by Leo McNeir
Marnie laughed, albeit only gently. “I’m surprised you haven’t booked the Red Arrows for a fly past.” She went over to the kitchen and put an arm round her friend’s shoulders. “Idiot!” she said affectionately. “Thank goodness you’re here. You always cheer me up, even without the coffee. Actually, you’ve given me an idea.”
Deadpan. “We can’t really afford the Coldstream Guards, Marnie. It was meant to be a joke.”
Marnie tousled her hair. “Now that is disappointing, but what about having a celebration on a more modest scale? You could spare some time from your studies for a party, couldn’t you?”
“No probs. As long as it takes place between five and five-fifteen on Sunday morning, I should be able to fit it into my schedule.”
“Perfect.”
Over coffee Marnie checked the forecast for the end of the week and opted for a lunch party on Saturday, outside in the courtyard. For the next hour she was on the phone inviting friends and family, a dozen or so in total. It would be her favourite kind of gathering, an informal grouping at a long table like the lunch breaks enjoyed by grape pickers during the wine harvest. She quickly wrote out a menu. There would be quiches, baked trout, salads, bowls of vegetables, followed by cheeses and fruit, all rounded off with Marnie’s personal speciality, tiramisoufflé.
The idea and its planning had fired her with enthusiasm, and her earlier mood had evaporated. So it was that when the phone rang shortly before lunch she was feeling restored to her customary optimism.
“Marnie, it’s Charles. I just wanted to say I picked up the message you left me on the answerphone. Glad you got Perfidia to the yard without mishap. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Jock will ring me as soon as the works are completed. You still want me to bring her up here and make arrangements to sell?”
“I do. We can discuss details when you’re ready. There’s no immediate rush. Can we talk about the house?”
“Sure. Most of the rooms are completed, just the hall and stairs now to be done. Carpets and curtains are due next week. We’re on schedule.”
“Brilliant. I feel I’m in safe hands with you, Marnie.”
“Let’s hope so. When would you like to come and see it … after it’s all finished?”
“Actually, this is rather a busy time for me, winding up with the company and all that. I was wondering if I could come up at the weekend.”
A hesitation. “This coming weekend, you mean?”
“Saturday would suit me best. Of course, I realise this would be imposing on your free time.”
“That’s all right. Charles, would you be able to have lunch with us? We’re having some friends round, mainly from the village. It would be an opportunity to meet people.”
Now was the chance to say he would not be coming to live in Knightly St John after all, and Marnie expected Charles to tell her so. But he surprised her.
“If you’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition.”
“Not at all. It’ll be an informal relaxing occasion, I promise you.”
Stringing up bunting around the courtyard at seven on Saturday morning was an act of faith. They had got up at six to find ominous clouds crawling across the sky with a cool breeze. But the local weather forecast was for a fine day, so they gritted their teeth and began preparations. Marnie and Anne worked in the galley on Sally Ann, using the kitchen area in the office barn for final touches and setting out ready for serving. Ralph put up the tables in the courtyard and acted as general factotum and dogsbody.
Well in advance of the arrival of their guests, they were ready for Charles’s visit, and just before eleven he rang on his mobile to say he was approaching the village. Marnie set off in the Discovery to meet him at the vicarage joined by Angela from cottage number three. Anne went along to take notes.
Marnie swung the car in through the gateway and immediately had to brake hard. Standing in front of the building was a small Peugeot ahead of Charles’s Jaguar.
“Do you recognise that car, Angela?”
The vicar craned forward in her seat. “Never seen it before.”
They stepped down onto the drive as Charles climbed out of his car.
“Were you expecting a visitor, Charles?”
He shook his head, frowning. “One of your contractors, perhaps, Marnie?”
“I don’t think so.” She put a hand on the Peugeot’s bonnet. “Whoever it is, they haven’t been here long. The engine’s warm.”
“No sign of a break-in,” Angela muttered, scanning the building. “I do hope we haven’t got squatters in. Church properties have had that sort of problem before.” She began walking towards the front door when it opened.
A woman looked out. “Oh, there you are. I was beginning to think no-one was in.”
Charles advanced on her. “Do you mind me asking what you’re doing here?”
“I’ve come to see you, actually.” She spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. In her thirties, dressed in jeans and a sweater, she was behaving as if they were calling in on her.
Charles raised an eyebrow in Marnie’s direction. Marnie gave the slightest movement of her head in reply.
“Are you going to come in?” said the woman, standing aside in the doorway.
There were no chairs in the house, so they stood in the drawing room in an awkward grouping. One of the French windows was ajar, and the woman pointed at it.
“That’s how I came in. It wasn’t locked, which is why I thought someone must be at home. You couldn’t leave anything unlocked like that in London … no knowing who might get in.”
Charles was looking agitated. “Look, before this goes any further, I want you to tell me who you are and what you’re doing breaking into my house.”
“I told you, I didn’t break in. I just turned the handle and –”
“All right, all right. Why are you here? What’s your name?”
