Part 13 (1/2)

Barbara laughed. Me too, actually. To be honest, the women in Little Moor don't seem to get that friendly with people they think are outsiders, and I must admit I'm not that keen on the newcomers', you know, the despised commuters etc.' She giggled girlishly at this confession.

It's funny to hear you say that,' Lily said. I thought you knew everyone in the village.'

I'm acquainted with everyone, because of the pub, but I wouldn't say I knew them.' Barbara drained her mug. More tea?'

Please.'

As Barbara poured milk into the mugs, someone knocked on the living room door. Barbara looked up, but before she could say anything, Peverel Othman walked into the room.

Lily was astounded. This was so unexpected. And how well did he know Barbara now to come walking into her private rooms so casually?

Oh, Pev!' Barbara exclaimed in surprise.

Lily noticed the woman had gone quite pink, but then so had she. She could feel her face burning.

Hope I'm not intruding,' Othman said, looming over them. h.e.l.lo, Lily.'

Lily muttered a greeting.

Oh no, you're not intruding,' Barbara gushed. Sit down and have a cup of tea with us. We were just discussing an invitation we've both had.'

Othman slid into a chair beside the sofa. What's this, excitement in Little Moor? A party?'

Barbara laughed. Not exactly. Louis Cranton, a friend of mine, is having a little do tomorrow night. Lily's brother is a friend of Louis' son, Daniel, so Lily and Owen have been invited too.'

Oh, that's a shame,' Othman said.

Barbara frowned. Why?'

Well, I was going to take Lily and Owen out for dinner myself tomorrow night.' He smiled at Lily, leaning forward to take the mug of tea Barbara offered him. I was hoping I could persuade Owen to drive us into Patterham.'

Lily felt unable to speak. She couldn't help thinking about the last time she'd seen Othman. What did he think of her and Owen now? How could they possibly go out for dinner without mentioning what had happened in the cottage on Sunday night? The thought of discussing it terrified her, yet she felt crushed that she and Owen had a prior engagement. She wanted to be with Othman, yet she didn't. The contradictory feelings confused her, because they were so alien to her simple life.

Oh, isn't that nice of Pev, Lily,' Barbara said uncertainly, sensing the change in atmosphere. She realised, with a sinking feeling of defeat, that Lily was interested in Peverel Othman. Pretty young Lily. Barbara strove to dampen any surges of jealousy. She liked the girl, and Othman was incredibly handsome. Who could blame her for fancying him?

Never mind. We'll just have to do it another time,' Othman said. Although I might be moving on shortly.'

Lily looked at him in alarm. Already?' she blurted.

Othman shrugged, smiling. Well, soon...'

Look, I've just thought of something,' Barbara said. Why don't I ask Louis if Pev can come along tomorrow night with Barney and I?' She turned to Othman. Louis is a very interesting person, and I know his cook is wonderful, so you'll have a lovely evening!'

Will Mr Cranton mind?' Lily asked. The idea appealed to her. It might be easier to be in Othman's company if other people were there too.

I'm sure he won't,' Barbara said. I'll phone him in a minute.'

That's very kind of you, Barbara,' Othman said. He stretched out his long, black-clad legs, seemingly perfectly at home in this room, even though he was a large and intrusive presence against the muted colours. How's Owen?' he asked Lily.

Lily felt herself blush again, having only just recovered from the last surge of heat. Fine.'

I meant to come and see you both last night, but I went for a walk with my landlady instead. We had a look round the old manor house across the fields.' He frowned at Barbara. What's it called? Something Eden?'

Long Eden,' Barbara said in a carefully neutral tone.

Lily looked at her askance. Something had happened between Barbara and Othman last night. She just knew it. Don't be jealous, she told herself. Barbara is a beautiful woman, even if she is a bit old. No wonder Pev fancies her. She suddenly felt very grubby and skinny.

Quite an interesting place,' Othman said, apparently oblivious to the conflicting emotions he was invoking in his companions. I wonder why it's shut up like that?'

It scares me,' Lily said. I don't like it.'

Oh? I thought you and Owen were keen on old buildings.'

Only some old buildings,' Lily said.

Barbara was wondering why Othman had come into the room. This was the first time he'd approached her in her private rooms. Was it because he wanted to see her, or because he'd found out Lily Winter was present? No reason had been offered for his entrance. She also felt he was trying to embarra.s.s her by mentioning the previous evening's walk. Perhaps a measure of chastis.e.m.e.nt was in order. Anyway, Pev, you haven't told us why you're here. Is there something I can do for you?'

Othman, she noticed with satisfaction, did look taken aback by her question. Clearly he now thought he had a right to invade her s.p.a.ce. She would have to push him back a little; the game would be enjoyable.

I was hoping you'd be able to suggest something for me to do. I'm at a loose end.' He smiled widely, a captivating grin.

Barbara suddenly wished Lily wasn't there. Strange how this man could juggle her feelings simply using his expressions. She laughed. It's a good job I don't have all my guests expecting me to entertain them!'

Othman smiled thinly. He wouldn't have bothered coming up to the room, but for the covert enquiry at the bar concerning Barbara's whereabouts, which had prompted the sluggish barmaid to reveal that Lily Winter was visiting. Othman wanted to observe her, and Barbara's p.r.i.c.kly behaviour, which could only be perceived as an obstruction, annoyed him. He thought he'd got her hooked. The truth was, after leaving the day centre, he'd had no immediate plans. He needed to make more acquaintances in the village. Barbara's suggestion that he accompany her to this dinner party was fortuitous. Well, perhaps there's something I can do for you,' he said. I don't like to be idle.'

