by Leo McNeir
Anne looked crestfallen. “Did he think I was being stupid?”
“No! Of course not. Ralph knows you better than that.”
“But?”
“Not really but. It’s just that he thought we didn’t have much evidence to go on, hard facts that proved the stranger was connected with the trouble-makers. He was only trying to be objective about it all.”
“Before I came to see you, there was some expert on the radio saying that this could only be a combined operation, and there was definitely a mastermind somewhere behind the scenes backed up by what he called ‘local commanders’.”
“And you think our Kapitän might be one of these local commanders?” said Marnie.
“Who knows? He’s not there now, is he? Did you see when he went off?”
Marnie looked across the canal to where X O 2 was moored. There was still no mountain bike attached to the roof.
“As far as I know, he’s been out all night.”
*
Marnie was going through the pile of plans on her desk. It was soon after nine and Estelle had not shown up. They had arranged to talk about the Umbria job. She turned in her seat and looked at the upstairs windows of cottage number two. The curtains were drawn.
Without a word to Anne, Marnie stepped out into the courtyard and walked round the side of the barn. Estelle’s car was standing in its usual parking space beside Ralph’s Volvo. She wandered over to the farmhouse and went through to the rear where Bob and one of his mates were fitting new windows on the ground floor. Staying only long enough to learn that they had not seen Estelle or Luther that morning, Marnie returned to the office. She was opening the door when a voice hailed her.
“Hi Marnie!”
She turned to see Estelle at an upstairs window in her bathrobe.
“Hi. You OK?”
Estelle waggled her head in a so-so gesture. “I’ll tell you all about it. Can we put our meeting back to ten o’clock?”
“Sure. Everything all right?”
“Apart from getting arrested at gunpoint last night, everything’s fine.”
*
The plans of the villa in Italy lay ignored on the desk. Marnie and Anne listened intently without comment while Estelle told her story. She described seeing the vandals smashing up the mosque and daubing it with paint the colour of blood before roaring away just ahead of them. That explained why the police had become so excited when they found a dark-coloured car caught by their road block only minutes after the attack had been reported. Her description of them being stood up against a wall while armed police trained guns on them at point blank range evoked mutterings of dismay and disbelief.
Marnie leaned across the desk, put a finger under Anne’s chin and pushed her mouth shut with a snap.
“How long did they hold you?” said Marnie.
“About forty-five minutes.”
“And they seriously thought you were far-right terrorists?” She could not keep the incredulity out of her voice.
“You’d think they took us for Himmler and Goering reincarnated, the fuss they were making! They wanted to know if we either of us had our passports with us.”
“Your passports?” More incredulity.
“I said: are you kidding? Passports? We’ve been out for the evening in Leicester. I know they’ve got a large Asian population, but let’s not exaggerate. God, I’m starting to sound like a Yiddisher Mamma!”
Marnie smiled. “I’m amazed you can joke about it. It must have been terrifying for you.”
Estelle shrugged. “Well, it was and it wasn’t. Sure, it wasn’t fun having all those guns aimed at us, but we knew we were innocent, after all. We didn’t think they’d really shoot us.”
“So what did they do?”
“Searched my bag, found my driving licence and credit cards, searched Luther’s wallet and found the same, plus his university ID card and library ticket.” She laughed. “They were really pissed off. There they were thinking they’d got Bonnie and Clyde the urban guerrillas, and they couldn’t even breathalyse me. I hadn’t touched a drop all evening.”
“Even so …” said Marnie.
“Yes, even so, it took them three quarters of an hour before they saw the funny side of it all. By that time, the real vandals were probably safely tucked up in bed under their little Third Reich duvet covers.”
“There’s a funny side?”
“The whole thing is a joke, Marnie! I mean, look at us, one five foot two inch Jewish woman and one six foot two inch black West Indian. We’re neither of us very convincing models of the white Aryan master race, are we? Some disguise!”
Even Anne could see the funny side.
*
They did their best for the remainder of the day to conduct business as usual. Anne applied herself to keeping the show on the road, providing the builders with refreshment, writing notes on Marnie’s and Estelle’s designs for later discussion. Marnie strained to focus on the projects in her programme and had a further meeting with Estelle on the Umbria scheme. For all of them it was a struggle.
Marnie left a message on Serena’s answerphone, and shortly before noon, when Anne was collecting mugs from the site, the phone rang.
‘Hi, Marnie.’
‘Is that you, Serena?’
‘You thought it was your grandmother?’
‘No. The line’s a bit crackly, that’s all. Thanks for getting back to me.’
“I just got home from the centre.”
“I’m not holding my breath for the redecoration job.”
“You may be right there, Marnie, but it’s not as bad as it looked. The place was just an empty shell, so there wasn’t much to ignite, and the fire brigade came quickly, so it didn’t burn for long. But that’s not why I was going to call you anyway.”
“The body?”
