Meg woke before dawn. For a moment, she couldn't gather her thoughts, her gaze wandering the dark corners of her room. Finally, she remembered her dream. It wasn't a nightmare, but she felt very uneasy after waking. She only remembered the house and a vague feeling that something wasn't right there.
Finally, she got up and headed for the kitchen. She always said there was nothing like a cup of tea in the morning. Even if it hadn't started yet. Sitting at the small table, sipping the hot beverage, she pondered the meaning of her dream.
Although she was never superstitious, she preferred not to ignore her dreams, because sometimes they came true. Besides, the one she'd just had could only mean one thing: the excitement of buying her own house.
The inheritance she'd received six months earlier had allowed her to fulfill one of her most cherished dreams. One of them was buying an old mansion in the English countryside.
Everything was ready, the contract signed; all she had to do was collect the keys from the previous owners and move in. Meg was optimistic. She had decided to rent her apartment. She had even found suitable tenants.
The bath would be refreshing, and Meg could finish packing the little things she planned to take with her. She had already cleared out the closets, now all that remained was to go through the belongings and gather whatever she felt particularly fond of.
She couldn't remember the exact location of the house. She had only been there once and was afraid she wouldn't find it again. The taxi driver, however, managed to sort everything out, and after a two-hour drive, he parked the car in front of the enormous, two-story house.
"Hello, and I invite you for tea," the landlady greeted Meg.
"Good morning. I need to gather my things first and check the taxi in."
"Okay. We'll be waiting in the living room."
The old woman entered the house, and Meg, along with the driver, carried the suitcases and boxes into the hall. She felt a little uneasy in the owners' presence, but she knew that in half an hour at most, she'd be alone there. Alone among the multitude of rooms, nooks, and old portraits. She was looking forward to it, but she didn't show it as she sipped the hot, aromatic drink Edith had prepared.
Watching the elderly couple, she wondered how they managed to maintain such a large house and why they had decided to sell it for such a low price.
The old woman washed the tea dishes and handed Meg a set of keys, along with a few warnings and instructions. The couple finally left the mansion. The new owner stood on the steps, staring at the disappearing taxi. When she lost sight of it, she stepped inside and sighed. That sigh held an unusual mix of emotions: hope that everything would work out, the joy of starting a whole new chapter of life, fear of failure, and a childish excitement at exploring every nook and cranny of the old house.
Meg hurriedly sorted through the boxes containing her belongings. With the joy of a teenager, she arranged photos and knick-knacks in the living room. She also unpacked some of the tableware and made herself a cup of tea.
As she tossed some wood into the fireplace, she felt that this was exactly what she had been waiting for. She had fulfilled her dream and was finally living her own life.
The house made a huge impression on her. It was old and certainly needed renovation, but her boundless joy overshadowed these negative aspects for now.
Meg, sipping her tea, breathed in the atmosphere of the house. The oldness and the secrets it held. She was certain it held its secrets. She believed in secret passages and hidden hiding places. Finally, shaking off her reverie, she set out to find them.
Having arrived for the first time, she had only briefly surveyed the rooms on the upper floors. She knew only that they were mostly bedrooms with wardrobes and bathrooms. There was, of course, a library, a study, and a small, cozy drawing room, but most of them were bedrooms.
Now she visited each one in turn, opening the shutters and carefully examining the furnishings. Finally, she collapsed from exhaustion in the largest and, in her opinion, coziest bedroom. She no longer had the strength to explore the second floor. She placed a picture of her son on the nightstand, arranged her clothes in the dressers, made the bed, and, exhausted, collapsed onto the pillows.
The morning sun and the piercing cold woke her. Only then did she realize that the previous day, the only warmth had come from the fireplace downstairs. A thick robe and hot tea helped her start the day. She made herself breakfast with the leftover bread and two eggs.
Dressed in a warm sweater, she lit the fireplace and then set out to explore the second floor. The first few rooms, as she had expected, turned out to be bedrooms. Another small sitting room with several scarlet armchairs arranged around a small table left her speechless.
However, it wasn't the charm of the place, but the still figure resting in one of the armchairs. Meg had no doubt the man was dead. The red stain on his shirt and his unnatural pallor were unequivocal signs.
At first, she was paralyzed with fear. Before her was a dead man, with whom she had most likely spent the night! Finally, trembling with terror, she ran down the dark stairs.
The living room was warm and cozy. This calmed her down a bit. She hastily dug her cell phone out of her purse and dialed the police.
A few minutes later, a car pulled up in front of the house, and two men got out. They made the worst possible impression on Meg. They weren't interested in what she was saying until they saw the body and believed she'd actually found it. Only then did they politely take an interest in her and call for backup.
