by Leo McNeir
Charles was still in bed after another disturbed night, thinking that his sleep pattern was shot to hell these days. Even the knowledge that Mike Brent was in custody and Neil Gerard safely in hiding had done nothing to improve it. He could not remember the last time he had slept for a whole night without waking. Of course he could; it had been his last night with Barbara.
Now, one side of the bed felt cold and empty. He wondered what the future held for him. It was a bleak prospect.
Neil recognised the place that Charles had described and pulled over. He had been travelling for an hour and a half and had begun to catch glimpses of the tower of the church at Knightly St John dead ahead. Here was the long straight run between the fields and meadows with the tall spire of another church far off to the right on the horizon. The land on that side was sloping gently away, forming the shallow valley of the river Tove, little more than a stream, invisible between hedges and clumps of trees, before the ground rose steadily into the distance.
He had passed no other boat, in fact he had seen no-one at all, even when he scanned everywhere with the binoculars. In moments of paranoia he imagined photographers jumping out at any moment from hiding places along the way or lurking behind bridges. But no, his cover was safe. It had been a masterly plan. Who would believe it possible to travel undetected through the heart of England when the whole apparatus of the media was in pursuit? The secret world of the waterways had given him sanctuary.
Neil hopped ashore to tie up on the opposite side of the canal to the towpath. Up ahead, the canal began a long curve to the left, with trees and bushes lining the water’s edge.
He switched off the engine and went below, pulling the door shut behind him. He closed all the curtains on the side facing the canal and towpath, made coffee and turned on the radio, Classic FM. He had a long day ahead of him and knew he had no choice but to idle it away. Standing at the landside window, mug in hand, he could see that his unofficial mooring was beside pastureland, but there were no animals using it at that time, and no farm in sight.
The cruising guide revealed a cluster of buildings after the bend before an accommodation bridge up ahead. There was a name beside the buildings, and he strained his eyes to read the tiny print: Glebe Farm (ruins). That evening he would climb the hilly field to the south of Glebe Farm, keeping well clear of it in case the map was out of date, and make his way up to the road leading to the vicarage.
It would be a day of dozing and watching the hours roll by, but he was used to that. This time it was made bearable by the knowledge that there was brightness on the horizon. He could almost dare to believe in the future.
Anne put down her drawing pen and sat back. “Finished,” she announced triumphantly.
Marnie came across to see. Anne had produced a pen and ink drawing with colours added in.
“That’s wonderful! It looks just like Angela’s new house … well, a slightly improved version. I take it the hanging baskets and trees in blossom are in your imagination?”
“Of course. I copied the general shape from the estate agents’ photo. Then I sort of embellished it. Do you think it has a touch of Disney about it?”
“You mean the bluebirds fluttering around?”
“Yes. Also, there’s a bit more artistic licence … the church tower isn’t really visible in the background from this angle. It’s more sort of symbolic, Angela being the vicar and all …”
“Doesn’t matter. Are you going to frame it for her?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. It’s really just a good-luck-in-your-new-home card.”
“Which reminds me,” Marnie said. “We’ll need to take down the New Vicarage sign from cottage number three.”
“I’ll do it, Marnie. I’ll pop up to the new house and fix it in place this afternoon. Then everything will be ready for this evening.”
As the hour of the party approached, Marnie walked round the side of the farm house, stepping past paving slabs stacked against the wall ready for laying as a new pathway and terrace. She stopped at the rear, confronted by the wilderness that was soon to be tamed. It was hard to imagine it as a garden with lawn, shrubs, trees, flowers. She would plan it at the same time as she designed the garden for The Old Rectory.
It had been a last-minute decision not to buy flowers for Angela from a florist but to take some from Glebe Farm, and Marnie wondered for a second or two if it had been wise. But she threaded her way through the overgrown tangle and found a clump of narcissi and some wall-flowers, enough to gather into a bunch that would go well together in a vase.
Turning, Marnie looked up at the mellow limestone of the house and imagined it with curtains, table lamps shining in the living room, polished furniture, pictures on the walls. She looked back at the jungle, knowing she was looking forward to the future.
At the appointed time, Neil jumped from Heron onto the bank, careful where he trod. It had been a long time since he had had to think of his appearance and he was determined not to ruin the effect by treading in something agricultural left behind by cattle. With a glance over his shoulder, he set off up the slope.
Charles had given him precise instructions. Walk up the hill to the field gate between two tall trees. Neil saw them at the top and headed in that direction. When he reached the gate it was fastened shut with a chain, and he ducked behind a tree while a car went by, before clambering over. He felt very exposed, standing at the side of the road, but there was no-one to pay him any attention.
Turn right at the road and immediately cross over to the other side. It’s less than fifty yards to where you’re going. Neil hurried on. It was strange to feel like a fugitive when he had just been set free.
