The Little One [Quick Read 2012] Read online

  As Alan hung up his coat, Barbara said, ‘By the way, there was a call for you. I answered because I thought it might be my editor. It was Felicity.’

  Barbara gave him the message and then added, ‘I hope you don’t mind. She sounded so sweet. When I said I was such a fan of the show, she suggested that maybe I’d like to go with you.’

  ‘What, to Kent?’

  ‘Yes. I was so thrilled.’

  ‘Did she leave a number?’

  ‘No. She said she was at her cottage.’

  Alan shrugged.

  ‘Well, if she said it’s OK.’

  Barbara threw her arms around him.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Alan.’

  Chapter Three

  On Friday, Barbara did try to help Alan, but he was so capable she just felt in the way. He had made lots of food for the party and in no time everything was packed into plastic containers. He hardly said a word to Barbara while he worked. She hoped this was because he was so busy, but she had a nasty feeling he was getting rather fed up with her.

  It was true that Alan was beginning to wonder if Barbara would ever leave. She seemed to be making no real effort to find somewhere new to live. To make matters worse, this morning she’d tinted her hair in the bathroom and stained a towel. There were now drips the colour of blood on the tiled floor.

  When Barbara rather nervously asked if she should dress up or make it casual, he snapped, ‘Wear anything you feel comfortable in.’

  Barbara chose a short plaid skirt, black stockings, boots and a black polo-necked sweater. She also wore big gold earrings and matching bangles. Alan had on a very smart navy velvet suit and a white collarless shirt.

  ‘Do I look all right?’ Barbara asked.

  He gave her a glance and shrugged.

  ‘Sure. We should get started.’

  After driving in silence for about half an hour, Alan gradually became less tense.

  ‘I think I should make something clear, Barbara.’

  ‘Fire away.’

  ‘OK, this is a get-together of old mates and cast members for Margaret’s birthday. But there is an ulterior motive.’

  ‘Really?’ she said innocently.

  ‘Yeah, we want her to come back into the show. Some of us haven’t had much work recently and it would be a big plus for all of us. So, everything I’ve told you is private, understand? Off the record. I just feel rather nervous.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Well, I know you’re intending doing this gig with Kevin, finding ex-soap stars.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alan, you couldn’t describe your series as a soap. It was a very serious drama.’ By this time Barbara was being such a creep she was even making herself feel a bit sick.

  ‘No, no, I know that. But I don’t want you trying to hassle Margaret. Promise me that whatever happens tonight is off the record.’

  Barbara nodded and then patted Alan’s shoulder.

  ‘I promise, but you didn’t even need to bring it up. I’m so thrilled to be meeting her and the rest of the brilliant cast.’

  Just as Alan and Barbara pulled in at the Hare and Hounds, three actors from the show arrived. There was a lot of chit-chat about who was doing what, or not doing anything at all. Barbara remained very much in the background, behaving herself, not that she recognized anyone.

  Felicity arrived to whoops and a lot of air-kissing. She suggested that they go in convoy to Margaret’s house as she knew the way and so, after a drink, everyone got into various cars to follow her ancient Mini.

  They left the main road and drove along a series of increasingly narrow lanes. By the end, they appeared to be heading towards a dirt track.

  ‘This can’t be right,’ Alan muttered as they bounced over a number of potholes.

  Eventually they reached a steep embankment. There were now thick woods on either side of them. Suddenly a lightning bolt zigzagged across the sky, followed quickly by a crash of thunder. As Felicity stopped her car at a sign and got out to look at it more closely, the rain started lashing down.

  She waved to the next car and shouted, ‘This is it.’

  ‘I hope she’s right,’ Alan groaned.

  The convoy rounded a bend that was lined by tall fir trees. They stopped at a white-painted gate with a postbox on the top bar. Felicity had to get out of her car again to open the gate and was soaked by the time she’d finished.

  ‘It’s straight ahead from here,’ she shouted.

