The Bloodline Will

by A B Morgan

  ‘No. Guess again.’

  ‘” The Frog Chorus” thing by McCartney?’

  ‘No. The one that had me in floods of tears was….’ She stopped talking for a moment, thinking that she’d heard a noise.

  ‘Miles away,’ Mal said, picking up on her concern.

  ‘Where was I? Oh, yes. Let me tell you what he said first, and then see if you can guess. It was so incredibly sad. He talked about how he lost his eye and how he and Lorna had been reunited. But the saddest thing of all was when he talked about the death of his son and the guilt he carries about it. I was in bits.’

  ‘“Bits and Pieces”.’

  ‘Oh, God, you have no idea… I was really sobbing.’

  ‘No. The song, was it “Bits and Pieces”?’

  Ella sat as tall as she could in the unhelpfully shaped deckchair and stared at him for a while, her mouth slightly open at his insensitive joke. ‘Mal. This is serious. That man asked for Freddie Mercury’s “The Great Pretender”.’ She stared up into the fluffy clouds for a second or two.

  ‘How insightful is that? Konrad bared his soul on national radio and told everyone how he still pretends everything is alright, even though he lost his son and lost his eye. He said he has the strength to carry on because he still has the love of his life and the love of his daughter.’

  Her voice cracked. ‘Bugger, I’m off again.’ She dabbed at her eyes with a paper serviette liberated from a basket of rations Netty had supplied.

  Mal slid one hand across and placed it on her thigh. He squeezed gently. ‘I think it was Agatha Christie who once said that very few of us are what we seem to be… or words to that effect. He’s not as bad as you think.’

  The noise of an engine, at first sounding some way distant, now became more noticeable. Mal and Ella settled into an uncomfortable bated silence, waiting for the arrival of whoever it was.

  This soon became a routine. Three different sets of work vans and pick-up trucks came and went. Nobody seemed to realise they were being spied upon.

  It was past ten when a noisy Willy’s jeep put in an appearance, followed by a metallic green Citroen Berlingo with a large “Disabled” sticker displayed on the back.

  ‘It’s her,’ Mal said, taking the binoculars from his eyes and passing them to Ella. She wasn’t quick enough and had difficulty in aiming them in the right direction at the right time.

  ‘Got her, I think.’

  The woman in wartime fancy dress parked the jeep in front of the farmhouse, hopped out and directed the occupants of the other car to park at the rear of the building. Ella managed to focus in on the driver of the Citroen. ‘That’s Oliver Renfrew.’

  She passed the binoculars back to Mal before straining forward to peer around a large fold of orange fishing net. The woman was making her way to the shabby front doors. She looked about her before unlocking them and stepping inside.

  ‘Disabled parking at the rear, just as the sign says,’ Mal commented, watching every move. The woman reappeared in the doorway with a cardboard sign, blinking in the sunlight. She struggled down the steps before placing the sign against cast iron railings and securing it with tie wraps taken from her cardigan pocket. The writing on the hoarding was in the same font as the signage on the old jeep.

  Mal sounded chipper. ‘Very convincing. Welcome to Espionage Escapades. At least we know we’re in the right place.’

  ‘Abigail looks quite attractive in that get-up,’ Ella mused, wondering how much creativity had been applied to furnishing her with the wig that her father must’ve made for her, the make-up, the outfit, the shoes, and the jeep. All for appearance’s sake.

  ‘Doesn’t she normally?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I only met her in hospital and she probably wasn’t at her best in there. None of us were. Although I must say she put in more of an effort than most. Not up to that standard though. Far from it.’

  ‘This must be the guided tour for her mum and dad. She’ll make them right proud,’ Mal said. His sarcastic tone wasn’t lost on Ella who was puzzling over the relationship Abigail had with the couple who’d raised her and then lost her back to her own half-brother. Oliver Renfrew wasn’t a big fan of either of them, he’d made that much abundantly clear the day before. Perhaps he was doing this to keep his wife happy.

  The invitation said Ella should attend at two in the afternoon, so there was a full day ahead for her and Mal before the pressure really piled on.

  ‘Now what?’ she asked.

  ‘We wait for the next arrivals.’ Mal checked his watch. ‘Time for second breakfast and a snooze.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Top Field Farm

  ‘Is this it?’ Zoe couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice.

