by Leo McNeir
“In criminal law, what grounds would be acceptable for an appeal to be allowed to go ahead?”
“You have a case in mind? No prizes for guessing?”
“Yes.”
“In the case of Neil Gerard there’d have to be fresh evidence. The petition to appeal has already been denied. The trial was judged to be conducted by the book and the conviction regarded as safe.”
“His sister’s mounting a campaign for a retrial, we believe.”
“Really? Well, you can’t just keep asking for a trial until you get the verdict you want. There’d have to be something pretty amazing for an appeal to be permitted at this stage.”
“Would the support of the victim’s husband be amazing enough?”
Roger stopped abruptly, his mouth open. “What? Are you serious, Marnie? Charles Taverner supporting a bid for an appeal? That would be amazing, I grant you, but there’d have to be good reason for it. And it would be a very unwise move on his part, in my view.”
“Gerard’s sister was here this morning, Sarah Cowan. She confronted Charles and asked him point blank for his help with her appeal campaign.”
“Good God. That’s extraordinary. What did he say?”
“Not a lot. He was as surprised as you were, as we all were.”
“There’d still have to be new evidence. Presumably something would have to convince Charles that the verdict was wrong.”
They reached the boat and stood on the bank in thoughtful silence for a few moments.
“Have you ever known anything like that happen before, Roger?”
“No, Ralph. For Charles to support an appeal campaign would be quite amazing. If I was his solicitor I’d advise him to keep well clear of anything to do with Gerard’s sister and her campaign.”
“You said you thought it would be unwise of Charles to support Sarah Cowan. Why was that?”
“I’d have thought that was fairly clear …”
Ralph pondered. “Yes.”
14
“Marnie, sometimes I don’t believe you live in the real world!”
Beth had a tendency to think her main role was to provide a commentary on the life of her younger sister. And not to disguise how she felt about it.
“What do you mean?” Marnie was flabbergasted.
“What I mean is, how can you even think about getting involved with Charles Taverner?”
“I didn’t say I was getting involved, just helping him with the boat. Beth, he is a client, right?”
“Client –”
“If you say client schmient I’ll hang up.”
“I was going to say, client my – “
“Foot?”
“Something like that. Marnie, after all you’ve been through in the last two years, you are the last person who should be getting … dealing with a man whose wife has been murdered.”
Marnie sagged. “I know, I know. It’s just that I promised to handle his house and boat, and there isn’t anyone else who can deal with them. I can’t let him down now.”
“What does Ralph think about it all?”
“He thinks it’s okay. Anyway, he’s very busy with his work, planning his trip to the States. He’s doing a lecture tour. His new book’s coming out there. The publisher wants a launch in Washington.”
“You’re trying to change the subject.”
“I’m just giving you an update. Anne’s almost finished her first year exams. The last ones are next week.”
“That’s early, isn’t it? It’s not even Easter.”
“They do them now to keep the summer term free for their projects.”
“Talking of Easter, you could use a break yourself. Why not go to America with Ralph?”
“It’ll be too hectic there. Anyway, we’re planning a cruise in the early summer.”
“Great! That’s more like it. Caribbean or Mediterranean?”
“We’re thinking of Northampton and Peterborough.”
“You old-fashioned Romantics! Ralph always knew how to show a girl a good time. But seriously.”
“I mean it. We want to take one of the boats up the Nene valley. It’s supposed to be very pretty.”
“You’re winding me up. You need a proper break, a real holiday. You should listen to me, Marnie. I’m your sister.”
“Sister schmister!”
Marnie was still smiling a few minutes later when the phone rang again. This time it was Jock Mackenzie reporting that Perfidia would be ready by the end of the week. She was now fully up to standard and complied with every regulation known to man, beast and British Waterways.
That meant she would have two items of good news for Charles, the other being that the redecoration of the vicarage was finished. They had only spoken once since the encounter with Sarah Cowan, when Charles had apologised for withdrawing from lunch. She rang his number and was leaving a message on the answerphone when he picked up the receiver. As usual he was screening calls.
“Would you and Anne be able to collect Perfidia, Marnie?”
“Not Anne. She’s in the middle of exams. I can go down to London, start the journey myself. Maybe Anne will join me for the next leg of the trip. We can weekend her back up here.”
“Weekend her?”
“I’ll have to do it in stages unless you have someone else in mind who might be able to get her up to Braunston more quickly?”
“No, no. If you can take her up in your own good time, that’ll be fine, Marnie.”
“Well, I’d like to get her to Berkhamsted – there are good moorings at the boatyard there – but I’ll probably only manage somewhere like Hemel or Boxmoor. There are quite a few locks on that stretch.”
“You mustn’t overdo things. I hadn’t thought you’d have to make the trip alone. Did you say Hemel … Hemel Hempstead?”
“Yes. Why?”
A pause. “It’s quite a long way.”
“Forty-odd lock miles from Bull’s Bridge, I think. If I can set off on Friday – the day after tomorrow – I should manage it over the weekend.”
“Well, as I say, don’t overstrain yourself.”