The rectory is the first house, surrounded by a high hedge. Look for a doorway. It’s practically invisible. It’ll be unlocked. Come through and you’ll be concealed from view.
Neil could hear his heart pounding but told himself to relax – he was not guilty of anything – and he found the door in the hedge just when he thought he had missed it. He turned a handle and the door swung inwards smoothly without a squeak. Shutting it behind him, he paused for breath. A path led him through a dense shrubbery to the edge of a wide lawn. On the far side stood an elegant Georgian house of pale stone under a slate roof. Three pairs of French windows backed onto the terrace.
“You look wonderful, darling.” Ralph smiled at Marnie, who was wearing pale green silk trousers with a matching jacket over a peacock blue top.
“Thank you, Ralph. It’s meant to be cool and casual for an informal spring evening.”
“It succeeds …” He kissed her. “… admirably.”
“What’s that you’re holding?”
“A bottle of Champagne … a little extra for Angela to share with Randall when they have a quiet moment to themselves … their own private celebration.”
Anne came down the loft ladder from her room, also carrying a bag, also wearing trousers.
“Which car are we taking?” she asked.
“I thought we might walk,” said Marnie. “It’s a pleasant evening and we won’t have anything to carry back.”
“Except ourselves,” Ralph suggested.
Anne laughed. “We can take it in turns!”
You’ll see French windows at the back of the house. The ones nearest to you will be open. You can come in that way. I’ll probably be in the drawing room having a whisky, and you’ll probably be needing one, too.
Neil traversed the lawn at a rapid pace, even though there were no houses nearby to overlook the garden. He had tried to duck out of the evening in their last conversation, saying he was not ready to be sociable, but Charles had talked him round.
“Look, we’ll go in my car, all right? It’ll only take two minutes, but that way you won’t have to see anyone till we get there.”
“Won’t the vicar mind me turning up uninvited? I don’t like the idea of gate-crashing.”
“No, she’s pleased you’re coming. I asked her. She said it was open house.
And Marnie will be there. You’ll be among friends.”
He had liked that idea. He turned the handle on the French windows and walked in. For a moment he stopped, overcome by the beauty, comfort and elegance of the room. Antique furniture, brocade curtains and Wilton carpet were a long way from the surroundings he had been enduring in prison, and he felt emotion well up inside him. He shook his head and took a deep breath. Advancing to the middle of the room, he called out.
“Charles?”
A muffled reply. “Yes. Down in a minute … just coming.”
Neil was taking in the style of the room, wondering if it was Marnie’s handiwork, when he heard footsteps on the stairs and in the hall. Charles entered the room and stopped. The men looked at each other, their expressions uncertain, both adjusting to the new circumstances, no longer prisoner and campaigner. A moment of awkwardness, as if neither knew how to greet the other.
Charles spoke first. “I think a drink is in order, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” Neil wondered if he should put out a hand. “A whisky would be very much in order.”
“Good man.” Charles turned towards the sideboard where a cluster of bottles stood to attention. “I have a single malt that’ll be just the job.”
“Excellent.”
“Could you perhaps shut the window, Neil?”
“Of course.”
When Neil turned back to cross the room, Charles’s hand was already extended towards him. But instead of a glass of golden liquid, Charles was holding a revolver. Neil gasped.
“What on earth –‘
“I heard the tapes,” Charles said simply.
“The tapes …” Neil was aghast. “But Marnie –‘
“Nothing to do with Marnie … well, not directly.”
“But the tapes show that I could never have hurt Barbara.”
“I know … quite the opposite in fact.”
“Then why this?” He pointed at the gun. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, you do. The tapes prove that Barbara loved you.”
“Charles, I was not her only lover.”
“Yes you were. The others meant nothing to her. You were the big love of her life … the only one who would cause her to leave me. It’s ironic that I like you because you’re such a decent chap … and that’s why I have to kill you. It’s the only way I can ever resolve things.”
“You’re not serious about this. You’re trying to frighten me.”
“I think you know I’m serious.”
“But the other people at the party, they know I’m coming and you won’t be able to pass that off lightly.” Too late Neil realised the truth. “You didn’t ask her, did you?”
“Sorry, I lied about that. I don’t make a habit of inviting strangers to gatecrash social events when I myself am just a guest.”
“How did you get the tapes?”
“I found them by chance … I was looking for something else. They were in the girl’s room, Anne’s room. I was looking for brochures about alarm systems. That’s what gave me the idea of a situation gone tragically wrong … me thinking I had a dangerous burglar in the house.”
“But your solicitor arranged my getting away. I can’t believe he’d connive in this. He’ll surely have to testify against you.”
“Ever heard of legal privilege? My solicitor can say nothing about any of this.”
“But you booked the boat for me; you can be traced.”
“My solicitor booked it.”
The colour had drained from Neil’s face. “So you’ve thought of everything … What about your justification for shooting me? Your solicitor isn’t going to be able to help you with that.”
