The Minivers Fight Back Book 2 Read online

  Holly grabbed Fiona’s wrist and prised her fingers free from the tabletop. Len looked rather ill, and Ron, whose own son Alex was about Fiona’s age, stared out of the window. Titus listened impassively while Fiona was carried out the door and down the stairs to Holly’s car. For a moment, his eyes rested on Brenda, and then he nodded and addressed the committee.

  ‘Any objections?’ There was no reply. ‘Good,’ said Titus. ‘Then let’s get on with Phase Two.’

  3

  Phase Two

  At the TV-6 studio on Miniver Boulevard, Madame sat staring disconsolately into a make-up mirror. The face reflected there looked very different to the one she was used to. Her wispy hair had been cut in a smart new fringe and her pale skin was smeared with make-up that hid the worst of her freckles. But Madame was not a fool. She knew that the person in the mirror did not look like a TV star or, for that matter, the future queen of Artemisia. In fact, if she had passed herself in the street, she would never have given herself a second glance.

  Madame fingered the ruffled collar of her white silk dress. It was very similar to one she had seen Rosamund wear in the last-ever episode of The Minivers’ Music Hour, but though it was extremely pretty, she could not help fretting about how much it had cost. Madame winced, thinking of the other new dresses, shoes and handbags she had been obliged to buy. It was terrible, the expense of being famous. Well, Titus and the others might insist she spend the money now, but when she became queen, things would be very different. Madame let her thoughts drift over the wonderful cost-cutting measures she was going to introduce as part of her reforms. Then she remembered that in order for her to become queen, certain documents hidden in the Most Secret Room must be found and destroyed. Madame wondered how much longer it was going to take her cousin Livia, who worked in the City Archives, to find them. Of late, Livia’s behaviour had been very strange … Something like suspicion trembled in the back of Madame’s mind, but before she could pursue her thoughts any further, the door opened and Titus came in.

  Madame scowled at him. ‘Knock first, can’t you?’

  Titus merely smiled at her. He sat down on a plastic chair, crossed his long legs in their shabby jeans, and stretched comfortably. The door opened a second time, and Len entered, carrying a large rectangular parcel. Madame looked at it suspiciously.

  ‘What’s that?’

  Len coughed. ‘It’s the presentation cheque for Ron’s son, Alex Burton. Ron was promised $100,000 for his role in Operation Miniver, remember?’

  Madame shuddered. ‘That awful little boy.’

  ‘He’s not an awful little boy,’ Titus rebuked her. ‘He is a poor crippled child, who’s been very badly treated by those selfish Miniver sisters. And you are going to help him.’

  ‘But I don’t want to help him,’ said Madame. ‘Why should I? I couldn’t care less if he’s in a wheelchair –’

  She stopped abruptly. Titus had fixed her eyes sternly with his own pale blue ones. ‘He is a poor crippled child,’ he repeated, ‘and you are going to help him, out of the kindness of your heart. That is what I have planned. Phase Two is ready to begin: don’t spoil it. Play your part, like a good girl, and you will get to be queen. That’s what you want, isn’t it?’

  Madame opened her mouth. She was saved from the embarrassment of having nothing to say by the arrival of a production assistant.

  ‘The Burtons are with Serena now, Madame. We’re about to go on air. Will you come with me?’

  Trying hard to look like a queen, Madame swept out of the room.

  The assistant led her down a rabbit-warren of badly lit passages to the main studio. Inside, the set was full of light and shadows, bustle and movement. Madame had appeared on TV quite a lot recently, and was getting used to the organised chaos that went on behind the scenes, but she secretly still found it all rather a thrill. Was this how it had been on The Minivers’ Music Hour? Madame took her place, and then the assistant director was beside her, hastily explaining her cue, the production assistant was counting down time, and the On Air light glowed like a red eye on the wall. The music blared, the camera swung around on its boom and suddenly The Serena Simpson Show was on air.

  Ron Burton and his wife, Sandra, were sitting on a leather sofa opposite Serena Simpson. Their son, Alex, was in his wheelchair beside them, looking uncomfortable and sullen. Serena Simpson was one of the most popular interviewers on Artemisian TV. She was dressed tonight in a green linen suit with pearls around her neck, and every blonde hair was glued in place. Fascinated, Madame watched as Serena smiled up at the camera and began her introduction, unconsciously copying each tilt of her famous head.

