Laughing, she pointed out the various types of faerefolkis, the goblin, the pixie, the elf, the bogle, the sylph, the elemental, redcap and boggart, until once again he protested, his head reeling from the scene itself let alone the names and variety. But he laughed himself as he watched these glorious (mostly) creatures enjoy themselves in the sun, the picture before him rich and dazzling with activity and vivid spectacle.
‘Their forms depend mainly on you, Thom,’ Jennet told him, in a way reaffirming what Rigwit had said the night before. ‘Your own eyes and mind interpret their energies to whatever is acceptable to you.’
‘But some aren’t acceptable. Some are just plain horrible.’
‘Those are cloaked in the nature of what they are and your thoughts are telling you so. You’re also influenced a little by human depictions you may have seen in the past. Fortunately not too many of the nasty ones lurk in the sunlight – the night is their friend, the blacker the better. Some of them adopt their own version of the human shape, but because they’re weak and nasty, they become ugly, distorted, parodies of earthly creatures.’
Thom shivered as he caught sight of a being that was hiding from them among the shadows of the surrounding trees; it was either too stupid to conceal itself properly, or it wished to frighten them with glimpses of its demeanour. Its body was a murky grey, its back hunched alarmingly, and its arms – and legs, Thom could only assume, because he could not see them – were as thin as matchsticks. It glared at them with evil yellow eyes and its muzzle of a nose quivered as it grunted and snuffled quietly.
‘Gladback is one who shouldn’t really visit the daytime,’ said Jennet, glaring back at the creature, who seemed visibly to shrink. ‘That’s why he’s keeping to the shade. He’s a wicked fellow who likes to torment babies when the parents are sleeping. Now shoo, Gladback! Go back to your pit until the sun’s gone!’
The ghastly dark brute was gone in a trice as though in fear of Jennet and her scolding.
‘Its kind are usually cowards,’ she said, lips set grim for a moment. ‘And listen, Thom: don’t ever believe those who say faeries can only be seen by humans through a good heart, because that’s nonsense; as I told you before, you see us through your eyes and your mind – all your heart does is pump blood through your body.’
He grinned at the casual demolishment of romanticism. So much for poets and certain storytellers . . .
He and Jennet strolled hand in hand, like young lovers, deeper and deeper into the woods and, had it not been for the position of the sun high in the clearest of blue skies, Thom feared he would be completely lost. The woodland covered a vast area of the Bleeth estate, but he had thought he knew most of it; again he realized there were places here he had never visited. Yet occasionally as they wandered, he had a transient sense of déjàvu, as though once before, a long time ago, he had come upon these same places and some of these same sights.
By now he was beginning to recognize the disparate castes among the faerefolkis, a difference between elf and imp, sylph and elemental, boggart and bogle, and even more easily, those who were kind and those who were unkind; all were fascinating, all were incredible.
Two elves, both of whom resembled Rigwit, except that one had a flowing white beard that reached his plump stomach, while the other had merely a long white drooping moustache, sat round a sawn-off tree stump (sawn-off by whom? he wondered), using the rings and ray lines of its flat surface as some kind of circular chessboard, painted half-acorn shells as chequers. They frowned with concentration and, when one made a move, the other clapped heartily at the ingenuity of the play.
‘Gof and Raeps,’ Jennet said softly in Thom’s ear. ‘Always playing the same game.’
‘Who usually wins?’ he whispered back.
‘No one yet.’
‘What?’
She put a straight finger against her pursed lips, his exclamation a little too loud.
‘They’ve only been playing for three years. No one’s won yet,’ she said. ‘We’re very privileged to see Gof make a move.’
Thom craned his neck to watch the two absorbed elves as he and Jennet tiptoed past, then turned back with a bemused expression.
‘The previous game lasted twenty years,’ his companion informed him gravely.
They journeyed on, faery and human, strangely (for Thom) in communion with each other, glorying in the wood’s very nature, the sun and then the shade on their faces, the constant activity around them and the hustle of animals, the man awestruck but gradually sinking into an acceptance of everything and the beautiful, neverworld nymphet delighting in her role as teacher. They trod lightly, unwilling to disturb anything they might come upon along the way, and although Jennet talked and Thom listened with occasional questions, they began to know one another just as surely as if it was of themselves that they spoke.
