Blood Harvest

14

24 September
SHE WAS TALLER THAN HE REMEMBERED, BUT EVERY BIT AS slender. She had a bridle and reins slung round her shoulders as she appeared from the horse-box. She slid her right arm under the saddle that hung waiting on a large hook and then set off down the yard. Her left arm gripped a heavy-duty steel-and-plastic walking stick as she made her slow, ungainly way across the concrete.
Harry remained still, half hidden by the low branches of a huge walnut tree, watching her limp towards the tack room. She pushed the door with her shoulder and, rather awkwardly, disappeared inside.
Was this really a good idea? It was months since he’d asked a woman out. And why on earth had he picked one he knew absolutely nothing about?
Except he did know one or two things, didn’t he? Like the fact that the sciatic nerve was the longest and widest single nerve in the body, starting in the lower back and running down through the buttock and the leg. He knew that it fed the skin of the leg and also the muscles of the back of the thigh, lower leg and foot. The day he’d met Dr Oliver – Evi, he now knew she was called – he’d sat at his computer after dinner and started searching. Ten minutes later, he’d felt like he was prying.
The door to the tack room was opening and she was coming out. No longer loaded down with tack, she walked more easily, but still with a pronounced, rolling limp.
She saw him before he had a chance to move and stopped walking. Was that good or bad? Then she reached up to unfasten and remove her hat. Good? She carried on towards him and that twitch on her face could be a smile or it could be a grimace of embarrassment. Difficult to be sure and no time to make up his mind because she was feet away and he really had to say—
‘Hello.’ She’d got there first. Hello was OK, wasn’t it? Better than What the hell are you doing here?
‘Hi. Good ride?’ Good ride! Was that really the best he could do?
‘Bracing, thanks. What are you doing here?’
He pulled his right hand out of his pocket. Ten seconds into the conversation and he was already employing Plan B.
‘Is this yours?’ he asked, as the tiny silver bracelet with blue stones caught the light. She didn’t move to take it.
‘Nope,’ she said, shaking her head. The hair around her temples was damp with sweat, flattened against her head by the pressure of the riding hat. She put a hand up to it and then brought it back down again. Her face was pink; five days ago it had been pale with shock.
‘Did you find it on the road?’ she asked.
‘No. I bought it on Rawtenstall market a couple of days ago,’ he confessed. Well, that was a bit high risk but it might just have paid off. The twitch around her mouth had widened, might even be verging on a smile.
‘That was a bit rash,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it’s your colour.’
‘You’re right, I’m more of a soft-lemony man, but I needed an excuse.’
Yes, definitely a smile. ‘What for?’ she said.
‘I was worried about Duchess.’
‘Duchess?’ Lips pulled straight again. Eyebrows raised. Eyes still smiling.
‘Yes, how is she?’ He turned to the box where the grey cob stood watching them and took a few paces towards her. ‘This is her, right?’
She was following him. He could hear the clatter of the stick on the concrete. ‘This is Duchess,’ she confirmed. ‘None the worse for her adventure at the weekend. Which I haven’t mentioned to anyone here, by the way.’
‘My lips are sealed. How does she feel about Polo mints?’
She was standing at his side now, inches away. ‘She’ll bite your hand off,’ she said.
Harry felt in his pocket again and brought out the thin green tube that he’d also bought at the market. In her box, Duchess whickered at him. Two boxes further down a horse began kicking against its door.
‘You’ve done it now,’ said Evi. ‘Horses can smell Polo mints through the wrapper. And they recognize the paper.’
‘At least someone’s pleased to see me,’ said Harry, unwrapping the tube and holding out the flat of his hand to Duchess. A split-second later the mint had been replaced by a good dollop of horse slobber. Now what, exactly, was he supposed to do with that? Wiping it down his jeans was not going to look good.
‘I should sit down,’ said Evi. ‘Is that OK?’
‘Of course,’ said Harry, wiggling his fingers to dry them off. ‘Do you need any help?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I just can’t stand up for any length of time.’ She moved the stick and set off across the yard, back to the walnut tree, under which a few plastic chairs were scattered. Harry followed close behind and held a chair-back steady while she lowered herself. He pulled up a second chair and sat beside her. Duchess’s drool was starting to dry on his hand.
In the manège in front of them a rider was schooling a young horse, the same colour as Duchess but altogether finer of build. The school was surrounded by a beech hedge and the leaves were already starting to turn the soft golden-brown of newly minted coins.
‘Beautiful evening,’ said Harry, watching the setting sun bounce off the beech hedge and throw gold reflections on to the horse’s coat. It looked like it was wearing chain-mail.
‘How did you know I was here?’ asked Evi.
‘I’ve been coming every night on the off-chance,’ replied Harry. The horse almost seemed to be trotting on the spot, its head tucked down so that its nose was pointing at the ground. Foam was gathering around its mouth. ‘Is that horse a thoroughbred?’ he asked.
‘He’s from Ireland,’ said Evi. ‘Quite beautiful, but far too young and skittish for me to be allowed anywhere near. And seriously?’
She was looking at him now, not at the beautiful young horse. Her eyes were as blue as he remembered. ‘Seriously,’ he said, ‘I phoned the yard on Monday and asked to speak to Dr Oliver. I insisted Monday was the night you came. I mentioned Duchess and asked how she was recovering from her bruised foot and said it was really important I talk to you and were they sure you weren’t there because I was certain you’d said Monday. After a few minutes of this, they looked you up in the book and told me that Dr Oliver, also known as Evi, rides on Thursdays, Saturdays and sometimes Sundays.’