  ‘Top Field Farm. That’s what it says on the invite.’ Kat slowed the car and turned into what looked like a set of industrial units shoehorned into a large farmyard.

  ‘Slow down, Kat,’ Zoe begged. ‘These potholes are playing merry hell with my bladder. If this isn’t the place … then there’s only one thing for it. I’ll have to wee in a hedge.’

  Kat steered left and right, quickly shuffling her hands on the wheel to avoid large craters in the dirt track. They made slow progress past cowsheds converted into small business offices and unsightly metal containers blocking the view of the fields and rolling hills beyond. To their right, a fluorescent orange windsock could be seen flapping in the near distance.

  Two placards announced their arrival at Espionage Escapades, both pointed the way to the main farmhouse. Having parked outside, Zoe and Kat looked at each other blankly while the dust kicked up by the car tyres settled back onto the unmade surface.

  ‘I suppose it adds atmosphere – the decrepit farmhouse in the middle of nowhere – but it’s all a bit neglected. We’re not the only ones coming today are we?’ Zoe asked, painfully aware of the lack of vehicles outside the farmhouse. In the far corner was the only other car; an old jeep parked at an angle, showing the words “Espionage Escapades” printed on the side in white faded letters.

  Kat looked pensive. ‘I didn’t think to ask. Guy said Abi was keen to have as many friends and acquaintances try it out before the general public were let loose. We did the leaflets and posters, but I dealt mostly with Guy directly. He hired in a professional photographer and I wrote the copy. It was a simple job.’

  ‘Why has someone as stinking rich as Guy Nithercott decided to set up an escape room attraction?’

  ‘It’s for her. Apparently, she needed purpose in life. She’s having some sort of therapy and this was one of the goals. It’ll never work.’

  ‘Blimey, how the other half live,’ Zoe commented, reaching for her handbag. ‘Ah, well. Free lunch. Nothing to lose.’ A movement caught her eye as she took hold of the internal car door catch. ‘Is that her? Abi with an I?’

  ‘It looks like her. I’ve seen press photos and seen her from a distance, but I’ve never actually met her in person. She’s more reclusive than Howard Hughes…’ Kat waved and opened the car door. ‘Hi, are you Abi?’

  A fearsome grin made its way onto their hostess’s face as she approached with her long-fingered hand extended. ‘Hello, yes. You must be Katrina, and this is?’

  ‘I’m Zoe. Zoe Sapienti.’

  The handshake was brief and lacklustre, as was the greeting.

  ‘Pleased to meet you. Thanks for accepting my invitation. Please follow me.’ Abi turned and headed back up brick steps leading to the main double doors of the crumbling building, eyes cast downwards to her feet.

  Based on what Kat had told her, Zoe held few preconceptions about what Abi might look like, and she wasn’t surprised. Despite the effort at a warm welcome, Abigail Nithercott failed. The woman seemed aloof somehow, agitated, self-conscious. Zoe couldn’t put her finger on what made the moment so uncomfortable, but it had been. Painfully so.

  Things didn’t improve as the three women made their way from where the car was parked.

  ‘I love
your hair. That must’ve taken practise to get right,’ Kat said, clearly trying to ease the tension.

  Abi neglected to answer; instead she bowed her head further and clung onto an electronic notepad, clasping it to the front of her raspberry polka dot frock as if it were a shield. It contrasted oddly with the vintage style of dress she wore, and Zoe found the choice of clothing rather unusual, until they entered the farmhouse, and all became apparent.

  Kat stood looking around. ‘This is clever,’ she announced. ‘Like the set of Dad’s Army.’

  There was a smell of bee’s wax polish. The spacious entrance hall was lined with wood panelling, had parquet flooring, institutional green paint on the upper part of the walls, criss-cross taped windows and blackout curtains. There was even an air raid warden’s helmet on a coat stand, a gas mask left on top of the reception desk next to a Bakelite telephone and, much to Zoe’s relief, a wooden door marked Ladies WC.

  ‘I’ll explain the aim of the day and then leave you to solve your way out. Cup of something warm and wet?’ Abigail asked. These were spoken like lines from a play. One put on by a local village am-dram group.

