper for any other references to the cover story.

  Anne took steaming soup bowls from Marnie and put them on the table. “Do you think anyone spotted you, Anthony?”

  “No. The only tricky part was coming out of the back door of the hostel, but Angela signalled all clear and I dived onto the back seat. I assume you were the decoy, Ralph.”

  “Yes. If that photographer was around, he knows my car well enough.”

  Anne cleared the paper away, tucking it down beside her chair.

  Marnie said, “I don’t think Angela has any doubts now about our policy of covering our tracks. We’ve shown her that if anything we weren’t careful enough.”

  Ralph shook his head. “We’ve all had a rude awakening.”

  “At least I’m out of their clutches for the time being,” said Anthony.

  “Don’t count on it. They’ve got enough to run the story again. They’ll have photos of you on the front page every day this week, and they’ll drag the whole thing up for a second time. The PM will be furious. The last thing your government wants is another sleaze row.”

  “I know. I realise I’ve got to make a move, and quickly. I just didn’t want to be seen to be on the defensive. If your plan had gone smoothly, Marnie, we would’ve had the advantage.”

  “Too late for that now,” she said. “We’re into damage limitation. We’ve got to have a whole new plan.”

  “You don’t think we can go ahead as we intended, the four of us in a photograph with a press statement?”

  “You really would have your backs to the wall,” said Ralph. “Hawksby would dismiss it as a stunt.”

  Marnie agreed. “Definitely. And there’s another worry. The new campaign in the Globe could well frighten the others off.”

  “At least Marlene’s here. She’ll be better than nothing.”

  “Even that may be optimistic, Anthony. For her it’ll be the nightmare starting all over again.”

  “So what do you suggest?”

  Why is it always me? Marnie thought. “I don’t know. It was the best I could do to come up with the first plan. God knows what we do now.”

  Anne had finished her soup while the others were talking. Absentmindedly she picked up the paper and, as she thumbed through it, a name jumped out at her.

  Anthony began, “I don’t want to –”

  “Look at this,” Anne said suddenly. “There’s more about Anthony.”

  She held up the editorial page. It appeared under the heading, Time for the Truth.

  “Read it out,” said Ralph.

  The Globe has been tireless in its exposure of sleaze at all levels of politics and government ... bla-bla-bla ... never cease to reveal the truth behind the scandal of those in the public eye who exploit their position ... those who hold themselves up as models of how we should all behave ... bla-bla-bla ... once again we bring to light the man the whole country has been looking for ... in hiding for weeks ... abandoned his wife ... bla-bla-bla ... at last we have tracked him down ... will soon reveal his whereabouts unless he does the decent thing ... This newspaper challenges Anthony Leyton-Brown MP to come out of the shadows and give a full explanation of his conduct ... only a public appearance will satisfy the British people ... Now is the time for the truth to be told.

  “Wonderful,” said Ralph. “Go public now, and it’ll seem like Hawksby’s dragged you all out.”

  Marnie nodded. “We’ve lost the initiative. We’re on the back foot. Again.”

  Anthony slumped in his chair. “So, rock bottom. I thought I’d been there before, but this time ...”

  “We’ve got to find some way of hitting back,” Marnie said. “And in the meantime we have to have somewhere to conceal you. We’re running out of hiding places.”

  “Yes, and every journalist in the country will be hunting me.”

  Ralph said, “It’s a pity there isn’t somewhere at Glebe Farm.”

  “The builders have started up again,” Anne muttered. “They’re working all over it.”

  “I know.”

  Marnie looked up. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” Ralph began, “You’ve got all those buildings at Glebe Farm but –”

  “No. Not you, Ralph. Anthony. What did you say just then?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing much. Only the obvious. The investigative journalists will be trying to track me down. It’s going to make hiding all the more difficult.”

  Marnie narrowed her eyes. “Then maybe it’s time they found you.”

  *

  Marnie, Ralph and Anne sat in the office barn that afternoon, leaving Anthony on his boat. They had work to do. Anne took notes and wrote a list of the phone calls they had to make. Marnie made the easy ones first.

