Country Plot (24 page)

‘Do you mind thunderstorms?' Kitty asked, looking at her in concern.

‘I don't mind them, really. It just took me by surprise,' Jenna said. ‘Had we better close the conservatory doors?'

‘Yes, better,' said Kitty. ‘The wind's setting that way.' Watch was sitting just inside the door looking out mournfully at the unnaturally dark world. The rain started falling, in large, separated drops that smacked on to the terrace stones and bounced up like marbles. The dog jumped back, and whined. ‘Poor chap,' Kitty said, stroking his head as she passed. Barney was nowhere in sight. ‘He'll be under one of the beds by now. He doesn't like thunder.'

She took one door and Jenna took the other, and as they pulled them closed the heavens opened and the rain pelted down. At once the temperature fell ten degrees; outside a slash of lightning cut the sky, followed by a long-drawn-out rumble of thunder that sent Watch slinking away from the doors. It was almost as dark as night.

‘Rather exciting in a way,' Kitty said hopefully. ‘Raw nature in all its power. Gives you a perspective. Makes you realize how puny we really are.'

‘Makes me realize that Mrs Phillips said she's left us salad,' Jenna said.

‘Oh dear. Still, we can have a bottle of wine with it, to cheer it up. That's one of the many good things about having you here – that I can have wine with dinner every night.'

‘You could anyway,' Jenna pointed out.

‘I wouldn't enjoy it. I don't like to drink alone. Well, I shall go and change into something warmer, and then we'll see about the wine. Unless,' she added with a mischievous look, ‘you're afraid to go down in the cellar in a thunderstorm.'

‘You mean, because of that creature you've assembled down there out of body parts stolen from the graveyard? No, not a bit,' said Jenna serenely.

‘The lightning will bring it to life, and it will be our slave and do our bidding,' Kitty said. ‘Right up to the point when it murders us, that is.'

‘I wonder if it can cook?' Jenna mused, following her to the stairs.

Jenna was down first, and almost jumped right out of her skin as a dark figure appeared before her in the twilit hall.

‘Oh my God!' she said, clutching her heart. ‘You almost killed me!'

‘Sorry,' said Xander. ‘I did call out, but I suppose nobody could hear over the noise of the storm.'

‘I thought you were Boris Karloff, come up from the cellar.'

‘Foolish mistake to make,' Xander said, deadpan. ‘
I
don't have bolts in my neck.'

‘Now you mention it . . .' Jenna said. ‘You're soaked,' she discovered.

‘It's falling stair rods out there.'

‘You got this wet just coming from the car?'

‘Well – I thought one of my lights wasn't working.'

‘And you couldn't wait until the rain stopped to check it? You men and your cars!'

‘I'm not so very wet. It's mostly superficial – my jacket, and my hair.'

‘Well, let's hang the jacket up in the kitchen where it can drip. And there's a towel in there for your hair,' said Jenna, getting briskly practical because there was something unfairly endearing about his sudden waif-status.

In the kitchen she took the coat hanger that the peg bag hung on and slipped it into Xander's suit jacket, and he reached up and hung it from the drying rack across the ceiling.

‘The warmth from the Aga should do the trick,' she said, handing him the towel. He disappeared into it and rubbed his head vigorously, emerging with wildly ruffled hair and eyelashes stuck together with damp. They were amazingly long and thick for a man, she thought. For an instant the world seemed to stop turning, and she was painfully aware of his closeness, his height and weight filling her immediate horizon, blocking out everything but his presence. Her mouth was dry, and she felt a sort of distant shock, as if of recognition. ‘You'll need something else to put on,' she heard her voice say, very far away. ‘It's cold this evening.'

The click of nails heralded Watch's arrival, to thrust himself between them for comforting, and the world jolted and rolled on.

A moment later Kitty came in saying, ‘There you are! I wondered – oh, and Xander! I didn't hear you arrive – too much noise outside. I wasn't expecting you, was I? Dear boy, are you wet?'

‘Not very,' Xander said, his eyes still on Jenna's. ‘And we've taken care of that.'

