Lynda Plante - The Little One

As she paid the taxi fare, Barbara hoped that someone would be at home, because she didn’t have her spare key. She rang the doorbell and waited. Thankfully, Kevin was in.

He was very different in appearance from Alan. He was squat, with thick dark hair worn in a crew cut. His broad shoulders looked even broader in the thick plaid dressing gown he was now wearing. He didn’t look very welcoming. In fact, he asked straight away when she would be leaving, reminding her that he needed to use the box room.

Barbara promised him that she was going to look at some places to rent, but it didn’t seem to make him any friendlier. He told her to help herself to coffee, then went back upstairs.

Barbara took a cup of tepid coffee up to the box room to recharge her mobile. Sitting on the bed, she felt like crying.

She opened her laptop to check her emails. There weren’t any. She took out of her handbag the scrawled notes she had made while at the manor house and began to copy them into a document, recalling the strange way Margaret had behaved.

The telephone rang and she heard someone hurrying to answer it. Then, after a moment, Kevin knocked on her door.

‘There’s a Mr Sullivan on the line for you. Can you take it downstairs? He wouldn’t tell me what he wanted.’

Barbara closed her laptop, went to the kitchen and picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Am I speaking to Miss Barbara Hardy?’

‘Yes.’

‘My name is Edward Sullivan. I am Margaret Reynolds’s solicitor.’

Barbara could hardly take in what he had said. In a very abrupt tone of voice, he informed her he needed to see her as soon as possible. She would have to sign various important documents. When Barbara asked what these were, he replied that he did not wish to discuss it over the telephone.

As she’d nothing better to do, she agreed to meet him at his Knightsbridge office. They made an appointment for three fifteen.

Barbara peeked into the kitchen as she was leaving.

‘I’m off now. I’ll be back later if that’s all right?’

Kevin was scrambling some eggs.

‘Yeah, it’s fine. Alan should be home.’

He hesitated, then said, ‘By the way, that job you offered me. My agent hasn’t got any booking.’

Barbara tried to think quickly, which was hard with her hangover. Finally, she said, ‘Well, my editor still has to finalize stuff. I think we’re supposed to have a meeting this afternoon.’

She was just closing the door when he asked, ‘It isn’t connected to Margaret Reynolds, is it?’

Barbara pretended not to hear him and didn’t reply.

Kevin had just sat down to eat when he heard Barbara’s mobile phone ringing from the box room. She must have forgotten to take it off charge. He picked it up just as it stopped ringing. The caller ID showed ‘Mike Phillips, editor’.

Kevin couldn’t resist it. He pressed redial and waited. Mike answered.

‘Hi, I’m a friend of Barbara’s. Can I take a message?’

‘I’ve been waiting for her to get back to me about some mad ageing soap star,’ Mike said sharply. ‘Barbara was supposed to track her down for a feature.’

‘Mad... ageing...’ Kevin repeated.

‘Yeah. She said she might be returning to work.’

‘I see,’ Kevin said quietly. He promised Mike that he would pass on the message.

His scrambled eggs had gone cold, but he was too furious to eat. Instead he called Alan.

‘She’s going to expose Margaret. I’m damn sure that was her intention all along. Persuading you to take her to the party so she could get the dirt on the poor woman.’

‘I don’t believe it!’ Alan said.

‘You’d better, because I talked to her editor. I warned you. She’s poison. When you get back tonight, we’ll deal with her.’

‘I should be home about five.’

Kevin stormed outside to the small courtyard and lit a cigarette. He’d been trying to give up smoking because Alan loathed it, but he was so angry now he couldn’t help himself.

When he had finished his cigarette, he went to the box room, picked up Barbara’s suitcases and laptop, and took them down to the hall.

Barbara caught the tube to Knightsbridge and walked from there to Mr Sullivan’s office, which was on the ground floor of an elegant house. She rang the doorbell and a secretary led her into a small waiting room.

After five minutes, Edward Sullivan walked in. He was very tall and thin-faced, with a shock of thick white hair. He wore a smart navy-blue pinstriped suit.

‘You must be Barbara Hardy,’ he said, shaking her hand. ‘Please come into my office.’

The room was dominated by a large oak desk with claw feet. A computer and telephone were to one side. On a large leather-backed blotter were numerous documents clipped together.

‘What is this about?’ Barbara said nervously.

He gave her a quizzical glance.

‘You have been named as the legal heir to Miss Reynolds’s estate.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Sullivan proceeded to explain that she was to inherit the manor house and a substantial sum of money. The conditions of the inheritance were rather irregular. She was to agree to live at the manor house and to keep the promise she had made while she was a recent guest there.

‘Do you recall making Miss Reynolds a promise to shoulder her responsibilities?’

‘Well, yes, I do. But I am not sure of the exact details.’

Barbara started to panic. She was hardly able to draw breath.

‘This is obviously in the event of Miss Reynolds’s death,’ Sullivan said.

Barbara shook her head, completely baffled.

The main condition was that Barbara must sign a legally binding document agreeing to live at the manor house. If she refused, or left after a short period, the will would become null and void.

Mr Sullivan also confirmed what Margaret had told her about planning permission. But apparently the will stipulated that no part of the manor house could be sold or divided into apartments.

Barbara was still confused, but agreed to sign all the documents. After doing so, she asked why Margaret had made her the heir. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She seemed in very good spirits when she came here this morning. Why do you ask?’

‘I mean is she what they call “of sound mind”?’

He gave a shrug as he carefully stacked all the papers.

‘She certainly seemed very alert and positive earlier. I am aware she’s had some problems in the past, but not for some time. I will need contact details from you, Miss Hardy, as I will send copies of everything.’

Barbara gave him Alan and Kevin’s address and telephone number, as well as her mobile number.

She headed back to the tube station in a daze. Nothing made sense to her. She couldn’t understand why Margaret had done this. Then, remembering the kiss, she decided not to think about it any more.

‘You won’t believe what just happened this afternoon,’ Barbara said when Kevin opened the front door.

He picked up one of her cases.

‘I’ve got a damned good idea. You’re not welcome here, Barbara, so take your cases and get out.’

‘But just let me tell you.’

Kevin hurled a case out on to the front step.

‘Let me tell you something. I talked to your editor. You don’t have a commission! You lied to me! You lied to Alan! I won’t have anything to do with your seedy, nasty attempt at writing about Margaret. She’s had enough of the press.’

Alan had joined Kevin by now. He chipped in that he blamed himself for being so naive.

The second case was hurled out, then Kevin shoved Barbara’s laptop into her arms and slammed the door shut.

Barbara burst into tears and rang the bell again, keeping her finger on it until Alan opened the door.