‘Not yet. Tonight. We’ll do it tonight.’
‘Let me do it now.’
Margaret released her hand and picked up the Bible.
‘But you haven’t been told the secret yet. You don’t know what you will be swearing to do. You’ll have to wait until tonight.’
Chapter Eight
Barbara felt impatient, but Margaret happily busied herself for the rest of the afternoon preparing a fish pie. She was transformed, singing, turning the radio on and finding a programme with old music-hall songs. She even danced around the kitchen at one point. She was obviously not concerned about Barbara’s background as a journalist.
Margaret then announced she would need to do some paperwork. Sitting at the kitchen table, she put on a pair of glasses and tackled a pile of documents. Every so often she would tear up something that appeared to annoy her. Then she would turn to a small notebook and write copious notes.
Barbara offered to make a pot of tea, but Margaret shook her head.
‘I need to have everything ready for tomorrow.’
Finally Margaret stacked the papers she’d been working on into a pile and tossed everything she’d torn up on the fire. Then she put the fish pie in the oven.
‘I’ll come down at seven and we’ll eat supper together. You can open a bottle of wine.’
‘We are going to talk this evening, aren’t we?’
Margaret turned at the kitchen door.
‘Yes, of course.’
She gave a wide smile.
‘I can’t tell you what this means to me. It’s such a relief. I haven’t felt so at peace for years.’
Barbara was left to contemplate the burning papers in the grate. They looked like legal documents of some kind, but the flames blackened them before she could make out exactly what they were.
She checked the fish pie in the oven. She tried to read. Eventually she opened a bottle of wine and helped herself to a glass. She was sipping it when she saw Margaret’s notebook left on the table. She hesitated, but couldn’t resist opening it.
There were pages of lists. How to light the Aga if it went out. How to check on the central heating, the hot water and washing machine. When to pay the milkman. Underlined was how to turn the electric generator back on when the lights failed. Then, rather confusingly, came notes on homework: spelling tests, sums, multiplication tables and where to find atlases and encyclopedias.
Bored, Barbara helped herself to some more wine and tore a few blank pages from Margaret’s notebook. She started to jot down a rough outline of the article for her editor. The more notes she made, the more she wondered just how unstable Margaret was and what the evening would bring.
At seven, the kitchen door banged open and Margaret hurried in. Barbara quickly stuffed the notes under her seat.
‘Sorry. Sometimes it’s very difficult. You’ll understand later when I tell you.’
Margaret placed the hot fish pie on the table and poured herself a glass of wine. She seemed very relaxed and drank almost the whole glass in one go.
‘As soon as we’ve finished supper we’ll talk about the future. You’re the only person who will ever know. I need you, Barbara.’
Barbara ate hungrily. The fish pie was delicious. But at the same time she couldn’t wait for the table to be cleared so that Margaret would talk.
It was so frustrating. Margaret insisted that they wash the dishes and stoke the fire first. She fetched a bottle of brandy and poured a glass for each of them. Then she opened the drawer where she had put the Bible and brought it to the table.
‘Sit down, Barbara.’ She gestured for Barbara to sit at the table and then locked the door, pocketing the key. ‘I don’t think we’ll be disturbed, but just in case.’
Barbara was surer than ever that there was someone living upstairs.
Margaret sat in the big armchair close to the blazing fire. She looked very composed, with her hands folded in her lap. She was silent for a while, but then she started to talk.
‘When my husband was killed I just wanted to die … to die and be buried beside him. Suddenly my life was in pieces. I had always longed to have Armande’s child and now that would never happen. Can you imagine how I felt?’
Barbara shook her head. There was no need to say anything.
‘When Armande died, Julia took charge. My sister was such a strong woman. She was always the dominant one. Even though all I wanted was to be alone, she insisted that I should continue working.’
Margaret described how terrible it had been even to contemplate a return to acting. She constantly broke down in tears. Eventually the producers agreed that she should take a few months off.