“I’m Sarah Cowan.” She waited as if assuming that made everything clear.
The four people confronting her scoured their memories to try and recall where they had heard the name before. It was familiar to all of them, but none could identify it immediately.
Anne spoke first. “From the trial,” she said softly.
“Good lord!” Charles looked stunned. “You’re …”
“Neil’s sister,” the woman said evenly.
“Why have you come? How did you know I’d be here? I don’t understand.” Another glance towards Marnie, who looked blank.
“It wasn’t difficult finding the place. It was in all the papers. You’d bought a rectory in a village in Northamptonshire. I got on to the local press and found out which one, drove up, asked for the rectory in the little shop and here I am.”
“And why are you here exactly? Can you give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police and have you arrested for house breaking?”
“I’ve already told you I didn’t –”
“Perhaps it would be an idea if you just said what you wanted.” Marnie interrupted her. “You must’ve come here for a reason.”
Sarah Cowan looked at Marnie for the first time. “Someone who talks sense.”
“And who would like an answer,” Marnie added.
“Are you with him?”
“We’re all with him. Please stop avoiding the issue. Why are you here?”
“It’s simple.” She turned back to Charles. “I want you to help me get Neil released. He’s innocent.” Pointedly she added, “You know that.”
Charles looked as if he had been struck in the face. And at that moment Marnie gave a sharp intake of breath. Anne noticed it, but the others were staring at the newcomer.
“I think you should leave … now.” Charles’s voice was dry, and he seemed to speak with difficulty.
“Threaten to call the police if you like, but I don’t think you’d want the publicity. I wouldn’t want it either, not yet anyway.”
“I don’t think this is right.” Angela joined in. “After all
Mr Taverner has been through. It would be best if you left, please.”
“I’ve made a special journey. I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came to say.”
“You gave your evidence at your brother’s trial.” Charles stood clenching and unclenching his fists. “You had your chance to clear him then. Whatever you say now won’t make any difference. It’s too late.”
“I told the truth at the trial. I’m telling the truth now. Neil did not kill your wife.”
“You said you couldn’t swear to that. You were asleep.”
“I was ill, passing in and out of sleep. Half the country was down with flu that week. Every time I woke up and needed something, Neil was right there. But because of the state I was in, I couldn’t swear on oath that he was there. Nevertheless, I know he was with me for the whole time. I know my brother.”
This was no impassioned speech. Every word was pronounced clearly in a calm, reasoned tone. However awkward the situation, none of them hearing Sarah Cowan doubted that she believed what she was saying.
“I’m trying to put it all behind me,” Charles said quietly. “I don’t know what you expect me to do. The court has decided. The motion for an appeal was rejected. Even if I could –”
“You could give support to my campaign … in public.”
“No, no. You must see that I can’t get involved. This is a matter for the authorities. If you think you have a case you should go to the police or a solicitor … your MP.”
“I am. I’m doing all that. That’s the plan. And I’m going to the press and media. I’d stand a much better chance if you were with me.”
Angela filled the gap when Charles fell silent. “Why would Mr Taverner want to help you? What you’re asking of him doesn’t seem reasonable.”
“Of course it’s reasonable. It’s more than reasonable. It’s what he needs.”
Charles recovered his voice. “What are you talking about? What I need …”
“That’s why I came up here. You want the real killer to be found more than anyone else, perhaps even more than Neil. My brother didn’t do it. So who did? That’s what you need to know.”
They stood outside the front door and watched the little Peugeot move off, as if they were seeing a guest on their way after a party. For some seconds after the car turned out of the drive they stood in silence, hearing the engine note fade away.
“Well,” Charles summed up their feelings in one word.
“Very strange,” Angela murmured.
Charles moved towards his car and turned to face Marnie. “Would you mind very much in the circumstances if I didn’t join your other guests on this occasion? I don’t think I’d be very good company.”
“Are you all right, Charles? I mean, do you feel like driving? If you wanted, you could have a break on our boat, a cup of tea, at least.”
“Thank you, Marnie, but I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll just take it gently.”
Charles kissed Marnie on the cheek and nodded to Angela and Anne before driving off. They heard the tyres crunch on the gravel and watched the elegant car pull away, its engine a soft purring from twin exhausts.
Marnie breathed out, long and slow. “Well, we’ve got to get back in the mood for a lunch party now. Any takers?”
They walked down the track, the three of them coming to terms with the strange encounter. Marnie was surprised to find she was holding a business card. Sarah Cowan had thrust it on her as she left. What she expected of her, Marnie had no idea.
Back in the office barn with Ralph, Marnie outlined what had happened. He listened intently until she reached the end of her narration and asked a surprising question.
“Did Charles seem to believe her, that Gerard was innocent?”
“Believe her? You mean, does Charles think there’s some doubt about the verdict?”
“Not exactly. Up until now he hasn’t given any sign of thinking they’ve convicted the wrong person, so I don’t think he’s had any positive thoughts along those lines. What I mean is, did he seem to think the sister had a point after hearing what she had to say?”
