or once it was a nice day, which made a pleasant change. It wasn't that I minded getting cold and wet, after all I was used to walking the hills and you take what you find when you're three miles from the nearest shelter, but tramping through fields and woods in the rain, peering over fences and through trees, as I had been doing for over a week, did not rate highly on my 'good ways to spend your time' meter. Today, though, was a real taste of spring; the one the weather forecasters had been promising for a week was just around the corner.
I had looked over one property that morning and it was a dud. Despite the agent's blurb, it wasn't secluded, being entirely visible from the road. It was modern but mock-Tudor with pebble-dashed walls and fake beams and the owners had decided that suburban-geometric was a de rigueur for the garden. You know the sort of thing; a huge area of concrete in front of the house, a small patch of grass with a perfectly circular hole in the exact centre in which is planted a flowering cherry, and a herbaceous border, planned and executed with a precision that would have gladdened the heart of the stoniest Sergeant-Major. I'm exaggerating but not by a lot. It didn't take more than five minutes to decide this was definitely not the kind of place I wanted to live.
I decided I needed to walk for pleasure. The map indicated that I could do a circular tour where I could cut away from the road, through some woods and up a hill where I might get some good views. Whistling cheerfully, if tunelessly, I set off. I had been right: it was a pleasant walk. The woods were open and the sun bathed the burgeoning leaves in bright, warm light, making them glow with vitality. The birds, too, seemed to believe that spring had arrived at last and they filled the wood with their calls as they flitted from tree to tree.
The hill climb proved to be not too arduous and the view from the top was most pleasant. On one side the hills climbed higher and stretched away in a long line fading into purple in the distance while, on the other, the land sloped down to the river valley where the rich brown earth was just showing the first sprinkling of green. It would probably turn out to be rape but, just now, the colours were soft and natural. Fields crested the lower hills, mostly grazing for cows, broken up by patches of woodland. I stood and drank it in - this was my sort of country - until the brisk wind reminded me that it was still early in the year. Shivering, I sought a more sheltered spot in which to eat my belated lunch.
I was just about to depart when something caught my eye in the small wooded valley below. I hauled out my binoculars for a better look. It was the roof of a rather substantial house. It was so well hidden that it was only the sun glinting on the dormer windows that caught my eye. From here it looked like a nice house; not modern, natural-looking grounds and lots of trees around. I decided it required a closer look even though it was not on any list of available properties I had found. As I made my way down the hill, I was struck by the similarity between this situation and my discovery of Charles, even down to the feeling of wanting to know more without knowing why.
"What d'you think, Charles? Is this the house for us?"
"What do I know about these hideous things you call houses? All fripperies and frivolity."
"So what would be your perfect house?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"Mere curiosity."
"I don't know why I bother talking to you. You never listen to a word I say."
I was in too good a mood to let him upset me. "Humour me. If we were to move to where you wanted, where would it be?"
"On top of a hill, for a start, so you could keep a good look-out with good thick walls and none of these stupid holes you call windows. There would be a high wall all round it and only one way in or out."
I laughed. "That sounds like a castle."
"Castle?"
"Yes, like the one in the city."
"There's no castle there - at least nothing like I've described which you're labelling a castle."
"Well, what's this, then." I flashed him an image of the castle, perched on its rocky crag.
"That's not a castle, that's a monstrosity. Look at all these windows."
"I suppose it has had a few additions over the years. Tell you what, someday soon I'll take you to see a real castle. I think you'll like it."
"Hrmph."
"You seem to have come from a most unfriendly planet. Perhaps that's why you're so cantankerous."
"I'm not cantankerous."
"You are. You're the most cantankerous, awkward, stubborn person I've ever met. But never mind that, I can see the house again."
I stopped and pulled out the binoculars, ignoring his protestations of innocence. I was looking at a side of the building. It appeared to be Georgian. Built of fine, light sandstone with a grey slate roof, it exhibited all the characteristics of good Georgian architecture; the large, rectangular windows divided into smaller panes, the tall chimney stacks, the elegant proportions. It had clearly been added to over time but the additions had been done sympathetically, retaining the feel of the original design. Sweeping the glasses around, I could make out what appeared to be a kitchen garden and evidence of outbuildings.
