Sixty-One Nails Part 47

I sighed, wrestling with the theoretical realities. "Because she might have a lot of secrets of her own; because she might change in the wink of an eye and be someone different, someone I didn't know or someone else that I did, if I ever knew her at all. How would I know who she was?"

"How do any of us know? We only show the parts we want others to see. We might not be able to cloak it in magic or switch in a moment, but we can all be different people, if we choose."

"That's true I suppose, but it's hard to trust someone when you don't know who they are." And trust, as I had learned too late with Katherine, is where friendship and even love are founded.

There was a long pause while we walked along, side by side, in silence.

"You could get to know her," she suggested. "Yes," I agreed, "I might just try that."

We walked along and after a few more yards, her hand slipped into mine and we walked along companionably. We could have been out for an evening walk if it weren't for the dark box in Blackbird's bag. "Glamour has a kind of side effect," she said, apropos nothing in particular.

"It does? What kind of side effect?" I had visions of all my hair falling out or my teeth going green.

"It becomes second nature. "

"How is that a side effect?"

"You use it all the time and it becomes the norm. It becomes part of you."

"Why is that a problem?"

She stopped and I halted, waiting for her to carry on. Instead she looked pensive, worried even.

"What's the matter?"

"Niall, do you like the way I look?"

"Is it important? I mean you look lovely, but looks aren't everything."

"Do you? Because I can change it if you don't. "

"What would you change it to?"

"Anything. Anything at all. Blonde, brunette, buxom, boyish, fat, thin, pink, green."

"No, no. You don't need to change the way you look for me. You just need to look like yourself."

"That's the thing." She hesitated. "I don't know what I look like. I've had glamour since I was fifteen and I've looked however I've wanted ever since. You want me to look like I am, but I choose how I am. I don't know how not to choose."

"What happens if you just relax and let go?"

"Nothing happens. I stay like I am. I've been doing this for so long I can do it in my sleep, literally. "

"What do you want me to say?" I was bemused and rather at a loss for words.

"I just wanted you to know. It seemed important to you and I felt I should explain."

She walked along beside me again, but her hand didn't return to mine. I felt as if I should apologise again, but I wasn't sure what for. Because I had a.s.sumed that she looked like a retired lady and not a young woman or because she didn't know what she looked like any better than I did? It was hollow and I was sure if I said anything, it would sound it.

We walked down a gentle hill with a big brick farmhouse on our left. The hedges had recently been flail-cut and torn pieces of sticks and leaves were strewn across the roadway. It reminded me of my life.

As we walked down the hill things began to register with me. It was like a seeing a cloud that suddenly looks like a dragon or realising the vase you were looking at is really the silhouette of two faces.

I stopped and she came to a halt with me.

"Do you know where we are?" I asked her.

"We can't be too far away now. We must have walked a couple of miles and it's only about five to the village." She extracted the map from her bag and started unfolding it.

I walked past her a few paces, watching images come into line and visions fulfil themselves. "You don't need the map. It's here."

"We can't be at the village yet, it's another mile or so at least."

"Come and look."

She refolded the map and came and stood beside me, looking down a short access track at a pair of ornate iron gates attached to brick pillars with a large old brick farmhouse set out in a courtyard beyond them. The farm looked neat and well cared for. "Are you sure? "

"Look at the name."

The sign was for Forge Farm with a neat anvil depicted in the centre of the cast-iron oval sign. "There could be more than one. There were no end of forges and foundries in this area a hundred years ago. "

"Look at the roof."

Along the line of the roof were three iron doves, black and outlined against the darkening skyline. One was pecking while the other two were artfully engaged in each other. At the other end of the apex an iron cat stalked along the cap-tiles, ready to pounce on them. It was the cat from my vision. As soon as I had seen it from the road I had been certain.

"Sure?" I nodded.

"We'd better go and introduce ourselves then.

"Blackbird, before we do. I have another request, if you'll allow it?" I spoke gently, aware that the wrong word at this moment would lead to a rift between us, just when I thought we were getting closer.

"What?" Her answer was curt, but not harsh.

"Would you stay like you are now, just for a while, until I get used to it? I rather like you like that." She didn't say anything, but as we walked down the track towards the farm her hand curled into mine again. It was such a small thing, but it lifted my heart and I couldn't help the smile that came unbidden to my lips.

Eighteen.

The gates to the farm were a challenge. They were wide enough so you could drive a combine harvester through them easily. They were at least ten feet high at the outside, sloping down through an elegant curve to about seven feet in the middle. The foundations for the pillars must have been put in specially because they were cold forged iron and neither Blackbird nor I were going to touch them.

There was no bell or knocker. We could see there were lights on in the house but we were a good distance away so it was doubtful anyone would hear us if we called out. In America there would have been an intercom so you could get the gates opened electrically. This was Shropshire.

The problem was solved by a couple of dogs. They tore out of one of the barns as soon as we came close to the gates, baying and barking fit to wake anyone within a quarter mile. They were great big things with huge ugly heads, tusk-like lower teeth and coats the colour of burnt toffee, possibly some kind of mastiff. Their brakes weren't too good as they skidded and collided with the gates at the end of their run in a race to be first to bark at the visitors. The gates didn't even rattle. "Well, that should get us some attention," remarked Blackbird.

The dogs barked on for a good couple of minutes but no one came. They growled and ran up and down the gates, intimating that, if they could only get out, we would be dog-meat.

"OK, maybe not. Still, we don't have to put up with this racket." She turned to the dogs.

I don't know what she did, because it only lasted a second and I had my eye on the dogs. I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye as she shifted shape momentarily. The effect was instant and dramatic. Both dogs backed away from the gate, one turning and running back towards the farmhouse with its tail between its legs, the other backing off about ten yards, still barking, but with all the hackles raised down its back. Its back legs were down and braced. The bark had changed too, becoming darker, more urgent. "Brave dog," she remarked, nodding towards the one still barking.

"Doesn't help us get past the gates, though does it? "

"h.e.l.lo?" A figure emerged from the house, the other dog close on her heels. She'd obviously been cooking because she was dusting flour from her fingers. "h.e.l.lo!" I answered.

She walked across the yard towards us, having trouble because the dog stayed close to her legs, putting itself between her and us.

"Stupid animal." She pushed it away, but it was not budging from her. "Can I help you?"

"We're looking for Mr Highsmith," I called to her.

"Yes?" She looked at the dog, still growling and barking, well back from the gate. "Topaz! Heel!"

The dog glanced at her and then continued its barking.