She wrenched her gaze away. ‘He'll need a jumper or something, Kitty. His jacket has to dry.'

‘I'll get something,' Kitty said eagerly, turning away, but he stopped her.

‘No need to go upstairs. There's that old gardening sweater you keep in the lobby. That will do.'

‘Are you sure? Well, put it on quickly, before you catch cold. Your shirt isn't wet, is it?' She touched it to be sure, on the chest. Jenna watched her fingers make contact and imagined the heat of his skin through the fine cotton. ‘Oh, look, it
is
damp,' Kitty said reproachfully. ‘And your trousers too. They'll crease horribly. You really need a complete change. Are you going home?'

He seemed to hesitate, and Jenna knew he was looking at her, though her eyes were turned resolutely away. ‘I suppose I should. I was actually on my way when I suddenly thought of that cold damp cottage, and spending the evening there alone and – well . . .'

‘Darling, say no more,' Kitty said eagerly. ‘You don't need to be invited to
this
house, you know that. Of course you must stay – but we'll have to get you a change, because the house is like a tomb and you'll catch your death sitting about in damp clothes.'

‘Why don't I go and light the fire?' Jenna said, jerking herself out of her paralysis.

‘
Would
you? Do you think you can manage?' Kitty asked.

‘I've watched you do it. I'm sure I can work it out.'

‘Oh good. And I'll go and bother Bill for something for Xander to wear.' She beamed. ‘How
nice
it is to have unexpected visitors! What a good thought of yours, Xander.'

‘My motives were entirely selfish,' he said. ‘But I hope I'm not going to be a strain on the commissariat.'

Jenna was already heading out of the kitchen, but she paused long enough to call mischievously over her shoulder, ‘You can't be much of a strain on chicken and salad.
Cold
chicken and
cold
salad, that is. Welcome to Liberty' All!'

Fortunately the fire had been laid ready by someone – probably Bill – and the fuel was all dry, so it caught easily and didn't present Jenna with any problems. Outside the thunder and lightning had passed and it was just pouring steadily out of a gunmetal sky, the unnatural dusk melding into real twilight now. The sound of the rain drumming on the conservatory roof was quite comforting in a way, but the room was still chilly and unwelcoming, so she left the fire to put on some lamps, and then turned on the CD player, which still had the disc in from last time. She closed the doors into the conservatory, and soon the crackling of the fire was mingling with a Chopin étude and the rain could be heard no more.

Kitty came back with Xander, now clad in tracksuit bottoms, a sweatshirt and a pair of thick, nubbly socks donated by Bill, his hair drying but still tousled. She had never seen him anything but elegantly garbed and unruffled, and it was almost like meeting a stranger for the first time. They had evidently come back via the cellar, for he was carrying a bottle and Kitty had a posy of glasses in her hand. Watch padded in behind them and made straight for the fire, almost shoving Jenna out of the way to sit down with a sigh, staring into the flames so that he didn't have to notice the weather beyond the windows.

‘Sacrilege really,' Kitty said cheerfully, ‘but I thought we could have a glass
before
supper. I know wine is for food, but this Mercurey is
very
soft, and Xander promises he won't tell anyone influential what we've done.'

‘Who cares what people say?' said the new version Xander blithely, wielding the bottle opener.

‘Well, you do, dear,' Kitty reminded him, ‘because they have to think you have impeccable taste or they won't buy their furniture from you.'

‘By the way,' he said to Jenna, ‘I saw you go past the shop this afternoon. I waved to you, but you didn't come in.'

‘The sun was reflecting off the glass. I couldn't really see you,' Jenna said. You
waved
to me? You waved to
me
? ‘I think the fire's caught all right,' she said. ‘Should I put more wood on yet?'

‘Yes, now's the time,' Kitty said. ‘Shall I do it?'

‘Let me,' Xander said. ‘You pour the wine.' He knelt down on the hearthrug beside Jenna and reached over the dog to reshape the fire and put more logs on. The borrowed clothes smelled slightly earthy – she supposed they were some of Bill's gardening kit – which made Xander's strangeness more real. He looked younger, too, with his hair unsleeked and the rosy firelight glowing in his face. The everyday stern, controlled lines had softened, and he looked – yes,
carefree
: as he must have been in the past before his troubles fell upon him. That was why he seemed younger.