Marnie ended the call promising to ring Charles to let him know how the journey progressed. After putting the phone down, she sat pondering the conversation. Charles had become increasingly detached as they spoke, and by the end she knew something was bothering him.
Jock Mackenzie was his usual abrupt self, but when Marnie met him at the boatyard on Friday morning to take Perfidia he was more subdued than she had known him before. He spent half an hour showing Marnie the work they had carried out, extra ventilation panels cut into the steelwork, new piping and joints for the gas system, new isolators and switching for the electrics. Marnie offered payment, but Jock waved that aside; he would send an invoice to Charles – one of the few people I’ve ever known who sends a cheque by return of post … with a first class stamp on it!
It seemed strange to be stowing her kitbag in the sleeping cabin and making ready to set off alone. It was a cool overcast day, but when Jock was called back to the office to take a phone call she walked through the boat opening every window to give it a good airing. Reaching the stern, she fitted the brass tiller bar and secured it in place. Her mobile began warbling as she was checking the level of diesel in the fuel tank.
“Marnie, it’s Charles. Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I’m just about to leave. Jock’s done a great job, says he’ll send you an invoice.”
“That’s fine. Look, Marnie …” He sounded strained.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know how I’ve had the nerve to expect you to do this by yourself. It’s quite unreasonable. I’ve been having misgivings about it ever since we spoke.”
“Don’t worry about it, Charles.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me that you’d make the trip alone on the boat, and after what happened …”
“Look, it’s not a problem. I’ll –”
“I was wondering about coming to join y
ou.”
“Join me?” Marnie frowned. What did he mean, come with her on the journey … for the weekend? Surely not.
“Or rather meet you. You said you’d probably get as far as Hemel Hempstead?”
“It’s a realistic target.”
“You’ll reach there on Sunday?”
“If everything goes well.”
“Would you mind my meeting you there? I could drive you back to Knightly.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. It’s a very kind thought, but Ralph said he’d pick me up.”
“Marnie, there are things I need to discuss with you. It would give us a chance to talk.”
“I see.” She did not see, but her curiosity was aroused. “Couldn’t we do it on the phone, or arrange a meeting some time? I wouldn’t want you coming all that way, making a special journey.”
“I … have a reason for being in the area anyway. It’d be no problem, really.”
Marnie could see Jock coming back across the yard from his office. She agreed to ring Charles when she had an ETA for Hemel, and they ended the call.
“Right,” Jock said brusquely, as if he had been dealing with every fool in Christendom. “Let’s see if you remember how to drive this thing.”
For Marnie the journey north out of London on the Grand Union Canal was a trip down memory lane. She had made that same journey solo a few summers earlier on Sally Ann. It had been a turning point in her life, eventually leading past Knightly St John where, suffering from heat stroke, she had first landed at the abandoned Glebe Farm. Now it was her home. On that journey her mind had been constantly invigorated by the new experiences of the lone traveller. On this one, she was continuously assailed by thoughts of Barbara Taverner … and of Charles.
Why did he want to meet her? If he was going to tell her he planned to sell the boat and house, why not just come out and say it? Marnie would understand. What else could it be? As Perfidia slipped quietly through the water, Marnie thought back to her meetings, once alone with Barbara, once with them together. They had seemed like a normal couple. But the more she thought about it, the more obvious it became to Marnie that whatever Charles wanted to say to her, it would concern Barbara’s relationship with Neil Gerard. If that was the case, why should he want to speak to her about it?
The answer came to Marnie while she was negotiating a bend where visibility was obscured by overhanging branches. It made her jump and distracted her for no more than two seconds. In that time, another boat appeared from the opposite direction. They were on a collision course in a restricted space, and Marnie pulled the tiller over, narrowly missing the bows of the oncoming craft. She seized the accelerator and dragged it into reverse. Perfidia responded well for a boat weighing fifteen tonnes, almost slowing enough to avoid hitting the bank. But not quite. Marnie heaved on the tiller to bring the nose around, but before she could squeeze through the gap, the boat cannoned into the bank on the towpath side. The nose button, a sturdy fender of rope over a heavy rubber core, struck the steel edging firmly and the boat bounced back, a shockwave travelling down its whole length. Marnie staggered to keep her balance and with good presence of mind, pushed the accelerator to slow ahead to give sufficient steerage to bring the tail round away from the other boat.
“Jesus!” the steerer cried out as he passed. “What the hell were you thinking of?”
The man was tapping his forehead in disbelief. Then his eyes fell on the name painted in bold lettering on the side of the boat. For a second his brow furrowed as he tried to put it in context … a name he knew. At the moment he realised what boat he was confronting, his mouth opened, and it was only the need to give full attention to steering his own vessel that caused him to turn away. Even so, he glanced back more than once as the distance between the two boats widened.
Marnie raised a hand feebly to apologise. It had been a novice’s error. Now, cursing inwardly, she forced herself to concentrate. Guiding the boat towards the canalside, she pulled over and made her fast with two ropes attached to mooring stakes that she hammered into the grass. Switching off the engine, she made a tour of inspection from bow to stern, inside and out. The only casualty was a mug that had been shaken off the draining board in the galley. It had bounced into the sink and snapped off its handle. Crockery had shifted in the cupboards, but nothing else was damaged.