I walked on and, as I descended I caught glimpses of the landscaped grounds - they were too grand to be called a garden - and more evidence of sizeable, if tumbledown, outbuildings. Whoever had built the original house must have been a man of some means. As I approached the road, the house disappeared behind the trees.
From the road the only evidence of its existence was a high, overgrown, ivy-covered wall which followed the curve of the road with a gap in it where a tarmac drive emerged between two gateposts that had seen better days. The whole appearance of the property from the road seemed to be deliberately self-effacing, as if the owners had gone out of their way not to draw attention to themselves. If I had been driving past, I wouldn't even have noticed it. It was perfect; just what I had in mind. Now all I had to do was find some way of getting in.
I perched on the remains of a dry-stone wall which bordered the field opposite the house and considered my options. I couldn't just walk up and borrow a cup of sugar. Nor could I pretend my car had broken down, and, somehow, I felt that the bold approach of simply saying I'd noticed the house and admired it wouldn't work either. These people clearly valued their privacy.
"Right, Charles, how are we going to get into that house?"
"Try the front door."
"Very funny."
"No. Very simple. Far too simple for you."
"You mean that literally? Walk up to the front door and ring the bell?"
"Yes. Simple. I'm surprised you understood it so quickly."
"And then what?"
"How do you mean?"
"I ring the bell, the butler answers. Then want?"
"I persuade him to let you in."
"Great. Then what?"
"What is your problem? You ask me how to get into the house. I tell you but that's not good enough for you. Oh, no. You want me to map out the whole afternoon for you. Would you like me to wipe your bottom for you, too?"
"You do. Stop being petulant."
"Petulant? Me? You…. You… Anyway, what do you mean I do wipe your bottom for you?"
"All part of your 'instant body maintenance'. Showering, shaving and so on," I smirked.
"Oh. Well…"
"Back to the house. I don't want to simply march in and take over. I want to get the feel of the place and the people who own it. It's not on the market so I simply want to get a find out what it's like. To do that I need a legitimate excuse to be there."
"Why don't you?"
"Why don't I what?"
"Want to march in and take over."
"You could do that?"
"Of course." His certainty was almost obscene.
That brought me up short. Indeed, you could say I was gob-smacked. It was so alien to my way of thinking that it took several minutes before I could even start to let the idea into my brain. Walk into a house and take control of the owners? Live in someone else's house with the owners as your slaves?
"But… but… what about everybody?" I spluttered.
"Everybody?"
"Well, the owner's family and the cooks and maids and butlers and gardeners and… everybody."
"No problem."
"How many could you manage?" It was amazing that I could even think about it but curiosity overcame revulsion.
"I coped with eight before."
"Before?"
"The cavemen. Mind you they were even more primitive than you."
My mind was still in shock so I hardly noticed this rather back-handed compliment.
"Eight." I took a few deep breaths and tried to organise my thinking. Instinctively I knew it wouldn't work, never mind my automatic disgust at the idea. "Let me get this straight. These people would become my slaves and you could manage eight of them?"
"Eight at one time. And, yes, they would be your slaves in the sense that they would let you live in the house. The servants would treat you the same as if you were the owners."
"But if you can do that, presumably you could make them do other things?"
"Such as?"
"Such as, I don't know, crawl on all fours? Walk around naked? Stick their heads in a midden heap?"
"Well…" I could sense he was embarrassed. "There is a limit."
"How so?"
"You can only 'pull the threads', as you have so crudely put it, so far."
"What happens then?"
"They can sort of snap back into place, but that's rare. Mostly, they break."
"And that means?"
"In the case of inanimate objects, they are destroyed. In the case of living creatures, they die. There can also be other unpredictable results."
"Such as?"
"I don't know. They're unpredictable."
"Why can't you predict them?"
"You remember your crude analogy of a nexus with a multitude of threads?"
"Yes."