  “Jenny? Hi, this is Marnie.”

  “I was wondering when we’d be starting.”

  “Look, Jenny, the fact is, we’re not.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “You haven’t seen the Globe this morning?”

  “That rag? No. Why?”

  “They’ve found Anthony. At least, they know where he’s staying. We’ve had to change the plan. We’re not going to ask you to come here. No photo. No statement.”

  “Oh, okay. Funny, I’d kind of resigned myself to doing it.”

  “Thanks, but you can stand down.”

  “Good luck.”

  Next, Nigel. It was almost the same conversation.

  “Well, Marnie, I can’t say I’m not relieved, but I was ready to have a go. Do you think you’ll get Hawksby?”

  “I think that’s gone by the board now. We’re just trying to sort out Anthony and, of course, Marlene.”

  “I wish you luck, Marnie.”

  Marnie put the phone down. Good luck! she thought. She ran a hand down her face, feeling the tense muscles.

  “You okay, Marnie?” said Ralph.

  “Sure. One more call and we can move on to the next step.”

  Suddenly Anne said, “Can I make the call to Marlene?”

  “Are you sure?” Marnie said.

  Anne nodded, picked up the phone and rang Angela’s number. The vicar answered. Seconds later Marlene came on the line.

  “Listen, Marlene, we’ve had to make a new plan, and we’ve got to move fast.”

  “What have I got to do?” Marlene sounded wary.

  “Just sit tight for the moment. Anthony’s going to give a statement to the press. You’ll have to be prepared to back up what he says. And we might need a photo of you.”

  “Is that it?”

  “No. You might have to appear in public. We’ll organise that when the time comes.”

  “Well, if you think it’s really necessary.”

  “There’s more,” said Anne. “You might have to appear in court if the paper takes legal action.”

  “In court?”

  “Maybe. We can’t tell. It all depends on what happens in the next few days.”

  There was a long pause. “Anne, what would you do if you were me? Try and imagine how I feel.”

  Anne said softly, “I’d go for it.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so. Since I got in
volved in this business, my life’s been a nightmare. What’ve I got to lose?”

  Marnie took the receiver from Anne after the call and replaced it.

  “Well,” she said. “This is it.”

  *

  Back on Sally Ann for tea, Anne rang the driving school to cancel her Wednesday lesson. When she finished, Anthony took the phone, keyed in the code to stop the number being traced and rang the BBC Radio 4 newsdesk. Marnie, Ralph and Anne watched him as he pressed the buttons on the phone, taking deep breaths. When the call was answered, he spoke slowly and calmly.

  “Hallo, newsdesk? This is Anthony Leyton-Brown ... yes, the MP.” He was put through to the producer and replied to a number of personal questions to satisfy him of his identity, before being allowed to continue. “In response to the article that appeared in the Globe this morning, I’d be willing to be interviewed on your breakfast news programme ... Tomorrow? Yes. Who’ll be doing the interview? ... I see ... Very well. Thank you.”

  40

  “It really is very good of you to put us up like this, Mrs Jolly.”

  Marnie settled herself in the kitchen facing a mound of scrambled eggs on toast. Anne beamed at her from across the table. It was the first time since the shootings that Anne looked relaxed and cheerful. In the background, the radio was adding a quiet murmur to breakfast.

  “I’m only sorry I couldn’t have you to stay last time you were here. Have you both got everything you need?”

  “More than enough, thank you. You’re spoiling us.”

  They had arrived the previous evening after the old lady had offered them a base for a few days. Marnie had thought of staying with Beth and Paul, but that left the problem of where Anthony could go. In the end they found the solution to all their needs in Little Venice, when Roger Broadbent agreed to them borrowing Rumpole. The boat was almost opposite Mrs Jolly’s house that faced the canal across the road, and they smuggled Anthony on board after dark.

  “What time will he be on?” asked Mrs Jolly, joining them at the table.