The Little One [Quick Read 2012] (3 page)

‘She’s gorgeous, so beautiful.’

‘Yes. And she doesn’t seem to have aged at all.’

Barbara tried to mingle, but it wasn’t easy. The actors all talked about old times and there were a few laughs as they recalled amusing things that had happened. Someone
turned on the radio and found a music station. It was an improvement, but this was clearly not a very successful birthday party.

After several glasses of wine, Barbara needed the bathroom. She asked Felicity for directions and was pointed down the corridor, not far from the kitchen.

Barbara slipped out, but when she got there the door was locked. She waited for a while and then, glancing around, headed further down the hallway towards the front door. She looked up the wide
staircase. The hallway was dark, lit only by a few candles and the old chandelier.

Barbara was suddenly eager to see inside some of the other rooms. One door creaked when she pushed it open, but no one seemed to be around. She peered in and saw a huge drawing room with all the
furniture draped in dustsheets. She closed the door, wincing as it creaked loudly again.

She peered up the stairway to the floor above, then began to creep up the stairs. It was very dark, but eventually her eyes grew accustomed to it. She reached the first landing. The carpet was
so threadbare she had to be careful not to trip. A door was ajar and she could see a four-poster bed with old green velvet drapes. Next to it was a big dressing table with make-up and bottles of
perfume all over the surface.

Barbara closed the door and inched along the corridor. It was a little lighter here as there was a large window at the end through which the moon spread a cold white glow. She could make out a
small door with a china doorknob covered in flowers. She turned the knob and the door opened on to a child’s playroom. There were puzzles and games littering the floor. She noticed a cot with
many dolls inside, as if in a small prison. Then she heard voices, so she quickly made her way back to the top of the stairs.

The front door was open now and some of the guests were leaving, laughing and calling out farewells. Barbara moved cautiously down the staircase.

She stopped. There was a strange click-clicking noise coming from behind her. She turned and saw a clockwork rabbit. Its fur was a dirty grey but its glass eyes shone brightly. It was hopping
down each stair. As it somersaulted and gained the next step, the rabbit clapped its paws together. It had a distorted, slightly whirring, high-pitched voice that kept repeating the same
phrase:

Two guests heard the mechanical voice and turned to look up the stairs. As soon as they spotted Barbara, the creature fell on its side and stopped singing.

‘I was . . . er . . . looking for the lavatory,’ Barbara said in an embarrassed voice.

And at that point she felt a really hard push in the small of her back. Losing her balance, she tripped and fell head first down the stairs.

In seconds she had struck her head hard on the newel post and passed out.

James Halliday carried Barbara into the kitchen and laid her down on the sofa. Alan put a cold cloth on her head and waited for her to come round. When she did, she explained
how she’d tripped on a toy on the stairs. From the look on Alan’s face, she had a feeling he didn’t believe her.

Margaret had already called the local doctor. By the time he arrived, all the guests apart from Alan had left. The doctor strapped up Barbara’s ankle, observing that it was quite a bad
sprain. He suggested that Margaret monitor the situation. If the swelling got worse, Barbara would need to go to hospital for an X-ray. He prescribed painkillers for her ankle and suggested that
they use hot and cold compresses to help the swelling go down.

Barbara closed her eyes. She hadn’t told anyone about being pushed. Had she just had too much to drink and imagined it? Maybe it was the noise of the clockwork rabbit hopping down the
stairs that had startled her and made her lose her footing.

Alan came to sit beside her. He was concerned, but at the same time he couldn’t help wondering if Barbara had planned this in order to spend a night in the house.

‘Listen, Margaret has kindly said you can stay over. It’s a long drive and you are obviously not in good shape.’

Barbara liked the idea more than he could know. She smiled weakly.

‘That’s awfully nice of her, if it’s not too much trouble.’

Margaret came across and sat by the sofa. ‘You can stay down here in the kitchen,’ she told Barbara. ‘I’ll build up the fire so you will be nice and warm.’

‘I really don’t want to make a fuss,’ Barbara said, sounding pathetic.