He turned his head and caught her staring at him. She blushed, but he said easily, ‘Do you know the old saying about making a log fire? “One can't, two won't, three might, four will, but it takes five to make a fire.”'

‘That's right,' Kitty said. ‘You can't be stingy, or it just goes out. A wood fire needs to be big.'

‘Needs to be good wood, as well,' Xander said. ‘What's this – ash?'

‘Yes, and some laurel and apple,' Kitty said. ‘Ash is the best for fires – fortunately, since it grows so fast and seeds so far.'

‘What's that old rhyme, Kitty, about firewood, that you used to say when I was young?' Xander asked, sitting back on his heels and taking the glass of wine she offered him.

‘Rhyme?' Kitty said. ‘Oh, I know what you mean.' And she quoted it.

‘Oh, I love that,' Jenna said, and made her say it again so she could remember it. Kitty and Xander remembered other old saws and country sayings for her amusement as the fire blazed up and the rain fell steadily outside, making the inside cosier by contrast. Barney appeared looking shamefaced and sneaked into the firelit circle, where he flopped down with relief. The level in the bottle went down. The wine was delicious, very soft, as Kitty had promised, and wonderfully scented – ‘Almost like violet cachous,' Jenna said.

‘You're exactly right,' said Xander. ‘You have a good nose.'

‘It would be fun to go through some of Peter's cellar with you,' Kitty said. ‘Both of you, I mean. Three is just the right number to try out a bottle. With two, you get too drunk too soon.'

‘Well, this one's nearly dead,' Xander said, holding the bottle up to the light. ‘Lovely burgundy, Kitty.'

‘We'll try something else with supper,' Kitty said, and then her face fell as she remembered. ‘Oh dear, cold meat and salad. I really can't get enthused by salad, especially on an evening like this.'

Jenna said, ‘Why don't we do something else with the chicken? I'm sure there are plenty of ingredients in the kitchen. I can cobble something together with onions and garlic and – what else?'

‘Rice,' Xander said. ‘There's bound to be rice.'

‘A sort of risotto, then?'

‘Pilaf,' Kitty said. ‘Isn't it a pilaf if it has meat in it?'

‘I don't care what it's called,' Jenna said, jumping up. ‘It must be better than salad. Shall I have a go?'

‘Can't let you labour all alone,' Xander said, getting up too. ‘We'll all go.'

The cooking session turned out to be moderately hilarious, with only Kitty sounding a note of caution as she thought of what Mrs Phillips would say if anything in her precious kitchen was left less than immaculate. Kitty found some chicken stock in the freezer to cook the rice in. Xander insisted on chopping the onions and garlic, which he said was a matter of chivalry. ‘Can't have a lady's dainty hands smelling of garlic. What happens when your knight comes back from the crusades and wants his brow caressed?'

‘I'll wash my hands while he's looking for the key to the chastity belt,' Jenna answered.

She cut up the chicken, and chopped a couple of rashers of bacon from the fridge, and then found some mushrooms in the larder, which she sliced, while Kitty cooked the rice. Xander reached down the biggest frying pan and they started chucking things in, frying the bacon, onion and garlic first, then adding the rice, chicken and mushrooms. Various dried herbs, salt and pepper, and finally, from Kitty, who was really getting into the swing of it, a few shakes of Tabasco.

Kitty got out some big pasta bowls to eat it from, with smaller bowls for the despised salad, which was acceptable now as an accompaniment, and they carried it all back into the sitting room with another bottle of wine – a fat and peppery Rhone this time, which Xander said would stand up to the food.

‘Delicious,' Jenna said, sampling the first mouthful.

‘Delectable.' Kitty went one better.

‘You can taste the cooperation,' said Xander.

‘And the fellowship of joint effort,' Jenna added. ‘We ought to give it a name.'

‘Risotto Holtby,' Kitty suggested.

‘I thought it was a pilaf,' said Jenna.