As she’d nothing better to do, she agreed to meet him at his Knightsbridge office. They made an appointment for three fifteen.
Barbara peeked into the kitchen as she was leaving.
‘I’m off now. I’ll be back later if that’s all right?’
Kevin was scrambling some eggs.
‘Yeah, it’s fine. Alan should be home.’
He hesitated, then said, ‘By the way, that job you offered me. My agent hasn’t got any booking.’
Barbara tried to think quickly, which was hard with her hangover. Finally, she said, ‘Well, my editor still has to finalize stuff. I think we’re supposed to have a meeting this afternoon.’
She was just closing the door when he asked, ‘It isn’t connected to Margaret Reynolds, is it?’
Barbara pretended not to hear him and didn’t reply.
Kevin had just sat down to eat when he heard Barbara’s mobile phone ringing from the box room. She must have forgotten to take it off charge. He picked it up just as it stopped ringing. The caller ID showed ‘Mike Phillips, editor’.
Kevin couldn’t resist it. He pressed redial and waited. Mike answered.
‘Hi, I’m a friend of Barbara’s. Can I take a message?’
‘I’ve been waiting for her to get back to me about some mad ageing soap star,’ Mike said sharply. ‘Barbara was supposed to track her down for a feature.’
‘Mad … ageing …’ Kevin repeated.
‘Yeah. She said she might be returning to work.’
‘I see,’ Kevin said quietly. He promised Mike that he would pass on the message.
His scrambled eggs had gone cold, but he was too furious to eat. Instead he called Alan.
‘She’s going to expose Margaret. I’m damn sure that was her intention all along. Persuading you to take her to the party so she could get the dirt on the poor woman.’
‘I don’t believe it!’ Alan said.
‘You’d better, because I talked to her editor. I warned you. She’s poison. When you get back tonight, we’ll deal with her.’
‘I should be home about five.’
Kevin stormed outside to the small courtyard and lit a cigarette. He’d been trying to give up smoking because Alan loathed it, but he was so angry now he couldn’t help himself.
When he had finished his cigarette, he went to the box room, picked up Barbara’s suitcases and laptop, and took them down to the hall.
Barbara caught the tube to Knightsbridge and walked from there to Mr Sullivan’s office, which was on the ground floor of an elegant house. She rang the doorbell and a secretary led her into a small waiting room.
After five minutes, Edward Sullivan walked in. He was very tall and thin-faced, with a shock of thick white hair. He wore a smart navy-blue pinstriped suit.
‘You must be Barbara Hardy,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Please come into my office.’
The room was dominated by a large oak desk with claw feet. A computer and telephone were to one side. On a large leather-backed blotter were numerous documents clipped together.
‘What is this about?’ Barbara said nervously.
He gave her a quizzical glance.
‘You have been named as the legal heir to Miss Reynolds’s estate.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Sullivan proceeded to explain that she was to inherit the manor house and a substantial sum of money. The conditions of the inheritance were rather irregular. She was to agree to live at the manor house and to keep the promise she had made while she was a recent guest there.
‘Do you recall making Miss Reynolds a promise to shoulder her responsibilities?’
‘Well, yes, I do. But I am not sure of the exact details.’
Barbara started to panic. She was hardly able to draw breath.
‘This is obviously in the event of Miss Reynolds’s death,’ Sullivan said.
Barbara shook her head, completely baffled.
The main condition was that Barbara must sign a legally binding document agreeing to live at the manor house. If she refused, or left after a short period, the will would become null and void.
Mr Sullivan also confirmed what Margaret had told her about planning permission. But apparently the will stipulated that no part of the manor house could be sold or divided into apartments.
Barbara was still confused, but agreed to sign all the documents. After doing so, she asked why Margaret had made her the heir. ‘Is she all right?’
‘She seemed in very good spirits when she came here this morning. Why do you ask?’
‘I mean is she what they call “of sound mind”?’
He gave a shrug as he carefully stacked all the papers.
‘She certainly seemed very alert and positive earlier. I am aware she’s had some problems in the past, but not for some time. I will need contact details from you, Miss Hardy, as I will send copies of everything.’
Barbara gave him Alan and Kevin’s address and telephone number, as well as her mobile number.
She headed back to the tube station in a daze. Nothing made sense to her. She couldn’t understand why Margaret had done this. Then, remembering the kiss, she decided not to think about it any more.
Chapter Ten
‘You won’t believe what just happened this afternoon,’ Barbara said when Kevin opened the front door.
He picked up one of her cases.
‘I’ve got a damned good idea. You’re not welcome here, Barbara, so take your cases and get out.’
‘But just let me tell you.’
Kevin hurled a case out on to the front step.
‘Let me tell you something. I talked to your editor. You don’t have a commission! You lied to me! You lied to Alan! I won’t have anything to do with your seedy, nasty attempt at writing about Margaret. She’s had enough of the press.’
Alan had joined Kevin by now. He chipped in that he blamed himself for being so naive.