Meg, still shaken, returned to the living room. She tried to distract herself from what had happened. She put wood in the fireplace, adjusted the cushions on the couch, rearranged the photos… But the image of the man with the red stain on his chest remained in her mind.
One of the policemen appeared in the living room doorway. She paid him no attention. Only when he asked her a question did she turn her wandering gaze on him.
"Did you know this man?" His voice was melodic and warm, which calmed her somewhat.
"No. I moved in yesterday. I don't know anyone here."
"Did you lock the door last night?
" "Yes. Of course," she paused, then added in a choking voice. "I don't know anything. Please don't ask me...
" "It would be good if someone came to see you. At least for a while. You shouldn't be alone here," he said, walking away.
The police took the body, searched the house and garden, secured all evidence, and left. The sergeant in charge assured Meg he would return to question her as soon as she calmed down.
The next two days were uneventful. Joy and excitement gave way to dejection. The house became gloomy and uninviting.
A local photographer attempted to take pictures at the murder scene but left empty-handed. Despite this, a local weekly newspaper published a huge photo of the mansion on its front page and a lengthy article devoted both to its new owner and the crime.
When Sergeant Weston arrived to question Meg, he found her in a dressing gown over her clothes, unkempt, and clearly sleep-deprived. In the living room, dirty plates and cups littered every flat surface. The fireplace was littered with ashes. The air was bitterly cold.
Kay, defying every rule he lived and worked by, gathered up and washed the dirty dishes, made Meg hot, strong coffee, and lit a fire.
"Now, tell me what actually happened here.
" "I already told you I don't know anything. I've been living here for four days. Why won't you leave me alone?
" "Why? I'll explain. We found no fingerprints anywhere in the house except yours. There's not a speck of dust in the rooms that haven't been used for several years, and the people you bought this house from have been dead for eight years. Is that enough?"
Meg stared at him wide-eyed, unable to contain her astonishment. She wasn't even sure if he was serious or joking. The words jolted her out of her two-day lethargy and made her feel a surge of anger.
"Are you accusing me of something? How dare you?!
The house purchase documents were in her purse. Since finding the body, she'd lost all desire to settle in and unpack boxes. Everything lay in a disarray, waiting for the owner to brighten up.
"Here you go. Is a notarized purchase and sale agreement sufficient to declare me the legal and rightful owner of this house?" she asked sharply.
"I'm not saying you did anything illegal. I simply want your cooperation. I need an explanation."
Meg sank helplessly into her chair. In an instant, everything had become so complicated. Sergeant Weston watched her, his interest evident. He couldn't quite picture her in the role of a murderer, busily dusting the entire house to exasperate the police.
"Besides, this man was murdered in the garden and only later transferred here. He'd been dead for three days when you found him.
" "I... I don't understand any of this. Why would anyone go to all this trouble? Who were the people I bought the house from? Who was the dead man?
" "I can answer that last question. It was Tony Mayson, if that tells you something—but it didn't."
The sergeant asked Meg more questions, and she grew increasingly confused. Her dream house had become one big mystery. Besides, she was tired and irritated. She wanted to be alone.
"Consider my advice and invite someone to stay with you," Kay said as he left the residence.
He hadn't managed to obtain much information relevant to the investigation, but he didn't consider the time wasted. He was convinced that the owner of the house had nothing to do with the murder. But if not her, then who?
Meg decided to pull herself together. She found an electric heater, put it in the bathroom, and took a long bath. Then she dressed warmly and set off for the village. The residence was surrounded by a large park and a concrete wall. The sounds of village life filtered out.
The maze of narrow streets disoriented her. All the houses seemed similar. Finally, she spotted a shop. While shopping, she kept thinking about how to direct the saleswoman's chatter to the right topics. She needed a specialist. She didn't know exactly what kind, but he simply had to know about central heating.
Finally, she managed to get a name and address.
"I only want to heat the ground floor. I don't plan on developing the upper floors for now. I would have done something about it myself, but the installations are too old."
The man who had almost immediately offered his help was now eagerly scanning every corner of the house. Meg interpreted his tapping on every pipe she encountered more as a desire to reach the dead body than to find a fault or leak.
Finally, however, refusing payment and resigning himself to the future, the man departed, and Meg fetched coal and wood and lit the stove. She also prepared dinner and sorted through the boxes of belongings.
Evening fell early. For the first time in days, the house was warm, and the smell of food filled the air. Meg took the bedding down from upstairs and pulled out the couch in the living room. As she ate, glancing at the television out of the corner of her eye, she reflected on the events of the last few days.
Buying this house was supposed to be a balm for the past. Her divorce from her husband four years earlier had turned her world upside down. Since then, she had changed jobs three times and lost friends and acquaintances one by one. Only her son, Mike, was there for her throughout.
His father paid for his education at a prestigious boarding school, but he didn't interfere with his upbringing.
