Once... by James Herbert
It seemed as if there were two small fires in those beautifully dark eyes of hers and somehow it made her even more startling. Jet-black curls framed her face, accentuating the high cheekbones, the vivid redness of her shiny lips. Thom felt himself tense, but it was a pleasurable tenseness, the arousing kind, the kind that sent blood rushing. Somehow, and without his noticing, she had moved even closer, her legs turned towards his so that their knees touched.
‘Time and time again the medical profession lets us down, sometimes even killin’ us with their stupid mistakes and ignorance, so people have no choice but to look for other ways to be cured.’
He could not prevent his eyes from taking in the fullness of her breasts beneath the blouse she wore, the undone top buttons providing almost intoxicating glimpses of bare flesh. Although he was not sure if he liked this woman or not, Thom could not deny he was attracted to her.
‘I help Sir Russell with the pain. I use balms to soothe his nerves. I have my own preparations that can take the strain off his diseased old heart.’
‘When I saw him this morning he seemed pretty much drugged.’
‘I’m obliged to use the normal stuff on him, Thom . . .’ she made normal sound like a dirty word ‘. . . his own doctor insists on that, but I help him in other ways. Why don’t you let me help you?’
‘I told you, I need exercise, rest and the regular mild pill. It’s what the doctors have ordered.’
The finger of her left hand rested on his knee as if to make a point. He felt its light pressure, but it wasn’t localized: it seemed to spread along his thigh.
‘I thought you understood me, Thom – doctors know very little, especially when it comes to the human psyche. My kind of healing deals with mind, body and spirit.’
Now her whole hand rested on his knee. He shifted, feeling uncomfortable, but she did not take her hand away. Her other hand found the back of his neck once more, and warm fingers slid beneath his shirt collar. It wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it felt electric, a gentle shock that hurried its way down his spine.
‘I can calm your nerves, Thom,’ Nell said quietly and, it seemed to him, sincerely. ‘I can cure whatever ails you, those headaches . . .’ her hand left his leg to touch his brow and her fingertips did feel wonderfully soothing ‘. . . I can give your leg strength again . . .’ she must have noticed his limp and inward-turning left foot when he carried her bicycle to the Jeep ‘. . . make your arm strong again . . .’ obviously she had noticed how he’d favoured his left arm when he’d lifted the bike ‘. . . and I can cleanse your spirit, Thom, I can make you feel safe inside your home . . .’
‘What?’ He took her hand away from his forehead, not forcefully, but firmly enough to make the message clear. ‘Why shouldn’t I feel safe there?’
She straightened and he thought he saw regret in her eyes, as though she blamed herself for breaking the mood.
‘You haven’t realized there’s something wrong inside Little Bracken?’ She regarded him with genuine curiosity.
‘It’s my home. There’s nothing wrong with it.’
‘Then how did that plate fly across the room and smash itself on the floor?’
‘A wind came through the door. The door was open, remember?’
‘I didn’t feel any wind.’ If she was annoyed, she did not show it. Rather, she spoke in sympathetic tones, as if concerned that he could not see the truth of it for himself.
‘We were preoccupied at the time.’
At least she smiled as she remembered. She argued her point though. ‘I’ve felt it before, each time I’ve visited.’
‘You’ve been inside Little Bracken before I came back?’
‘Only twice. Hugo asked me to dust and clean the place for your return. I stocked your cupboards and fridge the second time. That was when I sensed something bad there.’
‘In a cottage that had been empty for years?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, and neither should you.’
‘Why not? It’s not uncommon for some places to have their own moods or atmospheres, ’specially if somethin’ bad has happened in them. I don’t think Little Bracken likes people.’
He could not help his wry grin.
‘It’s true, Thom. How did you feel inside the mansion today? Didn’t you sense its misery?’
‘Sir Russell is dying there. Anyone who knows that is bound to feel something is wrong.’
‘It’s much more than that. Every room feels wretched. But I’m worried about you, Thom.’
Again her fingers nestled in the hair at the back of his neck, while her other hand rested on his thigh. He felt its heat through the tough material of his jeans.
He did not resist. Why should he? But he did delay.
‘Why . . . why would you be worried about me?’
‘Because you’re alone there.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with the place.’
‘Oh, but there is . . .’
Nell was not one to be diverted. She pressed her lips against his.
Now Thom did resist, but only feebly. His mind was full of questions: What was the matter with Little Bracken? And so what if he were alone – what could harm him? And why was she so keen to seduce him? And why the hell was he playing so hard to get?
He suddenly matched her pressure, kissing Nell hard, his lips moistened by hers, her tongue darting between his teeth, seeking his. He felt her hand against his neck, drawing him forward so that their kiss became almost painful; he felt her other hand move on his thigh, travelling further as if she knew of his swelling, and was eager to touch. His own hand found the bare flesh of her arm and her skin was firm but so smooth. He smelled her odd muskiness and somehow it roused his passion even more. Her fingers moved to the top button of his jeans, pushing against the rise beneath them, skilfully pressing against it, arousing him even more. Even with his mouth hard against hers, he drew in a short sharp breath – her breath – as the button was released. He gave out a murmur . . .
