The Little One [Quick Read 2012] (8 page)

At the station Margaret’s Land Rover was parked, unlocked, where she’d left it. Barbara felt beneath the driver’s seat for the keys. She didn’t question why Margaret had
made sure that she knew where they could be found. She was just grateful that the engine turned over.

Barbara drove carefully, as it was dark by now. She recalled Margaret giving her details of the route as they had driven to the station. The church and vicarage were in darkness as she went by
on her way to the narrow, bumpy lane.

She had to get out and heave open the white wooden gate that blocked her path. She then continued up the winding drive until she reached the old manor house that waited, dark and foreboding. She
fumbled with various keys before she found the one that opened the heavy front door. It was not until she was in the dark hallway that she began to feel uneasy. When she attempted to switch on the
lights, there was an ominous click. Nothing. The house felt very cold and very obviously empty.

Without a fire, the kitchen was colder than she remembered. Only the Aga was warm. Barbara found the firelighters and made a fire in the grate. It caught quickly and lit up the room. Next she
found some candles. As soon as the room began to warm up, she felt less afraid. In the flickering candlelight, she fetched her suitcases.

She found a tin of tomato soup in the pantry and emptied it into a pan. She then cut two thick slices of bread and lifted up the Aga’s hot plate to make lovely crisp toast.

Barbara ate hungrily, and after the thick buttered toast and tomato soup she began to feel more relaxed. She even opened one of the screw-top wine bottles in the rack.

She moved closer to the fire and sipped her third glass of wine. It was almost ten o’clock and still no word from Margaret. She wondered if she should call Alan to see if they had heard
from her, but decided against it. As they’d thrown her out, it probably wasn’t advisable.

It was the silence that she found disconcerting. No noise from the water pipes or the old central-heating system. It was very, very quiet.

She tried the light switch again, but still nothing happened. She turned on the radio but couldn’t find any programme without static. She checked the batteries, but if they needed to be
replaced she hadn’t the slightest idea where the new ones would be.

Then she remembered the notebook that Margaret had left. Even with the light from the fire and the candles, it was very difficult to read the scrawled lists. Barbara licked her thumb, turning
page after page. By holding a candle closer, she was able to make out instructions for checking the generator in the basement. But she didn’t know where that was. She wondered if someone had
simply turned off the electricity. It seemed to be as temperamental as Margaret had said.

There was no way she was going to look for the basement tonight. It was scary enough being alone in the warm kitchen. But she did need to use the lavatory.

Holding a candlestick aloft, she headed for the downstairs bathroom. It was inky black in the hallway. The sounds of the old house creaking and groaning unnerved her. Outside the wind blew
eerily, rattling the windows.

She had just reached the bathroom when she heard the telephone ring. The sound made her literally jump. She pulled the old lavatory chain and snatched the candlestick, causing the flame to
flicker and die. She swore. The loud ringing of the telephone continued as she headed slowly back down the hallway. It was so dark that she had to feel her way along the wall. The light shone
beneath the door but it seemed to take for ever to reach the kitchen.

She sighed with relief as she made it. But just as her hand reached out for the receiver the phone stopped ringing.

‘Hello? Hello?’

Barbara tried to remember what to dial to check the caller but couldn’t, so she hung up.

She was certain it had to be Margaret. Was she at the station, waiting to be collected? Barbara checked the book hanging on the old piece of string. The train station was listed, but there was
no reply when she rang. By now it was after eleven, so she tried the taxi service. If Margaret had arrived and found the Land Rover missing, perhaps she was getting a cab home.

‘Hello. I’m calling to see if Miss Reynolds has booked a taxi for this evening.’

A sleepy voice said that she hadn’t.

‘Do you know if there are any trains due?’

‘No, miss. The last train came in at nine.’

Barbara put more logs on the fire and then noticed the blanket she’d used the previous night. It was folded over the arm of the big Chesterfield. Beneath was the white nightdress, also
neatly folded. It was as if Margaret had expected Barbara would be staying another night.

