The Grey Girl Read Online Free

mystery parties.’
    â€˜Nell is a psychic too,’ Toby informed me before Nell could speak. ‘And sometimes she helps out with the cooking and cleaning. But she only cleans downstairs, she won’t go upstairs.’
    â€˜That’s me,’ she nodded, her gold earrings jangling. ‘Jack of all trades and a mistress of many.’
    â€˜Was it you who came into my room this morning and opened the curtains whilst I was still sleeping?’ I asked pointedly. ‘Because I prefer to sleep late in the holidays. And the doctor did say I need my rest.’
    Nell raised her painted eyebrows and they disappeared into her orange turban. ‘I’ve not been anywhere near your room, my dear. Toby is many things but he’s not a liar. I don’t go upstairs in this house.’ A stony expression fell across her face. ‘I dare say no one has been near your room this morning. Your aunt left early, had to drive into the city to pick up some costume bits for this evening. That reminds me, the guests will be arriving from four so can you please be in your costume by then?’
    Who did this washed-up old fortune-teller wannabe think she was? ‘I’m going to sit this party out,’ I told her indignantly. ‘I actually have other things I need to do this weekend.’
    â€˜Suzy’s writing a screenplay,’ Toby reminded Nell.
    Nell’s eyes narrowed and she smiled like a cat. ‘So she says.’ I hated her already. ‘Well, we’ll get out of your red hair and leave you to it. Come on, Mister Toby, let’s get you to the joke shop.’
    Nell slurped up her tea like some kind of common washerwoman and yanked my small cousin’s arm, pulling him out of the kitchen. ‘Bye, Suzy, see you later!’ Toby called.
    I turned around and leant my elbows on the kitchen counter so I could gaze out of the window. The kitchen’s large sash windows at the back of the house looked onto Dudley Hall’s sprawling grounds. It was a similar view from my bedroom window, which sat directly above. I brought my cooling coffee to my lips and grimaced at the taste of it. I forced myself to swallow the bitter black liquid as my eyes glazed over and I started to daydream. The grounds really were beautiful, the perfect place to sit and write. I imagined myself in a film, where a montage of shots would capture me outside in the hazy sunshine, writing my screenplay. I pictured the camera panning in on me as I sat beneath the old weeping willow on the riverbank, bare feet kicking at the cool water as I wrote with a notepad on my lap, my pen working furiously against the paper.
    The sound of a vehicle pulling up on the gravel driveway outside violently dragged me from my daydream. Through the glass panels of the kitchen’s back door I could see a man pulling a motorbike to a halt. My stomach did a nervous flip as I tried to work out what to do. Aunt Meredith hadn’t told me to expect a visitor this morning, and it was too early for any of the guests to arrive. My eyes anxiously flashed towards the telephone on the wall as I briefly considered calling the police. The man could have been anyone – a burglar, a murderer, a crazed kidnapper who’d been watching me and waiting to strike for years. A million and one scenarios flashed through my head, and I stood frozen to the spot as I watched the man swing his legs off the bike and onto the gravel, pulling off his helmet as he landed.
    As soon as I had a clear view of his face I realised he was younger than I’d initially thought – not that much older than me. He was wearing worn jeans and a black biker jacket over a white T-shirt. His blond hair was cut short, but before I could take any more in I nearly dropped my cold, disgusting coffee all over the floor as I realised the boy was heading for the kitchen door.
    My eyes flicked again to the telephone on the wall. I didn’t have enough time to call