Alan was torn. On the one hand he didn’t quite trust Barbara, but on the other he was worried about getting back to London because he had an early start in the morning.

After a few minutes’ thought he said, ‘How would it be if I call tomorrow from London to arrange when I can collect you?’

Barbara nodded and watched as Margaret and Alan went out into the hall.

She then eased herself up. Her ankle did hurt, a little, and she did have a slight headache, but she could easily have gone back with Alan. However, this was a great opportunity to get more
information on Margaret.

When Margaret returned, Barbara closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep. She could hear her moving around the kitchen, clearing up. Margaret must then have picked up a big
thick blanket, because Barbara could feel it being gently laid over her. She opened her eyes and gave a weak smile.

‘Thank you so much. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’

‘That’s all right. I am very happy that you are here. There is a lavatory in the hall just on the left. If you need me during the night, there’s the old bell-pull near the
stove. Is there anything you would like?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Goodnight, then,’ said Margaret, closing the door behind her.

Barbara sat up and looked around. It was so warm and cosy in here, if a bit shabby. She listened but could hear nothing. Easing back the blanket, she slowly placed her feet on the stone-flagged
floor. Her ankle was slightly swollen, but it really didn’t hurt. She stood up and made her way towards the pantry. Shivering, she helped herself to a couple of sausage rolls. Then she
carried them back to the old sofa and drew the blanket around herself.

Barbara must have dozed off, because the fire was much lower when she was woken by the tink-tink-tink of a piano being played, the same notes over and over again. Sitting up, she thought she
could hear muffled voices. Was Margaret talking to someone? The piano stopped and then there was silence. She assumed someone else must have stayed over upstairs.

Barbara was woken again by the sound of scraping. Margaret was clearing the grate and making up a fresh fire with big logs and coals. There was a wonderful smell of coffee and
bacon.

‘Good morning, Barbara.’ Margaret leaned over her and gently touched her shoulder. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘So much better. I slept really well.’

‘Yes. It’s a comfortable old Chesterfield. I’m making breakfast. Are you hungry?’

‘Yes, I am.’

Barbara sat up and eased her legs round. Her ankle didn’t hurt at all, but she winced as if in pain. She then made a big show of hopping on one foot, gripping the back of a chair before
sitting at the table.

‘I thought I heard you playing the piano last night,’ Barbara said.

Margaret turned from the Aga, shaking her head.

‘You must have been mistaken.’

‘It seemed to come from upstairs.’

Shaking her head again, Margaret turned the bacon.

‘How do you like your eggs?’

‘Sunny side up, please,’ Barbara said, helping herself to a slice of toast.

Margaret served breakfast, then asked Barbara if she thought she should be checked over by the hospital.

Barbara shook her head. ‘I’m sure I’ll be OK. I’ll call Alan and ask him to collect me.’ She paused. ‘You have a lovely house.’

‘It was my sister’s,’ said Margaret. ‘She was intending to do it up and then convert it into separate apartments. She planned to sell each of them off and make a large
profit. There are three floors. It’s a Gothic monster.’

‘That’s a big project to take on.’

‘Yes, it certainly is. There are also ten acres and a wooded copse behind the house which makes it quite dark. Most of the rooms are closed off, but I will get round to doing something
with them one of these days.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

Margaret wiped her lips with a linen napkin.

‘Since my sister died.’

She pushed her chair back as if she didn’t want to discuss it any further and said, ‘I’m going to feed the birds.’

Barbara was left alone, sitting at the table. She’d cleaned her plate, even wiping it with some more toast, and had had two cups of coffee. Now she felt she should start to question
Margaret more closely. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

She decided to act friendly and not push for any details. She was very good at teasing out information from people, but time would be against her. If Alan was going to come and collect her soon,
she didn’t have very long.

She crossed to a window and looked out. A child’s swing hung from the branches of a massive sprawling oak tree. She saw Margaret shiver, no doubt reacting to the change in temperature.

Barbara went to her handbag and took out her mobile phone. She called Alan but just got his voicemail. She left a message saying that her ankle was very swollen and she could hardly walk but
would try him later. Margaret came in just as she was finishing.