The second case was hurled out, then Kevin shoved Barbara’s laptop into her arms and slammed the door shut.
Barbara burst into tears and rang the bell again, keeping her finger on it until Alan opened the door.
‘I left my mobile on charge.’
Alan and Kevin waited in silence as she marched upstairs and down again, stuffing her phone and charger into her pocket.
She turned a sullen face towards Kevin.
‘There are other photographers. I was only doing you a favour.’
The door slammed shut a second time. With little choice, Barbara stumbled off down the road with her heavy cases. After a while, she stopped and took out her mobile to ring Margaret. There was no reply, so she picked up her cases again. There was nowhere else for her to go but back to the manor house. She was confident of a welcome, especially after learning about Margaret’s will.
It was eight that evening when Alan received a call from Edward Sullivan, who sounded anxious. He said that he needed to speak to Miss Hardy urgently concerning the whereabouts of Miss Reynolds.
Alan replied that he only had the address and phone number for the manor house.
‘I have called the landline and Miss Hardy’s mobile phone numerous times, but there is no answer.’
Alan said he was sorry but could not help any further.
Meanwhile, Barbara was on the train heading back to the manor house. She had tried to call ahead when she got on the train, but there was no reply. After that, she turned her mobile off.
At the station Margaret’s Land Rover was parked, unlocked, where she’d left it. Barbara felt beneath the driver’s seat for the keys. She didn’t question why Margaret had made sure that she knew where they could be found. She was just grateful that the engine turned over.
Barbara drove carefully, as it was dark by now. She recalled Margaret giving her details of the route as they had driven to the station. The church and vicarage were in darkness as she went by on her way to the narrow, bumpy lane.
She had to get out and heave open the white wooden gate th
at blocked her path. She then continued up the winding drive until she reached the old manor house that waited, dark and foreboding. She fumbled with various keys before she found the one that opened the heavy front door. It was not until she was in the dark hallway that she began to feel uneasy. When she attempted to switch on the lights, there was an ominous click. Nothing. The house felt very cold and very obviously empty.
Without a fire, the kitchen was colder than she remembered. Only the Aga was warm. Barbara found the firelighters and made a fire in the grate. It caught quickly and lit up the room. Next she found some candles. As soon as the room began to warm up, she felt less afraid. In the flickering candlelight, she fetched her suitcases.
She found a tin of tomato soup in the pantry and emptied it into a pan. She then cut two thick slices of bread and lifted up the Aga’s hot plate to make lovely crisp toast.
Barbara ate hungrily, and after the thick buttered toast and tomato soup she began to feel more relaxed. She even opened one of the screw-top wine bottles in the rack.
She moved closer to the fire and sipped her third glass of wine. It was almost ten o’clock and still no word from Margaret. She wondered if she should call Alan to see if they had heard from her, but decided against it. As they’d thrown her out, it probably wasn’t advisable.
It was the silence that she found disconcerting. No noise from the water pipes or the old central-heating system. It was very, very quiet.
She tried the light switch again, but still nothing happened. She turned on the radio but couldn’t find any programme without static. She checked the batteries, but if they needed to be replaced she hadn’t the slightest idea where the new ones would be.
Then she remembered the notebook that Margaret had left. Even with the light from the fire and the candles, it was very difficult to read the scrawled lists. Barbara licked her thumb, turning page after page. By holding a candle closer, she was able to make out instructions for checking the generator in the basement. But she didn’t know where that was. She wondered if someone had simply turned off the electricity. It seemed to be as temperamental as Margaret had said.
There was no way she was going to look for the basement tonight. It was scary enough being alone in the warm kitchen. But she did need to use the lavatory.
Holding a candlestick aloft, she headed for the downstairs bathroom. It was inky black in the hallway. The sounds of the old house creaking and groaning unnerved her. Outside the wind blew eerily, rattling the windows.
She had just reached the bathroom when she heard the telephone ring. The sound made her literally jump. She pulled the old lavatory chain and snatched the candlestick, causing the flame to flicker and die. She swore. The loud ringing of the telephone continued as she headed slowly back down the hallway. It was so dark that she had to feel her way along the wall. The light shone beneath the door but it seemed to take for ever to reach the kitchen.
She sighed with relief as she made it. But just as her hand reached out for the receiver the phone stopped ringing.
‘Hello? Hello?’
Barbara tried to remember what to dial to check the caller but couldn’t, so she hung up.
She was certain it had to be Margaret. Was she at the station, waiting to be collected? Barbara checked the book hanging on the old piece of string. The train station was listed, but there was no reply when she rang. By now it was after eleven, so she tried the taxi service. If Margaret had arrived and found the Land Rover missing, perhaps she was getting a cab home.
‘Hello. I’m calling to see if Miss Reynolds has booked a taxi for this evening.’
A sleepy voice said that she hadn’t.
‘Do you know if there are any trains due?’
‘No, miss. The last train came in at nine.’
