‘What?’ she whispered, a premonition shivering through her.
‘That was the hospital,’ Harriet slowly told her, watching her with concern.
Annie had known it. ‘My mother. My mother’s dead, isn’t she?’ She was white to her hairline.
‘No, no,’ Harriet reassured her hurriedly. ‘But she had some sort of crisis a little while ago – they aren’t sure yet what happened, or they aren’t admitting it, I got the distinct feeling there was something the sister wasn’t saying. It seems …’ She paused, biting her lower lip as if unsure how to put it. ‘Well, Annie, your mother’s heart stopped.’
Annie whispered, ‘Stopped … but you said she isn’t dead?’
Harriet put an arm round her, soothed, ‘Now, don’t get upset, Annie, it isn’t as bad as it sounds, they started it again – and the sister said it has steadied a good deal, your mother’s going to pull through. She’s under sedation again, but if you want to visit her you can and the ward sister said she would be in touch immediately if there was any change.’
Annie sank down on the bottom stair and covered her face with both her hands, groaning. ‘My whole life is falling to pieces … it’s just one thing after another. I’m scared stiff, Harriet. What is happening to me?’
7
Annie slept deeply for six hours, her body worn out and her disturbed mind quietened by some sleeping pills Harriet had made her take. She woke up when she heard Harriet in the bathroom, showering. Annie rolled over to look at her clock and groaned.
Seven! She should have been up an hour ago. She slid out of bed and went into her own en-suite bathroom, one of the few changes they had made to the house over the past few years. She had insisted on it so that she should not disturb her mother when she got up at crack of dawn.
She got downstairs as Harriet was making coffee. ‘What are you doing up?’ demanded Harriet and Annie grinned at her.
‘Going to work.’
‘Oh, no, you’re not!’
Annie opened her mouth to argue but a loud ring on the doorbell made her jump.
‘Sean! He’s giving me a lift!’ Harriet said, and went to let him in. Seeing Annie, he shook his head at her impatiently.
‘Go back to bed. I’ve rewritten today’s scenes to cut you out. I want you to stay quietly at home. Don’t brood over Derek. You’ll never have to worry about Derek again.’
Annie gave him an agitated look. ‘What have you done? You don’t know him – he can be vindictive, really nasty. He’s full of resentment because he was a star, now he’s just a bit player and …’
‘That’s not your fault,’ Harriet said furiously, immediately up in arms in defence of her, as she always was with any of the team who worked for her. Any maternal instincts Harriet possessed came out in the way she took care of the people she worked with, and sometimes Annie had resented the mothering bossiness. Perhaps because she had a powerful mother at home, or simply because she had a deep instinct of her own – the instinct to be free to make her own decisions, fight her own wars.
Harriet’s eyes blazed. ‘In fact, if it wasn’t for you he wouldn’t be working at all. Don’t you worry about Derek, you just stay in bed and get plenty of rest. When does your cleaner get here? She can take care of you.’
Not answering that, Annie asked Sean, ‘But what did you mean – I’ll never have to worry about Derek again?’
Those level, cool eyes of his met her stare without blinking. Did all policemen have those observing, distancing eyes? Annie wondered. Sean seemed to stand off from life, watching it, all the time. She knew he had few real friends among the actors in the team, although they seemed to like him well enough. Maybe that was because he was a writer, used to working alone, but she had learnt from working in the series that policemen tended not to have friends outside their work; it could lead to problems. A policeman needed to be prepared to put up with unpopularity, to be something of a loner.
‘I’m writing Derek out of the script. I’m going to see Billy Grenaby for lunch this week – I’ll talk to him then and get his agreement.’
Harriet stiffened. ‘I don’t recall you discussing it with me.’
‘I was going to do that today,’ Sean quickly said, realising he had stepped on her toes. Harriet was fiercely possessive of anything to do with the series. Although Sean wrote the scripts, Harriet regarded the series as her property, not his. If they fell out she could always get another writer to carry on; her position in the company was stronger than his, her eyes reminded him.
‘Well, good, don’t forget to do that,’ she sarcastically said.
Annie was conscious of the little battle between them and with her usual dislike of scenes, hurriedly said, to distract them both, ‘But I want to visit my mother today, I can’t stay at home all day.’
She had rung the hospital a few minutes ago, from her bedroom, and been told that Trudie was much better, but she had picked up, as Harriet had done last night, something odd in the ward sister’s manner; things were not being said, questions not being answered entirely frankly. Annie was afraid the hospital were hiding something about her mother’s condition; she wanted to see for herself.
Harriet frowned uncertainly. ‘Take a taxi there and back, but don’t stay too long.’
There she goes again – ordering me around, Annie thought resentfully. I get pretty tired of it.
But she hid the reaction because she knew in her heart that Harriet was trying to protect her, so she smiled, nodded like an obedient child. ‘OK.’ She was a good actress; she could always hide behind the mask of whatever character she was playing. She fooled Harriet now. Harriet smiled approval at her.