‘Let’s all calm down a bit.’ Mr Vasey-Smith interrupted.
‘Patronising git,’ Trevor muttered. Vasey-Smith ignored him and turned to Ben.
‘Ben, there’s a TV next door, would you like to ...’
‘Yeah, that’d be cool.’ Ben leapt towards the door, eager to be away from the shouting.
Trevor started up again. ‘If you try to diddle us on this, we’ll sue you. Those kids are legally our responsibility and you can’t decide anything without our say so. I know what’s what! I‘ll sue you, I will!’
‘You could try. But I wouldn’t advise it.’
A blue vein pulsed angrily in Trevor’s forehead as he squared up to the solicitor.
‘Oh I am feeling so lairy right now. All your talk is winding me right up.’
‘Mr Johnson, please. Just listen for a moment. You might like what I have to say.’ Vasey-Smith sat down at the table and gestured for everybody else to do the same.
Angie pulled gently on Trevor’s sleeve. He shrugged her off and sat down, leaning back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest.
‘Go on then. Talk your talk.’
‘I have a proposition for you both.’ Vasey-Smith looked from Trevor‘s red-cheeked scowl to Angie‘s wary, slightly scared expression. ‘Madison has decided she and Ben will live in Gloucestershire. But has insisted she would like to give you a gift as a way of thanking you for the past three years. Now, I propose you both have a good look around some estate agencies and find yourself a suitable property. She would purchase this for you and, of course, we would give you a generous lump sum towards its maintenance.’
A thoughtful silence followed. Trevor and Angie looked at each other. Their sulky and wary expressions gone.
‘This property,’ Trevor said. ‘It would have to be in keeping with Maddy’s new standard of living. I mean, it couldn’t be any shabby old dive could it? It would probably be a four bedroom detached house in a nice part of town with a new car in the garage.’
‘Of course.’
‘And the upkeep would probably be quite a lot for a property like that.’
‘Oh, I think the maintenance would be rather steep,’ Vasey-Smith agreed. ‘You’d probably need at least one hundred thousand pounds to look after a property like the one you’re going to own.’
‘Probably more like two hundred thousand,’ Trevor said, staring hard at the solicitor, who didn’t flinch.
Vasey-Smith’s eyes narrowed and he fixed Trevor with a look that could have melted stone. Maddy was unsettled by the mild-mannered solicitor’s sudden change in character.
‘I think one hundred thousand pounds will suffice,’ he said, with steel in his voice.
Trevor paled slightly and quickly recovered himself with a jokey smile. ‘Course, course, you’d know best.’ He backed down straight away.
‘What about social services?’ Angie asked. ‘We’re their foster parents. Maddy’s sixteen and Ben’s only twelve. What about school?’
‘You don’t need to worry about any of that. As I mentioned before, we are a powerful firm and with the kind of money Madison has, we can solve any problems.’
While this exchange had gone on, Madison had watched and listened intently. Earlier, Vasey-Smith had already guessed at her feelings regarding Trevor and Angie. She hadn’t had to say anything and his solution had shocked her.
‘This is how it will be,’ he had said. ‘I will offer them some money to let you go without a fuss, they will accept the offer. I will then get them to sign a document agreeing to the terms, so they can never ask for anything from you or your brother ever again.’
It was bribery and she’d had a horrible feeling they’d accept it.
And now it seemed Vasey-Smith had been proved right. On the one hand, she was relieved it had all gone as smoothly as the solicitor had predicted. But the other part of her felt sick with disappointment that ‘money’ was all it took for Trevor and Angie to cast her and Ben aside.
All that talk of being their legal guardians, of them only being children was a load of rubbish. They didn’t really care about Madison and Ben, not when it came right down to it. Angie and Trevor Johnson had just traded their foster children for a nice house and a shed load of cash.
*
The train sped east to west, grey to green, across the country. It raced towards a new life in the unknown. But this time, the unknown didn’t produce the bowel-watering terror Madison usually associated with change. This time, she experienced a light, flickering anticipation mixed in with a completely new emotion. Hope.
