The Magic Cottage by James Herbert Read Free Book Online

rather important apparently that your good lady goes along too. Mr Ogborn is most anxious to see both of you.’
    I get my own kind of intuitions now and again and something told me that Midge was the important part of the partnership. ‘She isn’t here at the moment, so I can’t give you a definite answer. I suppose we might both be able to make it down there.’ Poor Midge was really going to be under pressure workwise.
    ‘That would be excellent. Now let me give you the telephone number of Ogborn, Puckridge and Quenby, then you can make your own arrangements regarding an appointment. With regard to your earlier offer for the property, I think you’ll find Mr Ogborn very amenable, although he might not come down to quite the figure you suggested. I wish you luck, anyway.’
    I took the number and we exchanged goodbyes. I suppose I was a bit numbed when I returned to the kitchen, because I sat there for some time staring into the bowl of muesli, wondering what the hell was going on. And the morning was still not finished with surprises.
    The next call came about an hour later. Midge hadn’t come back yet and I was pondering on whether or not to ring the agency to get a message to her. Between ponderings, and now in jeans and grey sweater, I had been sitting at the kitchen table working out figures on a sheet of paper, while propped up against a milk bottle before me was a list of Gramarye faults that had to be fixed (like that floor-to-ceiling crack in the bedroom). I walked out to the phone again, tucking the pencil behind an ear, still mumbling numbers to myself.
    ‘Mike? It’s Bob.’
    Bob’s a tour manager (for rock groups and the like) friend of mine and we go way back. We used to be quite a team where play was concerned, but I was the one who got the girl. Fortunately there isn’t a jealous bone in Bob’s body.
    ‘Hey, Bob, what’re you up to?’
    ‘Never mind. You busy next week?’
    ‘I could fit something in.’
    ‘I mean all next week. The Everlys are back in town.’
    ‘Another reunion?’
    ‘Never fails. Albert’s getting another backing group together and he wants to know if you’re free.’
    ‘Are you kidding?’
    ‘Do I ever?’
    ‘Yeah, you do. I can break off all my other engagements.’
    ‘You familiar with their routine?’
    ‘They’re a bit pre my generation, but I know most of the stuff, and Albert’ll put me right on anything I don’t.’
    ‘Terrific. It’s a grand in the bread-bin, by the way.’
    Score Three.
    After arranging details and promising to meet Bob for a ‘definitely the last one’ (muso-speak for a drink-up) in the nearest future, I hung up and wandered back into the kitchen, shaking my head at this funny day. Now I was left with no excuse at all for not buying the cottage, and I wasn’t quite sure of my feelings about that. Nevertheless I grinned in anticipation of the look on Midge’s face when I told her the news.



Ogborn

    We made an early start for Bunbury the following day. Midge’s reaction had surprised me when she’d returned from the agency and I told her of the two phone calls; surprised me because she’d only smiled as though the turn of events had not been altogether unexpected. She’d put her arms around my neck, kissed my nose, and said enigmatically: ‘It was meant to be.’
    Working from the art director’s rough scamps (the client was an up-market chain of children’s fashion stores, catering for tots and teens and everything that went on inbetween), she’d sketched out all three of her poster illustrations by late that night; I’d phoned the solicitor, Ogborn, earlier on in the afternoon, and arranged to be in his office by 10.30 the following morning. He said he looked forward to meeting us both.
    The journey meant that most of the day would be lost as far as Midge’s project was concerned, but she was quite prepared to work night and day for the rest of the week and weekend to have the illustrations ready for the following