  ‘A trip to the ladies loo would be a good idea before I even consider having a drink,’ Zoe piped up, hopping from one foot to the other. ‘I’ve been hanging on since Leighton Buzzard.’

  Abigail didn’t seem to hear her; she was distracted, watching Kat soaking up the atmosphere of the entrance hall, head tipped back examining the ceiling.

  Zoe coughed into her hand. ‘I’ll just be a minute.’

  Abigail turned her head. ‘Yes. Yes. Please make use of the facilities. Tea?’

  Zoe gave her a thumbs-up as she dashed to the far corner. She would’ve preferred coffee but there was no time to consider whether choices were on offer. Letting herself in through the creaking door, Zoe grinned at the sight of the high-level flush toilets and the toilet roll hidden under torn squares of old newspaper. ‘How brilliantly old fashioned,’ she chortled as she wrestled with her jeans, wriggling free before sitting and letting out a long sigh. It was a shame Kat hadn’t told her about the Second World War theme, she would’ve loved a chance to dress up like Abi Nithercott; victory rolls in her hair, tea-dress, hand-knitted cardigan, and stocking seams drawn on with eyeliner.

  Within the toilets, the only hint at the modern was the requirement for fire safety signs, a smoke detector and a poster on the back of the toilet door asking visitors to leave a Trip Advisor review. The artwork showed people dressed in trench coats holding a map. “Guy and Abi Nithercott welcome your views, come and find us again”. It caught her eye. ‘How very strange.’

  A calmer Zoe dried her hands and went in search of the other two women. She heard them over the sound of Dame Vera Lynn warbling tunefully as she sang “The White Cliffs of Dover”. They sat in an alcove tucked around the corner from where Zoe had left them. Abigail was placing a wooden tray onto the table.

  ‘This is such a great idea. There isn’t an escape room experience for miles. Not that I know of,’ Kat said. She held an unfolded pamphlet in one hand while admiring the tablecloth and delicate bone china being laid out on the table. ‘Was it Guy’s decision or yours to go for a forties theme? It fits in so well with the old airfield.’

  ‘He funded it, but this is my own project. I want to show how well a secret can be kept.’

  ‘Secret?’ Kat asked, pouring milk from a silver jug into her teacup.

  ‘Yes. You would think that as soon as people have been once they’d put it all over Facebook and spoil the fun or ruin the business. I have more faith.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  Zoe’s return went unnoticed. She made her way to the round table where Abigail was shakily serving tea. She sat down, listening carefully as Kat became annoyingly sycophantic.

  ‘You’ve thought of everything, Abi,’ Kat cooed, her words heavy with admiration.

  ‘Not quite. That’s why you’re here. Test pilot as it were.’

  ‘Pilots,’ Zoe corrected, noticing how rarely their host made eye contact with either of them. The looks were fleeting at best. However, Abigail Nithercott took every opportunity to stare at Kat when she thought it wasn’t obvious.

  Zoe found this confusing. She also registered a certain irregularity in how Abi pronounced names. Whenever she said “Guy” or “Kat” her voice would deepen, and the word would almost be lost. In contrast to the constant furtive attention given to Kat, Zoe began to feel like she didn’t exist. Abigail barely acknowledged her presence and Kat was pretty much ignoring her now she had Abi to fawn over. In her humble opinion, Kat was being true to form, Kat by name, catty by nature.

  One other thing was certain; Abi Nithercott was not natural at customer services, coming across as rather rude. Not at all the qualities required for this sort of business venture.

  ‘When our visitors arrive, they’ll be shown a video, on a scale model of an old cinema screen, through there.’ Abigail aimed a hand at an open door opposite. ‘But I’m waiting for the revised version. It wasn’t quite right. Some technical issues.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Abi. I was told the film had been approved,’ Kat said.

  ‘By Guy. Not by me.’ There was a flash of bitterness before the fixed smile returned to Abigail’s face. ‘Other than that, Guy tells me your company has been most efficient.’

  ‘That’s kind of him to say so. I hope you liked the posters. He mentioned you might want to use us for marketing your official opening day. That’s why I’m so glad to be able to experience the whole thing for myself. What do you need me to feedback on?’ Kat asked, in her best telephone manner, which Zoe found irritating. It was blatant toadying and all because Guy and Abigail Nithercott were rich and powerful. Sickening.

