Wild Wood (37 page)

First, with a newly developed photographic memory, Jesse now manifests the ability to call up details from sources—books, paintings, television programs that she does not remember—though she denies that as an explanation.

Second, she is able to draw objects, faces, and places with her left hand, and also write, where before she was right-handed.

Third, drawing is a talent she has not previously exhibited (and denies having, saying another “entity” uses her hand).

Rory’s attention has strayed to the picture of the woman, and he feels the skin on his forearms pucker. Staring in disbelief, he watches the hairs stand up like so many bristles. What does his body know that he does not?

Outside, he hears a car drive up on the gravel. With a crunch the wheels stop, and the engine is turned off. Rory strides to the window and looks down. He watches as the driver’s door of the Saab opens, and after a delay, Jesse gets out with no grace at all.

Rory goes to the recorder and switches it off, hurrying out of the room and downstairs to the great hall.

“Welcome back. How did you find driving?”

Jesse ignores Rory. Marching past, she goes toward the great staircase.

He calls after her, “I was starting to worry.”

She faces him. “Do you know I thought of running away? Just never coming back. But I’m not going to do that. I’m doing what I should have done when you first brought me here, Rory. Get on with my life, and get out of yours.”

He says hastily, “You were embarrassed this morning, Jesse. Both of you were. That’s my fault. But Alicia sees things differently now.”

Jesse misreads his expression. “Don’t you dare!”

“What?”

“Try to manipulate me.” Jesse stamps off. “I’ve decided. I’m going to Jedburgh tomorrow. And I’m going to stay there, as I planned.”

He raises his voice slightly. “It’s true, what I said.”

She rattles the door handle. “So?”

“Licia and I talked about this whole situation and I tried to explain.” A grimace. “Well, explain what I know. I haven’t finished transcribing the tape, by the way.” He hesitates. “Would you consider staying just till that’s done? There’s some stuff you should know about.”

“Don’t play games, Rory. I did not want to come back, and I do not want to stay at Hundredfield. How else can I make you hear that?” Jesse’s exhausted.

His eyes soften. He goes to put a hand on her arm. “Hey. It’s okay.”

Jesse steps back, says sharply, “It is not.”

“Please. Would you at least consider talking with Alicia? I promise you’ll feel better if you do.”

Jesse stares at him suspiciously. “Where is she?”

“In the kitchen getting dinner. A peace offering.”

Jesse says nothing.

“Just you and her. It’ll give you both a chance to get to know each other better.”

“And where will you be?”

“Bad timing, but I promised to have dinner with Mack and Mum tonight.” He changes gear abruptly. “Don’t go in the morning.” Rory never pleads.

She opens the door without answering and leaves him standing there.

In the open doorway to her room, Jesse listens as the Saab drives away. Going to Jedburgh, following the lead Fred has given her to the nursing home, that’s what’s important, what’s
really
important, rather than this strange game of cat and mouse and rat she’s been suckered into.

Where Rory’s the rat.
Am I the cat? Or the mouse? And Alicia?

Jesse is angry. She has two immediate choices. Go downstairs, eat dinner. Make peace. Leave in the morning.

Or. Don’t go down. Stay in the room, write up everything she remembers from today—she’s learned that much from Rory—and . . . just leave Hundredfield when she wakes up.

It’s a long walk to Newton Prior
.

How
much
would Jesse like to kick something! Everything she’s facing is difficult. And fraught.

“And I’m really,
really
sick of it!”

She stamps into the room, thinks about slamming the door. And doesn’t. But she opens the armoire with unnecessary force, pulls out her case, and slings it onto the bed.

Shirts, jeans, skirts, knickers—not much to show for twenty-five years on this earth—but she strips the first armful off the hangers and starts to fold the clothes. And finds she’s staring out the window.

Stars are in the sky tonight, and a discolored ring around the moon. More rain on the way? Poor Alicia.

Angrily, Jesse rips more clothes off the hangers. Why should she care? She’s got nothing to do with this woman, nothing to do with this place. Except the craziness.

But if I walk away, I’ll never know
.

Jesse slumps down on the bed, face in hands. Why does she have to do the hard stuff all the time?

She sits up abruptly. She’s not doing that. She’s not a victim here.

“That smells nice.” Jesse’s standing in the open door to the kitchen. She’s nervous.

“I never manage to make enough, somehow.” Alicia’s stirring a large pot on the stove. She doesn’t look up. “Everyone loves real tomato sauce.” She takes a sip of wine, bangs the spoon on the edge of the pot, and puts the lid back. “Come in. I have a chicken pie in the oven. Drink?” A half-full bottle of wine is on the table. And an empty glass beside it.

“Thanks.” Jesse pours.

Neither of them knows how to begin this conversation.

They both speak at once.

“I apologize for being such a cow.”

“Alicia, it really was a misunderstanding and—”

An awkward pause.

Alicia nods,
You first.

“You weren’t a cow. Truly. I’d have been suspicious too.”

Alicia says stoutly, “Let’s just call a spade a spade.”

“Can a cow be a spade?” But Jesse swallows a large gulp of wine the wrong way. And splutters. And tries to say, “I don’t understand any of it.”

Alicia bangs her on the back. “Rory told me that.” She sits at the table as Jesse catches her breath. “Look, you’re here because of him. And once he explained what happened, and I actually listened, I must say I was curious. This is so mysterious and . . .” Alicia waves an invitation. “Sit. Do.”

