Why Aren't They Screaming? Read Free Page A

that name. A member of Clara’s family, perhaps? The house was low and, had it not been constructed of a honey-coloured stone which Loretta took to be local, might well have appeared – unfriendly? It seemed the wrong sort of word to apply to a house, but the building certainly hadn’t been designed to impress the visitor with its open charm. It was asymmetrical in shape, the front door and window to each side being bunched at one end, next to the lane. To the left, a blank wall stretched for several yards. It looked, in fact, as though a barn and a house had lurched drunkenly together after some bucolic revel and failed to part. The upper storey showed even less evidence that it was part of a dwelling; only one window, situated directly abovethe front door, provided a break in the façade. Loretta wondered if the builder had been particularly unsociable, or whether he had simply intended to shield his affairs from the gaze of passers-by. Not that there could be many of those; peering in both directions, she noticed that Baldwin’s was the only house in sight.
    Realizing she had been standing in the road for several minutes, Loretta stepped forward and lifted the knocker, an evil-looking brass sprite with one leg folded across the other. As she brought it down, the sound was completely drowned by the sudden roar of a plane passing low overhead. She stepped back and stared up into the sky, but it was gone. Loretta moved closer to the door and tried again. This time the sound echoed through the house, but she heard no evidence of occupation. Loretta looked at her watch, satisfied herself that she wasn’t early, and knocked a third time. Just as she was beginning to think no one was in, the door finally opened.
    â€˜Sorry,’ said the young woman half-hidden behind it. ‘I was in the bath.’ As she opened the door wider, Loretta saw that the girl was wearing nothing but a large white bath towel which she had clutched to her chest; it made a rather fetching contrast to her thick chin-length black hair. ‘I hoped I’d have finished by the time you got here,’ she went on, stepping back so that Loretta could enter the hall.
    It was light and spacious, with a colourful tiled floor, and Loretta’s first impression of the house as unwelcoming was immediately dispelled. She was facing a back door which led into a conservatory; to her right, a door stood open into the kitchen, and wide stairs rose to the upper floor. To her left, a long corridor stretched along the blank front wall of the house. The wallpaper, wild flowers on an off-white background, was dotted with a startling collection of water-colours, oriental prints and china plates.
    â€˜I was absolutely filthy, everything’s in chaos today,’ the girl went on. ‘Clara’s still up at the peace camp, they’re trying to get enough tents up before it gets dark. She was going to ring you to let you know about Wayne but I expect she forgot. She’s been at the camp most of the day. Anyway, I’m sure we can sort something out. Why don’t you put the kettle on andI’ll be down in a minute. Through there,’ she said, indicating the kitchen door and heading for the stairs.
    Loretta made to follow her, and realized she didn’t know the girl’s name, or who she was.
    â€˜Wait a minute – you said something about Wayne – is there a problem?’ Her heart was sinking at the prospect of having to turn round and drive back to London.
    â€˜Only that the little shit has decided not to move out till tomorrow,’ the girl called cheerfully from the top of the stairs. She stopped and leaned over the banister. ‘But Clara said not to worry, we’ll fix you up here and you can still meet the neighbours. Though God knows what they’re going to eat, I don’t think Clara’s thought about food. But I dare say she’ll manage, she always does. I’m Imogen, by the