Barbara put more logs on the fire and then noticed the blanket she’d used the previous night. It was folded over the arm of the big Chesterfield. Beneath was the white nightdress, also neatly folded. It was as if Margaret had expected Barbara would be staying another night.
She wrapped herself in the blanket and lay down on the sofa. At one point she was sure that she heard someone knocking at the window. She made herself get up and check, but it was a branch tapping against the glass. She locked the kitchen door and lay down again.
Eventually, she was forced to pull the blanket over her head, because another sound was making her tremble. She couldn’t really make it out. Was it a child crying or the wind outside? Finally, she fell asleep.
And because she was asleep, Barbara didn’t hear the sound of continuous weeping. Didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t hear or see the handle of the kitchen door turning.
Chapter Eleven
Barbara was woken by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Disorientated, she got up, almost tripping over the blanket.
‘Hello?’
‘Barbara?’ It was Alan. ‘Have you had the news on?’
‘I’ve only just woken up. What time is it?’
‘You don’t know, then.’
‘Know what?’
‘It’s been on the television.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘It’s Margaret.’
‘She’s not here. I expected her home last night, but she never turned up,’ Barbara began defensively, but something in Alan’s tone made her ask, ‘Has something happened to her?’
Sounding very upset, Alan told her that Margaret had thrown herself in front of a tube train at seven thirty the previous evening.
‘Oh, my God! That’s terrible.’
Barbara slid down the wall to sit on the floor.
‘Was it an accident?’ she gasped.
‘According to the TV news, she was standing very close to the edge of the platform.’
‘I can’t take this in,’ Barbara said, close to tears.
‘A Mr Sullivan called twice, wanting to speak to you. As I had no idea where you were, I said I’d ring around to try and give you the news.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was hardly audible.
‘He wants to see you urgently, so you’d better ring him.’
‘Yes, of course. I will.’
After a long pause, Alan hung up. Barbara was certain he’d wanted to say more but was too upset.
She staggered to her feet and replaced the receiver. She was in such a state of shock that she wasn’t sure what to do. After searching in the pantry, she found a half-bottle of Scotch and poured herself a stiff drink.
When the phone rang yet again, it made her jump with nerves.
This time it was Mr Sullivan, requesting in a brusque tone that she come to see him as soon as possible. He said he was certain she knew what it was about. He hung up before she had time to question him further.
Barbara drained her glass of Scotch before driving to the station. There she sat in the freezing-cold waiting room until the next train to London left.
It wasn’t until she took her seat on the train that she thought about her initial meeting with the solicitor. She stared out of the window in horror as she realized that Margaret must have intended not to return to the manor house. Why else had she gone to such lengths to alter her will?
It was only now that Barbara digested the fact that she was to inherit the manor house.
Barbara took a taxi straight to Knightsbridge and Edward Sullivan ushered her into his office.
‘This is obviously a sad time. I am very distressed, especially having spent so long with Margaret yesterday morning. She gave me no indication of her intentions. Shocking, so shocking.’
‘Yes,’ Barbara said, her head bowed.
Mr Sullivan took out a white handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.
‘There will be an inquest, of course. I was questioned by the police.’
Barbara nodded.
‘They wanted to know when I’d last seen her. I had to confirm that Margaret had arranged yesterday’s meeting. I stressed that she displayed no emotional problems. To the contrary,
she appeared very calm. In fact, she was very positive and clear about her intentions. Of course, I had to tell them about her changing her will.’
Barbara nodded again.
‘I also gave them your name as the main beneficiary.’
He hesitated, twisting a pen in his long bony fingers.
‘I will require some more signatures, Miss Hardy. Obviously, until the coroner’s report nothing can be forwarded to you with regard to your inheritance.’
Barbara was in a daze as she signed the papers. When he asked for her contact details, she didn’t know what to say.
‘Well, I was at the manor house last night.’
‘Until all this is sorted, perhaps you shouldn’t return … although I’m sure Margaret’s intentions were for you to live there on a permanent basis. We did read through her conditions for you to inherit, didn’t we?’
He looked at Barbara, who was so stupefied he asked if she needed a glass of water. She shook her head.
‘You signed the papers to say that you agreed to all her requests, yes?’
Barbara nodded, but her mind was a total blank. And when she left the office shortly afterwards she was at a loss where to go.
Part of her wanted to call Alan and Kevin, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected. Instead, she decided to take a bus to their house. Gazing out of the window, she couldn’t help but notice newspaper stands displaying the terrible headlines:
‘Famous TV Star Jumps to Death’
‘Tragic Star’s Suicide’
‘TV Star’s Tragic Death’
By the time she rang Alan and Kevin’s doorbell she was crying for the first time since she’d been told about Margaret.
When Alan opened the door, she was sobbing.
‘Oh, Alan, please let me in. I’ve got nowhere else to go.’
Alan put his arm around her shoulders.
‘It’s all right. You can stay here.’
Kevin emerged from their kitchen as Alan closed the front door. He gave the distressed Barbara a cold look.
The Little One [Quick Read 2012] Page 6
