Page 18 of Ever After
“Pardon?”
“No, nyet, nein, non. There will not be any of those sorts of problems. Not on our honeymoon, thank you very much.”
“So, you do think the last bit of that conversation was odd?”
“Did you hear what I just said, Mr Black? No spooky shit.”
“Okay, Mr Billings. So, what would Lord St Claire have been talking about?”
“I don’t know.” He waves an agitated hand. “What sort of problems do you have at the end of the world?”
“Not the world. Just England.”
“It’ll be drains,” he says in a wise tone of voice. It’s how most of his pronouncements end up as facts, regardless of veracity. “It’s always the drains.”
Not always, but I keep my mouth shut. We pass through the gates and pause to let a car go by on the main road. I look idly in my rearview mirror and promptly take my foot off the brake in shock. The car stalls but I’m too busy staring. The man I saw at the window is now behind us. He’s leaning against the gatepost in the shadow of one of the gargoyles.
“How the fuck did he get there so quickly?” I twist in my seat to get a better look.
“Levi?” Blue asks. “What’s the matter?”
I scan the gateposts and the surrounding landscape, but the man has disappeared. “There was a man there.” I point at where he’d been standing.
Blue turns to look. “I didn’t see anyone. What’s the problem? Was he behaving oddly?”
“Well, I saw him in the window of one of the house’s upper storeys. He was looking down at us. How did he get down the drive so quickly?”
“Probably a member of staff. Maybe he took a shortcut while we were talking.”
“Hmm.” I survey the gatepost again, but there’s no one around.
“Erm, the Tesco delivery man is trying to get in.”
I jerk. Sorry, I mouth at the man in the van who’s waiting patiently. I start the car and pull away.
“You okay?” Blue asks.
“Yeah, I’m fine. It was probably a member of staff. You’re right.”
“I often am. If it was anything else spooky, I’m sure I’d have spotted it.”
“Yeah.” It’s a logical answer and probably true, but still, something about that encounter makes me uneasy. I remember what Blue said and push the thought of the man away. Not everything is a spooky mystery.
I concentrate as we drive through the small village where the higgledy-piggledy cottages are clustered around the one main road. The road leads down, and I know we’re near the sea now and our destination. My heart accelerates, an echo of long-ago childlike enthusiasm.
The road becomes incredibly windy and narrow. Tall hedges line both sides and at some points are close enough that Blue could lean out of the window and pick some of the wildflowers growing even in October. The air smells dense and green.
Then we round a bend and the sea is right in front of us.
“Wow,” Blue says softly.
My heart warms. It’s such a sweet expression of wonder. I slow down so he can look his fill. The beach at Porthkrogour is small and bordered by high rocks, but the sand is as white as sugar and the sea a turquoise blue. There’s a small cafe on our right which must be the one Lord St Claire mentioned. It has a colourful green and orange awning and a patio on which wooden picnic benches are set. They’re empty today, apart from a lady with a dog. The lady raises her hand at us as we pass.
The road climbs up slightly and I see the turn at the last minute. It’s narrow and almost hidden by a huge rhododendron bush, the blooms long gone. Gravel crunches under the tyres and the road ends in front of an old gate and a set of stone steps that lead up to a small, whitewashed cottage.
I park the car in the small parking space labelled with the cottage name and switch off the engine. The only sound is the sea and birdsong. “This is it,” I say. “Gorse Cottage.”
“I can’t wait to see inside.” There’s none of his customary sarcasm evident, and his face is full of excitement. Apparently, the setting has completely torpedoed the cynicism that makes it seem he knows things that no one else does and is the only one prepared for disaster. He fumbles for the door, opens it, and climbs out. Within seconds he’s at the cottage’s gate. “Come on,” he shouts.