“The body. I was talking to this detective who said something to the effect that the scientific people had found that it was a white man, probably in his twenties.”
“They can’t have had the results back so soon, surely. Wait a minute … a white man in his twenties?”
“Not an unreasonable assumption.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“Anyway, the detective said his boss had been pestering the pathologist for a quick result. I was with him when he got the call. It’s funny. You had the same reaction as the detective.”
“In what way?”
“He was surprised at the age. He thought it would be someone younger because he was fairly small and slight, probably a teenager. But there was something about the skull made them realise he was a bit older.”
“Did he say anything else?”
Serena paused. “Don’t think so. Oh yes, he had fair hair. There were traces, that’s all. What a grisly job some people have, Marnie.”
“Yeah. Listen, I wanted to let you know there’s a meeting here at the school this afternoon. With all this trouble in town, the parents are feeling agitated. The head thinks they’re going to pull out of the summer scheme.”
“That’d be a shame.”
“What can I tell them? They need reassurance. Margaret wants me to speak to them.”
“The bombing of the centre was a one-off, Marnie. There was no other trouble in Northampton.”
“Some might say a fire bomb – a second fire bomb – plus a dead body was bad enough. And you did say trouble-makers could cause disruption during the holidays.”
“Which is why we’re getting the kids out of town. I’m organising more outings. It’s the best way.”
“Your budget can run to that?”
“I’m past worrying about budgets. We can deal with that later.”
“Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do you want me to come to the meeting?”
“Can you find the time?”
“What are grandmothers for, Marnie?”
*
At about the time of Marnie’s conversation with Serena, Ralph’s working group finished it
s morning session in Barcelona. The members spilled out of the air-conditioned conference centre into bright sunshine and Mediterranean heat. They had an hour to wait before lunch and decided to split up in search of a drink in the many bars scattered around the main harbour. Ralph walked along the promenade, chatting about monetary policy, in the company of a friend from Copenhagen, a Dane whose two passions in life were beer and running marathons.
They found a table under a parasol on a terrace overlooking the sea and hung their jackets on the backs of their chairs. A waiter came out to take their order.
“Buenas tardes, señores.”
“Buenas tardes,” Ralph returned the greeting, raising an eyebrow in the direction of his friend. “Do I need to ask, Henning?”
“Beer,” said the Dane with a smile.
“Cerveza,” said the waiter. He raised two fingers. “Dos?”
Ralph nodded. “Dos, por favor.”
“Dos cervezas.” The waiter repeated the order and withdrew.
Henning returned to their conversation in excellent English, soon realising that Ralph’s thoughts were elsewhere.
“Ralph? Have you had enough of monetary theory for one morning?”
“Of course not. I can never get enough of it, Henning.”
But his eyes and thoughts were following the waiter as he vanished behind the bar.
*
Marnie’s thoughts were troubled, and it had nothing to do with anxiety about the meeting planned for that afternoon. She knew that if she helped to persuade the parents to let their children take part in the summer play scheme and something terrible happened, she would never forgive herself. Equally importantly, she suspected the community in Knightly St John would never be able to forgive and forget. It would be the end of her dream, and she would have to leave Glebe Farm for ever. But she had made up her mind only to present the facts as she saw them. The parents would have to decide for themselves. She felt that her attitude was selfish, but she was not going to jeopardise everything for a few weeks of activities in the summer holidays.
No. Her thoughts were troubled because she could not tear them away from the idea that the charred body of the young man found in the burnt-out building might have been their neighbour from X O 2.
When they broke for a quick sandwich on Sally Ann, Marnie and Anne both looked immediately towards the visitor’s boat. The mountain bike was still missing from its resting place on the roof.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Anne said, as they unlocked the stern doors on Sally Ann.
“You don’t.”
Anne was surprised at the firmness of the reply.
“I don’t? I usually do.”
Marnie smiled wryly. “True. But not this time.”
“What don’t I know? What haven’t you told me?” Suspicion.
They walked through to the galley.
“You think I’m wondering whether the Kapitän is the local mastermind of this New Force outfit. Right?”
“Yes,” Anne said quietly. “But we both think that. So what’s different this time?”
Marnie poured a carton of soup into a pan and lit the gas burner. The distinctive smell of butane floated between them, joining the aroma of carrot and coriander. She knelt to light the oven and took the rolls that Anne passed her. Laying them on the rack, she closed the oven door and straightened up.
“I know when you’re playing for time, Marnie. It usually means you’re wondering whether you can tell me something without me getting worried about it. Right?”
“You’re such a know-all, Anne.” She smiled. “And you know I feel responsible for you.”
“But you know I’ll probably only worry more if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you. I’ll imagine all sorts of horrible things.”
“Fair enough. While you were out of the office, Serena phoned.”
“You told me that. You said she’s coming to the meeting at the school.”
“Yes. She also told me the police know from the post-mortem that the fire-bomber in the centre was a young man … in his twenties … with fair hair.”
