The Little One [Quick Read 2012] (2 page)

Mike hesitated and then said, ‘If you get some good material I might consider it. Only “might”, mind you.’

‘It could really be an amazing opening to my “Where Are They Now?” series. I could email you the list of all the other stars—’

Mike stopped Barbara, telling her to produce the Margaret Reynolds piece first.

‘I’ve got Kevin Shorter to do the photographs,’ Barbara went on.

‘Well, he’s one of the best. Let me know how it pans out and I’ll make a final decision.’

When she put down the phone Barbara was flushed with excitement. She could already imagine herself winning an award for Journalist of the Year. The fact that she had not contacted Margaret
Reynolds yet, and didn’t even know where the woman lived, was not important.

She began to plan exactly how she would persuade Alan to take her to the surprise party.

Alan came home a little later with a Chinese takeaway for both of them. He laid out all the different cartons in the kitchen: crispy duck and pancakes, sweet and sour pork,
chicken with noodles. As he was taking plates from the dresser, Barbara smiled and then clapped her hands.

‘Of course, Alan! I recognize you now. It’s been bugging me since I got here.’

Alan said nothing. Instead he opened a bottle of wine and handed Barbara a glass.

‘Weren’t you the butler in that series . . . Now, what was it called? It was brilliant.’

‘You mean
Harwood House
?’

‘Yes! You were a butler and that amazing actress, what was her name . . . was it Margaret something?’

‘Yes, Margaret Reynolds. But that was over five years ago.’

‘No! Surely not five years?’

Alan offered her chopsticks so she could help herself to the food.

‘Yes. And it’s funny you should mention that show and Margaret now. A few of the cast are arranging a surprise party for her.’

‘Oh, how extraordinary. I was such a fan and you were so good.’

Barbara ate hungrily as Alan described how the show had ended and what had happened to Margaret. No sooner than she had dealt with the loss of her gorgeous husband her sister died in a car
crash.

Barbara made all the right noises. The more she heard, the better it sounded for her article.

Alan was flattered by all the attention. After dinner he showed Barbara a scrapbook of photographs
and reviews of him in many different roles. In fact, it was all rather boring for Barbara. She had to be very careful not to put too much emphasis on
Harwood House
and Margaret Reynolds.

Luckily, Alan made things easy for her. He picked up the letter that Barbara had already read.

‘I got this last week. It’s from Felicity Wright, who was an actress in the show. Just imagine, Felicity and her husband bought an old cottage in Kent and now she’s seen
Margaret in the village.’

‘Good heavens,’ Barbara exclaimed. ‘What a coincidence.’

Alan nodded.

‘She keeps a very low profile. Felicity doesn’t think anyone in the village even knows who Margaret is. She took over some huge manor house that belonged to her sister. She’s a
recluse and lives on her own. Actually, Felicity has asked everyone to this surprise party she’s arranging in the country. Margaret will be there. There’s a plan to maybe revive the
show.’

By now they’d finished the bottle of wine between them and Alan was starting to yawn. Barbara was desperate to keep him talking, so she asked if he’d like a cup of coffee.

She hoped that Alan would continue, but instead he sighed and said, ‘Well, I need to get to my bed. Just help yourself to coffee or anything you want.’

Barbara was woken by Alan tapping on her bedroom door.

‘I’ve got an early start today. I’ll be home this afternoon. You’ll probably be out flat-hunting, I imagine.’

Barbara hoped he wasn’t having second thoughts about her staying. She smiled sweetly and said, ‘Oh yes. I’ve got a few flats to see today.’

‘Good luck, then. There’s coffee already made.’

She waited to hear the front door close before she went down to the kitchen. As she was helping herself to coffee, the phone rang and the answer machine clicked on.

‘Hi, Alan. It’s me, Felicity. I’m at the cottage. Guess what? Last night I saw Margaret at the local petrol station. I’m afraid I let the cat out of the bag.’

Barbara snatched up the phone.

‘Hello. Alan will be out all day. Is it something important?’

‘Er, not really. I’ll call his mobile.’

‘He won’t have it turned on. He’s recording. I’m Barbara, a close friend. Is this about Margaret Reynolds? I know he’s looking forward to seeing her
again.’

