Home through the Dark by Anthea Fraser Read Free Book Online

you!”
    She grinned. “It didn’t take you long to sum me up, did it? Anyway, I’ll invite them all, but I don’t suppose he’ll come. He doesn’t strike me as being very sociably minded.”
    I opened three cupboards before I found the teacups. “It’s very kind of you to go to all this trouble on my account.”
    â€œNonsense, it’s time we had a party, anyway. You’ll sort them all out in time. The odd-numbered flats are ground-floor and the even upstairs – no doubt you’ve already gathered that. The Oldies have ground-floor ones because they don’t like stairs, but they don’t like noise either, which makes life hard for those above them. Miss Cavendish is always sending frigid little notes upstairs to the boys. She’s a retired headmistress, so you can imagine!” Sarah sipped at the hot tea but it didn’t interrupt her flow. “Mind you, the Blighs are better off now M.M.’s above them. I bet he doesn’t make a sound, creeping around up there.”
    â€œPresumably he has a dark cloak and a false beard?”
    â€œYou may well laugh,” she said darkly, “but there’s something odd about him. He doesn’t seem to have a regular job, for one thing, he’s in and out all day. Perhaps he’s a Private Eye or something like that.”
    â€œRather an upper-class one, to come to roost here.” I forbore from commenting that if the mysterious Mr. Sinclair were really an investigator of some kind, he could do a lot worse than solicit Sarah’s help.
    She finished her tea and stood up, tugging down her jacket. “I’d better go and start on the groundwork by phoning them all. See you tomorrow, about twelve.” And with a nonchalant wave of her hand, she was gone.
    The sun had gone in and I changed my mind about going into the garden, relaxing with my book instead on the comfortable sofa. I watched the early news on television – still no reports of a kidnapping – and then went through to grill my solitary pork chop. It didn’t feel like Saturday at all; this time last week we’d been preparing for the Winthrops’ party. I remembered bleakly that Leonie had been there, playing up to Carl as usual. If I hadn’t happened to go unexpectedly to the theatre on Wednesday, I would have given her attentions no more serious consideration than anyone else’s.
    I wrenched my mind away from the abyss of self-pity yawning in front of me and instead forced myself to repeat the words of the telephone call, and suddenly a fact I had not registered before struck me for the first time. The voice had been wrong, somehow out of character for the pseudo-criminal slang it had been using. It had, in fact, been a particularly pleasant voice, well-modulated and resonant. It could even have been a trained voice – an actor’s voice.
    Carefully I pushed the uneaten chop to the edge of my plate and laid down my knife and fork. That, of course, would tie in with the whistling, but it was all so wildly circumstantial that I couldn’t give the idea much credence.
    When I joined Kitty in the kitchenette an hour or so later, the working surfaces where last night I had laid out the coffeecups were covered with a profusion of paper bags.
    â€œWhat’s all this?” I asked curiously.
    â€œOh, savouries and things. We can see to them after the second interval.”
    â€œSavouries? What for?”
    She turned to look at me. “Didn’t I tell you? We always have a small celebration after the last performance.”
    â€œThe actors, you mean?”
    â€œYes, they come through here when the audience has left. You’ll stay, won’t you? It won’t go on for very long, but it’s usually good fun.”
    â€œOh yes,” I said slowly, “I’ll stay.”
    Accordingly, after clearing away the crockery after the second interval, Kitty and I embarked on