“You mean it’s eerie.” Jesse wipes watering eyes as she pulls back a chair.

Alicia looks uncomfortable. “Yes.”

They both ignore the book; it’s lying on the table between them.

“Let’s just say I massively overreacted. Doing a bit much of
that at the moment, so I’m sorry. Really. Please stay. I’ll be embarrassed if you don’t.”

“That’s very generous.”

“But?”

A small smile from Jesse. “
But
it is odd, though, isn’t it?”

Alicia says fervently, “No shit, Sherlock.” She holds out the bottle.

“Why not?” Jesse offers her glass.
Rory was right.
She does feel better. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Don’t know till you do.” But said with a grin.

“Hundredfield’s so old.” Jesse dithers. Comes right out and says, “Is it haunted?”

“If I had a pound for everyone who’s ever asked me that . . .” Alicia gets up, opens the oven door cautiously. “Maybe. A monk’s supposed to patrol the old chapel in the keep. Appears through a door that’s no longer there; not happy, apparently, and seems to be looking for something. I’ve never seen him, though.” She peers into the oven. “Another few minutes.”

“You don’t believe in that kind of thing?”

“The supernatural?” Alicia shakes her head. “I don’t really know. Maybe.” A bit of a shrug.

“And there’s nothing else strange about Hundredfield?”

“Just a couple of border legends, I suppose. The Wild Hunt runs through these woods. Well, that’s what they say.”

“The what?”

“The ‘folk from under the hill.’ They go out hunting, and if they see you, they take you back to live with them forever—because you’re mortal and they’re not. Said to turn up here at times of great danger. It was Helen who rechristened the pub in Newton Prior the Hunt because it makes such a great story to con—sorry,
tell
—the tourists. The priory monks would roll in their graves.” The glint of a smile. “And there’s also the Lady of the Forest. She’s supposed to be my family’s guardian. Said to be a portent of disaster when she turns up, or the opposite. Take your pick.”
Alicia waves her hand dismissively. “Some people have the capacity to believe ten impossible things before breakfast. I’m not one of them, though I try sometimes when life is particularly confusing.”

“You’ve never personally seen the Wild Hunt?”

Alicia snorts into her wine. “God, no! I’d be much richer if I had—the papers would lap it up. And I might be able to hunt again myself if I had that story to tell.” She sighs. “Horses. Very expensive.”

Jesse changes the subject. “Speaking of the pub, can I ask you about Helen?”

“Sure.”

Jesse gets that uncomfortable feeling again. Alicia’s tone is just slightly cool. “Well . . .” How does she say this? “It’s odd, but I got the feeling she disliked me on sight.”

“Is Mack nice to you?” Alicia doesn’t mention Rory.

Jesse blushes. “He makes me laugh.”

“Aha. You
like
him. There’s your answer. Very protective of her boys, Helen Brandon. She’s got some kind of sixth sense where they’re concerned.”

“I don’t think it’s that.”
Do I?
“I mean, I’ve only met him twice.”

Alicia shakes her head, pours more wine. “All it takes.”

Jesse giggles. “Seriously. She really didn’t want me to talk to him. And—” Jesse’s thinking of Alistair Nicholls.

Alicia interrupts, “If it makes you feel any better, Helen’s never liked me, either. Rory and I were such good friends growing up, and she hated that. Sometimes I think she married the second time just to get away from here. From us.” Alicia’s face is suddenly intensely lonely.

Jesse gets a glimpse of the self-sufficient little girl Alicia once was, wandering around this vast house all alone. And thinks of herself in Sydney. Not so different. Except for the house. And the family legends. And the crested silver.
Ha!
She murmurs, “Must have been hard.” A pause. “Where’s Mack’s dad? I haven’t met him.”

“He’s in the navy. Away a lot. A nice man, though, just like Mack, really. Big.
Very
big, actually. And dependable somehow.” Alicia grins. And switches tack. “By the way, have you heard from your parents since you’ve been in England?”

“My parents?” For a moment, the word makes no sense. “Oh. My Australian family. No.”

Alicia says hastily, “Not my business, of course.”

No. It isn’t.
Jesse says slowly, “It’s hard to know what to say about all this.”

“Tricky.” Alicia swirls the wine in her glass.

“They won’t tell me anything about the past, Alicia. Nothing at all.” Jesse blinks. The wine’s making her too confiding.

“Perhaps it hurts too much to, oh, I don’t know, deal with the truth? They must have thought about it, telling you, I mean. I can’t imagine the mental torture—for them and for you.”

“Torture is right. It’s like being racked.”

“You know, I’m pretty sure we’ve got one of those. In the cellars. Hasn’t been used for a while, but built to last, I’d say.”

Jesse cheers up. “I can think of a few people I’d like to test it on. Rory Brandon for starters.”

They both grin.

Alicia chuckles. “Why not?”

33

R
ORY PUTS
his spoon down. “That was really pretty good.”

Mack snorts. “Damned with faint praise.”

“Just saying. Not everyone knows how to make a crème anglaise.”

“I do.”

“Bet you got the chef to do it.”

“Boys, boys!” Helen’s smiling. They’re play-sparring for her benefit. She enjoys that.

The three are sitting in the family kitchen of the owner’s flat at the back of the Hunt. It’s been a good dinner and the atmosphere is mellow.

“It’s so lovely we’re all together. Doesn’t happen often enough.”

Rory stifles a yawn. “I do my best, Mum.”

Helen passes a bowl of chocolates. “Stay here next time you come. We’d see more of you.”