Three Mile Drove, Chapter Thirteen (standard:fairy tales, 2111 words) [14/29] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Feb 15 2007	Views/Reads: 2883/2155	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Continuation of a completed story. Behind the peaceful setting of Three Mile Drove, evil lurks.

CHAPTER TWELVE 

Claire Summerby placed her glass carefully on the table, ‘Ted Jackson,
yes I know him. He's been a tradesman for years, a real fen man through 
and through.' 

Darren Goldwater leaned back in his chair, looked into brown eyes that
he found so alluring and tried to keep his mind in focus. ‘So you'd 
describe him as a trustworthy sort then, competent and reliable?' 

She narrowed her brows, but the fine eyes retained a smile, or perhaps
it was their vividness which made it appear that way to him. ‘I don't 
think I'm quite the person to ask on that score, do you? I mean, 
personally I wouldn't describe myself as a fountain of knowledge on 
building, plastering, that sort of thing.' 

‘No, of course not,' Darren felt a surge of embarrassment and fidgeted
with his lighter. 

‘Mind you, I know most of the people in these parts and I've not heard a
bad word said about him, so that must pass for something.' 

She took a sip from her glass and placed it back on the tablemat, he
noticed she positioned it dead centre.  He felt her eyes upon his; it 
was the kind of calculated, considered look a copper might give when he 
wasn't convinced of your story, faintly doubting, even though the smile 
remained. 

‘It's some decision you've taken here, isn't it Darren? Turning your
back on city life, pop culture and all that, to join us rustics. Do you 
think you'll be able to stand it?' 

Except that you don't sound much like one of these rustics to me, Darren
thought, somewhere along the line she'd had the benefit of a good 
education; that was obvious. 

‘I reckon so,' he answered, ever aware of how appealing her eyes were,
and of how they might be reading him a little too well even at this 
early stage of knowing him. He took his glass and leaned back in his 
chair, trying to appear nonchalant, though knowing he'd failed. He'd 
realised the way he'd snatched at it. He'd become aware because he'd 
seen her eyes follow his darting hand movement. ‘I wouldn't have made 
the decision if I thought I couldn't hack it,' he said 
self-consciously. 

‘It still seems a strange thing to do,' she said, taking a sip from her
glass and twirling the stem gently in her hand. ‘You'll find us fen 
folk a little guarded at first, you might even find some of us quite 
unsociable, but don't worry, most of us tend to change when we get to 
know people better. We open up a lot.' 

Darren's eyes narrowed, he wondered whether Claire's remark might be a
personal message from her to him, then dismissed it quickly. This woman 
was pretty, he might regard her as beautiful, but that didn't provide a 
passport for his mind to start playing silly buggers. They had only 
just met, they couldn't even be regarded as friends in the true sense 
of the word; he needed to keep things in perspective. 

‘I don't mind admitting I've met some pretty gruff people here,
downright nasty even.' Darren leaned forward in his seat, clasped his 
hands together and found himself recalling the weird noises that seemed 
to drift across the fens, mainly at night, and of how he'd followed a 
course that had ended behind Tomblin's house. He told her of the 
ensuing confrontation with him and of how he'd reported it to 
McPherson, only to be told that it was his own fault for trespassing, 
noticing all the while how her flawless complexion seemed to turn 
increasingly pale as he spoke. 

And when she spoke, her voice had a severity to it he'd hitherto not
heard. ‘I've already told you, the voices you think you hear are 
nothing more than foxes baying, as a city person you couldn't be 
expected to understand that, but that's all it is.' 

Darren noticed the way her broad face was set firm, of how serious she
looked now, and of the complete transformation between this firmly set 


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