  They moved on to a tarmac road that was a lot easier to drive along than the track. As they went round another bend the old manor house came into view. Even though it was dark, they could make out a huge Victorian building with turrets at either end. Strange-looking stone creatures flanked the main entrance. There were big bay windows on the ground floor, some dark but others well lit. There were also three cars parked at the top of the horseshoe-shaped drive: an old Land Rover and two BMWs.

  ‘That belongs to James Halliday, the show’s producer,’ Alan said, pointing towards one of the BMWs.

  Barbara nodded, trying not to seem too interested. ‘Looks like we’ve enough food for a banquet,’ she said, watching as everyone gathered, arms laden, on the stone steps leading to the door.

  Felicity pulled the old iron bell, which clanged loudly and ominously. Eventually they heard footsteps.

  The door was swung open by James Halliday, the producer. He was portly, with thinning hair, and was dressed in a flamboyant floral shirt. He flung out his arms and bellowed, ‘Welcome.’

  There were a lot of ‘hellos’ and ‘darlings’ and many cheeks were kissed. Then James directed everyone down a dark hall towards the kitchen. Off to one side they could just make out a wide staircase with a worn paint-spattered carpet. There was a chandelier with many bulbs missing, but the crystals glittered brightly.

  Like everyone else, Barbara stepped gingerly in the dark, following James through big green-painted doors.

  The kitchen was surprisingly bright, warm and welcoming. It had high glass-fronted cabinets, some half-stripped of their paint. They were filled with blue-and-white crockery. Dominating the huge space was a fifteen-foot oak table. Stacked at the far end were wine glasses and paper plates and big bowls of salad. One wall was taken up by a vast Aga. A log fire was blazing opposite. There was a large Chesterfield sofa with tartan rugs folded on the arms and velvet cushions scattered at the back.

  Barbara emptied Alan’s box of food and laid things out on plates. She was trying to make herself useful, as everyone else seemed to know each other and they were busy chattering away very loudly.

  There was an uneasy atmosphere, all of them wondering where the star of the party was. Some whispered that she might not make an appearance. People were drinking and starting to pick at the food when Alan clapped his hands.

  ‘Here she is.’

  Margaret Reynolds stood in the doorway, even more beautiful than in the photographs. She had thick, dark, shoulder-length hair, flawless skin and large dark brown eyes. Her face, devoid of make-up, was very pale but her cheeks were flushed. She was also taller than Barbara had thought and very slender. She was wearing a high-collared Victorian blouse with a brooch at her neck and leg-of-mutton sleeves that were frilled at her wrists. Her long dark skirt was fitted to perfection, showing off her flat stomach and shapely hips.

  They all grew silent and then Alan, rather embarrassingly, began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Everyone joined in and Margaret accepted a glass of wine. She seemed deeply shy and her hand was shaking as she raised her glass. She had a lovely soft sweet voice.

  ‘Thank you all for coming. Before the party really begins I think you should all know that, as much as I appreciate you making such an effort, there is no possibility of my returning to work on the series. I have already told our wonderful producer, James, that I have retired and there is nothing that will change my mind.’

  She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped, as everyone began talking to cover their disappointment. Bar
bara was fascinated, watching as Margaret moved from one person to another.

  Margaret caught sight of Barbara and headed towards her.

  ‘I’m sorry, have we met before?’

  ‘No, I’m a friend of Alan’s.’

  Alan quickly came over and made the introductions.

  ‘Are you an actress, Barbara?’

  ‘No, I’m a writer.’

  Alan was obviously relieved that she hadn’t said she was a journalist. Margaret moved off and Barbara leaned close to Alan.

  ‘She’s gorgeous, so beautiful.’

  ‘Yes. And she doesn’t seem to have aged at all.’

  Barbara tried to mingle, but it wasn’t easy. The actors all talked about old times and there were a few laughs as they recalled amusing things that had happened. Someone turned on the radio and found a music station. It was an improvement, but this was clearly not a very successful birthday party.

