The Prestige

I saw a Visitors this Way sign, and followed it along a gravel path against the main wall of the house, dodging the drips from the thickly growing ivy. I pushed open a door and went into a narrow hallway, one that smelt of ancient wood and dust, reminding me of the Lower Corridor in the school I had been to. This building had the same institutional feeling, but unlike my school was steeped in silence.

I saw a door marked Reception, and knocked. When there was no answer I put my head around the door, but the room was empty. There were two old-looking metal desks, on one of which was perched a computer.

Hearing footsteps I returned to the hallway, and a few moments later a thin middle-aged woman appeared at the turn of the stairs. She was carrying several envelope wallet files. Her feet made a loud sound on the uncarpeted wooden steps, and she looked enquiringly at me when she saw me there.

"I'm looking for Mrs Holloway," I said. "Are you she?"

"Yes, I am. How may I help you?"

There was no trace of the American accent I had half-expected.

"My name is Andrew Westley, and I'm from the Chronicle ." I showed her my press card, but she merely glanced at it. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Father Franklin."

"Father Franklin is in California at present."

"So I believe, but there was the incident last week—"

"Which one do you mean?" said Mrs Holloway.

"I understand Father Franklin was seen here."

She shook her head slowly. She was standing with her back to the door which led into her office. "I think you must be making a mistake, Mr Westley."

"Did you see Father Franklin when he was here?" I said.

"I did not. Nor was he here." She was starting to stonewall me, which was the last thing I had expected. "Have you been in touch with our Press Office?"

"Are they here?"

"We have an office in London. All press interviews are arranged through them."

"I was told to come here."

"By our Press Officer?"

"No… I understood a request was sent to the Chronicle , after Father Franklin made an appearance. Are you denying that that happened?"

"Do you mean the sending of the request? No one here has been in contact with your newspaper. If you mean am I denying the appearance of Father Franklin, the answer is yes."

We stared at each other. I was torn between irritation with her and frustration at myself. Whenever incidents like this did not go smoothly, I blamed my lack of experience and motivation. The other writers on the paper always seemed to know how to handle people like Mrs Holloway.

"Can I see whoever is in charge here?" I said.

"I am the head of administration. Everyone else is involved with the teaching."

I was about to give up, but I said, "Does my name mean anything at all to you?"

"Should it?"

"Someone requested me by name."

"That would have come from the Press Office, not from here."

"Hold on," I said.

I walked back to the car to collect the notes I had been given by Wickham the day before. Mrs Holloway was still standing by the bottom of the stairs when I returned, but she had put down her bundle of files somewhere.

I stood beside her while I turned to the page Wickham had been sent. It was a fax message. It said, "To Mr L. Wickham, Features Editor, Chronicle . The necessary written details you requested are as follows: Rapturous Church of Christ Jesus, Caldlow, Derbyshire. Half a mile outside Caldlow village, to the north, on A623. Parking at main gate, or in the grounds. Mrs Holloway, administrator, will provide your reporter Mr Andrew Westley with information. K. Angier."

"This is nothing to do with us," Mrs Holloway said. "I'm sorry."

"Who is K. Angier?" I said. "Mr? Mrs?"

"She is the resident of the private wing on the east side of this building, and has no connection with the Church. Thank you."

She had placed her hand on my elbow and was propelling me politely towards the door. She indicated that the continuation of the gravel path would take me to a gate, where the entrance to the private wing would be found.

I said, "I'm sorry if there's been a misunderstanding. I don't know how it happened."

"If you want any more information about the Church, I'd be grateful if you'd speak to the Press Office. That is its function, you know."

"Yes, all right." It was raining more heavily than before, and I had brought no coat. I said, "May I ask you just one thing? Is everybody away at present?"

"No, we have full attendance. There are more than two hundred people in training this week."

"It feels as if the whole place is empty."

"We are a group whose rapture is silent. I am the only person permitted to speak during the hours of daylight. Good day to you."

She retreated into the building, and closed the door behind her.

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