But among many other things, one thing in particular puzzled Thom.
‘Why haven’t I seen anyone else like you, Jennet?’ he asked at last. ‘I mean, your size, others that look like you. You could almost be taken for a human.’
She gave him a glance and, of course, a smile. ‘You will, Thom,’ she assured him. ‘In good time, you will.’
NELL SAW that Little Bracken’s front door was open wide even as she struggled to keep the black bicycle steady on the rough, rutted track that twisted through the woods from the main road. The bike’s handlebars wobbled, its wicker carrier-basket heavy with plants from her own greenhouse, these dug from the soil so that they were complete with dusty bulb and stem. Nell tightened her grip to control the two-wheeler’s direction, cursing under her breath at the struggle. The Raleigh’s rear wheel had been reinflated (the tyre never had been punctured) but it wasn’t the easiest of machines to handle unless the speed was up and the road was smooth. She squinted her dark eyes, the curls of her hair lifting in the breeze created by her pedalling.
Nothing unusual about the doors of country houses being left open, particularly on fine days such as this. Thom Kindred would be making the most of any cooling air drifting through. And if he had stepped out for a while – his Jeep was parked, so he hadn’t driven off anywhere – well, she could wait; she had all the time in the world this morning and she intended to make the most of it. Besides, how far could he go with that feeble leg of his? Okay, he had looked a lot better than she had expected when he had first arrived, but he was still debilitated. And soon he would be looking a lot worse. Oh yes, soon he would look very bad indeed.
Nell grinned as she steered the bicycle into the open area before the cottage, briskly stepping off while it was still in motion and bringing it to a short squealing halt alongside the Jeep. She pushed the bike along the broken flagstone path and leaned it against the cottage wall, just beneath the old bell that now looked polished and serviceable. The hem of the maroon cotton skirt she wore swung loose just below her knees and sandal-thongs wrapped themselves around her bare calves; her blouse was white, its short sleeves pushed gypsy-like down over her shoulders.
Lifting the flowers from the basket, crumbly, dried soil falling from the bulbs, and reaching for the small red purse that had lain beneath them, she called out: ‘Thom? Are you there, Thom?’
No sound came from within the cottage.
Nell strolled through the open doorway regardless, calling again in case he was upstairs. ‘Thom? It’s Nell. I’ve come a-visitin’!’ The last sentence was deliberately yokelized. She enjoyed the countrified image she portrayed with the flowers and off-the-shoulder blouse.
‘Thom!’ Louder this time and with some irritation.
‘Shit,’ she said quietly, glaring around the kitchen.
No evidence of breakfast having been eaten, no dirty plates on the table or in the sink. Either he had cleaned up after himself, or he had gone for a stroll before eating.
Dumping the freshly dug flowers on the table with the purse, Nell walked over and put her hand against the plastic kettle. Not even warmish. Good. He’d gone for a walk before breakfast, which mea
nt he shouldn’t be too long. Which was fine. She’d wait.
She did not have to wait long. Nell was in the bedroom upstairs, mooching through the drawers and tall cupboard, not looking for anything in particular, just anything personal to Thom that might help her with her spells. His semen would have been best – how personal could you get? – but she’d been thwarted at the first attempt. She should be more fortunate today, for if all went as planned, she would carry home his seed inside her own body, the residue there to be collected within the privacy of her own bathroom. Even better, she would find an excuse – easy after lovemaking – to use his bathroom right here in the cottage. No need to plug herself until she got back, and she had a small plastic phial inside her purse.
Nell quickly closed the drawer she had been rummaging through when she heard the vehicle approaching and hastily ran to the stairs. Hurrying down, she heard the car’s horn beep once and she glanced out the stairwell window as she passed. She caught a brief glimpse of a horribly green-coloured car drawing up in front of Thom Kindred’s Jeep.
Nell carried on down the stairs and got to the open front door just as a woman with dark blonde hair tied at the back in a short ponytail stepped from the green Volkswagen. She was heavy-breasted, her yellow T-shirt tucked into grey tracksuit bottoms, white trainers on her feet, and she reached into the car’s back seat for a large canvas bag, which she hauled out. Turning towards the cottage, she noticed Nell on the doorstep and stopped in her tracks.