"You may recall, if you can remember that far back, that I manipulate the threads. The threads have some degree of elasticity and it is this fact that tolerates my manipulations." He was in full lecture mode, now. "If I force a thread beyond this natural elastic limit, tension is introduced. If that tension becomes too great, the thread breaks. Disconnecting a nexus from its threads induces death in the nexus. As the threads are connected to other nexus, breaking them can have an unpredictable effect on the other nexus. It can disturb their equilibrium or, in extreme cases, kill the other nexus. It all depends on the number of threads that are broken and their interconnectivity with other nexus. I hope that is clear."
"Not at all but I think I get the gist. You can only force people so far or you'll kill them. In doing so, you might affect other people and possibly kill them as well."
"Crude but concise."
I took a deep breath and was silent for a few minutes while I tried to digest this. "But you can take direct control of the people of the house without damaging the nexus. What about others; visitors, friends, family, tradesmen?"
"I take control of them as they arrive."
"What about people who are not in direct contact?"
"Like who?"
"Say a friend of the owners who they haven't seen for some time phones them? How would they explain my presence?"
"They wouldn't. You wouldn't even be mentioned in the conversation."
"Okay. What about locals? The postman's wife and family. His neighbours and so on?"
"Why should he say anything? To him it would be perfectly natural for you to be staying there."
I shook my head. I knew he was wrong but I couldn't quite put my finger on why. It was, like all his solutions, far too simplistic.
"No. I'm sorry but it wouldn't work. Somebody, somewhere would find out and start to ask questions. Besides, I find the whole idea of slavery anathema. I won't have anything to do with it."
"Even now you don't get it, do you? No matter how many times I tell you, you refuse to believe it. Forget all your wishy-washy scruples. You're the man. You're number one. You're top of the pops. You can do what you want and no-one can stop you." His voice was rising in agitation.
"Hold it right there. You got it exactly."
"Then you've finally come to your senses and will do what I say?"
"No. I've just worked out why your ideas never work. You said it yourself, 'no-one can stop you'. The key word is 'no-one'. In that you're right. No one person can stop me. If we lived in a world like your beloved cavemen or the one you obviously come from where people lived in small tribes, it wouldn't be a problem. You could take control of everybody in the immediate vicinity and that would be that. People naturally follow leaders so once I'd taken control of the key people and established myself, all the rest would fall into line. And you're right; I would become the top man and control everybody around me.
"Unfortunately I don't live in a world of primitive tribes. I live in a world where everything is connected to everything else, like your threads. I live in a world of impersonal rules and regulations administered by people who follow them blindly. People don't live in isolation, not even in the wilds of the Highlands. They're affected by, sometimes controlled by, a bunch of rules which are administered by people who they've never met face-to-face, might live at the other side of the country and couldn't give a shite about the effect the rules might have on any particular person." I was quote astonished at my internal loquacity. Deep thinking is not my forté.
"I don't understand what you're saying. This is just you trying to complicate things again." He was sounding petulant.
"No it's not. Let's take a 'for instance'. This house will have running water which will be piped in by the water company. One of the pipes in the grounds springs a leak. It's too big a job for the local plumber, assuming there is one, and, anyway, the rules say it's the water company's job to fix it. So they send in a squad of men and machinery to fix it. Where do the men come from?"
"I've no idea. Where?"
"Neither have I. They could come from anywhere and that's my point. You don't know and you can't control who these people are and where they come from. Say we want a new telephone - the phone company. A new carpet - the carpet shop in the city. Some building work done - probably builders from the city. And these are only the people we indirectly invite. As well as them there's the uninvited visitors; the charity collector, the travelling salesman, the local council, etc, etc, etc. However powerful you think you are, you can't control all of them and you can't stop at least one of them blabbing about the strange house he did a job at last week. Am I getting through to you?"
"I knew you were trying to complicate things again," he muttered sullenly.
I was not to be brooked. "Let's say we do as you say. You take direct control of the people in the house. Yes?"
"Yes."
"And you persuade regular visitors, friends and acquaintances that everything's fine. Yes?"