And felt a tingling vibration against his thigh.
He was confused for a moment, the rising passion stalled. The vibration again, like a tiny and painless electric shock, stronger this time. And then the sound and the understanding came together. His cell phone, a Motorola that was small enough to tuck into his trouser pocket without feeling a dragging weight. Then its ringing tone began.
Burrrp – burrrp. Insistent. Burrrrp – burrrrp.
It was Nell who cursed under her breath when he broke away and delved into his pocket.
‘Sorry,’ he apologized, although he was strangely relieved. ‘Might be important.’ He flipped open the mobile’s lid. ‘Hello?’
Nell sank back into the sofa, folding her arms across her chest, looking mean.
‘Thom? It’s Katy Budd. We forgot to arrange a time for tomorrow.’
Thom was surprised: it didn’t really matter to him what time he took his exercise, but he supposed the therapist had other clients to work around. (What he couldn’t know was that Katy, unmarried and currently without a boyfriend, had taken a particular liking to Thom. He was young, not unattractive, and lived alone in a beautiful location.)
‘Uh, yeah, so we did,’ he said quickly. ‘Any time’s good for me.’
‘How about nine thirty tomorrow morning?’
‘It’s really that urgent?’
‘What?’
‘Well, yeah, I can be there.’
‘At the cottage? Of course.’
‘Soon as possible then.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ll be there.’
‘Oh . . . right. Tomorrow then. Nine thirty.’
‘’Kay. ’Bye.’
Thom closed the flap and pushed the mobile back into his pocket.
‘Gotta go,’ he said.
‘Thom, not right now . . .?’
Yep. Sorry. Apparently, it’s urgent.’
‘Who was it? Is something wrong?’
‘Oh no, it’s nothing. Well, that is . .
He was already on his feet buttoning up his combats.
‘Are you runnin’ away from me, Thom?’ She looked angry, but the knowing smile was there, as was the mocking in her eyes.
‘You’re kidding. No, I’ve just got to be there, Nell. I told you.’
She rose and moved against him, her arms going around his waist. She pulled him tight and he felt the firmness of her stomach. Desire seemed to sharpen every nerve in his body once more, but something made him pull away. It was crazy, but he really was afraid of this woman, and he had no idea why. Instinct, his helpful, canny, little voice told him. There’s something dangerous about Nell Quick and you just haven’t worked it out yet. But it’ll come. Oh yes, it’ll come. He held her at arm’s length, the action non-aggressive but adamant. By her expression, he could tell Nell was amused, as though this was just part of the game. She made no further move towards him.
‘I’ll see you soon, Nell,’ he said, quickly turning away and heading for the front door.
‘Will you be all right?’ she asked after him.
That stopped him. He looked back at her, ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Will you be all right in the cottage? Will you be safe there?’
‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ He was confused, perplexed. She was making him nervous again.
And perhaps that was what Nell wanted for, although the smile remained, there was something cruel about her eyes.
‘No reason, Thom,’ she said. ‘Just a feelin’ I have. Instinct, you might call it.’ She said the word as though she had read his own thoughts about her. ‘Be careful tonight, Thom. It’s very isolated there in the woods.’
Thanks a lot, he thought, cold fingers tapping his spine.
‘I’ll be fine,’ he said, then left, suddenly eager to be out in the open.
Nell followed him to the door and, shadowed by the porch, leaned against the door-frame to watch him walk away.
He realized he was limping very badly.
Thom switched on the engine and drove off, carrying on down the narrow lane so that he could turn the Jeep around at a suitable point. Nell Quick’s house had been the last one in the row, only high hedges and fields further on. As he drove past on the return journey, he glanced at it and the windows were darkened, shadowed by the wild foliage around them. The place looked empty, bleak.
Thom suddenly felt drained of energy, as if he had overstretched himself. His left arm was numb, so he had to use the device on the steering-wheel with his right hand to take the turns, and his left foot kept slipping off the metal footrest. He concentrated hard to stop the foot turning inwards and silently cursed himself for his weakness.
Although tired, frustrated with himself, and perspiring freely, he was surprised to find he was not depressed; rather, his mood was edgy, his nerves taut, senses alive despite the weariness. It was almost like being on a caffeine overdose. And behind it all was a weird mood of expectancy.
But expecting what?
He had no idea. He did feel anxious, though, afraid even. He had the peculiar feeling that things were about to start happening, that events had suddenly shifted gear. It was inexplicable, but very real.
Something bad was impending, he just knew it. Something nasty was looming, but he couldn’t imagine what or why.
Nell took a small earthenware vessel from a kitchen cupboard and went back to the sofa. Most of the lock of brown hair she had surreptitiously snipped from the back of Thom’s neck with tiny nail scissors lay on the top edge of the cushion, directly behind where he had been sitting. The scissors, themselves, had been hidden in the palm of one hand when she had brought his lemonade, and it had been easy to rest them on the windowsill behind the sofa when they had done their job. Carefully she picked up the lock and dropped it into the bowl. Then, moving even closer, she searched for stray hairs, plucking each one from the sofa’s coarse material and placing them in the bowl with the mother lock.
