Why Aren't They Screaming? Read Online Free PDF

trailing white dresses. The lawn ended in another stone wall, this one of much more rough-hewn appearance, beyond which a row of outbuildings struggled to survive an onslaught of weeds and brambles. On the far side of the outbuildings, a thick green wood stretched up the other side of the valley.
    â€˜Isn’t it wonder–’ Clara’s voice, loud as it was, was lost in the noise of another plane passing overhead. ‘Bloody machines,’ she snapped as the noise died away. They’re not supposed to fly at weekends. This way.’
    She turned abruptly and led Loretta down the long corridor stretching to the right at the front of the house.
    â€˜Spare room,’ she said, indicating a door half-way down. ‘I’m going to put Peggy in there.’ She opened a door at the very end of the corridor and went in. This is where I work,’ she said, a note of pride in her voice.
    It was a delightful room. There were no fewer than three sets of windows, one at each side of the black marble fireplace and a bay window with white wooden shutters on the wall facing the door. The walls were painted off-white and were covered with sketches of cats, many of them the originals of Clara’s books. It took Loretta a moment to realize there was also a live cat in the room, a sinuous grey creature stretched out on a
chaise-longue
upholstered in faded yellow velvet. This animal suddenly sat up, let out a conversational wail, and padded over to Clara, who picked him up. He immediately clambered up on to her shoulders, draped himself elegantly across the back of her neck, and began to purr.
    â€˜This is Bertie,’ said Clara, reaching up to stroke the cat’s head. ‘I suppose you haven’t seen the cottage yet?’
    She moved across the room to the bay window, lifting the heavy metal bar to open the shutters. They folded neatly back on themselves and Loretta caught her first glimpse of Keeper’s Cottage.
    It was much closer to Baldwin’s than she had imagined – Loretta realized she had pictured the cottage in some far corner of Clara’s garden. It was separated from Baldwin’s by a privet hedge which stood about five feet tall, a small path leading from a gap in the hedge to its front door. The highstone wall which hid Clara’s garden from the road actually joined the cottage at its far end, and there were double wooden doors in it to allow direct access to the cottage. As Bridget had warned, Keeper’s Cottage was very small; it was also beautiful, with the mauve blossom of a long-established wistaria obscuring most of its front elevation. There were two doors, one in the main building, a second in the two-storey extension to the right. Upstairs a modern window, set into the roof, provided the cottage with both light and privacy. The only discordant note in this charming rustic scene was a large and unmistakably American car parked between the privet hedge and the front door, next to the wooden gates that led to the main road.
    â€˜Wayne’s?’ Loretta turned to Clara.
    â€˜Of course. Imo, if I take this end of the table, can you do the backwards bit?’
    Imo, who had been piling various pieces of paper on a desk in the corner, grasped the far end of the table as her mother took the other, the cat still balanced precariously on her shoulders. Loretta’s offer of help was firmly refused, and she trailed down the corridor in their wake feeling rather useless.
    â€˜Bathroom’s through there,’ called Clara, indicating a door towards the back of the house. ‘You go off and get ready. Come down for drinks at eight.’
    Loretta accepted her dismissal, observing that Clara seemed accustomed to having her orders obeyed. Returning to the study she sat down gingerly on the
chaise-longue
which the cat had recently vacated. This, she presumed, was where she was to sleep tonight; it felt unexpectedly sturdy for so delicate a piece of furniture.