  ‘Good evening, Artemisia,’ said Serena. ‘Tonight, a story that will shock and surprise you. Since the startling disappearance of Rosamund and Emily Miniver three weeks ago, news reports have concentrated on the mystery of what has happened to Artemisia’s celebrity sisters. Now, for the first time, we learn of the Minivers’ dark side. With Miniver House empty, stories of unbelievable extravagance are emerging. This evening, we bring you a guest who has first-hand experience of the Minivers’ selfishness. For many years, Ron Burton was the Miniver sisters’ Chief of Security. He’s here now, with his wife Sandra, and eleven-year-old son, Alex.

  ‘So let me get this straight, Ron,’ said Serena. ‘Two years ago, Alex was run over while riding his bicycle and nearly killed. It was a hit-and-run accident, wasn’t it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Ron nodded. ‘The police were never able to trace the car. We only know it was red because of the paint scrapes on Alex’s bike.’

  Serena continued. ‘Alex crushed his hip and broke several other bones. He was in hospital for months following the accident, and since then he’s been in a wheelchair. Sandra, is there any hope that Alex might one day walk again?’

  Sandra’s eyes welled with tears. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘The doctors say he needs a big operation by the time he’s twelve, but Ron and I haven’t got the money.’

  ‘So if Alex doesn’t have an operation in the next year, he’ll be in a wheelchair for life?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And your husband has worked for the Minivers for how long?’

  ‘Nine years,’ said Ron.

  ‘Nine years? And the Minivers never even thought to offer help? Did they know about Alex’s disability?’

  ‘Of course they did –’

  ‘They sent me presents when I was in the hospital,’ put in Alex suddenly. ‘I got a really neat radio-controlled car.’

  ‘Tragic,’ said Serena loudly. The camera hastily swung away from Alex. Watching on the monitors, Madame was impressed to see a real tear glistening in Serena’s eye. ‘This poor child was the victim of a hit-and-run accident, and those heartless girls sent him a toy car.’

  ‘It was a good car,’ said Alex. ‘I really liked it.’

  ‘And the Minivers never once offered to pay for the operation that would help Alex walk?’

  ‘No, never,’ said Ron, and his face, under the studio lights, was suddenly angry. ‘I don’t think it even occurred to them. What’s a hundred thousand dollars to them? Why, they’d spend that in a year on their clothes. If you only knew what they had in that house of theirs, you’d be sick. They’re selfish, through and through. There’s not a jot of feeling in them for anyone but themselves.’

  ‘Well, it certainly seems the Minivers are not the nice young girls we all thought them to be,’ said Serena. ‘And I’m sure our viewers will be interested in our special documentary report, Inside Miniver House, coming up next on TV-6. But in the meantime, I have some good news for Alex and his parents. Someone else with a kind heart wants to help them, even if the Minivers don’t, and she’s here in this studio tonight. On behalf of the Palace, I’d like to welcome to The Serena Simpson Show an important royal guest … Madame.’

  Madame tripped forward on her unfamiliar high heels, the giant cheque under her arm. The bright studio lights blazed around her, and she smiled at the came
ras and lifted a manicured hand. She felt like a saint, surrounded by a halo of heavenly light. This, after all, was what it was all about: being the centre of everyone’s attention. Serena Simpson stood up to welcome her onto the set. She took Madame’s hand in her firm clasp, and Madame bowed graciously and fixed her expression into a smile.

  ‘Alex,’ she said, as the teleprompter rolled, ‘I’d like to present you with this cheque, as a mark of my concern for all the disabled citizens of Artemisia …’ (For a moment, Madame felt a flicker of concern: would this mean all disabled Artemisians would want cheques from her? She certainly hoped not.) ‘I hope you will soon be able to run about and, er, play as well as other boys.’ Reluctantly, she took the cheque out from under her arm and handed it to Alex. It was so big he all but disappeared behind it. For a moment the camera lingered on the happy family in close-up, then it pulled back and Serena said, ‘Next, our specially commissioned documentary, Inside Miniver House. Have you ever wondered what goes on behind the pink-and-white walls of the Minivers’ home? Stay tuned to TV-6 for our startling revelations. And now from me, Serena Simpson, good night.’

