The Knapthorne Conspiracy Malcolm Ballard (most popular novels of all time .txt) 📖

the prospect of tackling Mrs. Flint served to brighten her up. If her housekeeper could shed some light on the reason behind her nocturnal disturbances, she would be extremely grateful. On that positive note, she finally eased herself up from the table, determined now to try and salvage something from the day. Maybe a trip to Dorchester would prove therapeutic. Even though Bella felt jaded, there was an underlying compulsion to return to her writing, to keep up the impetus now that the initial barrier had been removed. After the unsettling episodes of the past twenty-four hours she needed a distraction, something to occupy her mind with, to flush out the mental detritus and clear her head in order that she could concentrate on her craft.

Thursday couldn’t come soon enough now that she had got it into her mind to speak to Cora about her dream and Bella awoke on the Thursday morning with a keen sense of anticipation reinforced by the bright sunlight that poured into her room as she pulled the curtains. She was certain that it heralded a good day, in more ways than one, and she went off to have her shower in excellent spirits. Some instinct which she couldn’t explain dictated that she take more care  with her make-up than she was used to doing of late and

Bella took more time than usual over her choice of clothes in preparation for approaching her housekeeper. It was, if anything, she supposed a matter of confidence, using the weapons from her armoury to their best advantage but she couldn’t help smiling at herself in the dressing table mirror as she applied her mascara. As her writing had assumed greater depth over the years and she had become a more canny observer of the human condition, the influence of one person’s personality over another and the effects it could have fascinated her more and more. What had caused her to smile was the comparison between her own relationship with her housekeeper in London to that of hers with the redoubtable Mrs. Flint. Maureen Sparks, who cleaned her Holland Park apartment, was a down-to-earth, middle-aged mother of four who liked a bit of a gossip. That wasn’t to say she was idle by any means. For the two years that she had been employed by Bella she had proved to be an exemplary worker who would stop to pass the time of day with her if she was around. Every once in a while they would enjoy a coffee together and Bella would be brought up-to-date with the latest goings on in the Sparks family, including some of the most intimate details Bella could have done without but that was Maureen. It was an easy-going relationship free from any perceived shackles of a social order and Mrs. Sparks had seen her in everything from a towel to a nightie and never batted an eyelid yet here she was dressing up to speak to her Dorset housekeeper! Why couldn’t she just slip into an old pair of jeans and put her hair up like she usually would if she was going upstairs to work and treat Cora in the same way as she did Mrs. Sparks? It was a question she couldn’t answer, only knowing that she felt more comfortable looking and feeling as feminine as possible in the presence of a woman who most definitely wasn’t.

By the time she was happy with her appearance, Bella realised it was getting on for 8.30am, with Cora and Joshua Bodkin liable to turn up at any minute. A frisson of excitement stirred within her in expectation of their arrival as she made her way down to the kitchen to make some toast and put the coffee on. Most unusually, Ubix was nowhere to be seen but she figured that the cat wasn’t liable to be far away, more than likely curled up asleep under the computer desk. On the kitchen wall, next to the fridge, was a large calendar, a gift from her publishers. Out of habit she checked to confirm the date and was surprised to discover that two weeks had passed since her unfortunate accident with the car. Two weeks! She found it almost impossible to believe. Where had the time gone? What with Jane’s visit, starting work on the book, the appearance of her new gardener then the drama and excitement of the past weekend, time had become an irrelevant dimension, a casualty of more pressing considerations. Previously, the most noticeable corollary of the passage of time in Bella’s case, as with many women, was related to growing older and the cosmetic challenge of trying to combat its effects. Now the first thought that entered her head was that she was two weeks closer to the deadline for the book and what had she achieved? It was a sobering thought and she

realised that something had to be done, a routine organised, targets set, to enable her to reach the objective. Less interruptions, more hours at the keyboard starting right away, she conceded. All thoughts of Cora Flint had been banished from her mind by the exigency of the situation as she recognised it was yet another price she had to pay for her recent success. Thank God for this place, she thought, slipping the bread in the toaster. Things would be so much more difficult in London with all the disturbances. With a perfect sense of timing, as if to remind her that she wasn’t entirely free of disturbances at Willow Cottage, someone rung the front door bell.

“Cora!” she breathed, softly, reminding herself to use the woman's christian name. Wiping her hands on the dishcloth she went out to the lobby, to answer the door.

“Mornin’!” It was said in a brisk, workmanlike way, more a statement of fact than a greeting, the eyes cold and unsmiling under her broad forehead.

“Hello Cora!” Bella replied warmly, with enough cheeriness for the two of them. “Joshua with you, is