Alan shrugged.
‘Well, if she said it’s OK.’
Barbara threw her arms around him.
‘Oh, thank you, Alan.’
Chapter Three
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.’