6
Gibraltar
‘Ow!’ yelled Rosamund. Her foot twitched and she wriggled on the edge of the laminex table she was sitting on. ‘Ow! Ow! Ow!’
‘Oh, come on,’ said her rescuer. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘How do you know?’ demanded Rosamund. ‘It’s not your foot.’
She looked down at her foot where it stuck out beneath the hem of the oversized T-shirt she was wearing. The T-shirt belonged to her rescuer, who was sitting beside her inside what seemed to be a very small, very dingy caravan. He had swarthy skin, a long black ponytail with streaks of grey in it, and a beard and moustache covering most of his face. His jeans were dirty, his boots were down at heel, and his shirt had a rip in it even Millamant couldn’t have mended. His name was Gibraltar, and for the last five minutes, he had been watching Rosamund unsuccessfully trying to put a bandaid on her cut and bleeding feet.
‘They keep sticking together when I take off the paper,’ said Rosamund. ‘Oh, look, there’s another one gone.’ The bandaid in her fingers folded back on itself, and she tossed it in frustration on the floor.
‘Maybe we’d better do it together,’ Gibraltar suggested. ‘I’ll peel, you stick.’
Rosamund looked at him suspiciously. His voice was terribly serious, but the expression on his face made her wonder whether he was laughing at her. Rosamund was not sure what to make of this. Having been famous all her life, she naturally took herself quite seriously, even when she hadn’t been kidnapped and nearly flattened by a train. On the other hand, though she would never have admitted it, she had never put on a bandaid by herself before. At Miniver House, she had always asked Millamant to help her.
‘All right.’ Rosamund handed Gibraltar the packet and he carefully unpeeled another plaster. Rosamund took it and stuck it on her big toe, which had the worst cut on it. By the time they finished, both her feet were covered with little bits of pink tape.
‘Next time you go jumping under a train,’ said Gibraltar, ‘make sure you put your shoes on first.’
‘Thanks for the hint,’ said Rosamund tartly. She jumped off the bench, curled up her toes and hobbled the length of the van to the door. She had never been in a caravan before, but even to somebody her size, it seemed extremely small. Apart from the table, it contained a tiny stove, two bench seats, and some cupboards. At the far end were two bunks. The bottom one was a bed, while the top bunk was full of papers and books with dark, impressive leather bindings. Everything was neat and orderly and extremely clean. Rosamund, who had had to wash her dirty and bleeding feet in the sink, was very grateful for this fact.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much for your help, Mr Gibraltar. You came along at a convenient time. But if you don’t mind, I’d like to go home now. Do you think you could take me back to town?’
‘In a moment,’ Gibraltar assured her. ‘You haven’t told me what you were doing at the station yet, or why that woman was chasing you. In fact, you haven’t even told me your name.’
Rosamund stared at him. When Gibraltar had introduced himself, she had not bothered to tell him her name, because she had assumed that he had recognised her. In fact, she had never in her life met a person who had not instantly known who she was. ‘Do you mean,’ she said incredulously, ‘that you don’t know me?’
‘Should I?’ said Gibraltar. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we’d met before.’
‘We haven’t,’ said Rosamund. ‘As a matter of fact, I am Rosamund Miniver.’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Rosamund Miniver.’
‘Yes,’ said Gibraltar politely. ‘You just said so.’
‘You’ve never heard of me,’ said Rosamund, astounded. She pondered this extraordinary fact for a few seconds, then explained further. ‘A Miniver is a miniature version of a human being.’
‘Yes, well, now you mention it, I did think you were a bit undersized,’ admitted Gibraltar. ‘Don’t worry. Perhaps you’ll grow when you get older.’
‘Grow!’ Rosamund drew herself up to her full two feet, three inches. ‘I am famous for being this size. I make CDs. I’m in the papers and on TV all the time. I can’t believe you haven’t seen me.’
‘I don’t have a TV,’ said Gibraltar, ‘and the papers in Artemisia are so full of lies I make it a policy not to believe a word of them. I do listen to records, when I feel like it. That’s my gramophone, over there.’ He pointed to the corner of the caravan, where a record player with a brass horn stood propped up on a milk crate. Rosamund stared in astonishment. She had never seen a gramophone except in very old movies, the sort that were black and white and really boring.