Ben sat next to her, head down, immersed in some shoot-em-up game on his new DSi. He’d been pretty laid back about the whole move, apart from saying it would be a bit of a hassle having to start a new school and leave his mates behind. He was adamant wherever Mads went, he would follow.
To Maddy’s relief, Vasey-Smith accompanied them on the journey. She hadn‘t wanted to make the trip with her foster parents, but she was nervous about travelling there on her own. It was daunting, moving halfway across the country and Trevor and Angie would have only made it worse.
The only time she’d ever left London in her life, was when she was very young, before Ben was born. Her mum had taken her to Brighton for the day. She remembered sunshine, pebbles, splashing in shallow water and an enormous swirly ice cream with a chocolate flake sticking out the top.
Vasey-Smith sat opposite them. He read a huge rustling newspaper and, apart from some additional information relating to the house, he didn’t try to make small talk. She was glad of the silence and the chance to think.
Madison had bought a couple of large zip-up bags to pack their stuff in. She’d also bought them a decent mobile phone each and a few clothes. She had all this money she didn’t really know what to do with. When she’d opened her bank account and seen the balance, she wondered how she’d ever be able to spend it all. And she would be getting the same amount every month. It was mental.
Their train only travelled as far as Bath, where they would be met by someone called Morris, one of the caretakers of the house ... her house. He would drive them to Tetbury where they would soon be living.
Vasey-Smith had told her about Esther and Morris Foxton, the caretakers of Marchwood House. He’d said they would be very pleased to stay on and continue looking after it, ensuring the house and grounds were always clean and in good repair. Esther could also shop and cook for them.
Maddy wasn’t sure if she liked the idea of two strangers being in her house, but Vasey-Smith assured her they would be very discreet and would only be in the house between agreed times. They lived in a small cottage on the edge of the Marchwood Estate.
Madison thought about it. She had no experience of running a large house, any house for that matter. She guessed it would take a lot of work and it would be handy to have someone to take care of the cooking. She agreed that, as long as they all got on okay, she’d like them to stay. As the house was out in the sticks somewhere, a few miles from town, Morris would be their driver.
At Paddington the atmosphere had been frantic, noisy and rushed, but as they pulled into Bath Station, things felt different, rural. People even seemed to walk more slowly. Through the window, she saw hanging baskets and tubs with flowers. It was – what was the word? – Quaint. But if Bath was supposed to be a city, what would it be like on the outskirts of a small village? She nudged Ben’s arm with her elbow.
‘We’re here, mate. You can stop killing things.’
Ben looked up, stretched and shoved his DSi in his rucksack. Vasey-Smith expertly shook his newspaper closed and left it on the table. They pulled their travel bags out from the luggage racks and stepped off the train. The solicitor asked if they were alright and then strode purposefully towards the exit, where a man stood waiting. Madison and Ben followed. The two men shook hands.
‘Madison, Ben, this is Morris Foxton. He and his wife do a wonderful job of looking after your house. Morris, meet Madison and Benjamin Green
e, the new residents of Marchwood.’
Morris was a red-cheeked, stocky, middle-aged man, with thick, dark, greying hair, wearing jeans and a checked shirt. For the first time in her life, Madison felt her own clothes might be a bit much. She wore her nose ring, a short kilt, black scruffy t shirt, laddered tights and black biker boots.
‘Hello, Miss Greene, Ben.’ He shook their hands. ‘If you follow me, the car’s this way.’ Morris Foxton sounded quiet and disinterested, a slight West Country drawl to his voice. He took Madison’s and Ben’s bags from them, not leaving any time for them to protest that they could manage. They followed him out into the car park.
Once in the car, a battered navy blue estate, Maddy began to feel queasy. Morris and Vasey-Smith were making pleasantries in the front and she and Ben sat in the back. She felt like a little kid and could tell Morris wasn’t thrilled to see them. It wasn‘t anything he had said or done, he hadn‘t even looked at them strangely. It was just a feeling.