  After several glasses of wine, Barbara needed the bathroom. She asked Felicity for directions and was pointed down the corridor, not far from the kitchen.

  Barbara slipped out, but when she got there the door was locked. She waited for a while and then, glancing around, headed further down the hallway towards the front door. She looked up the wide staircase. The hallway was dark, lit only by a few candles and the old chandelier.

  Barbara was suddenly eager to see inside some of the other rooms. One door creaked when she pushed it open, but no one seemed to be around. She peered in and saw a huge drawing room with all the furniture draped in dustsheets. She closed the door, wincing as it creaked loudly again.

  She peered up the stairway to the floor above, then began to creep up the stairs. It was very dark, but eventually her eyes grew accustomed to it. She reached the first landing. The carpet was so threadbare she had to be careful not to trip. A door was ajar and she could see a four-poster bed with old green velvet drapes. Next to it was a big dressing table with make-up and bottles of perfume all over the surface.

  Barbara closed the door and inched along the corridor. It was a little lighter here as there was a large window at the end through which the moon spread a cold white glow. She could make out a small door with a china doorknob covered in flowers. She turned the knob and the door opened on to a child’s playroom. There were puzzles and games littering the floor. She noticed a cot with many dolls inside, as if in a small prison. Then she heard voices, so she quickly made her way back to the top of the stairs.

  The front door was open now and some of the guests were leaving, laughing and calling out farewells. Barbara moved cautiously down the staircase.

  She stopped. There was a strange click-clicking noise coming from behind her. She turned and saw a clockwork rabbit. Its fur was a dirty grey but its glass eyes shone brightly. It was hopping down each stair. As it somersaulted and gained the next step, the rabbit clapped its paws together. It had a distorted, slightly whirring, highpitched voice that kept repeating the same phrase:

  ‘Bunny bunny, hip hop.

  Keep moving, don’t stop.’

  Two guests heard the mechanical voice and turned to look up the stairs. As soon as they spotted Barbara, the creature fell on its side and stopped singing.

  ‘I was … er … looking for the lavatory,’ Barbara said in an embarrassed voice.

  And at that point she felt a really hard push in the small of her back. Losing her balance, she tripped and fell head first down the stairs.

  In seconds she had struck her head hard on the newel post and passed out.

  Chapter Four

  James Halliday carried Barbara into the kitchen and laid her down on the sofa. Alan put a cold cloth on her head and waited for her to come round. When she did, she explained how she’d tripped on a toy on the stairs. From the look on Alan’s face, she had a feeling he didn’t believe her.

  Margaret had already called the local doctor. By the time he arrived, all the guests apart from Alan had left. The doctor strapped up Barbara’s ankle, observing that it was quite a bad sprain. He suggested that Margaret monitor the situation. If the swelling got worse, Barbara would need to go to hospital for an X-ray. He prescribed painkillers for her ankle and suggested that they use hot and cold compresses to help the swelling go down.

  Barbara closed her eyes. She hadn’t told anyone about being pushed. Had she just had too much to drink and imagined it? Maybe it was the noise of the clockwork rabbit hopping down the stairs that had startled her and made her lose her footing.

  Alan came to sit beside her. He was concerned, but at the same time he couldn’t help wondering if Barbara had planned this in order to spend a night in the house.

  ‘Listen, Margaret has kindly said you can stay over. It’s a long drive and you are obviously not in good shape.’

  Barbara liked the idea more than he could know. She smiled weakly.

  ‘That’s awfully nice of her, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  Margaret came across and sat by the sofa. ‘You can stay down here in the kitchen,’ she told Barbara. ‘I’ll build up the fire so you will be nice and warm.’

  ‘I really don’t want to make a fuss,’ Barbara said, sounding pathetic.

  Alan was torn. On the one hand he didn’t quite trust Barbara, but on the other he was worried about getting back to London because he had an early start in the morning.

  After a few minutes’ thought he said, ‘How would it be if I call tomorrow from London to arrange when I can collect you?’