Anne’s eyes strayed to the window. “And you were thinking …”
“He’s been gone for a day or two,” said Marnie. “He arrived when the trouble was starting. Now he’s … missing.”
Anne looked thoughtful. “As in missing in action,” she muttered. “So that could be the end of the line.”
A cloud passed over Marnie’s face.
“But you don’t think so,” said Anne.
“Er …”
“Go on. Tell me.”
Marnie shook her head. “I’m probably being unnecessarily pessimistic. In fact, the more I think about it –”
“Just say it,” Anne interrupted.
“It’s that if he is – was – the local co-ordinator, or whatever it is, then he may have had papers, plans, information. They’ll be top secret. New Force would want to recover them.”
Anne’s eyes were the size of Frisbees. “And they could come looking for them here,” she murmured. “That could be fun.”
*
There was a good turnout for the meeting, and the school hall was full. A few latecomers had to stand at the back. Margaret Giles invited Marnie to join her and the chairman of governors at the desk on the low platform stage, but Marnie preferred to take a seat in the front row where she was joined by Serena, Anne, Estelle and Luther, who had come to give moral support. The chairman of governors was none other than Dorothy Vane-Henderson, who seemed to be a professional committee-person and greeted Serena warmly. She opened proceedings with a few brisk well-chosen words and handed over to Mrs Giles to explain the situation.
As usual, Marnie was impressed by Margaret Giles. She briefly summed up the circumstances surrounding the event. In her view the summer play scheme was a good opportunity for the children of the village to benefit from a programme of events that would enhance the long summer holiday in a positive and enjoyable way. Marnie found her thoughts contrasting the planned programme of destruction organised by New Force, and the more she listened to the head outlining the advantages of the summer scheme, the more convinced she became that it was worth supporting.
Margaret invited Serena to describe the scheme in detail, and she was again impressed. Not only was Serena a good organiser, she was an accomplished speaker. Sensing that the audience did not want a rousing speech, she addressed them in a calm voice, drawing attention to the printed leaflet – she had brought a pile of extra copies – and describing the range of activities in just enough detail to get her points across. She concluded by mentioning the additional outings that were now being arranged. The parents, most of them being the mothers of the children, given the timing of the meeting, seemed to find her approach convincing and reassuring. Resisting the temptation to hog the limelight, Serena ended by saying she would be pleased to answer any questions.
There was the usual silence that follows any invitation to ask questions. Margaret Giles smiled encouragingly at the audience, and a tentative hand rose from the middle of the hall.
“Mrs Graham,” Margaret called.
The young mother stood up. “We’ve all seen the accounts of the fires at the community centre in town. It seems that coloured people are being targeted.” She hesitated. “I suppose what I’m saying is, could it be dangerous? Will this summer scheme be seen as mainly a programme organised by – and for – the West Indian community?”
Serena began leaning forward as if to stand. For a moment she hesitated, noticing Luther in the front row for the first time. Their eyes locked, and Margaret Giles was on her feet in an instant.
“I think that’s the question we’ve all been asking ourselves, Mrs Graham, and I’m glad you’ve raised it. The summer scheme does have the advantage that it will give our children the opportunity to mix with children from other backgrounds. A small village school can’t normally provide that, and I believe it will be a valuable experience.”
“But can the o
rganisers guarantee our children’s safety?” another voice called out.
There were murmurs of agreement. Margaret nodded, seeming untroubled by the question.
“I was coming to that point. The fact is that Mrs McDowell …” She glanced sideways. “… and her management committee, of which our own chairman of governors is a leading member …” Another glance. “… have arranged supervision by parents, youth workers and volunteers. There will be an excellent ratio of adults to children. I myself will be spending a few days assisting. I can also inform you that Mrs Walker … Marnie …” A nod to the front row. “… has made enquiries with the education office that have led to the offer of premises as a base for the scheme. We will have the use of Garfield primary school, close to the town centre, for the whole of the holiday period.”
Another hand was raised, and a tall serious woman stood up. She paused before speaking, and the assembly became quiet in anticipation.
“I’m sure we find all that very helpful, Mrs Giles.” She looked at the audience around her. There was complete silence. “But I know I’m not the only parent wondering whether our children are being invited to take part in a kind of … social experiment for the benefit of townschildren …” There were mutterings of assent mixed with murmurs of protest. “… from some sections of the community.”
Serena looked startled. The volume of sound began to rise rapidly in the hall. From the platform Margaret stepped in to restore order.
“I don’t really think that’s what we’re being invited to do, Mrs Wilkinson.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the hubbub.
The speaker persisted. “We’ve never been involved in the schemes before, so why now? The simple question is, should we be entrusting our children’s safety to these people who are in the middle of a dangerous conflict? We all saw on TV what happened last night when all over the country ethnic groups were attacked and bombed.” Her voice had become shrill as other voices rose on all sides.
Suddenly Estelle was on her feet pointing at the parent, and her voice could be heard above the din.