Evi turned back to the manège. She had the most perfect profile. Forehead just the right length, small, straight nose, full lips, plump chin. ‘That’s very devious behavior for a man of God,’ she said at last.
Harry laughed. ‘You’ve obviously never heard of the Jesuits. Would it be inappropriate to ask you out for a drink?’
Clearly it would, because she wasn’t smiling any more. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘If you have a husband or long-term boyfriend or you just can’t stand men with ginger hair then obviously I’m completely out of order and I’ll – well, maybe Duchess is free on Friday night. I’ll go and see.’
He half stood. He’d misjudged the entire situation and now he had to make as dignified an exit as possible.
She put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m on very strong painkillers,’ she said. ‘All the time. I’m not supposed to drink alcohol.’
Somehow, that didn’t feel like an out-and-out no. ‘Well, that’s fine because I’m a man of the cloth,’ he said, sitting down again. ‘We’re not allowed to get wasted every night, so you’d be good for me. They’re running a season of Christopher Lee movies in Rawtenstall. Do you like horror films?’
‘Not really.’ The hand fell away from his arm, but that smile was definitely back.
He shook his head. ‘Me neither. Too easily scared. How do you feel about romantic comedies?’
‘I’m starting to think I might be in one. Aren’t vicars supposed to be celibate?’
‘That’s Catholic priests,’ he said, managing to keep a straight face. ‘Sex is definitely allowed in the Anglican church,’ he went on, as she turned from him and he could see the skin of her neck start to glow. ‘The guidelines say we should usually take a woman out a couple of times first. You know, for a movie, or a pizza, but I suppose I could be flexible.’
She was bright pink now and staring straight ahead as though the grey horse in the school was about to do something spectacular. ‘Do shut up,’ she snapped.
‘Well, I would, but you haven’t said yes yet and it’s difficult to do this in sign language.’
She was facing him again, trying to be serious, not quite managing it. ‘I called you an a*shole the other day,’ she said.
‘Very perceptive. I like that in a woman.’
She dropped her head and looked at him sideways. It was a surprisingly childlike gesture for a woman who must be in her early thirties. ‘I’m sorry I was a bitch,’ she said. ‘But I was on my backside in the middle of the road with limbs all over the place and …’
‘It was a good look for you – sorry, didn’t quite mean that the way it sounded – I’ll shut up. Maybe I should ask Duchess out.’
‘I think they’ll excommunicate you for that.’
‘No, that’s allowed too. It’s more common than you might think.’
She started to laugh, a soft, almost soundless mirth that shook her shoulders and made her breasts bounce inside her shirt. He was staring again. He leaned back in his chair and looked up. A small flock of starlings was moving across the sky. As one, the birds changed direction and, for a split-second, formed what could almost be a heart-shape in the air before switching again and heading away from them.
‘I’m not a churchgoer,’ she said after a moment.
Harry shrugged. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’
‘I’m serious.’ She was too. She’d stopped smiling. ‘I really don’t believe in God,’ she went on. ‘Won’t that be a problem? While we’re watching this romantic comedy or eating pizza or whatever?’
‘I’ll do you a deal, Evi,’ he said, knowing that, in truth, the deal was all but done and all he had to do was close it.
‘Another one?’ she asked.
‘The first one worked out OK. I got you back on the horse and you were still speaking to me. So the new deal is, I won’t try and convert you. You don’t try and analyse me.’
‘How did you know?’ she asked. ‘How did you know what my name is and what I do?’
Harry pointed at the sky. The starlings were still there, hovering overhead, as though they knew what was happening on the ground and were hanging around to see the outcome. ‘All-knowing-one on speed-dial,’ he said. ‘How about Friday?’
She didn’t even pretend to think about it. ‘OK, that would be bugger, I mean, sorry – I have to work. I’m seeing a family in Oldham at their house. I won’t be back till late.’
‘Well, Saturday then – oh no, sorry, I mean bugger – I have this church thing. Heptonclough – where we met, you’ll remember – are having their annual harvest shindig. You know the sort of thing, ceremonial cutting of the last wheat, dancing around naked as the sun goes down and then the harvest feast in one of the big houses.’
‘Sounds a riot.’
‘Well, quite. They’ve asked me to read a traditional prayer over the crop and say grace at the dinner. I’m invited to bring a guest, but maybe …’ Harry stopped. Taking a date to his first official function? Was that really a good idea?
‘I think it could be fun,’ said Evi. ‘And I’d get to see you in action.’
Harry realized he really didn’t want his first date with Evi to go wrong. He gestured at his clothes. ‘I’d be wearing the, you know, the regalia – dog collar, ceremonial robes. At least till after the formal stuff.’
‘Can’t wait.’ The starlings were starting to move off, twisting back in their direction every couple of seconds, as if to check it was all still going well. And it was going well. Except he might just have messed it up.
‘Now you’re starting to sound kinky,’ he said.
‘Says the man who wants to date my horse.’
‘Saturday then. Can I walk you to your car?’
She pushed herself upright. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘It’s next to that flashy blue thing with the soft top and all the chrome.’