Barbara's instinctive response to this idea was to ask, What exactly are you doing here in Little Moor?', but she did not voice it. Her usual guests, walkers and tourists, were content either to ramble around the countryside or explore by car. Othman had no transport, and seemed to possess no purpose for his visit. She wondered, for the first time, whether Peverel Othman was actually hiding from something by staying in the village. He was keen to get to know people, almost as if he'd recently moved here and intended on staying. Was that his plan? Yet he'd talked of moving on soon. Othman was a person of mystery. Perhaps she was unwise in befriending him and putting herself at risk by spending time alone in his company. These thoughts pa.s.sed through her mind very quickly, enabling her to respond without a noticeable pause. I won't hear of that, Pev. Why don't you walk over to Long Eden again. You might see more in daylight.'

Othman said nothing for a moment, then stood up. Yes, that's a good idea. Thanks. And thanks for the tea. Goodbye Lily.'

It had been that simple to get rid of him. As he left the room, Barbara wondered whether she'd offended him. He made her angry, in a strange kind of way; she wanted to provoke him. Yet the undeniable attraction to the man was still there. She poured herself another mug of tea. Lily had gone very quiet, tapping her mug against her teeth.

He's an odd one,' Barbara said, to break the silence.

Mmm.' Lily flicked a furtive glance at Barbara.

Barbara touched Lily lightly on the arm. Be careful, won't you,' she said. We don't know that much about him.'

OK,' said Lily.

Peverel Othman walked down the road like a grey cloud, his hands in his pockets. He sent out calls from his throbbing mind, angry calls; he felt thwarted. Woman, corruptible nothing! Alone, he allowed his masks of smiles and pleasantries to slip. If anyone should have seen his face at that moment, they would have witnessed the truth of him; light leaked from his serpent eyes. Pure Grigori, he abandoned the need to use human methods of navigating around. The microcosm of Little Moor, its leafy lanes in russet plumage, its grey walls seamed with moss, became insubstantial to him. He let his senses guide him, the other senses. Such was the intensity of his inner concentration, he did not even notice that his body pa.s.sed through the tall iron gates of Long Eden, rather than around them. Rage had conjured this unexpected effect. Material impediments shuddered at the pa.s.sage of his flesh, mutated to a fluid substance. He could have crawled, snake-like, over the tumbled stones of the wall, but in his rage he kept a straight path, through everything, while remaining consciously ignorant of what was happening.

Such concentrated anger was an unfamiliar sensation to him. He felt it rarely, only when he sensed he was losing control, however slightly. Fury always brought with it a memory of a memory that he could not place, and the brief image in his mind of a gate closing. Again the imperative came to him, nebulous and worrying: he must open the gate. But what gate? Was it physical? Where was it? Time and again, he had called upon the darkest powers of his imagination to give him the information he needed, to blast wide the shutters in his mind. He always failed, but one day, he knew, he would hit upon the right sequence of events and perform the right actions to blow the d.a.m.ned gate, whatever it was, into infinity. He sensed that immeasurable power lay waiting for him to claim it, beyond the gate.

Long Eden appeared round a corner of the driveway. Its ma.s.sive black stones looked damp, its boarded windows impenetrable. At the sight of it, Othman's inhuman rage diminished, eclipsed by curiosity. After his visit to the old people's day centre, and all the other information he'd gathered, it seemed almost certain that a Grigori family had once lived in Long Eden. The name of the house alone was a clue. Eden had been the country where, over eight thousand years ago, the Anannage had lived. Most Grigori strongholds were named after the Anannage settlement in Eden: The High House, Cedar House, Bright House, High Crag. Othman had seen many such names on his travels. Now, it was essential he accessed whatever remained of Grigori power in Little Moor, in an attempt to satisfy a hunger for power which had hounded him through his life. Power to open. Some of the Murkasters' power, he was sure, lingered at the High Place. Why hadn't he realised immediately the significance of that name? Scholars translating the old doc.u.ments had often misinterpreted the words. It was common to find it transcribed as Heaven. The High Place among the crags in Eden. Home. And here was a piece of it.

Othman walked round the side of the house to a yard at the back, where the doors of deserted stables hung open. He inspected the outbuildings, hoping he might find some way in which he could penetrate the main house. Restored to emotional equilibrium, his body could no longer insinuate itself unconsciously through solid objects. He wondered how strong the guardian of the house might be. Othman knew he was powerful, and often subjugated people and spirits weaker than himself, but his was a lazy sense of power. He balked at confronting ent.i.ties that might be a match for him.

Most of the buildings were tumble-down, vandalised. Graffiti marked their inner walls, old beers cans and the other flotsam of youthful festivities littered the floors. A depressing scene. Othman was glad the house itself had been secured; mindless destruction could so easily have been its fate.

A line of one-storeyed rooms stuck out from the right side of the house, enclosing that side of the yard. These must have been the sculleries, laundry rooms and such like. It was amazing the locals hadn't ripped out the boards that covered the windows. Othman wondered whether he could use that route, or whether others had tried it before and failed. He could see that the boards were heavily marked, as if by a pen-knife. He refused to think of claws. Experimentally, he banged his fist against one of the boards, it felt utterly solid, as if it was about two inches thick. Whoever had secured the place had taken great pains to make sure it remained that way. He could see no sign of nails; the joins, if they existed, were seamless.