‘Alan’s busy doing a voice-over, so he’s not sure when he can come. Is there a train I could catch?’

Margaret said she wouldn’t hear of it until Barbara’s ankle was 100 per cent better.

Barbara thanked her, but then said, ‘Do you know, a strange thing happened last night. I saw a clockwork rabbit hopping from stair to stair.’

Margaret smiled, but made no reply. Instead she said, ‘I’m thinking of making an Irish stew. Would you like that?’

She went to help Barbara sit back on the sofa.

‘I use lots of fresh vegetables with the lamb and potatoes. I let them simmer for a couple of hours.’

‘Sounds delicious . . .’

‘Of course, I’m nowhere near as good a cook as my husband was.’

‘Your husband was French, wasn’t he?’

Margaret nodded and went to a dresser. She opened a drawer and took out a framed picture.

‘This is Armande. He was an actor.’

Barbara looked at the stunningly handsome dark-eyed man. He was in period costume, wearing a frilled shirt with a velvet waistcoat and tight-fitting trousers with riding boots.

‘Gosh, he’s so good-looking.’

‘Yes. He was also a genuine, kind, loving man. I fell in love with him as soon as we met. He was everything I could ever have hoped for. He proposed to me after only a few
months.’

Barbara made all the right noises as Margaret showed her more photographs. This time they were arranged in albums. There were lots of pictures of the two of them on their wedding day. They were
not only a breathtakingly beautiful pair, but they were also obviously very much in love.

Barbara sighed. ‘I’ve always dreamed of meeting someone like him. I seem to have a wretched ability to go for the wrong type. I’ve been constantly let down. In fact, only
recently . . .’

Suddenly she felt tearful and found herself explaining how, in the last few days, she had been dumped by her boyfriend, lost her job and then been told to leave by her landlady. The only good
thing was how kind Alan had been in allowing her to stay.

‘What work do you do?’

Whoops! Barbara sniffed and blew her nose. She was clever enough to think quickly and repeated that she was a writer.

‘What kind of writing?’ Margaret persisted.

‘Oh, novels, though I haven’t had any published yet.’

‘I write,’ Margaret said, smiling. ‘Well, I want to write. I think I have a strong story, but I’ve never managed to get it down.’

‘Maybe we can discuss it,’ said Barbara with interest. ‘If I can help at all, I’d love to be able to repay your kindness.’

Margaret closed her albums and looked thoughtful before saying, ‘Maybe one day I’ll be able to tell someone. Not right now. But I just keep thinking that if I were to write it down I
would feel better.’

‘Is it to do with no longer working as an actress?’

Margaret gave her a cool glance.

‘No. My career is of no interest.’

She put the albums back in the drawer and closed it, before heading to the Aga to prepare the stew.

‘Your husband died, didn’t he?’

Again the cold glance.

‘Yes. I couldn’t write about that. If I think about it, I get so emotional I can hardly function. All that would happen is the pain would return. The memory of the day I was told
Armande had died still burns inside me. Sometimes I wake at night and I live through it all over again. It was so hard to believe that he would never take me in his arms again. Never kiss me.
Knowing I was never going to see him again, it felt as if I’d been swallowed by a whale.’

‘A whale?’

Margaret suddenly gave an infectious childlike giggle.

‘That’s how I explained it to my therapist. I felt I was trapped inside a whale, swilling around with the water and the dead fish. I was unable to get out, always in the dark and yet
warm. Every time the whale opened its massive jaws I tried. I thought that if I could just swim out to safety, Armande would still be alive.’

She had a puzzled expression on her beautiful face. No longer aware of how attentive Barbara was, she appeared to have moved into a world of her own. Her eyes closed and she remained silent.

Finally, Barbara said, ‘Did you ever get out from the belly of the whale?’

Margaret’s manner changed suddenly. Now angry, she clenched her fists.

‘I didn’t want to get out! I didn’t want to break through the heat and escape out through its jaws, because then I would be alive. In its belly I was dying.’