Ben also looked worried, so she pinched his knee and pulled a weird face at him. He pulled one back and Maddy felt slightly better. She looked up and saw Morris watching her stupid expression in the rear view mirror. They made eye contact and he looked away. Oh no, thought Maddy, he’s a right weirdo.
The drive to Tetbury took about forty minutes. The road swept them up out of the valley, high along a ridge which looked out across the fields and villages. It was a bright but blustery afternoon and the wind swirled around the car, making low wailing noises. They stayed on the same road for a long time.
Ben asked Maddy the odd question and they exclaimed over real live cows, sheep and horses in the fields which neither of them had ever seen before; unless you counted the huge scary horses that the mounted coppers sat astride on Friday and Saturday nights, back in town.
The house would be legally hers, so why did Maddy feel like an impostor? These emotions were alien to her. She was used to being a bit of a tough nut, a rebel of sorts, fighting against the system. She knew who she was and she knew the image she liked to project - to her friends she was cool and to authority she was trouble. She always looked good, if slightly intimidating, but she’d created this shell around herself to fit in with a harsh environment. Here, away from everything familiar, she felt small and insecure.
Maddy hated to admit it, but she really did feel like a little kid out of her depth. She was being propelled towards something new and grown up and solid. Something she wasn’t sure she could cope with. But she had to cope with it. Ben needed her to be strong and look after him. She wasn’t the kid, he was.
The car slowed and they turned onto a narrower road, bordered by tall hedges. Small birds flitted in and out of the foliage and Morris had to pull in several times to let other vehicles go by. Ugh, it really was the back arse of nowhere … and she had agreed to live here.
‘Maddy, look!’ Ben pointed to large blue tractor trundling up the road ahead of them, making them slow to a crawl. It was a huge noisy thing, pulling a trailer loaded high with what looked like large barrels, covered in black bin bags.
‘It’s the harvest,’ Morris briefly turned to look at Ben. ‘That’s hay under the plastic, stops it getting wet.’
‘Oooh arrr, Farmer Ben,’ Maddy whispered to Ben, who giggled.
‘Nearly there,’ Morris said, overtaking the tractor as its driver waved them forward.
They drove through a small, but gorgeous town with a large market square and lots of pretty shops selling lots of expensive stuff. Antique stores, clothing boutiques, posh wine bars and restaurants. Snobby-looking couples holding hands, or sliding into sleek cars. Kids with expensive clothes and no worries on their Gucci-clad shoulders. Even the local supermarket had stone columns outside it. This wasn’t Madison’s world.
They sped through the town and came back out into open countryside. High hedgerows lined one side of the road and a dry-stone wall bordered the other. After a few minutes, Morris indicated left and swung the car through a large set of open gates which sat between two stone pillars.
‘Welcome to Marchwood,’ he said without ceremony.
The vehicle crawled up a gently sloping tree-lined avenue - her tree-lined avenue! The trees swayed loftily and the long grass in the adjacent fields turned from green to silver to grey as the wind stroked it in different directions. As the winding avenue unfurled before them, Ben clutched at Maddy’s arm in excitement, almost jumping up and down.
‘Deer! Look, Mads, those are deer. That’s the male ‘cos it’s got antlers, we did that at school. We got deer, Mads. Can you believe it? This is our place. My mates won’t believe it, when I tell them! They’re gonna be so-o jealous. It’s wicked, man.’
Maddy had to agree, it was ‘wicked, man’. The brochure hadn’t done this place justice at all.
‘You’ll have to invite them to stay and then you’ll be the most popular kid in the ...’ But Madison stopped mid-sentence, awed into silence as they rounded the bend at the top of the hill. Nothing had prepared her for this moment. For there, in all its eighteenth century glory, sat the most breathtakingly beautiful house she had ever seen.
Pale grey sash windows with wooden shutters looked out from three floors of perfect proportions. Mellow stone blended into lush, flower-filled gardens and powder-purple wisteria climbed lovingly around the large wooden panelled front door. It was a picture book house. All her worries and doubts about Trevor and Angie and leaving London and getting along with caretakers and everything else, evaporated into nothing. Because at that moment, in that heart-stopping second, she knew at last, this was where she was supposed to be.