  The Serena Simpson theme began to play. As the camera swung away, an unseemly fight broke out on the set. Madame’s instincts had got the better of her, and she was struggling to take back the cheque.

  Livia Wallace sat in her parked car on the Artemisia Road, counting the minutes. The clock said it was eight-thirty, but she felt as if she had been waiting forever. To her left was a tall stone cairn erected to the memory of some long-dead explorer. Livia could not remember his name, nor could she read in the dark what had happened to him, but she knew that he had been killed on this very mountain. The fact made it extremely hard to push back the fears that crowded inside her head.

  It was not the first time that Livia had felt like this. Ever since she had found Rosamund hiding in the City Archives where she worked, she had been trying to help the Minivers, but it was getting harder and harder to keep doing this. Livia was a kind person, and she knew Emily and Rosamund were being treated badly. On the other hand, Livia’s cousin was Madame. Though she did not like her much, Livia hated having to tell her lies all the time, and the constant secrecy about the Minivers’ whereabouts was making her so stressed she was becoming sick. Livia did not know how much longer she could go on.

  A small glimmer appeared along the road a little way ahead. It was too dim to be a headlamp, but it was about the right size for a torch, and a moment later it was joined by a second light that looked as if it were being carried by someone very short. Relieved, Livia jumped out of her car and started hurrying towards the approaching lights. A moment later, she saw Rosamund, and Gibraltar carrying Emily on his shoulders, coming along the road towards her.

  ‘Thank goodness you made it! I was starting to think –’ Livia broke off, staring at the Minivers. Both girls were wet and filthy, covered with bloodied scratches and smears of mud. It was hard to believe these bedraggled creatures had once been so famous that people all over Artemisia had queued and fought to see them. They looked like tiny hunted animals.

  Livia took Rosamund’s sodden backpack from her and carried it to the car. She opened the boot and dropped it inside. Gibraltar set Emily down on the ground. She wobbled on her feet, and when Livia opened the door she collapsed on the back seat in an exhausted heap.

  Livia started the car quickly and they headed off in the direction of Artemisia. As soon as they were under way, Emily snuggled up under a knitted blanket and tried to sleep. It was not easy, for the car had a noisy engine and her head was aching fiercely from the blow she’d received when she hit the rock. In between dozes, she heard snatches of conversation between Livia and Gibraltar: how Livia had seen the helicopter, hovering over the mountainside, and how Gibraltar had brought them safely through the last of the forest. Rosamund sat beside her with her hands in her lap, uncharacteristically quiet and reflective. From time to time she stroked Emily’s hair, and the gentleness of the gesture and the swaying of the car sent Emily drifting at last into a troubled sleep.

  Around ten o’clock, the car reached the outskirts of the city and slowed as it ran into unexpected traffic. Emily stirred, and sat up.

  ‘What’s happening?’ she asked groggily.

  ‘There’s a traffic jam,’ said Rosamund. ‘I think there must be a fire somewhere. Can you smell the smoke?’

  ‘Yes.’ Emily looked out of the window. Drifts of smoke were floating towards them, and she wrinkled her nose at the faint acrid smell. ‘Has there been an accident?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Livia peered through the windscreen, but while something was clearly going on up ahead of them, there was no sign of a crash. The car slowed almost to a crawl. A little further along they saw a smashed set of traffic lights and several shops with broken windows. Bits of brick and rubble were scattered over the footpath and the smoke grew thicker and more pungent.

  ‘Wind the windows up,’ said Gibraltar suddenly, and his voice was such that they all obeyed without question. Livia turned the corner and they saw an orange glow ahead. Emily and Rosamund sat up in the back seat. A huge bonfire was burning in the middle of the street in front of them and scenes of rioting met their eyes. Gangs of youths were milling about, throwing bricks at windows and jumping on car bonnets. One car had been pushed onto the footpath and was being rocked back and forth with its driver still in it. Black oily smoke poured from the bonfire. It smelled of burning plastic. Unable to stop herself, Emily sat up to her full height and stared in horror at the hundreds of tiny corpses melting on the bonfire. They were life-sized Miniver dolls. She and Rosamund were being burned.