Ultra-conscientious now, she inspected all the water and gas pipes. Nothing had worked loose; every joint and clip was sound. Righting shampoo bottles that had fallen over in the shower room, she reflected that it would take more than a collision at four miles an hour to damage a narrowboat, especially a fine solid craft like this one.
Outside there was not the slightest mark to show that Perfidia had suffered a mishap. Relieved, Marnie pressed the ignition, cast off and stowed the mooring pins. Still depressed, she focused on steering the boat like the expert she was. Ahead she made out the black and white shapes of balance beams and gave all her attention to negotiating the lock. She knew she conducted the operation like a text book and it restored her self-confidence.
Watching the water swirling in the lock chamber as she waited for it to fill, she smarted at the words of the other steerer. What the hell were you thinking of? And then it came back to her. She remembered why her attention had lapsed. Charles wanted to speak to her face to face, and she knew now what he wanted. He was convinced that Marnie knew about Barbara’s affair with Neil Gerard, and he was going to confront her to tell him the truth.
Marnie stopped for the evening in a quiet spot south of Harefield and after supper phoned home. She told Ralph about Charles, and he agreed with her assessment.
“But you didn’t know anything about her private life, did you? You had no idea she was having an affair with Gerard.”
“Course not. I was only just getting to know her when everything ended. We had far too much to discuss about the house and the boat.”
“Once you make that clear, I’m sure he’ll drop the subject.”
“I hope so.”
Digging the number out of her filofax, Marnie next rang Anne, who was spending the weekend with her parents at Leighton Buzzard, preparing for her last exams. For a few minutes they chatted about Anne’s revision, her family, her brother’s new job at the car factory. Sitting on the sofa with knees tucked under her, it reminded Marnie of her own years at school, gossiping endlessly on the phone while her father made tut-tutting sounds in the background until she took the hint and hung up. The words girl talk floated into her mind.
When Anne asked how the journey was going, Marnie broke a vow she had made. Having persuaded herself she was not going to talk about the near-collision incident, she was lulled into a cosy frame of mind by their chatting and let it slip.
“Apart from almost crashing into another boat?” Anne repeated loudly.
“No need to rub it in.”
“Sorry. Anyway, I suppose there was no harm done, if you didn’t actually hit it.”
“Er …”
“You did say you only nearly ran into it, Marnie. You didn’t hit it, did you?”
“Not the other boat, no.”
“But you did hit something … the bank … a bridge … a lock gate? Marnie?”
A pause. “The bank.”
“Hard? Any damage?”
“Yes and no.”
“In that order?”
“Yes.”
“Blimey, Marnie, you’re getting to be a hazard to shipping.” Mock indignation. “It’s not safe to allow you out on your own any more.”
“What d’you mean?”
“On your last journey we had the merman incident, when you knocked that bloke into the canal at the supermarket –”
“That was entirely his own fault!” Marnie protested.
“Now you’re causing near-misses with other boats.”
“One other boat –”
“So you admit you caused it.”
“Struth! You’re as bad as my sister.”
Anne was
laughing. “Whatever next, I wonder.”
After disconnecting, Anne sat on the stairs thinking what it could have been that so distracted Marnie – an experienced and safe pair of hands at the tiller – that she had had an almost disastrous lapse of concentration.
Marnie too sat thinking about the conversation and about her forthcoming talk with Charles. Anne’s words were echoing in her mind … whatever next …
The locks on the next section of the canal were evenly spaced, and Perfidia made steady progress. Traffic was light and Marnie was content to watch the countryside go by and enjoy the quiet of the waterway. As always on a canal journey, she felt that she had stepped aside from the preoccupations of the normal world. But on this trip she could not escape her anxieties. The meeting with Charles was looming up, and although she had little information to give him, she sensed that it would be a difficult exchange. Had she had any inkling of the impact that meeting would have on her life, she would have stopped the boat and walked away from Perfidia forever.
On Saturday evening she repeated her phone calls to Ralph and Anne, happy to report an uneventful cruise. Then she rang the number in Docklands. Charles picked up the phone as soon as he heard her voice and responded positively to Marnie’s account of the journey.
“Good, good. So what about tomorrow, where d’you think you’ll reach by about lunchtime?”
“I’m on target, so Hemel or Boxmoor should be no problem by noon.”
“Fine. Suppose I meet you at that pub by the lock. We could have an early lunch. That would give us time. What do you say?”
“That should give us time for lunch, all right. Is that what you mean?”
“I’ll explain when I see you. And I’ll be looking out for you round about mid-day.”
Marnie made her way to the stern doors and stood looking out at the still water in the darkness. Am I getting paranoid? She wondered if it was her imagination, or did that discussion about arrangements not quite hang together? She had the feeling they were not both talking about the same thing. What had Charles said? That would give us time. He meant for lunch. Of course he did. I’ll explain when I see you. No, he didn’t.