“I must be thick, Ralph, but I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at. He said the court had reached its verdict after taking everything into account. That’s why an appeal wasn’t allowed.”
“But did his reaction give a clue to any underlying thoughts on the matter?”
Anne butted in. “Do you mean did it occur to him that the sister might be right, as if he might have had private doubts before, and she sort of reawakened them?”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
Marnie reflected. “That’s a bit subtle for me. He didn’t, er, fly off the handle and say he refuted her idea absolutely, if that’s any indication.”
“Surely that would’ve been a natural reaction,” Ralph suggested. “It’s what I would’ve said, if I thought the sister was totally out of order.”
“Ye-e-es.”
“What did you think about what she said, Marnie?”
A shrug. “A bolt out of the blue.”
“But Marnie,” Anne interjected. “There was something that surprised you, wasn’t there? You gave a reaction when she said that Mr Taverner knew her brother was innocent.”
“Did you, Marnie?” Ralph looked puzzled.
She forced her thoughts back into her memory. “It was one of the things that didn’t seem right when we were in Little Venice.”
“You said there were two things.”
“Yes, but up there at the vicarage, Sarah brought one of them back.”
“Charles said something in Little Venice that hinted that he believed Gerard wasn’t the killer?”
“No, it wasn’t as straightforward as that. It’s very difficult to put into words, just a kind of impression, but it struck me at the time.”
“And something the sister said brought it back?”
“When we were on Perfidia with Charles, he asked me about the technical side of what happened, how Barbara was killed, said he was a technophobe – rather like you, Ralph – and I took that at face value.”
“That he was as technically-minded as I am?”
“Yes.”
Ralph rolled his eyes. Anne suppressed a smile.
“So I told him in very simple terms about how someone had tampered with the gas system, how it couldn’t have been damaged by impact.”
“Presumably he understood what you told him?”
Marnie suddenly changed direction. “Ralph, tell me what you know about the technical side of boating.”
He turned towards Anne. “Do you have a postage stamp? You can write what I know on the back of it.”
Marnie grinned. “I’m serious. Tell me.”
“Well, I must know more than most people, after all I’ve got a boat and I’ve done a fair bit of travelling. I know about checking the oil in the engine every now and then, turning the stern gland to keep the propshaft lubricated … oh, and there’s the er – what d’you call it – the tube under the tiller. I put grease in that sometimes …”
“Go on.”
Ralph shrugged. “That’s about it, really.”
“And the other systems: gas, electrics, water?”
“I know where you turn them on and off. I know about setting the switch in the position to make sure the batteries are charging, which one is for starting the engine, which for domestic use.”
“Tell me about the compression joints, Ralph.”
“The what?” Bewilderment.
“The compression joints. What do you do with them?”
He shook his head. “Never heard of them.”
“Yet you run a boat, you’ve lots of experience of travelling on it, even managing it single-handed. Have you never encountered problems?”
“Nothing major.”
“Why not? Because you look after the boat, including the technical side.”
“Of course. I may not be mechanical, but I’m not stupid. I follow a routine to keep it running properl
y. Anything goes wrong, I contact an engineer. Same as for the car. Marnie, what’s the point of all this?”
“When Charles asked me to explain about the gas problem, I outlined the issues in simple terms. A little later he said he couldn’t imagine Gerard being the sort of person who would cause a leak by undoing a compression joint.”
“Had you used the word before, perhaps, and he was just repeating it?”
“No, definitely not.”
“There’s probably a simple explanation,” Anne suggested.
Ralph looked thoughtful. “There could be any number and some of them unwelcome. But one thing is certain; Charles knows more about boats than I do and more than he’s willing to admit.”
Everyone present at the lunch party felt as if liberated after the winter. The weather forecast proved to be accurate, and the sun was hardly obscured all afternoon. The only slight cloud came to hover from time to time over Marnie, as her thoughts dragged her back to the strange meeting at the vicarage, but she suppressed all such worries for the sake of her guests.
By the time the meal was over and the plates and dishes were ensconced in the dishwashers in the office barn and in Angela’s cottage, only Roger and Marjorie Broadbent remained. They had been travelling on their boat, Rumpole, and had timed their journey to be passing Glebe Farm on the day of the party. Marnie and Ralph walked with them through the spinney back to the canal where Rumpole was moored.
“So where to now, Roger?” Marnie asked as Rumpole came into view at the edge of the trees.
“Up as far as Stoke Bruerne for a day or two – we’re meeting friends up there, joining us from Leicester – then back to Little Venice by next weekend. A spring break, like every year.”
“Can I ask you about a legal matter?”
“No peace for the wicked, which usually includes solicitors in most people’s estimation.” He laughed at his joke. His wife smiled indulgently.
“Well, I’m not consulting you professionally for myself, it’s more a hypothetical question.”
“Go on, then. I’ll see if I can give you a sensible answer.”