  ‘Get down!’ snapped Gibraltar, and Emily instantly obeyed. She grabbed the knitted blanket and pulled it over Rosamund and herself. Rosamund’s arms reached for her, and Emily felt both their hearts beating so quickly that she was sure they must be loud enough to hear. The car crept forward a few more lengths and came to a halt again. A teenage boy started walking towards them. In the driver’s seat, Livia gave a muffled cry of alarm.

  ‘Keep calm now, Livia,’ said Gibraltar, but Livia shook her head. She too, had seen the burning Miniver dolls, and she had also seen that the car being attacked had a distinctive Minivers sticker on the bumper. Livia’s fingers turned white where they gripped the steering wheel. Her stomach churned until she thought she was going to be sick.

  The boy swaggered up to the driver’s window and banged on it. ‘Hey. You.’ Livia stared ahead and tried to ignore him, but he only banged harder. ‘You. Lady. Are you for the Minivers, or against them? For or against? Come on, for or against, or I smash this window.’ Several other rioters started walking towards them. The hammering on her window redoubled. ‘Hey, guys! Looks like we’ve got a fan here!’

  ‘I am not a Minivers fan!’ Livia shouted. Her voice was shrill and furious. ‘How dare you do this? Who do you think you are?’ In reply, the boy swung the cricket bat he was carrying against the driver’s window. With a deafening crash, the safety glass shattered and flew into the cabin. Livia screamed and flung up her hands to protect her face. The rioter shoved his head into the car.

  ‘Repeat after me. I hate the Minivers.’

  ‘No.’

  A hand grabbed Livia’s collar. ‘I hate the Minivers.’

  ‘I – hate – the – Minivers.’ Livia could hardly get the words out.

  ‘Louder. Say it again, I HATE THE MINIVERS.’

  ‘I –’ Livia choked. She was so terrified now, she literally could not speak. Livia knew, even if her tormentor had not noticed, that Rosamund and Emily were lying in the back seat under the blanket. If they moved, if they were seen, they would all be torn to pieces. Yet how could she say those dreadful words? Livia opened her mouth, and again they would not come. Instead, the boy leaned suddenly closer and said, in an ominous tone, ‘Who’s that in the back?’

  Livia jerked her head around. Emily and Rosamund’s faces were still hidden under their blanket, but the coverin
g had slipped and a small foot in a dirty sneaker could clearly be seen. Gibraltar, who had said nothing until now, put a firm hand on Livia’s shoulder and leaned across to speak.

  ‘It’s our children. We’ve been out all day and they’ve been sleeping. Let us pass, please. We need to get them home, you’re frightening them.’ The sound of soft weeping could clearly be heard under the shaking blanket. The boy at the window hesitated. Gibraltar was looking at him, not exactly with contempt, but with the sort of quiet authority that could not be withstood for very long. The rioter looked over his shoulder and saw that several other cars had pulled up in the street behind them. He made an angry, dismissive noise, and jerked his head at Livia to send her on.

  ‘Slowly. Slowly,’ said Gibraltar, as Livia drove carefully around the bonfire. ‘Don’t let them see that you’re afraid.’

  ‘I’m not afraid. I’m terrified,’ said Livia. As she drove past the last of the rioters, even Gibraltar’s warning could not hold her back. She flattened her foot on the accelerator and the little yellow car leapt forward and roared away.

  Gibraltar leaned over and turned on the car radio. A woman’s voice spoke rapidly, reading the news.

  ‘Violent rioting continues across Artemisia tonight, following the discovery that former idols, Rosamund and Emily Miniver, in fact led a secret life of greed and extravagance. The riots began after interviewer Serena Simpson revealed that the Minivers had refused to pay medical expenses for eleven-year-old Alex Burton, the disabled son of their long-standing security chief. Later, a documentary exposed shocking details of the Minivers’ private excesses, including a miniature mansion built and paid for by Artemisian tax-payers, an annual catering bill that included fifteen thousand dollars spent on chocolates, and wardrobes filled with designer dresses worth several hundred thousand dollars. Rosamund Miniver, it was revealed, owned more than two hundred pairs of shoes.’

  ‘Turn it off!’ shouted Rosamund. ‘Turn it off!’