‘You must be joking,’ she said. ‘You really use that thing?’
‘It does work,’ Gibraltar assured her. ‘It used to be my granny’s. Would you like me to show you?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Rosamund. ‘You know, you’re a very strange person. I can never tell whether or not you’re making fun of me.’
‘Making fun of you? Of course not,’ said Gibraltar. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been away from Artemisia for many years. I don’t imagine you would have even been born when I left, but I can see quite clearly now that you are famous. You’re the sort of girl who naturally would be.’
He said this very gravely. Rosamund stared at him for a moment, then saw the twinkle in his eye and burst out laughing. ‘You are teasing! I knew you were.’
‘That’s much better,’ said Gibraltar, smiling. ‘It would be terrible if you really did take yourself that seriously. Now, Miss Rosamund Miniver, jokes aside, you really do owe me some explanations. I’m more than happy to take you home if that’s what you want, but you seem to be a girl with dangerous enemies. Before I help you any further, I need to know exactly who they are.’
‘I’m not sure I can tell you,’ admitted Rosamund. ‘It all started the night before last, when I was kidnapped. Holly, that woman at the railway station, was one of the kidnappers. For a while, I thought they were just weird fans, but now I’m not so sure.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well,’ said Rosamund, ‘ever since Papa King had his stroke, everything’s been very strange. His daughter, Madame, doesn’t like my sister and me, but we always thought she was just jealous and nasty. Then funny things started happening. There were a couple of horrible articles about us in the newspapers, and the radio stations stopped playing our latest CD. And then, about two months ago, a lot of our security staff were sacked.’
‘Sacked?’ asked Gibraltar. ‘By whom?’
‘By Ron,’ said Rosamund. ‘He’s our Chief of Security. He told us the guards had been selling photos behind our backs, but now I think he was just getting rid of them. The kidnappers put me in a sack to stop me seeing, but I could still hear everything they said, and I’m sure one of them was Ron. That’s why I want to get back to my sister, Emily. She could be in terrible danger. I was trying to phone her at Miniver House, just before you rescued me.’
‘Did you get through?’
‘Yes.’ Rosamund shivered. ‘That’s what frightens me. I told Emily to come and get me at the station. Then Holly found me and the call was cut off. Emily’s little, even smaller than I am. If Holly waited until she got to the station, she might try to kidnap her instead of me.’
‘You don’t know Emily went to the station,’ Gibraltar pointed out. ‘She might have sent somebody else to find you.’
Rosamund shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t. I know she wouldn’t. No matter how many fans we have, Emily and I love each other far, far more. We’re Minivers you see, the only Minivers alive. If Emily was kidnapped, I’d give everything to get her back. I’d steal, I’d lie, I’d fight, and if I had to, I’d die. And Emily would do the same for me. That’s why it’s so important I go back to Miniver House. I have to make sure she’s safe.’
‘I can see why you want to do that,’ said Gibraltar. ‘But I think it would be very ill-advised. If what you’ve told me about your security team is right, you’
d be walking straight back into the hands of the people who kidnapped you in the first place. Tell me: you mentioned Papa King. Do you know him well?’
‘Yes,’ said Rosamund, surprised by the question. ‘Emily and I are his foster daughters.’
‘Ah,’ said Gibraltar, nodding. ‘So that’s why Madame doesn’t like you.’ He saw Rosamund looking curiously at him, and smiled. ‘Now you’re wondering whether I know Madame. I did meet her once, a long time ago. I used to know your foster father quite well, though I haven’t seen him in many years.’
Rosamund seized on this. ‘You were a friend of Papa King?’
‘No,’ said Gibraltar. ‘I said I knew him. We disagreed about many things. But he always trusted me, and because of that, I promise I will be a friend to you.’
Rosamund looked up at him for a moment, uncertain what to say. She knew that Papa King had rarely trusted anyone. But there was something in Gibraltar’s eyes that told her he was the sort of person who would speak what he knew to be the truth, no matter what the consequences.
She said, ‘Why should I trust you? I never met you until this morning. How do I even know you’ll do what you say?’