Meg wanted to buy a small, cozy house in the country and, at thirty-six, start a new life. However, fate presented her with another option. At a bargain price, she purchased a vast Elizabethan mansion and decided to open a boarding house there. She wasn't familiar with the area or the building's condition, but she knew she wanted to take a chance.
However, fate decided to play a trick on her and make things difficult from the very beginning. The police questioned the legality of the transaction. This wasn't surprising, considering the sellers turned out to be ghosts.
Besides, Meg was certain the sergeant suspected her of involvement in the murder. In his place, she would have suspected herself too. She had no logical excuse. If the deceased had been her ex-husband, she would have had more to say, and any speculation about her guilt would have been fully justified.
Unfortunately, the deceased was completely unknown to her; ghosts were wandering the area, and she had no desire to delve into these mysterious matters. She also had no one with whom to share her fate, so she was left to abandon her pessimistic thoughts and focus on planning for the immediate future.
The next day, Meg decided to look around the garden. The flowerbeds, borders, and lawns that had likely graced it in its heyday were gone. In several places, tulips, crocuses, and other spring flowers were poking through the layer of decaying grass and leaves.
In the dilapidated outbuilding, Meg found a hoe and rake. She carefully weeded and dug up the spots where she spotted sprouting plants. Her work absorbed her so completely that she didn't notice the man approaching along the path between the trees. She only saw him when he was a few steps away.
"Hello, ma'am. My name is Simon Chayefsky. We've met before.
" "I don't recall.
" "I wanted to take a few photos here, but you dismissed me without even opening the door.
" "If you still want the same thing, please don't waste your precious time," Meg replied irritably.
"Could we talk? About this house," he continued, ignoring her harsh words. "Why did you buy it?"
She didn't want to answer this or any other question, but the man didn't seem like a thrill-seeker. This confused her a bit.
"It was cheap. For that amount, I could have bought a small cottage in the middle of nowhere. Would you agree that it was a good deal?"
"Call me Margaret. Or maybe Meggi?"
She glared at him. How did he know her name!? What was he really after? Her first, good impression turned out to be completely deceptive.
"As for you, Mrs. Grey," she said indifferently, trying to hide her nervousness.
"Don't get upset, Meggi. I just want to know the real reason you're here. You bought this dump for next to nothing. Or maybe you didn't buy it at all? Maybe you're just temporarily guarding it?
" "Please leave this place immediately. I don't want you bothering me and insinuating nonsense.
" "So I finally got it," he said, more to himself than to her, and smiled maliciously. "Don't get upset. I'm leaving, but I'll be back. You can be sure of that. I'll find out what's going on here and I'll be back."
Meg wanted to throw a hoe at him, but she controlled herself. She was only glad he hadn't used the camera he had slung over his shoulder. Then she certainly wouldn't be responsible for his behavior.
What an impudent man, she thought as she entered the house. She wasn't sure if she was more nervous or frightened. His insinuations unsettled her. There was as much truth in them as snow in the garden, yet she subconsciously sensed that he believed what he said, and even if she showed him the purchase agreement, he wouldn't acknowledge it.
Besides, that nickname… Since her parents died, only her ex-husband had used it, and she wanted to forget him and everything connected with him forever.
A cup of tea and the monotonous voice of the radio announcer calmed her somewhat. She glanced out the window to make sure the pushy photographer had disappeared from the grounds. No trace of the unwanted guest remained, except an unpleasant memory.
The weather was clearly about to take a turn for the worse. Dark clouds appeared above the wind-whipped treetops. Meg threw on her jacket and left the house. She hurriedly gathered up her scattered garden tools and grabbed a stash of firewood from the shed.
With her field work interrupted, she decided to start preparing dinner. Although she had no one to share it with, she decided to finally celebrate the purchase of the house. The bottle of sweet red wine she'd brought from the apartment was perfect for this. Chocolate cake was a perfect accompaniment, so she quickly found her recipe book and got to work.
A knock on the door interrupted her efficient bustle in the kitchen. Meg had had enough of unannounced guests. Especially since it was another strange man.
"I apologize for the intrusion, Mrs. Grey, but it was raining so hard that I decided to hide out at your place. Derek Knight, at your service.
" "Come in. It rained so suddenly..." she began, halfheartedly.
"I don't think that's a sufficient reason for my visit, but I have two more," she looked at him with interest. "I'm a friend of Sergeant Weston's, and it just so happens he asked me to check on you when I have a moment to make sure you're all right and that you've followed his advice. Secondly, if you'll excuse me, I was very curious to know who bought this house. What's that strange smell?" he asked suddenly.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, but I think my cake is burning. Please go into the living room. I'll be right back," she said hurriedly, the last words drifting from the dining room.
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