‘Oh, we all are.’ Felicity sounded hesitant, but then continued, ‘Will you tell him that we are going to meet for a drink first at the Hare and Hounds at about seven? The
numbers have grown and it’s not that much of a surprise. Margaret suggested we have the get-together at her house.’

‘I’ll tell him.’

Felicity hung up and Barbara deleted the message.

Barbara spent the day doing more research on Margaret Reynolds. She had just closed her laptop when Alan drew up in his car.

‘Hi. Any luck?’ he asked as he came into the kitchen.

For a minute Barbara thought he was referring to Margaret Reynolds and she nodded. Then she realized that he was talking about a new place for her to live. Thinking quickly, she pretended to be
quite keen on a flat share and said she hoped to meet the owner next week.

‘So you’ll be here for the weekend?’

Round-eyed, Barbara put her hand to her mouth like a child and said, ‘Oh, is that all right?’

‘Well . . .’ Alan paused, as if unsure how to answer. Finally, he said, ‘Yes, of course. No problem.’

As Alan hung up his coat, Barbara said, ‘By the way, there was a call for you. I answered because I thought it might be my editor. It was Felicity.’

Barbara gave him the message and then added, ‘I hope you don’t mind. She sounded so sweet. When I said I was such a fan of the show, she suggested that maybe I’d like to go
with you.’

‘What, to Kent?’

‘Yes. I was so thrilled.’

‘Did she leave a number?’

‘No. She said she was at her cottage.’

Alan shrugged.

‘Well, if she said it’s OK.’

Barbara threw her arms around him.

‘Oh, thank you, Alan.’

On Friday, Barbara did try to help Alan, but he was so capable she just felt in the way. He had made lots of food for the party and in no time everything was packed into
plastic containers. He hardly said a word to Barbara while he worked. She hoped this was because he was so busy, but she had a nasty feeling he was getting rather fed up with her.

It was true that Alan was beginning to wonder if Barbara would ever leave. She seemed to be making no real effort to find somewhere new to live. To make matters worse, this morning she’d
tinted her hair in the bathroom and stained a towel. There were now drips the colour of blood on the tiled floor.

When Barbara rather nervously asked if she should dress up or make it casual, he snapped, ‘Wear anything you feel comfortable in.’

Barbara chose a short plaid skirt, black stockings, boots and a black polo-necked sweater. She also wore big gold earrings and matching bangles. Alan had on a very smart navy velvet suit and a
white collarless shirt.

‘Do I look all right?’ Barbara asked.

He gave her a glance and shrugged.

‘Sure. We should get started.’

After driving in silence for about half an hour, Alan gradually became less tense.

‘I think I should make something clear, Barbara.’

‘Fire away.’

‘OK, this is a get-together of old mates and cast members for Margaret’s birthday. But there is an ulterior motive.’

‘Really?’ she said innocently.

‘Yeah, we want her to come back into the show. Some of us haven’t had much work recently and it would be a big plus for all of us. So, everything I’ve told you is private,
understand? Off the record. I just feel rather nervous.’

‘About what?’

‘Well, I know you’re intending doing this gig with Kevin, finding ex-soap stars.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Alan, you couldn’t describe your series as a soap. It was a very serious drama.’ By this time Barbara was being such a creep she was even making
herself feel a bit sick.

‘No, no, I know that. But I don’t want you trying to hassle Margaret. Promise me that whatever happens tonight is off the record.’

Barbara nodded and then patted Alan’s shoulder.

‘I promise, but you didn’t even need to bring it up. I’m so thrilled to be meeting her and the rest of the brilliant cast.’

Just as Alan and Barbara pulled in at the Hare and Hounds, three actors from the show arrived. There was a lot of chit-chat about who was doing what, or not doing anything at
all. Barbara remained very much in the background, behaving herself, not that she recognized anyone.

Felicity arrived to whoops and a lot of air-kissing. She suggested that they go in convoy to Margaret’s house as she knew the way and so, after a drink, everyone got into various cars to
follow her ancient Mini.

They left the main road and drove along a series of increasingly narrow lanes. By the end, they appeared to be heading towards a dirt track.

‘This can’t be right,’ Alan muttered as they bounced over a number of potholes.