‘Because I rescued you when you were in trouble,’ said Gibraltar. ‘And by now, I think it’s quite likely I’m the only friend you have.’
The morning traffic was building as Emily headed back along the freeway to Miniver House. From low down in the back seat of her taxi, she watched the familiar silhouette of the city buildings drawing closer. The cranes on the skyscrapers pointed at the clouds like fishing rods. On Observatory Point the weather beacon showed a clear day ahead.
‘I can’t get over this,’ said the cabbie. His name was Kevin, and when Emily had first flagged him down he had been dumbstruck. But he had accepted her story about being involved in a car crash, and was thoroughly enjoying driving his celebrated passenger home. ‘My daughters are going be so excited when I tell them who was in my cab. Would you mind giving them your autograph?’
‘Of course,’ said Emily mechanically. Normally she would have promised to send a photograph, but just now she felt so tired and bruised on the inside by all that had happened, that she could scarcely talk. The taxi glided onto an off-ramp. A line of cars had formed a traffic jam along the approach to Miniver Boulevard, and as the taxi inched off the freeway they suddenly found themselves surrounded, not just by cars, but by people.
‘That’s strange,’ said Kevin. ‘I wonder if there’s been an accident?’
Emily sat up and craned her head so she could see better. The traffic was gridlocked all the way along the street, and the people on the road and footpaths were all walking purposefully in the same direction. The crowd was so big it had spilled off the pavements onto the street, and was blocking the flow of traffic.
‘What’s happening?’ Kevin automatically turned up the volume on his two-way radio. A crackly succession of voices came over the airwaves.
Emily heard the word ‘Minivers’, followed by something else she could not understand.
‘What did they say?’
‘It sounds like there’s some kind of demonstration outside Miniver House,’ said Kevin, who was more experienced than Emily at picking up what the operator was saying. ‘I wonder if there’s something on the ordinary radio –’
‘No!’ Convinced something was very wrong, Emily leaned forward. ‘Stop here. I have to get out, now. I have to find out what’s happening.’
‘Well, we’re not going anywhere else,’ said Kevin sensibly. ‘But you can’t go alone through that mob. You’ll be trampled. Wait while I park the cab.’
He pulled out of the line of traffic and stopped under a NO STANDING sign. As soon as he parked, he pulled a cardboard sign out of the glove box and propped it up on the dashboard. It said RUN OUT OF PETROL. ‘That should keep us out of trouble for the moment.’ Kevin rummaged on the floor and passed a greasy tartan rug over into the back seat. ‘Wrap that around your head and shoulders. It might be best if nobody sees you.’
Emily nodded. Kevin got out of the car, opened her door, and swung Emily up into his arms like a baby. He tucked the rug around her legs to hide her jeans and strode away to join the marching crowd.
There were a lot of police about, both on foot, and on horseback, and Emily counted half a dozen patrol cars and paddy wagons. A huge protest seemed to be in progress outside Miniver House, and people were pressed up against the main gates. Anxiously, Emily pulled the rug up around her face. She thought she had never before heard so many angry voices, shouting and chanting over and over. We want Rosamund. Give us Rosamund. We want Rosamund. Show us Rosamund.
Emily felt Kevin grip her more tightly. Step by step, he pressed on determinedly through the crowd. Since he didn’t seem to care about pushing and shoving and squashing other people’s toes, it didn’t take them long to reach the front.
The footpath outside Miniver House was lined with police and security guards. Mounted police patrolled, back and forth, and there was a constant click and snap of walkie-talkies. Something was happening outside the house, but it was too far away for Emily to see exactly what. The waiting crowd grew more and more restless, shuffling its feet and pushing against the line of police as more people arrived at the back.
Finally, from the other side of the gate came the low sound of a car engine, and wheels crunching over the gravel drive. The automatic gates slowly opened and a paddy wagon came out. As it drove through the cordon of police, Emily saw a small frightened figure huddled in the back, flanked by two grim-looking policewomen.
‘Millamant!’
Emily’s scream was drowned by a shriek of hatred from the crowd. Tins and bottles and rotten fruit started flying through the air and the crowd surged forward, yelling and jeering. ‘Murderer! Murderer! Give us Rosamund! What have you done with her?’
