Home through the Dark by Anthea Fraser Read Free Book Online Page B

attracted his attention and my disclaimer hung on the air. I turned back to the counter and began mechanically to load more plates of assorted savouries onto a tray, but my rather agitated thoughts were interrupted as Suzanne Grey’s voice rose stridently above the low hum of conversation.
    â€œFor God’s sake, Laurence, will you drop it? I don’t know, I tell you!”
    There was a fractional pause, then a more concentrated noise as everyone quickly started talking again at the same time. I had picked up the tray and started back into the throng when without warning Suzanne spun away from her husband’s restraining hand and cannoned into me.
    â€œHow the hell can I stop it if I don’t know what you’re talking about? Stop being so bloody superior!” And with two angry spots of colour high on her cheeks, she pushed her way between the chattering groups and went clattering down the stairs. Another theatrical marriage on the rocks, I thought achingly. Stephen put a hand on Laurence Grey’s arm. “She’s been under a considerable strain, don’t forget,” he said in a low voice. “Can’t you suggest she goes away for a while? She’s not in the next production, is she?”
    â€œYou know damn well she wouldn’t hear of it,” Laurence replied. “Not while she thinks there’s the remotest chance of – God, Stephen, I don’t know if I can go through with it.”
    The quick, low-voiced exchange had only taken a couple of seconds and it seemed to be imperative that Stephen at least should not realize I had overheard it. Although I had no idea what they were talking about, the tone of their voices had implied something private, even secretive, and Stephen was already suspicious of my continuing presence at the theatre. To my relief I had managed to put a respectable distance between them and myself before they turned.
    By midnight I had had more than enough of the party and Kitty caught my surreptitious glance at my watch. “Tired, Ginnie? Then you go home. Liz will help me tidy up when they’ve gone.” She indicated the girl beside her, who had taken the part of the maid in the play. “Anyway, we’ve no washing-up to do, the bar crew will take care of the glasses.”
    â€œIf you’re sure, then.” I was suddenly longing for the elegant privacy of my narrow bedroom at the Beeches.
    â€œThanks again for all you’ve done and if you’re passing any time during the next three weeks, there’ll always be coffee on hand during rehearsals. You can even sit in the back stalls and watch if you like!”
    â€œI’ll remember,” I promised, but at the moment I had had enough of the theatre and its strains and stresses. The night air was cool after the heat in the foyer and I wrapped my coat round me as I hurried through the dark streets to the car.
    I was a little apprehensive of my first drive in the dark to Park View, but I took only one wrong turn before I found myself turning into the square. Only one street lamp at each corner was lighted and the park huddled in the centre, a black, impenetrable space of whispering leaves and moving grasses. I drove round it as quickly as possible, one side, two, three, and into the driveway of the Beeches. The only light in the entire building was in the window of Number 6. The Mystery Man burning his midnight oil, I thought. How the knowledge would have gratified Sarah!
    I went carefully down the rather narrow space alongside the west wing to the row of garages behind. Alongside them lay the dark reaches of the sleeping garden. An owl hooted suddenly, bringing my heart to my throat. Hurriedly, fumblingly, I pushed the key into the garage door, swung it up and over and drove in. It was ridiculous, I told myself scathingly, to give way to this primeval fear of the dark. Nevertheless, I should try to bring a torch with me next time I was out at night. Wishing