Eventually they reached a steep embankment. There were now thick woods on either side of them. Suddenly a lightning bolt zigzagged across the sky, followed quickly by a crash of thunder. As
Felicity stopped her car at a sign and got out to look at it more closely, the rain started lashing down.

She waved to the next car and shouted, ‘This is it.’

‘I hope she’s right,’ Alan groaned.

The convoy rounded a bend that was lined by tall fir trees. They stopped at a white-painted gate with a postbox on the top bar. Felicity had to get out of her car again to open the gate and was
soaked by the time she’d finished.

‘It’s straight ahead from here,’ she shouted.

They moved on to a tarmac road that was a lot easier to drive along than the track. As they went round another bend the old manor house came into view. Even though it was dark, they could make
out a huge Victorian building with turrets at either end. Strange-looking stone creatures flanked the main entrance. There were big bay windows on the ground floor, some dark but others well lit.
There were also three cars parked at the top of the horseshoe-shaped drive: an old Land Rover and two BMWs.

‘That belongs to James Halliday, the show’s producer,’ Alan said, pointing towards one of the BMWs.

Barbara nodded, trying not to seem too interested. ‘Looks like we’ve enough food for a banquet,’ she said, watching as everyone gathered, arms laden, on the stone steps leading
to the door.

Felicity pulled the old iron bell, which clanged loudly and ominously. Eventually they heard footsteps.

The door was swung open by James Halliday, the producer. He was portly, with thinning hair, and was dressed in a flamboyant floral shirt. He flung out his arms and bellowed,
‘Welcome.’

There were a lot of ‘hellos’ and ‘darlings’ and many cheeks were kissed. Then James directed everyone down a dark hall towards the kitchen. Off to one side they could
just make out a wide staircase with a worn paint-spattered carpet. There was a chandelier with many bulbs missing, but the crystals glittered brightly.

Like everyone else, Barbara stepped gingerly in the dark, following James through big green-painted doors.

The kitchen was surprisingly bright, warm and welcoming. It had high glass-fronted cabinets, some half-stripped of their paint. They were filled with blue-and-white crockery.
Dominating the huge space was a fifteen-foot oak table. Stacked at the far end were wine glasses and paper plates and big bowls of salad. One wall was taken up by a vast Aga. A log fire was blazing
opposite. There was a large Chesterfield sofa with tartan rugs folded on the arms and velvet cushions scattered at the back.

Barbara emptied Alan’s box of food and laid things out on plates. She was trying to make herself useful, as everyone else seemed to know each other and they were busy chattering away very
loudly.

There was an uneasy atmosphere, all of them wondering where the star of the party was. Some whispered that she might not make an appearance. People were drinking and starting to pick at the food
when Alan clapped his hands.

‘Here she is.’

Margaret Reynolds stood in the doorway, even more beautiful than in the photographs. She had thick, dark, shoulder-length hair, flawless skin and large dark brown eyes. Her
face, devoid of make-up, was very pale but her cheeks were flushed. She was also taller than Barbara had thought and very slender. She was wearing a high-collared Victorian blouse with a brooch at
her neck and leg-of-mutton sleeves that were frilled at her wrists. Her long dark skirt was fitted to perfection, showing off her flat stomach and shapely hips.

They all grew silent and then Alan, rather embarrassingly, began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’. Everyone joined in and Margaret accepted a glass of wine. She seemed deeply shy and her
hand was shaking as she raised her glass. She had a lovely soft sweet voice.

‘Thank you all for coming. Before the party really begins I think you should all know that, as much as I appreciate you making such an effort, there is no possibility of my returning to
work on the series. I have already told our wonderful producer, James, that I have retired and there is nothing that will change my mind.’

She lifted the glass to her lips and sipped, as everyone began talking to cover their disappointment. Barbara was fascinated, watching as Margaret moved from one person to another.

Margaret caught sight of Barbara and headed towards her.

‘I’m sorry, have we met before?’

‘No, I’m a friend of Alan’s.’

Alan quickly came over and made the introductions.

‘Are you an actress, Barbara?’

‘No, I’m a writer.’

Alan was obviously relieved that she hadn’t said she was a journalist. Margaret moved off and Barbara leaned close to Alan.