‘It’s a mistake! Stop! Let her go!’ Emily threw off the blanket and wriggled furiously in Kevin’s arms. He lost his grip and she dropped to the ground, disappearing at once into a forest of legs. ‘Rosamund’s not dead!’ Emily shouted. ‘You’re wrong! Oh, Millamant! Milly! I’m here!’
‘Hey! Come back!’ Kevin fought towards her. He gave a great cry, that was suddenly cut off. Emily jerked her head back. Two Minivers security guards had emerged from the crowd and grabbed Kevin from behind. She saw them dragging him off; then looked forward, and saw Millamant being driven away in the paddy wagon.
Panic seized Emily and she began to run. A few people saw her, or thought they did. Some of them grabbed at Emily as she forced her way between their legs, but she was too low down, and the crowd was too dense for them to catch her. Emily thrust her hands into her jeans pocket, found her car keys, and hit the opener for the automatic gate. It began to rattle open again, and before anyone realised what was happening, she shot out of the crowd and sprinted through it, hitting the close button as she went.
‘Help! Help!’ Emily shouted. She had done what anyone would do in a crisis, and run for home, but the moment she hit the wide expanse of lawn, she realised her mistake. The grounds of Miniver House were alive with security guards. Several of them saw her at once and took up the pursuit. Emily changed direction. She ran for the shrubbery, where the bushes pressed low against the ground and the guards could not easily follow. Emily dived into a clump of azaleas. Their twiggy branches scraped her face and arms as she forced her way through, but the undergrowth was too thick for her pursuers to see exactly where she had gone. When she reached the middle of the shrubs, she stopped. If she was still … very still …
‘She’s gone into the bushes!’
‘Is that her there? Look!’
Emily crouched as quietly as possible, mentally kicking herself for wearing a white T-shirt and hoping the sound of her breathing wouldn’t give her away. The guards blundered around in the bushes for a while, then their voices faded. They had switched their search to the other side of the shrubbery.
Emily crawled away through the mulch on her han
ds and knees. It was hard to be completely sure where she was going, and impossible to move without making noise, but at last the twiggy undergrowth ended. Emily waited under a bush. A minute or two went past, and she decided it was safe enough to venture out.
She emerged onto a terraced flowerbed that sloped down in shallow steps to a sunken pond full of goldfish and waterlilies. In summer, it was one of Emily’s favourite spots in the whole garden; she loved to walk on the Miniver-sized brick path that ringed the pool, and sit among the sheltering ferns and feed the fish. Without any clear idea of what she was doing, Emily picked her way down the shallow terraces to the path. She had just reached the last step when a woman’s voice unexpectedly shouted, ‘There she is!’
Emily gasped. Two guards – Emily recognised Primrose and Alastair – came crashing out of the trees on the other side of the pond. Emily jumped off the terrace onto the path.
‘Cut her off! Quick!’
Emily veered back in a panic, took a running leap, and flung herself into the pond. It was shallow, but deep enough for a Miniver to swim in, and she dived under the waterlilies in what she hoped was the right direction. She surfaced at the end of the pond, where a rockery filled with ferns overhung the water. In the middle of the rocks was a dark opening. It was a sort of culvert, leading to an overflow pipe that drained away excess water in heavy rain. And it was just big enough for Emily to squeeze into.
Emily hauled herself out of the water and slid without hesitation into the stinking pipe. It was full of horrible, slimy mud that made her slip and slide, but she kept going as quickly as she could on her hands and knees. Behind her, she heard Alastair and Primrose splashing through the pond. Their torches flicked on and focussed on the spot where Emily had disappeared.
‘She’s gone into that drain,’ said Alastair.
‘She won’t get far.’ Primrose stopped in satisfaction at the mouth of the pipe and shone her torch down the narrow passage. Something moved inside, and then was still. ‘Look. She’s jammed up against a grille about three or four metres in. It must be have been put in to keep out animals.’ A flare of static sounded on Primrose’s walkie-talkie and she lifted it triumphantly to her mouth. ‘Is that you, sir? Emergency over. We’ve got her.’
The Minivers Page 5