‘I couldn’t stand to be in our little house with its memories. We’d bought it together. It was just close to Ladbroke Grove. I knew I was losing control. I didn’t want to get out of bed. In fact, I didn’t want to do anything and Julia became very worried about me.’
Margaret stared into the fire.
‘I overdosed on sleeping tablets. Julia called an ambulance and I was taken into hospital. I hardly knew where I was. She was very protective, as the press were constantly outside. I became very unstable …’
Barbara stifled a yawn. Most of what Margaret was saying she already knew. She couldn’t wait for her to get to the ‘secret’.
It took quite a long time. Margaret explained how she’d been taken into a clinic in a blur. Eventually Julia had collected her and driven her back to the manor house. She was there for Emily’s second birthday. Emily was Julia’s beloved daughter. For the first time since Armande’s death, Margaret began to feel better. She described the adorable little girl and how just being with Emily made her realize that life without Armande was possible.
Barbara impatiently sipped her brandy.
‘My sister’s betrayal was so deep. I’d had no idea she could be so devious. I trusted him. I adored him. If I had known about it when he was alive, I don’t know what I’d have done.’
Barbara leaned forward, wondering if she’d missed something.
‘I don’t understand. Did you say “betrayal”?’
Margaret nodded. She said that Julia had never married and never admitted who the little girl’s father was. Julia had simply told her it was a relationship that didn’t work out. It had never occurred to Margaret that she knew him.
Shortly after Margaret married Armande, Julia sold her mews cottage in London. She’d subsequently bought the manor house to refurbish it and make some money. Armande had helped Julia move and spent a lot of time with her at the manor. Margaret had been working on the television series then. She was wondrously happy, married to a man she adored and enjoying huge success with the show. She never suspected for a second that Armande and Julia were having an affair.
Barbara began to understand. This was really shocking and she knew it would make big tabloid news. She poured herself another brandy.
‘My goodness, when did you find out?’
Margaret gave a long, shuddering sigh. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
‘After Armande died I continued working in London. I had by now sold my house and moved closer to the studios. It was about this time of year and I would often come out here for weekends. The weekend it happened, I decided not to drive down as it was snowing. Instead I invited Julia and Emily up to London.’
Margaret rose and sat opposite Barbara at the table. She drew the Bible close to her and turned to the first page, where her sister’s name was written. Beside the name was a dark brown stain.
‘This is Julia’s blood,’ she whispered. ‘Now I want you to lay your hand over the cross.’
When Barbara did so, she could feel it beneath her palm.
‘You must swear never to repeat what I’m going to tell you.’
‘Yes, I do. I do.’
‘No, I want you to say it.’
Barbara didn’t give a toss about swearing on the Bible. She was not remotely religious and hadn’t been to church since she was a
child. But as she waited for Margaret’s instructions, the handle on the kitchen door rattled. Then it turned, as if someone was trying to get in.
Margaret sprang up.
‘Stay here. Let me sort this out. She’s being very naughty. Please don’t do anything until I get back.’
Barbara couldn’t believe it. Just as it seemed they were getting somewhere! She wondered if it was Julia who was locked in upstairs. But what about the classroom? Maybe it was Emily.
She frowned, trying to think of what Alan had said. He’d told her that shortly after Armande died in the helicopter crash, Margaret suffered another terrible tragedy. What was that?
Barbara sat back. She’d always had a very vivid imagination and now it ran riot. What if none of it were true? What if Armande was upstairs? Perhaps he’d survived the helicopter crash and was badly burned. Or what if he’d suffered terrible head injuries and lost his mind?
She felt almost feverish. Could it be that, after she discovered their betrayal, Margaret had locked Armande or Julia away? Or maybe punished their child instead?
Shaking, she gulped down her brandy. She heard a door closing above. Then the soft footfall of someone hurrying down the stairs.