Chapter Six
1881
*
The following morning, the Chevaliers and the Swintons began the next leg of their journey. Alexandre’s father had ordered four carriages to collect them from outside their hotel at eight o’clock.
As they drove through Smyrna, Alexandre absorbed the colourful sights and scents. The city had a strong European flavour despite its Oriental roots and he heard all manner of languages being spoken. He saw smartly-dressed Greeks, pipe-smoking Turks, Armenians in flowing robes and Bedouins with bare legs and covered heads.
Caught up in excitement, his brother was pointing and exclaiming, asking question upon question about everything, which Freddie did a good job of answering. Alexandre felt a little resentful that, at fifteen, Freddie was so knowledgeable whereas at eighteen he, Alexandre, knew next to nothing.
They passed small donkeys, mules, dejected dogs and haughty looking ostriches. Camels swayed in single file with heavy loads of wheat or raw silks. Crowded bazaars sold woven rugs, spices, scents, fruits and clothing of every colour and texture.
There was no train route to their final destination and the roads were unfit for coaches so, despite Isobel’s reluctance, they were to take the camel train. It started at Caravan Bridge, a Byzantine aqueduct north of the main city.
It was a pretty area with antique fountains, twisting grape vines and coffee gardens under shady cypress trees. Relaxed groups of Turks dressed in loose kaftans squatted on cushions and rush mats smoking long chibouks. Rows of camels stretched their hessian necks and stared rudely at the approaching foreigners. They ranged in colour from dark brown, through tan, beige and honey to the palest sand, making up a desert rainbow.
After prolonged negotiations, the two families finally sat on pack saddles atop the lumbering beasts whilst sturdy black buffalo pulled crude wooden carts laden with their luggage and supplies. And so they were on their way.
For the first couple of days, they passed gentle scenery - dark pine forests and clear running waters teeming with fish and croaking frogs. Green-clothed mountains made up the backdrop, complete with majestic eagles hypnotically circling their zigzag peaks. But as the days went by, the landscape gradually became more monotonous, harsh and barren.
The days were hot and relentless, the nights, cold and short. The camel train travelled for nine hours each day on roads of flattened earth a
nd the party spent most nights in the open air, on rugs and blankets around pine log fires. Their armed Turkish guides ensured they all slept safely, but that did not stop Alexandre clutching his pistol under his straw pillow each night.
He did not know why, but Leonora had finally softened towards him and he often looked up to see her riding alongside him. Delighted at her overtures of friendship, he gratefully stopped ignoring her. Now there was just Isobel left to win over.
Alexandre enjoyed making Leonora laugh with his witty conversation, regaling her with watered-down stories of dare-devil exploits with college friends back home.
‘… and there we were, miles from anywhere in the pouring rain without a single centime between us for a cab fare. It was dark and so Antoine and I discreetly jumped up on to the outside of a moving omnibus heading towards our neighbourhood.
‘We clung on to the back for dear life, praying the horses would not take the corners too fast. But as bad luck would have it, an awful lady inside the omnibus spotted us two fellows holding on by our fingernails and do you know what she did?’
Leonora shook her head.
‘She took her umbrella and she poked us through the window with it. The wicked old witch prodded and pushed at us until we could hold on no longer.’
‘Oh no!’ Leonora gasped.
‘So we ended up bruised and battered, lying in the Bois de Boulogne and forced to walk miles to get home, in the freezing cold and very wet night.’
‘I do not believe it,’ she said. ‘The perfect Alexandre Chevalier lying in the gutter. So you are not quite the golden boy you appear to be.’
‘Golden,’ he retorted. ‘I should say dull lead, or maybe tarnished copper at a stretch.’
‘No, I think we can go one better,’ she replied, daring to hold his gaze for a split second longer than strictly decent. ‘How about sterling silver?’
Hidden (Marchwood Vampire Series #1) Page 7