"Yes?"
"So what do you do with the men from the Water Board?"
"What's a Water Board?"
"The company that provide the water supply. We have a leak, remember, and the Water Board have sent a gang to fix it."
"Where are they?"
"Out in the gounds somewhere, or in the road. I don't know where the water pipes are."
"Do they come into the house?"
"No."
"Then I wouldn't do anything with them. I don't deal with trivia. These men are no threat so I would ignore them."
"Hah," I said triumphantly. That's just where you're wrong."
"Explain."
"They may be working outside but they have eyes in their heads and tongues in their mouths. They notice the people who live in the house even though they've no direct contact."
"Then I would influence them, too."
"Influence them to do what?"
"To accept what they see." He was beginning to sound tetchy as he always did when he was not in control of a conversation.
"And would you influence them not to talk about it?"
"Why would they talk about it? To them everything is normal."
"Because they're men and here's a house full of beautiful women. Of course they'll talk about it. 'Did you see that little blonde?' 'The one wi' the big knockers? Aye. Bet she woundnae drown.' 'And the arse on the black bird? Fuckin' footballs they were.'"
"At least they wouldn't show the unhealthy respect you seem to have for females," he sniffed.
I went ballistic. "When, O Great Fount of All Wisdom, are you going to get of your fucking high horse and start paying attention to me? Am I going to have to end up in gaol or the loony bin before you realise that this is not your primitive, cave-man society: that you can't just bash people on the head and take what you want? You claim to be so superior but you can't get past the 'me Tarzan, you Jane' mentality. Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you. Every time I try to tell you something you put on your snooty hat and claim I'm making it up. I'm not, you ignorant artificial moron. So open your fucking eyes and put your so-called superior brain to work for once."
He was silent so long that I thought I'd really offended him. Not that I was particularly bothered. "Proceed," was all he said. No apology, no acknowledgement. I took several very deep breaths to calm myself.
"Right. So our work crew start shooting their mouths off about the good looking women and the strange set-up here. They don't think there's anything odd about it because you've persuaded them not to. But the people back at the depot haven't been persuaded and at least one of them does think it odd. Or one of our workmen tells his mates on the pub after several pints. This time it's not four women, it's ten and they're Playboy bunnies and they run around half naked."
"With all due respect," he said sarcastically. "I think you exaggerate just a trifle."
"I didn't know you did sarcasm, Charles. Yes, I'm exaggerating. Nothing much would probably happen the first time, or even the second. The point I'm trying to make is that you can't control people you can't see and unless you persuade everybody who comes in contact with us not to talk at all - and that, in itself, would be suspicious - sooner or later somebody would start to take an unhealthy interest in our lives. Come to think about it, it would most likely be the press. The nothing the gutter press likes better than a juicy scandal involving sex and money - unless it also includes drugs. You've seen some of our so-called newspapers so you know what I mean."
"Unfortunately, I have and, even more unfortunately, I agree with you."
"Until we're established, we're vulnerable. We can't afford people poking and prying into our affairs. Everything needs to appear legal and above board, at least on the surface. So let's have no more talk about marching in a taking over. I need a legitimate reason for visiting."
He was silent and so was I. To be honest, I was surprised at myself. I'd never really thought about why I knew his answers were always too simplistic before, but, once I'd started, the whole thing seemed to fall into place.
Idly, I bent to scratch an itch at my ankle and it hit me. "Charles, you could give me a twisted ankle couldn't you?"
"I could. But why?"
"Because it's my entry to the house. I twist my ankle and call in for assistance. A man with a twisted ankle isn't a threat and will get the sympathy vote."
"If you say so."
There was a tingling at my right ankle and a sharp pain. I stood and promptly fell face first into the road-side ditch which was fortunately dry.
"Aieee," I screamed, my ankle a blaze of pain. "I said a twisted ankle, you moron, not a broken one. I need to be able to at least hobble."
"Sorry," he said but I could detect a smirk behind the apology.