Barbara’s heart was beating fast and her hands were clenched tightly together as the kitchen door creaked open.
Chapter Nine
Margaret stood in the doorway, smiling.
‘It’s all quiet now,’ she said. ‘Are you all right, Barbara? You look very agitated.’
‘I’m fine. It’s … it’s just the fire. It makes the room very warm,’ Barbara stammered.
Margaret leaned over and touched Barbara’s face.
‘You’re so flushed. Would you like me to make you a coffee?’
‘No, really. We were interrupted and you were just about to ask me something.’
‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ Margaret teased.
‘Look, I’m ready.’ Barbara pressed her hand on top of the Bible. ‘Just tell me what you want me to say.’
Margaret nodded and closed her eyes, placing her hands together as if in prayer.
‘Repeat these words: “I promise that I will never divulge this secret to anyone. It must remain with me and my knowing will release Margaret from all her promised responsibilities. This I swear.”’
When Barbara had said the words, Margaret touched her hand.
‘Thank you.’
Although Barbara now did feel a little woozy, she was desperate for Margaret to continue. Impatiently, she asked, ‘Who is upstairs? I know someone is living up there.’
Margaret sipped her glass of brandy.
Then, not looking at Barbara, she resumed her story. She repeated that she’d arranged for Julia and Emily to stay with her in London. It was snowing. The roads were icy. When Julia had not arrived by eleven, she became worried. At midnight she received a call from St Mary’s Hospital in Paddington. There had been an accident and her sister was in intensive care. She rang for a taxi and went straight to the hospital.
Julia was in a critical condition, desperate to talk to Margaret. Margaret screamed at the doctors to give her a few moments alone with her sister. At that point, Julia had clung to Margaret’s hand and admitted that Emily was Armande’s child. She said that the affair was over as quickly as it had begun. She wept and asked to be forgiven.
Margaret shuddered and sipped more brandy.
‘I was in shock, hardly able to take in what she was saying. I didn’t want to believe it.’
Julia then became hysterical, asking Margaret to go to her bag and bring her the Bible from inside it. Julia insisted that Margaret put her hand over the cross and swear on her life that she would take care of Emily. If anything should happen to Julia, Margaret must swear to bring up Emily as her own child.
‘Of course I did as she asked. And that seemed to calm her. When the doctors returned she had become quieter. But then she suddenly went into convulsions. Blood poured from her nose and mouth … it was terrible. She’d been bleeding in her brain and had sunk into a coma shortly afterwards. She had been dying in front of me all the time.’
Barbara now knew how the blood had stained the Bible. She wanted to reach out to comfort Margaret, but there seemed to be no need. Margaret was in a world of her own. She sat very still, calmly sipping her brandy.
‘So Emily was injured as well?’ Barbara asked.
Margaret nodded. She explained that she had been in a state of shock over her sister’s confession, hardly able to take in that she had died. Eventually she’d asked if she could see Emily.
‘I was told she’d been taken straight to Great Ormond Street, so I caught another taxi and went straight there.’
Even though Margaret’s story was so shocking, Barbara couldn’t contain her excitement any longer. ‘She’s here, isn’t she? It’s Emily I’ve heard moving around upstairs, isn’t it?’
Margaret nodded.
‘When I got to the hospital, they told me that Emily was dead on arrival. I broke down in tears. To lose my husband, then my sister, then her child … It was all too much for me. I collapsed and the following day I was taken back to the clinic to recover. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’
Puzzled, Barbara frowned and shook her head. She had no idea how to react when Margaret continued, explaining that she’d managed to leave the clinic and go to the funerals. She then came straight to the manor house.
Margaret paused and looked straight at Barbara. With no emotion in her voice, she stated, ‘That’s when I realized Emily had returned.’
Barbara could think of nothing to say.
