The Silence Read Online Free Page A

over?’
    ‘Now?’
    ‘Well . . .’
    Michael glanced at his watch. It was half past eight. ‘All right, but I’ll have to get a taxi,’ he said. ‘I’ve been sloshing vino at somebody’s lunch since midday. I’ll be there as quickly as I can.’
    On the way to Quire Court he tried Nell’s mobile again, but it was still inaccessible. A nearby church clock was chiming nine as he crossed the court; Michael had never identified which church this was, but he always liked hearing it. He liked Quire Court as well, which was a small quadrangle near Brasenose College. He had the feeling that it was one of the corners where fragments of Oxford’s long and vivid history had collected, and that one day those fragments might overflow, in a glorious confused cascade of Norman invasions and Saxon settlements, and civil wars and dreaming poets and quarrelsome academics.
    There was a notice on Nell’s shop saying that from Monday to Wednesday all customers should please go to Henry Jessel, at Silver Edges, next door. Michael, who had a key, let himself in, enjoying the familiar scents of old wood and beeswax, and the bowls of dried lavender which Nell always placed on the choicer tables or desks she was selling. At the moment there was a round cherrywood table and a set of chairs in the main window, as well as the Regency desk, earmarked for the Japanese customer.
    As he went through to the office at the back of the shop Henry came bustling in, his elderly cherub face worried.
    ‘I saw you arrive and I’m so glad you’ve come, Michael, because I haven’t known
what
to do.’ He indicated the answerphone. ‘It’s a most peculiar message. The caller phoned twice, I think. The first time she didn’t speak – as if she hadn’t expected to get a recording and it disconcerted her. The second one is about fifteen minutes later.’
    ‘As if she had to prepare what she was going to say?’
    ‘That’s what I thought. Here goes.’
    As Henry had said, the first call was silent, apart from a faint crackle from the machine. It cut out, then went on to the second one. It was unmistakably an elderly lady’s voice – but it was not the quavery voice of weak old age; it was a vigorous, decisive voice. Michael had the impression that she might be reading from some notes.
    ‘Nell,’ said the voice. ‘This is Emily West – Brad’s Aunt Emily. I hope you remember me – we met a couple of times, and Margery has arranged for you to list and value the contents of Aunt Charlotte’s house. I’m very glad about that, although I should think it will be quite a task because Charlotte lived at Stilter House since she was born, so there will be a lot of stuff.
    ‘I have written to you, but as I haven’t heard back I’m concerned my letter might have distressed you. Or perhaps I’ve simply got your address wrong and you haven’t received it yet, which is why I’m phoning. Nell, my dear, I strongly advise you not to stay at Stilter House itself. There’s a very nice pub in Caudle village and they let out perfectly comfortable rooms. It would reassure me very much if I could know you and Beth will stay there.
    ‘Lots of love to you both. Here’s my phone number in case you haven’t got it. I’ll be away for a few days at a health farm. Only a small place, but I’m told they do some marvellous things. I’ll be back on Thursday.’
    The message paused, but Emily West did not hang up. Michael glanced quizzically at Henry, who held up a finger, indicating, Wait.
    Emily’s voice came again, a little breathless this time.
    ‘Please don’t stay at Stilter House, Nell. Because whatever Margery may say, Esmond never left Stilter House. He is still there. Charlotte knew it and I know it. And Beth is so very like Brad was at that age.’
    The dial tone returned as Emily hung up, and Michael looked at Henry in bewilderment.
    Henry said, ‘You see what I mean? It’s so peculiar, I don’t know whether we ought to tell Nell about it.