  Abi’s perpetual nervous smile seemed to widen. ‘What I need from you is to note any snags, or if you think the clues are too easy to solve, for example.’

  ‘How many rooms will you have operating?’ Zoe asked.

  Kat handed her the leaflet she was holding. ‘I know the answer to that one. I wrote every word.’

  Internally Zoe cringed. A boastful Kat was worse than a cutting bitchy Kat in some respects.

  ‘They have three rooms altogether. That’s right, isn’t it, Abi? - Normally people would have the option to pay for one room, or alternatively for a day, taking in three rooms. There’s a cafe, and a gift shop. We’ll be getting the whole shebang. Three rooms in one day and lunch. And all for free.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Abigail chipped in. ‘You’ll earn your keep. I have a pro forma for you to fill in afterwards. If you make it out …’

  Kat chuckled, not seeing the unnerving sneer on Abigail’s otherwise impassive face.

  Zoe hadn’t missed it and she shifted uneasily in her seat. ‘This is my very first escape room experience, so I’m a novice. If I’ve nothing to compare it to, how useful will I be as a reviewer?’

  Abigail appeared startled, then looked Zoe up and down. ‘What do you do for a living, Chloe?’

  ‘My name is Zoe. I work for a well-known firm of funeral directors. I help make arrangements and deal with bereaved families.’

  Abigail shrugged. ‘How nice.’

  How nice? What sort of reaction was that? Zoe thought. She was perplexed by Abi’s comment and she wasn’t certain how to continue the conversation.

  ‘Just give an honest opinion,’ Abigail suggested, as she turned a shoulder to Zoe, concentrating on Kat again. ‘Have you done the escape room thing before, Kat?’ Abigail asked, lowering her eyes to her teacup then taking a sip.

  ‘Once before. Loved it. Really loved it. That’s why I jumped at the chance to work with Guy on this project. Anyone else coming?’

  ‘No, not until later this afternoon. You have the place to yourselves. It makes it easier not to be influenced by anyone else’s bias. Or mine for that matter. I will be staying well out of your way.’

  There was a silent moment during which Abigail wrung her hands together before adding
, ‘for most of the time.’

  She pressed a few keys on her closely guarded notepad and moved it to be seen by her two guests. ‘This film gives the general idea. As I said, the introduction wasn’t quite right, but you don’t need to worry about that.’

  The black and white video had subtitles running beneath. The tinny commentary described the task ahead in a voice like an announcer from wartime Alexandra Palace.

  ‘France 1940. You are British spies and with the help of French Resistance you are now behind enemy lines. You are in a small French town and must secure a set of secret plans from the Mayor’s Office where the Resistance have hidden them from the Germans. Once you have done this, you must find the clues hidden in the Gendarmerie next door. You need to find a key to help you escape and make your final rendezvous.

  Time is against you. Good luck.’

  ‘Any questions so far?’

  Kat let out a long breath. ‘Oh, my God. This is so dramatic.’ Her cosmetic-laden eyes sparkled. ‘How long’ve we got? Do we get extra clues if we get stuck? What do we win if we succeed?’

  Abigail barely moved. ‘On the wall inside each room you will find a touch pad. You have a total of three available extra clues in each room. Use them wisely, they are not cumulative. I’ll be able to see you but it’s up to you to work out how best to go about completing the challenge.’

  Zoe looked a little disconcerted. ‘We could be in there for hours.’

  ‘No, you only have an hour in each room to solve the clues. It may seem like a long time, but as you will discover, it passes all too rapidly. The escape rooms lead off from a centrally placed and very authentic café, where you will find refreshments, somewhere to sit and recover before taking on the next room. It worked well with the layout of the house and adds a bit of fun. You’ll understand once you see it.’

  Looking at Abigail, Zoe wondered about her interpretation of the word “fun” and she suddenly missed being with Gianni. He would’ve been in fits of giggles by now. They both would. Unfortunately, she was stuck with Kat who was her least favourite person, or at least she had been. Meeting Abi changed that notion considerably, for she was far less palatable than Kat as a companion for the day. The strange woman must’ve had her sense of humour removed at birth and Zoe had no clue how to deal with people who lacked a basic ability to laugh at themselves and at life in general. She sighed inwardly remembering an old saying from deep in the recesses of her mind.