‘Oh, hi,’ she said, smiling pleasantly and raising a hand in greeting. Behind the round thin-framed spectacles she wore, her brown eyes – as light and tawny-flecked as her hair, Nell noticed – were friendly. ‘I’m Mr Kindred’s physiotherapist, Katy Budd. He should be expecting me.’
Nell returned the smile, although hers was more vivacious. She used it to hide her irritation, for she had planned on being alone with Thom.
Nice-looking, she mused, as Katy made her way up the broken path. Nothing compared to Nell, herself, but few were her equal. Just a little thickset, but still a good figure. Wearing nothing beneath the T-shirt either. Was that for Thom’s benefit?
‘I’m afraid Thom isn’t here right now,’ she said pleasantly as the girl drew near. Nell put her in her late twenties, a good, fit, vibrant woman. Very attractive, even with those plain glasses. Pert little nose, jawline a shade too heavy. A strong one, this. And no doubt, with strong urges.
Katy Budd looked disappointed. ‘But Thom – I’m sorry, Mr Kindred – knew I’d be here at this time. We arranged it the other day.’
‘P’haps he forgot,’ Nell replied, leaning against the doorframe and placing a hand on her jutting hip. She was still smiling. ‘Shouldn’t think he’d be long though, not if he knew you were comin’.’
‘I hope not. He really does need his exercises.’
‘I’m sure he does. I’m Nell, by the way. I often look in on Thom just to see how he’s gettin’ on. Sometimes I bring him groceries, sometimes somethin’ else . . .’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Do you know where he’s got to?’ Katy glanced down at her wristwatch, noting that she, herself, had arrived just a little late and that now it was more than ten minutes after the appointed time.
‘Why don’t you bring yourself inside and wait? His car is still here, so he’s prob’ly only gone for a short walk.’
Without hesitation, Katy moved towards the doorway and Nell stepped aside, allowing her to pass. Nell closed the front door behind them, barely taking her eyes off the therapist as Katy wandered across the room to stop at the kitchen table.
‘What lovely flowers,’ the therapist said as she placed the sports bag on the floor and fingered the bright, speckled petals. ‘Orchids, aren’t they?’ She glanced back at Nell, who nodded.
‘Early Purple, they’re called,’ said Nell. ‘Orchis mascula. Common Male Orchid. I grow them myself.’
As Katy studied the orchids, noticing that the ten-inch stalks were still attached to their fleshy tubers, she failed to see the sudden gleam in Nell’s dark eyes. The therapist wrinkled her nose.
‘Can’t say I like the smell too much, though,’ she said. She turned towards the other woman. ‘Have you known Thom long?’ she asked, as if merely making polite conversation.
Nell, who had an instinct for such things, immediately knew it was not a casual question. The bitch has taken a fancy to him, she thought. And why not? Thom is a good-looking man, quite a catch for any woman who doesn’t mind an invalid for a lover. Nell was surprisingly annoyed at the idea.
‘No, not long,’ she replied evenly, moving in closer to the therapist. ‘I’m a trained nurse and Thom’s friend, Hugo Bleeth, pays me to keep an eye on him.’
‘Hugo Bleeth. Isn’t he the owner of the big mansion, what’s it called – Bracken?’
‘Castle Bracken. No, his father, Sir Russell, owns the place and all the land around it.’
‘How wonderful. I haven’t seen much of the estate, but what I have seen looks brilliant. Are the house and grounds open to the public?’
‘What makes you ask that?’ Nell’s response was unexpectedly sharp.
Taken aback, Katy replied: ‘No reason. It’s just that so many country houses and their estates are open to the public nowadays. The money from tourists helps keep these places viable.’
Nell caught herself and smiled back sweetly. So, a nosy bitch too. Has a thing for Thom Kindred and wants to know other people’s business as well. Attractive, though. In fact, the more you look, the more attractive she becomes. Thom might easily go for someone like this, ’specially when she is helpin’ him get his health back. Nurse and patient kind of thing, and I know all about that. Nell felt a mixture of emotions – it was she, Nell, who wanted Thom Kindred’s undivided attention today, especially as she had already begun her plan (her gaze went to the flowers lying on the kitchen table). And there was something else, another emotion to vie with the others. It was attraction. Attraction for this girl.
