The Little One

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.