Free Drama Queen by Chloe Rayban Page A

right?’
    Clare looked the Gap girl up and down – she was a tactlessly perfect size eight.
    â€˜You wouldn’t understand,’ said Clare, and stormed out of the shop.

Chapter Seven
    It was on the way back from the high street in the bus, when I was sifting through my backpack trying to locate my bus pass, that I came across the purple envelope again. Ooops! It made me feel
really
guilty. With all this involvement in Cedric = Clare, I had totally forgotten about Jane + Henry.
    I walked back to Rosemount wondering what they were each doing right now. Jane, I decided, would be sitting at her window, gazing into the sunset wondering why she hadn’t heard from Henry. And Henry … Maybe he was taking Jane’s picture out of his wallet, gazing at it sadly, deciding to tear it up and try to forget her.
    The late evening sun was shining on Rosemount, making it look incredibly romantic in spite of its shabbiness. It was so frustrating. The key to finding Jane
must
be somewhere inside. I hadn’t checked theground floor yet – flat number one. It belonged to an M. Zamoyski or Madame Zamoyski as I’d christened her – the
clairvoyant
.
    In the gathering dusk her flat looked dark and kind of spooky from the outside. Behind the nets the heavy curtains were almost completely drawn but there was a slight glow inside as if there was a light on low. As I put my finger on her bell I felt a tingle of nerves. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end. This was ridiculous. It was all my imagination – the whole thing about her being a clairvoyant I mean – and partly a joke.
    I paused for a moment and then drew a deep breath and rang firmly. I could hear the ringing sound reverberating within. I waited a few moments. Then I heard shuffling footsteps. The door opened. In the half-light, I could see a small, well-rounded woman, her grey hair drawn back into a very clairvoyantish bun and fastened at the sides by two tortoiseshell combs.
    â€˜Yes, my dear? Can I help you?’ Her accent was middle-European.
    â€˜I just wondered …’ My voice faltered as beyond her, in the deep gloom of the room, I caught sight of a round table set with a baize cloth and illuminatedby a low-hanging lamp with a leaded glass shade. The dull heavy ticking of a cabinet clock added to the spooky atmosphere.
    â€˜Yes?’
    Could I distinguish a slight sulphuric smell in the air? Ether? A whiff of decomposition brought over from the spirit world?
    â€˜I just wondered if you knew of anyone by the name of Seymour, who lives or may have lived here?’ It all came out in a rush.
    â€˜Seymour?’ she said thoughtfully, with her head cocked on one side. ‘I think there were some Seymours here once. Maybe, if you have a moment, I could see if I could call them up for you. Come in my dear.’
    (
Call them up?
) I glanced at the table and shivered. (I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits,
no way
. But unfortunately that doesn’t stop you being scared of them.)
    â€˜Come and sit down,’ said Madame Zamoyski, beckoning me into the room.
    Two thin fingers of late evening sun fell across a grand piano which was stacked with dusty sepia photos of people long dead. The rest of the room was in the deepest shadow.
    â€˜Oh, no, really. I can’t stop.’
    â€˜I am expecting company, but there’s no one due here for a good half hour.’
    â€˜But …’
    â€˜It won’t take a minute …’ She took a key and started to unlock a roll-top desk. There was a sudden shrill buzzing from the further room that made me almost jump out of my skin.
    â€˜Oh dear, there you go. Hold on a second. I’ll be with you in a minute.’ She slipped behind a beaded curtain and disappeared from sight.
    From beyond the curtain came a strange hollow tapping sound. The sulphuric smell
grew stronger …
    I stared after her. The bead curtain quivered, as if some