The pain receded and I was able to regain my feet. I hobbled through the gate and down the drive. It curved down a wooded bank then turned sharply to cross a small river by an old stone bridge - and there it was. Against a back-drop of tall trees the light stone reflected the spring afternoon sunshine with a warm, pearlescent glow. A trail of smoke rose from one of the chimneys into the pale blue sky before being dispersed by the breeze. A sweep of grass, from which sprang two stately chestnut trees and an oak, led down from the font of the house to the river. I stood for a moment in silent admiration before hobbling on. As I drew closer I noticed that the upstairs windows had small balconies with wrought-iron railings and the stones that formed the edges of the house protruded a bit to break up the flat surface. Several dormer windows broke up the planes of the roof. It all looked in excellent repair.
I decided that the front door was not appropriate for an injured walker seeking assistance so made my way round the side of the house in search of the back door. Here there was evidence of extensions to the original building, a one-story piece having been added to the side and a two-story one to the rear. As I rounded the corner, a large dog come bounding over, barking furiously.
"Oh, shit." I said.
"Leave it to me," Charles said.
"Just make it friendly."
I stood still as the dog approached. It stopped barking and I held out my hand for it to sniff. It gave a single 'woof' and wagged its tail. I patted it on the head and limped towards the door. The barking had alerted the inhabitants for, as I approached, the door opened and a woman emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. She was small and solidly built, her hair, showing streaks of grey, caught up in a severe bun. Plainly dressed and wearing a large apron, I assumed she was the cook or housekeeper. The expression on her face was not entirely friendly and she seemed rather perturbed to see the dog escorting me.
"Yes? Can I help you?" she asked.
I tried my best smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I was out walking and I'm afraid I've twisted my ankle. I was wondering if you had some ice or a bandage I could use."
My discomfort must have shown on my face for her face relaxed and she nodded. "Come away in and we'll see what we can do."
I limped after her into a gleaming kitchen.
"Sit," she said pointing to a wooden chair and disappeared.
Gratefully I sat and unlaced my boot and removed my sock. Charles had done his work well for my ankle showed definite signs of swelling. The woman returned with a plastic bag filled with ice.
"Here, wrap this around it. How bad is it?"
"Thanks. Not too bad but I didn't think I could make it back to the car without seeing to it." I wrapped the ice-pack around my ankle and winced as the cold bit in. "Why does the cure always seem worse than the ailment?"
She chuckled. "Stops us enjoying ill-health. I'll be right back."
I sat back and felt the cold ice cool my swollen ankle and looked round the spotless room with its gleaming fittings and state-of-the-art fixtures. Although it was as modern as could be, it had been designed sympathetically so that it fitted with the image of a Georgian house.
"Mary, did I hear the dog barking?" an extremely well-spoken voice called. The kitchen door opened and a woman stepped through. "Oh," she said, stopping abruptly. "Who are you?"
I leapt to my feet, the ice-pack slipping to the floor and winced. I had momentarily forgotten about my ankle. I leant against the kitchen table to take to weight off it.
"I'm terribly sorry for disturbing you," I said. "I was just getting some assistance for a twisted ankle."
"Well, you'd better sit down again," she said and smiled thinly. "We don't get many visitors."
"You don't exactly advertise," I said. She looked at me oddly. "If I hadn't seen the house from the top of the hill I don't think I'd have known it existed," I explained.
"We like to be quiet. Are you badly hurt?"
"No, thank you. It's just a minor sprain but I didn't think I could make it back to my car."
"Have you far to go?"
"A couple of miles. Perhaps I was too ambitious for my first serious walk of the year but it was such a nice day I couldn't resist it."
"Yes, it is a nice day."
She was polite but I could sense a reserve.
"Charles, make her talk honestly and openly," I thought.
"She's another one."
"Another what?"
"One for your harem." His snug tone was back.
"Oh."
I studied the woman more closely. She was tall and slender with that effortless elegant poise that comes from a background of money. At first glance I'd placed in her in her mid-thirties but I revised that upward by five years. Her dark brown hair framed a fine-boned face in soft waves. Her eyes were large and dark, her mouth small but full-lipped, her arms slim and her hands long and slender. In her youth she'd probably have been described as 'elfin'. She had that easy elegance that comes from good breeding and old money.
