Doubting Abbey Read Online Free PDF Page B

my hair, nor can I acquire Prince Harry’s phone number – apologies.

Chapter 3
    Don’t call the police, Uncle… I mean, Earl…There’s a good reason I’m pretending to be your niece. Mr Thompson, put down that gun!
    I took a deep breath. There was no point practising in my head what I’d say if found out. Go, girl! You can carry this off.
    I looked out of the window as the car ground to a halt. My brow relaxed. Talk about picture perfect. Clearly I’d snuffed it and this was some heavenly palace or, Mary Poppins style, I had jumped into some painting of old England. Looming before me was the mega grand Applebridge Hall.
    ‘Don’t know how anyone gets used to living in a place like this,’ said Roxy.
    ‘Me neither,’ I mumbled, eyes transfixed. Although my older brother Ryan’s gaff was a former stately home – he was staying there at, um, Her Majesty’s Pleasure! Mega stupid he’d been, crashing into a parked car while texting.
    Wow. Applebridge Hall was huge. Mahoosive. Bigger than Hogwarts. My home for the next week had gardens ten times the size of the sports grounds at my old high school. I fanned myself with Roxy’s clipboard, in anticipation of stepping out of the air-conditioned car and into the sticky end-of-the-summer heat. The mansion stood three storeys high and triangular gables (I knew that word from builder Uncle Pete) lined the top, where parts of the roof came forward. Where each one peaked, twisted ornamental bits rose into the air like mini totem poles. I’d seen similar ones in the book on Elizabethan architecture that Lady C had given me to speed-read.
    ‘Remember,’ said Roxy. ‘Big smile as soon as the car door opens. Cameras will be rolling.’
    I think I nodded in reply. Not sure. I was still gawping. Although, this close, you could see why the Earl needed those million dollars. The building was made from reddish-brown stone wall and needed a mega good clean. Mouldy patches covered large areas – lichen, I think. Slate roof tiles had slipped out of position and several of the chimneys were missing chunks of stonework.
    Yet, despite the crumbling brick and odd cracked window, it was pretty impressive, from the outside at least. Green ivy sprawled across the front and around the window frames. There was a protruding arched entrance in the middle, either side of which the building stretched sideways for the length of four window bays. At each end, Applebridge Hall extended forward so that, from the air, the building looked like a capital E. A tribute, perhaps, to the seventeenth century Queen Elizabeth, in which case it was just as well English letters didn’t look like Arabic or Chinese.
    ‘Ready?’ said Roxy.
    I swallowed. ‘What’s Charlie Chingo like?’ A washed-up eighties pop star, with his trademark quiff and Blues Brothers suit, he’d reinvented himself as a chat show host and was presenting the show.
    ‘A total diamond.’ Roxy grinned. ‘On screen he behaves like a carefree teenager, but no one works harder—he often hovers around our outside broadcast van, helping edit footage for the next show.’
    I nodded and stared at the mansion’s many windows. Vertical bars divided them into panes. It would take forever to make them all sparkle. Good thing all I had to do for this fortnight was serve cream teas.
    The chauffeur opened my door and, thighs together, I slid out. In front of the car was a three-tiered fountain, overgrown with green slime and moss. Across the lawns, birds chirped and the sound of tinkling water filled the air. A line of people gathered at the entrance. Enough of admiring the estate – it was time to kick off this charade.
    The cameraman and sound guy hovered like sprinters waiting for the off. Lord Edward stood in front, looking pretty lush (eek, mustn’t think that, he was supposed to be my cousin). His eyes were fixed on me. Members of staff were just behind him, with the old Earl. Nearby, hovered a tall woman with a shiny Jessie J bob,