The grey tracksuit trousers may have been a little baggy, but they did not disguise the impressive length of the legs inside them. And the tight T-shirt showed off the unharnessed breasts wonderfully. Why, the coolness of the kitchen had even encouraged the nipples beneath the yellow cotton to present themselves. Unless, of course, this Katy was also attracted to Nell . . .
‘I was jus’ goin’ to prepare the flowers as a surprise for Thom when you arrived. Thought they might brighten up the place. Would you like to help me?’
Nell’s voice was low, almost smoky in its huskiness.
Katy felt ill at ease. There was something weird about this woman and she was like no other nurse she had ever met. Darkly attractive, with the kind of overtly sexy looks many men went for. For a moment she wondered about Thom Kindred and this woman. Was there something going on between them? Was it more than just nurse and patient? Thom was single, his health was swiftly returning, he lived alone in this cottage, so who could blame him if such a voluptuous female with stunningly dusky eyes and a ravishing smile turned him on? Her figure was good – no, her figure was great – and her breasts were plainly ample beneath the low-cut blouse, the middle line of cleavage . . . Katy checked herself, not fully understanding the disquiet she was feeling, the tension that was developing between herself and this woman.
For the sake of distraction, Katy said: ‘Yes, fine. What would you like me to do?’
Irrationally, the question hung in the air between them for a couple of beats.
‘Help me strip the tubers from the stalks first. I can use the paste from the tubers as a remedy for all sorts of things.’
Oh, Katy thought, so she’s also some kind of herbalist as well as a nurse. Well, alternative medicines were the thing nowadays and there was no reason they couldn’t work alongside the more conventional kind.
‘Sure,’ she said, going towards the table again (she realized that she had unconsciously moved a few steps away from the other woman as they talked). She picked up several orchids b
y their stems, noticing the dust that fell from them as she did so. ‘What shall I do with them?’
‘Take them over to the sink,’ Nell instructed, ‘and find a good sharp knife from the drawer. Cut the tubers from the stalks, then slice them. I’ll find a pot to mash the remains in.’
Katy did as she was told, separating four orchids from the bunch and taking them over to the draining board beside the sink. She laid them down, disliking their smell intensely, and rummaged in one of the drawers for a sharp knife. While Nell looked through overhead cupboards for a suitable receptacle, Katy sliced into the first tuber, severing it from its stalk with one easy cut.
‘Here,’ Nell said as she placed an earthenware bowl in the sink. ‘This’ll do as a mortar. A big soup spoon can be a pestle. I should’ve brought a mortar and pestle with me, but I came out in a rush.’ In fact, Nell had had no intention of bringing such implements, for the more fingers that came in touch with the tubers – those fingers originally were meant to be Thom’s, but what the hell? This might be even more fun. It had been a long time, after all – and the mushy substance that came from them, the more effective the result. Nell moistened her lips with her tongue as she handed the small bowl to Katy, who had opened the same drawer again and brought out a heavy ladling spoon.
‘Will this do?’ asked Katy, holding the spoon aloft.
‘Ideal,’ replied Nell with a nod of her head. Her eyes held Katy’s for a second.
What is with her? Katy wondered. Those glances of hers, glances that took in Katy’s breasts and hips – what was her agenda?
‘Slice them,’ the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman told her.
‘Sorry?’
‘The tubers. Slice and dice. I’ll get the other orchids.’
Katy mentally shrugged. Nell could have done this herself. She, Katy, was a physiotherapist, not a horticulturalist. And anyway, it seemed a shame to spoil such beautiful flowers, with their creamy petals and purplish spotted centres. Their scent wasn’t too endearing, but the orchids themselves would make a wonderful centrepiece for the table. Urgh! The tubers had mushy insides. Her fingers were becoming sticky with it. Weren’t these out of season? Katy thought she had read somewhere that they bloomed in spring and early summer, but these appeared to be at their best. Maybe Nell had her own greenhouse and green fingers to go with it. She, herself, had never come across this variety before. Hmn. The pulp was almost . . . well, almost sensual.
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