  Barbara nodded and watched as Margaret and Alan went out into the hall.

  She then eased herself up. Her ankle did hurt, a little, and she did have a slight headache, but she could easily have gone back with Alan. However, this was a great opportunity to get more information on Margaret.

  When Margaret returned, Barbara closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She could hear her moving around the kitchen, clearing up. Margaret must then have picked up a big thick blanket, because Barbara could feel it being gently laid over her. She opened her eyes and gave a weak smile.

  ‘Thank you so much. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’

  ‘That’s all right. I am very happy that you are here. There is a lavatory in the hall just on the left. If you need me during the night, there’s the old bell-pull near the stove. Is there anything you would like?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Goodnight, then,’ said Margaret, closing the door behind her.

  Barbara sat up and looked around. It was so warm and cosy in here, if a bit shabby. She listened but could hear nothing. Easing back the blanket, she slowly placed her feet on the stone-flagged floor. Her ankle was slightly swollen, but it really didn’t hurt. She stood up and made her way towards the pantry. Shivering, she helped herself to a couple of sausage rolls. Then she carried them back to the old sofa and drew the blanket around herself.

  Barbara must have dozed off, because the fire was much lower when she was woken by the tink-tink-tink of a piano being played, the same notes over and over again. Sitting up, she thought she could hear muffled voices. Was Margaret talking to someone? The piano stopped and then there was silence. She assumed someone else must have stayed over upstairs.

  Barbara was woken again by the sound of scraping. Margaret was clearing the grate and making up a fresh fire with big logs and coals. There was a wonderful smell of coffee and bacon.

  ‘Good morning, Barbara.’ Margaret leaned over her and gently touched her shoulder. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘So much better. I slept really well.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a comfortable old Chesterfield. I’m making breakfast. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  Barbara sat up and eased her legs round. Her ankle didn’t hurt at all, but she winced as if in pain. She then made a big show of hopping on one foot, gripping the back of a chair before sitting at the table.

  ‘I thought I heard you playing the piano last night,’ Barbara said.

  Margaret turned from the Aga, shaking
her head.

  ‘You must have been mistaken.’

  ‘It seemed to come from upstairs.’

  Shaking her head again, Margaret turned the bacon.

  ‘How do you like your eggs?’

  ‘Sunny side up, please,’ Barbara said, helping herself to a slice of toast.

  Margaret served breakfast, then asked Barbara if she thought she should be checked over by the hospital.

  Barbara shook her head. ‘I’m sure I’ll be OK. I’ll call Alan and ask him to collect me.’ She paused. ‘You have a lovely house.’

  ‘It was my sister’s,’ said Margaret. ‘She was intending to do it up and then convert it into separate apartments. She planned to sell each of them off and make a large profit. There are three floors. It’s a Gothic monster.’

  ‘That’s a big project to take on.’

  ‘Yes, it certainly is. There are also ten acres and a wooded copse behind the house which makes it quite dark. Most of the rooms are closed off, but I will get round to doing something with them one of these days.’

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  Margaret wiped her lips with a linen napkin.

  ‘Since my sister died.’

  She pushed her chair back as if she didn’t want to discuss it any further and said, ‘I’m going to feed the birds.’

  Barbara was left alone, sitting at the table. She’d cleaned her plate, even wiping it with some more toast, and had had two cups of coffee. Now she felt she should start to question Margaret more closely. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

  She decided to act friendly and not push for any details. She was very good at teasing out information from people, but time would be against her. If Alan was going to come and collect her soon, she didn’t have very long.

  She crossed to a window and looked out. A child’s swing hung from the branches of a massive sprawling oak tree. She saw Margaret shiver, no doubt reacting to the change in temperature.

  Barbara went to her handbag and took out her mobile phone. She called Alan but just got his voicemail. She left a message saying that her ankle was very swollen and she could hardly walk but would try him later. Margaret came in just as she was finishing.