"Do I meet with your approval?" Her voice was sharp but offset by a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth.
I reddened. "Forgive me. I didn't realise I was staring. One should always study a beautiful woman surreptitiously until one makes her acquaintance," I grinned.
She dragged a chair round, sat astride it with her wrist resting on the back and deliberately and openly, studied me from head to toe. I blushed and tried not to fidget. After all, I had been doing the same to her a few moments ago.
"Do I meet with your approval?" I asked.
She gave a short laugh. "You'll do."
At that moment the housekeeper, Mary, returned. "Sorry. Couldn't find a bandage. Oh, Mrs Baxter." She stopped, seeing her employer seated in the kitchen. "I was just looking for a bandage for this young man's ankle."
"That should help," her employer said.
I took the proffered bandage and began to wind it round my ankle.
"This is a beautiful house," I said.
"Yes," she said sadly.
"Have you lived here long?"
"Ten years."
"You don't sound too happy about it."
"I'm going to have to sell it."
"That's terrible. Why?" It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
"I can't afford to keep it since my husband…" She looked decidedly uncomfortable.
I held up a hand. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to pry. I haven't seen it on the market."
"Next week."
I straightened, ignoring the half-wrapped bandage. "I know this is going to sound a bit of a coincidence but I'm looking for a house. That's partly why I was walking - the one I looked at this morning was so awful I needed to cheer myself up."
"Do you always wear hiking gear when you're house-hunting?"
I laughed. "I'm not actually visiting the houses just yet. I'm simply looking them over from the outside. The ones I like, I'll visit more formally."
"Is that how you found this place?"
"No. I was coming over the hill and the sun caught your dormer windows. I ricked my ankle jumping a ditch and it was only when I saw your driveway I realised where I was."
"A lucky accident, then."
"Indeed. Particularly if you're putting it on the market."
"It's a big house." Her tone was doubtful.
"I'm looking for a big house."
"How big"?
"Minimum seven or eight bedrooms with room for expansion." She looked even more doubtful. I grinned ruefully. "Look, dressed like this I can understand your reluctance to take me seriously. But serious I am. If you'll give me your phone number I'll call and arrange to arrive properly at the front door instead of skulking in the back. Then you can give me the full tour and we can take it from there. That is of you really are thinking of selling?"
She gave a small, rueful smile. "Am I that transparent?"
"No," I grinned back. "It's how I would have reacted had I been in your shoes."
She sighed and squared her shoulders. "I can't think why a young man like you would need or want a large house in the middle of nowhere but, yes, much as I hate to do it, I am going to be selling this house. If you'd like to make an approach, I'd be happy to hear it."
"I'm not prepared to divulge my plans just yet but rest assured that I will definitely be in touch. Now, I suppose I'd better finish strapping this ankle and leave you ladies in peace. I've taken up enough of your time. You've been very kind and I appreciate your assistance."
"I'll be hearing from you then," Mrs Baxter said, standing up.
"Most certainly."
"Good bye, then." She seemed reluctant to go.
"More 'à bientôt'," I said and was pleased to see her smile.
Mary helped me tie off the bandage and replace my sock and boot. My ankle really did feel a lot better and I was able to put almost my full weight on it. I thanked her for her assistance, collected my back-pack from the back door and set off up the path. I was careful to retain my limp until I was well out of sight of the house. Then Charles repaired my ankle and I practically skipped back to the car.
"Well, Charles, I think we've found ourselves a house."
"And another woman."
"So you say. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."
"Why are you so reluctant to get your pecker out? It's perfect, by the way."
"That's disgus… what did you say?"
"I said, 'why are you so reluctant to get your pecker out?'."
"The other bit."
"Oh, the house. It's perfect."
"But… I thought you hated human houses. I thought you wanted to live in a fortress."
"I do and I do. But, for you, it's perfect."
Once again he'd managed to leave me flabbergasted.