She wrapped herself in the blanket and lay down on the sofa. At one point she was sure that she heard someone knocking at the window. She made herself get up and check, but it was a branch
tapping against the glass. She locked the kitchen door and lay down again.

Eventually, she was forced to pull the blanket over her head, because another sound was making her tremble. She couldn’t really make it out. Was it a child crying or the wind outside?
Finally, she fell asleep.

And because she was asleep, Barbara didn’t hear the sound of continuous weeping. Didn’t hear the footsteps. Didn’t hear or see the handle of the kitchen door turning.

Barbara was woken by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Disorientated, she got up, almost tripping over the blanket.

‘Hello?’

‘Barbara?’ It was Alan. ‘Have you had the news on?’

‘I’ve only just woken up. What time is it?’

‘You don’t know, then.’

‘Know what?’

‘It’s been on the television.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘It’s Margaret.’

‘She’s not here. I expected her home last night, but she never turned up,’ Barbara began defensively, but something in Alan’s tone made her ask, ‘Has something
happened to her?’

Sounding very upset, Alan told her that Margaret had thrown herself in front of a tube train at seven thirty the previous evening.

‘Oh, my God! That’s terrible.’

Barbara slid down the wall to sit on the floor.

‘Was it an accident?’ she gasped.

‘According to the TV news, she was standing very close to the edge of the platform.’

‘I can’t take this in,’ Barbara said, close to tears.

‘A Mr Sullivan called twice, wanting to speak to you. As I had no idea where you were, I said I’d ring around to try and give you the news.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was hardly audible.

‘He wants to see you urgently, so you’d better ring him.’

‘Yes, of course. I will.’

After a long pause, Alan hung up. Barbara was certain he’d wanted to say more but was too upset.

She staggered to her feet and replaced the receiver. She was in such a state of shock that she wasn’t sure what to do. After searching in the pantry, she found a half-bottle of Scotch and
poured herself a stiff drink.

When the phone rang yet again, it made her jump with nerves.

This time it was Mr Sullivan, requesting in a brusque tone that she come to see him as soon as possible. He said he was certain she knew what it was about. He hung up before she had time to
question him further.

Barbara drained her glass of Scotch before driving to the station. There she sat in the freezing-cold waiting room until the next train to London left.

It wasn’t until she took her seat on the train that she thought about her initial meeting with the solicitor. She stared out of the window in horror as she realized that Margaret must have
intended not to return to the manor house. Why else had she gone to such lengths to alter her will?

It was only now that Barbara digested the fact that she was to inherit the manor house.

Barbara took a taxi straight to Knightsbridge and Edward Sullivan ushered her into his office.

‘This is obviously a sad time. I am very distressed, especially having spent so long with Margaret yesterday morning. She gave me no indication of her intentions. Shocking, so
shocking.’

‘Yes,’ Barbara said, her head bowed.

Mr Sullivan took out a white handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.

‘There will be an inquest, of course. I was questioned by the police.’

Barbara nodded.

‘They wanted to know when I’d last seen her. I had to confirm that Margaret had arranged yesterday’s meeting. I stressed that she displayed no emotional problems. To the
contrary, she appeared very calm. In fact, she was very positive and clear about her intentions. Of course, I had to tell them about her changing her will.’

Barbara nodded again.

‘I also gave them your name as the main beneficiary.’

He hesitated, twisting a pen in his long bony fingers.

‘I will require some more signatures, Miss Hardy. Obviously, until the coroner’s report nothing can be forwarded to you with regard to your inheritance.’

Barbara was in a daze as she signed the papers. When he asked for her contact details, she didn’t know what to say.

‘Well, I was at the manor house last night.’

‘Until all this is sorted, perhaps you shouldn’t return . . . although I’m sure Margaret’s intentions were for you to live there on a permanent basis. We did read through
her conditions for you to inherit, didn’t we?’