‘She lives here, Barbara. She’s now seven years old. I’ve taken care of her all this time. I’ve been afraid to tell anyone. I knew no one would believe me. They’d send me back to that awful clinic. Emily has dominated my life. I’ve treated her like the daughter I never had. I couldn’t just leave her and return to work. That was impossible.’
Barbara’s jaw dropped. She tried to say something, but no words came out. She was certain that Margaret was mentally ill. She didn’t want to upset her any further. She just wanted to leave and get back to London as soon as possible. She knew about how schizophrenics could hear or speak in different voices. Eventually she found her own voice.
‘Thank you for telling me this, Margaret. I will never repeat it to anyone.’
Margaret gave her a lovely smile.
‘Of course you won’t. I knew I could trust you. Now we share the secret, I’m so relieved that it’s over.’
Margaret woke Barbara at seven the following morning. She was very smartly dressed. Her face was made up and her hair was coiled into a bun at the base of her neck.
‘I’ve run a bath for you. We’ll leave in about three-quarters of an hour.’
‘Terrific,’ Barbara muttered, feeling the start of a terrible hangover.
She went upstairs, where Margaret had left out clean underwear and a lovely skirt with a thick cashmere sweater. She then came back down to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee.
The drive to the station passed without incident. Margaret kept up a bubbly conversation, pointing out the landmarks in the village. First the church and the vicarage, then the neat little cottages and some elegant weekend retreats for people from London, finally the post office and the grocer’s shop.
When they stopped in the small railway station car park, she showed Barbara where she hid the keys of the Land Rover, beneath the driver’s seat.
They were in perfect time for the train and sat opposite each other in window seats. Margaret said she would take a taxi from Waterloo to her solicitor in Knightsbridge. Barbara said she would head over to Alan and Kevin’s house. She had still not made contact, as her mobile phone battery was now flat.
As they arrived, Barbara was a little embarrassed to admit that she had only a few pound coins. Margaret gave her two £20 and three £5 notes.
‘That’s too much.’
‘Nonsense. You will need t
o buy a few things.’
Margaret put her briefcase down and cupped Barbara’s face in her hands. She kissed her on the lips.
‘Goodbye, Barbara. I love you.’
Barbara was embarrassed again, but replied haltingly, ‘Er, I love you too, Margaret.’
Sitting back in a taxi, Barbara felt very confused. Her headache was really hammering. She lowered the window and took a few deep breaths. She began to wonder if she could still face speaking to Mike Phillips, the editor, about all this. It was so crazy, how would he react?
As she paid the taxi fare, Barbara hoped that someone would be at home, because she didn’t have her spare key. She rang the doorbell and waited. Thankfully, Kevin was in.
He was very different in appearance from Alan. He was squat, with thick dark hair worn in a crew cut. His broad shoulders looked even broader in the thick plaid dressing gown he was now wearing. He didn’t look very welcoming. In fact, he asked straight away when she would be leaving, reminding her that he needed to use the box room.
Barbara promised him that she was going to look at some places to rent, but it didn’t seem to make him any friendlier. He told her to help herself to coffee, then went back upstairs.
Barbara took a cup of tepid coffee up to the box room to recharge her mobile. Sitting on the bed, she felt like crying.
She opened her laptop to check her emails. There weren’t any. She took out of her handbag the scrawled notes she had made while at the manor house and began to copy them into a document, recalling the strange way Margaret had behaved.
The telephone rang and she heard someone hurrying to answer it. Then, after a moment, Kevin knocked on her door.
‘There’s a Mr Sullivan on the line for you. Can you take it downstairs? He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted.’
Barbara closed her laptop, went to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Am I speaking to Miss Barbara Hardy?’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Edward Sullivan. I am Margaret Reynolds’s solicitor.’
Barbara could hardly take in what he had said. In a very abrupt tone of voice, he informed her he needed to see her as soon as possible. She would have to sign various important documents. When Barbara asked what these were, he replied that he did not wish to discuss it over the telephone.
The Little One [Quick Read 2012] Page 5