“You obviously don’t know about the spate of violent break-ins round here. Marnie has been trying to sort out an alarm system for ages. It was the next job.”
“You don’t think it will incriminate you, that you shoot the man who was condemned as your wife’s killer?”
“Neil, you’re forgetting something. We’re the Odd Couple, you and I. I’ll be shattered to find it’s you, but it’s your fault for sneaking in at the back of the house as a surprise. The press will go to town on that … it’ll be a tragedy.”
“You must have known Barbara had lovers … sooner or later our affair would end.”
“The more I got to know you, the more I learnt about you … and what Barbara thought about you. The others were shits, more or less. They didn’t care about Barbara. You were the only one who really took her affection away from me. Having heard the tapes, I’m pretty sure she would eventually have left me for you. You’re the only one of her lovers that I actually like as a person … and the only one that I hate.”
“After all you’ve done for me …what are you really going to do?”
“I’m going to shoot a dangerous burglar who’s got into my house, leaving footprints in the garden, and sneaked in through the French windows – which I had not yet locked before going out. In my haste and panic, I didn’t realise it was you. It will be a serious criminal offence, but everyone will believe my remorse because I had just got you freed from prison and we were a famous team. I was your protector and saviour, your greatest ally and friend. There’s not a jury in the country that would convict me.”
“You can’t do this. What about the boat? You can’t expect David Sumter to cover for you.”“
“I’ll phone the hire company, say we’ve had a change of plan, ask them to collect the boat. It won’t bother them; they’ve been paid for a month by credit card, no trace back to you … or to me.”
“The police will check the mobile and see that I rang you.”
“What mobile? Untraceable.”
“My God,” Neil was horrified. “You planned everything … every detail.”
“Yes.”
The noise of the gun firing in the confined space was shocking. Even Charles flinched. He fired at short range and could not miss. Neil crumpled and fell in a heap, blood flowing from his chest. Charles breathed out slowly, lowering the pistol. It was done.
Curiously deflated, Charles gazed into space and was surprised to see the image of a face floating before his eyes. Its mouth was open like the picture, The Scream, by Edvard Munch. It took him an age to realise that the face was not imagined, but recognisable. Anne was looking in at him through the window in horror. At that moment the doorbell rang and immediately afterwards a fist was hammering on the front door.
On auto-pilot, Charles walked through the hall in a daze. Ralph was at the door and rushed in as Charles stood to one side. He placed the pistol carefully on the hall table and followed Ralph back to the drawing room. Anne was standing inside the French windows, holding her face with both hands. Marnie was kneeling beside Neil, trying to find a pulse. Blood was spreading in a dark sticky puddle on the carpet. She quickly grabbed the mobile from her bag and hit three buttons.
“Why are you here?” Charles asked quietly.
Marnie handled the emergency call as calmly as she could. It was Ralph who replied. “We thought it would be nice to take you with us, so that you didn’t have to arrive alone.”
“Why was Anne …?” His voice petered out.
“She wanted to drop off the frieze materials in the garden shed.”
“I see.”
In the background they heard Marnie’s voice.
“Yes, shot … I can’t find a pulse … none at all, I’m afraid.”
56
Marnie, Ralph and Anne left the police station the next morning having given their statements. Marnie had insisted on going there at the earliest opportunity, determined that the police would not be coming to Glebe Farm.
They returned to Knightly St John in sombre mood, driving down the high street to the accompaniment of church bells calling the faithful to Sunday matins, and wondered how Angela would cope with a service so soon after a man had been gunned down in her former living room. It was a warm spring morning, and they put a table and chairs from Sally Ann out on the
bank for coffee.
When they were settled, Ralph said, “You seemed disappointed the police wouldn’t let you speak to Charles.”
“Yes. I wanted to know what had driven him to do that.”
“It must’ve been the tapes,” Ralph said.
As Charles had been led away the previous evening, he had been muttering about the tapes, and Marnie had gone into his study to see them stacked on his desk beside one of her blue folders and a cassette player. Angela later confirmed that Charles had gone up to Anne’s room to find the folder, and at that moment Marnie had understood.
“Of course. He must’ve thought that Barbara was involved with Neil in more than just an affair that would blow over in a short while. I think he may have been right, too.”
“You didn’t notice the tapes were missing from the box, Anne?” Ralph asked.
“No. I tried never to think about them.”
Ralph shook his head. “My God … what must he have felt when he heard the recording of them making love?”
Marnie winced.
“He didn’t hear that one,” Anne said.
Marnie and Ralph looked at her.
“How can you be sure?”
“I couldn’t bear to have it in my room … couldn’t bear the idea that anyone else would ever hear it again. It was too private.”
“What did you do with it?” Marnie asked.
“I dropped it in the canal on the way down to London.”
They lapsed into silence until Anne spoke again. “There are one or two things that puzzle me. Can I ask you about them?”