He looked at Barbara, who was so stupefied he asked if she needed a glass of water. She shook her head.

‘You signed the papers to say that you agreed to all her requests, yes?’

Barbara nodded, but her mind was a total blank. And when she left the office shortly afterwards she was at a loss where to go.

Part of her wanted to call Alan and Kevin, but she couldn’t stand the thought of being rejected. Instead, she decided to take a bus to their house. Gazing out of the window, she
couldn’t help but notice newspaper stands displaying the terrible headlines:

By the time she rang Alan and Kevin’s doorbell she was crying for the first time since she’d been told about Margaret.

When Alan opened the door, she was sobbing.

‘Oh, Alan, please let me in. I’ve got nowhere else to go.’

Alan put his arm around her shoulders.

‘It’s all right. You can stay here.’

Kevin emerged from their kitchen as Alan closed the front door. He gave the distressed Barbara a cold look.

‘They’re showing all the old clips from the show on the news reports. I hope for your sake you didn’t have anything to do with her suicide.’

Barbara unpacked the few things she’d brought with her and lay down on the single bed. She’d made no mention of the will. There had been no opportunity as they sat
watching the television news about Margaret. Alan had become very distressed and had broken down in tears.

At six o’clock she heard the doorbell ring. Shortly after, Alan knocked on the box-room door.

‘There are two police officers downstairs. They want to talk to you.’

Detective Inspector John Douglas introduced himself as Barbara entered the kitchen. A female detective, Angela Collins, was with him. She shook Barbara’s hand and they took their seats at
the kitchen table. Alan and Kevin hovered and Barbara wished they would leave them in private.

She told the detectives everything she could about Margaret.

‘So you went back to the manor house yesterday evening?’ asked Douglas.

‘Yes. I just said so.’

‘Did anyone see you arrive?’

‘I suppose the ticket collector might remember seeing me.’

There was a pause and then Detective Inspector Douglas nodded to his companion, who continued.

‘So Miss Reynolds gave you permission to return there, did she?’

Barbara hesitated and then nodded. Alan glanced at Kevin, knowing this was not exactly true, as she’d tried to stay with them.

The female detective asked how Barbara thought Miss Reynolds appeared. ‘Did she seem distressed? Nervous? Show any signs that she intended to kill herself?’

‘No, she was very relaxed. She said she would be seeing her solicitor.’

Now Detective Inspector Douglas resumed. They knew from Mr Sullivan that she’d gone to his office that afternoon. Barbara nodded, glancing at Alan and Kevin.

‘Yes, I kept the appointment at three fifteen.’

‘Did you see Miss Reynolds after that meeting?’

‘No. I came here and then caught the seven fifteen train.’

‘So you never saw her again?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Yes, I’m sure. In fact, I went there because I presumed that she’d returned home.’

‘She didn’t call you or try to get in touch with you?’

‘No.’

Detective Inspector Douglas then dropped his bombshell.

‘You see, Miss Hardy, we have to make certain that it was a tragic accident, or suicide, rather than murder.’

Barbara turned to Alan and back to the detectives.

‘I don’t understand. From the news, it seems she committed suicide. She jumped in front of the tube train, didn’t she?’

Neither detective replied. Instead, they studied their notebooks.

‘Was it not an accident, then?’ Barbara asked.

Without replying to her question, Detective Inspector Douglas asked Barbara if she had found a letter of any kind at the manor house. Barbara answered that she had not.

‘So, Miss Hardy, when Miss Reynolds was at the tube station in London, you were heading for the manor house?’

‘Yes.’

‘You were not at the tube station?’

‘No. I’ve already told you I was on the train.’

Detective Inspector Douglas snapped his notebook closed, as if the interview was over. But it wasn’t.

‘You see, we have to question anyone who might benefit from Miss Reynolds’s death.’

Alan and Kevin looked confused.

‘And you are Miss Reynolds’s main beneficiary.’

Alan’s jaw dropped.

‘What? She couldn’t be! She hardly knew her!’