Page 7 of The Trouble With Love

‘Lost?’ The voice out of nowhere made me leap forward. Was I inheriting something from Nicholas and hearing the trees talk?

‘Hello?’ I managed.

‘What are you doing walking around out here?’ The voice was no-nonsense, clipped. ‘Have you lost your dog?’

‘What? No.’ Reassured — after all, if the trees were going to go all animate on me they’d hardly sound like a bossy upper-class twit, would they? — I turned around. ‘I’m trying to get to the Old Lodge.’

‘I see.’ The shadowy figure came closer. He was stocky, dressed in gamekeeper-green, reddish hair poking from his head like flames. Under one arm he carried a shotgun, properly broken and everything, but the way he held it left me in no doubt that he could flip it shut and fire without thinking twice. ‘It’s down the track there. Between the trees.’

‘Okay, thanks.’ I waited for him to move off, but he stayed, still half in the shade of the trees.

‘You want to be careful, being in these woods, girlie.’ The light made his figure look ethereal, his green clothing camouflaging his body so that his ginger hair appeared to float above the leaf mulch. ‘Dangerous. Make sure you keep to the footpaths.’

‘I’ll be fine.’ As long as no one shoots me in the back, I wanted to add, but you don’t mess with an armed guy with no noticeable sense of humour and a distinct problem with women. ‘Thanks.’ I added.

‘Well. All right then.’ He turned away, there were a few moments of crackling footsteps, and then I heard the engine of a Land Rover cough into reluctant life somewhere behind the trees. I hadn’t heard it arrive, which meant he’d been standing there watching me for a while before he spoke. Sinister.

A few yards further on, the track suddenly widened out and branched off. I followed the right hand branch and the Old Lodge came into full view. I stopped and stared.

It had clearly been designed by an architect who was a full-on fan of the Transylvanian school of civil engineering. Not one spare brick was undecorated, unfestooned or ungargoyled and if there were as many fireplaces as there were chimneys then this was conflagration central. It was perfect, and I fired off a couple of quick pictures.

I went up to the front door and rapped, using the enormous wrought iron dragon-shaped knocker. After a moment the door swung open with a wheeze and a sucking sound, as though the hallway was pressurised.

‘Hey, you found us.’ Kai Rhys stood backlit on the threshold. He looked even taller than I remembered and, in his half-illuminated state, slightly spectral. ‘What do you think? Told you it was gothic, didn’t I?’

‘This is gothic plus. Supergothic. Hypergoth.’ I followed him into the hall and stared around. ‘Oh wow, it’s the same indoors.’ If this building had been a person it would have been wearing six-inch eyeliner, a Buffy T-shirt and quoting Leonard Cohen lyrics.

‘Come through.’ Kai ushered me into a double-height, beamed sitting room, which smelled oddly impersonal, of new carpet and fresh paintwork. A fire burned picturesquely in an enormous iron grate and two sofas faced one another in front of it, but apart from those and two towering bookcases crammed with paperbacks, the room was bare of furniture. A number of large crates were dotted around the floor, one had the lid half off and polystyrene packing material hanging out.

‘Are those bodies in there?’

‘I’m a journalist not a serial killer. Still moving in, hence—’ he swept an arm around to indicate the largely empty room. ‘So, what do you think?’

‘Fantastic. Guy will love it. I’ve taken a few shots outside for him, but could I take some in here, just for me?’ I brandished my digital camera. ‘I love that fireplace.’

‘Sure. You’ll excuse me? I just got back in from Glasgow and I’ve a story to file.’ He didn’t wait for my answer but left the room. I heard him call something but didn’t hear what. I was too busy taking shots of the warring demons over the mantelpiece and the arched ceiling beams.

When I straightened up eventually, a young, blonde, and very pregnant girl had come into the room and was arranging something on the window ledge. She smiled when she saw me. ‘Hey. I think it’s a bit much for a house though, don’t you? I mean, what’s acceptable in your average chateau doesn’t go down too well when you try to stuff it into a thousand square feet.’ She straightened up with one hand in the small of her back. ‘Phoo. Come on babes, shift over. We’re nearly done.’ Her accent was not Welsh, more lower Midlands.

Outside the window I could see the night had crept up on me. Damn. It would be too dark to do any more outside shots now. Oh well, Guy would have to make do with what I’d done already. After all, how many angles did he need? The place was the architectural equivalent of Marilyn Manson lyrics. ‘Well, I’d better let you get on with it. Thanks for letting me see round the place, and say thanks to Kai too, would you?’

‘No worries. Where did you leave your car?’

‘At the top of the lane, at the pull-in to your track.’

She pulled a face. ‘God, it’s dark out there now, you can’t walk back through the woods. I’ll get Kai to give you a lift back to get it.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ I tried to protest but I have to admit my heart wasn’t in it. The thought that the fiery-headed bloke with the gun might still be lurking away in the undergrowth kept forcing its way to the front of my mind.

‘It’s okay. He could do with a break anyhow. And some socialisation exercises. Works too much on his own, that one. Kai!’ she called through the doorway, ‘Can you fire up the Jeep?’

A distant voice yelled back. ‘Give me a couple of minutes.’

The girl grinned. ‘See? Told you he’d be keen for a break.’ She winced and put a hand to her bump. ‘God, next month can’t come soon enough.’

I felt obliged to make conversation, although I would rather have waited alone and taken another look at the place, maybe had a poke into cupboards, all the kind of stuff I felt a bit inhibited about doing with her in front of me. ‘Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?’

‘One of each. Yeah, I know, twins are going to be hard work, but I didn’t really get much of a say in the matter. Anyhow, they can’t be much harder out than in, quite frankly.’ She rubbed her bump.

---