When Nell was satisfied that she had every last one, she turned and sat on the edge of the seat, elbows resting on her knees, the vessel held up before her. Once again, the smile. But this time there was a different gleam in her dark eyes. If Thom had witnessed it, he might have thought it evil.
A sound from outside distracted her, a flapping of wings against a windowpane. Nell looked across the room in the direction of the back garden where she grew her herbs and plants. The magpie had landed on the windowsill and was cocking its black hooded head sideways to look through the glass.
Nell left the sofa and made space on the crowded table for the stone vessel and its contents. Then she went to the window.
Opened it.
WHEN THOM got back to Little Bracken it was all he could do to make himself a quick meal – a lasagna from the frozen packs stocked in the fridge, fairly tasteless but it filled the gap – before climbing the stairs, pulling off his clothes and all but collapsing on to the four-poster.
For a while he lay there, naked, staring up at the canopy over the bed and reflecting on the day’s events: Sir Russell, an enfeebled old man just waiting to die; Hugo, a cheerful buffoon to some, but a loyal friend to him. Thom remembered with gratitude the day Hugo had walked into the private room at the hospital, flowers held in one chubby hand, a broad grin like the Cheshire cat’s on his face, the cheer and optimism he had also brought with him. Hugo had taken care of all the medical expenses and waved a disdainful hand when Thom had promised to pay back every penny. He hadn’t known then that the Bleeth family was no longer as wealthy as it once had been, yet Bleeth Senior had paid for him through college and here was Bleeth Junior, Hugo, helping him with specialists’ fees and God knows what else. Thom could have just about managed to handle his hospital bills, but it would have meant selling the workshop – even in the backwaters, London rates were extortionate – and perhaps even selling off well-crafted pieces cheaply for the revenue. Thom had already decided that not only would he repay Hugo, but he would make him something special, a writing desk or a secretaire bookcase, something for him to prize. Thoughts of Hugo led to thoughts of Nell Quick, and he pictured her with her wild black hair and dark eyes, the mocking smile, the soft lips . . .
What was going on between his friend and this woman? Again he thought of Hugo’s inheritance, the house, the estate, whatever money Sir Russell had left. And if, as he suspected, they were engaged in an affair, then why would she come on so strongly to him?
His eyelids began to droop and his left arm and leg felt like lead weights on the bed. He had to make an effort just to pull the bedsheet over himself. More pictures, more thoughts, were whirling through his head. The wasp stings that had disappeared overnight, the beautiful girl by the lake, the wonderful lights, the weird grotesques . . .
He began to drift.
She was beautiful. She really was fantastically beautiful. The golden tresses caught by the sun, cascading around her petite face, reaching almost to her waist. The pale body, so slim but so wonderfully moulded with those small breasts and softly rounded hips, the long thighs whose beginnings bore no shade, no pubic hair, leading to her hidden, inner lips. Neck so graceful, limbs so sensual, hands so delicate in their intimate task, quickening as her pleasure increased, one hand leaving to touch the pink nipples of her little breasts. Tiny lights playing over her like incandescent butterflies.
This time he saw his own hardening, did not just feel it, for he was as naked as the mysterious girl, his body trembling, blood pounding beneath flushed skin. He was walking forward, going to her, and she did not seen afraid . . . nor shy . . . for her actions did not cease, they merely became more languid, enticing, her silver-violet eyes on his.
He knelt before her and watched, not daring, not wanting, to interrupt, and the lights around her frenzied, darting here and there, to and fro, touching his unclothed flesh, flailing him with swift almost-transparent wings, increasing his passion; and all t
She hovered over him, the lights between them brilliant in her shadow. Their reflections danced across her skin, bathing the soft points of her pendant breasts in different hues, washing her smooth stomach with spectral tints.
But before the breach between them closed, this inscrutably wondrous vision became something – someone – else. The golden hair turned to black, the delicate pink lips became scarlet, the slight breasts grew heavier, their tips darker, and it was Nell above him, lovely, lascivious Nell, who pressed close, her breasts cleaving to his chest, her nipples burning into his.
Her body was smothering his, her fleshy hips in touch with his hips, her stomach crushed against his stomach, the valley between her legs taking in his hardness. He felt the coarse hair at the top of her mound and knew it was as black as the hair that now fell over his face as she kissed his neck, her lips firm and at once firmer, becoming harsh, drawing nerve endings and tiny veins to the surface of his skin so that he gasped, an expression not only of surprise, but of delight also.
She trailed her mouth up to his face, nuzzling his chin, his nose, his brow, but not yet his lips. Nell raised her head to look down at him and her deep eyes studied his, her smile mocking as usual, but somehow adding to the exquisite tension. Something passed between them – a look, an indication of acquiescence on his part (but not yet submission, although that would soon come), a challenge on hers, and then she was upon him once more, her moist lips crushing his, her tongue forcing his lips apart, searching out his tongue. Tongues touched and pressed and slithered over each other’s, and just when he was eager for more, his head lifted from the grass to push against her, she pulled away, lowering her lips to his neck once more, leaving him gasping and panting, his hardness now a solid rod between them.