Death At Willows End Read online

  “Right, here we are,” I said, swinging the car back into my own parking space at the rear of the building. It was a small block of four privately rented flats, and I had one on the ground floor which luckily possessed a rear access. My unexpected travelling companion squelched out of the passenger seat, and moving with almost indecent haste I exited the car and moved across to unlock the back door into my private abode. I stepped aside and ushered her in, glancing quickly behind me as I followed her, hoping that no one was actual witness to what I was doing. I should mention that the rear access gave onto a small kitchenette.

  “Right,” I said, neglecting, as is my wont, to engage brain before opening mouth. “You'd better get those wet clothes off.”

  “What!”

  “Not here,” I added hastily. “Look, just across the hallway, that's the bathroom; I'll find you a dressing gown. There's a bolt on the inside if you’re worried, kick those wet things out, and I'll put them in the tumble-dryer. If you want a shower while you're in there I'll get you a clean towel.”

  She suddenly smiled, showing me once again the perfect set of teeth she possessed through the limp rat's tails of hair stuck all over her face. Up to that point she had been scowling and glowering at everything, including me, and the transformation really lit her face up. I saw that, half drowned or otherwise, she was physically an incredibly attractive young woman.

  “I'm not being very gracious am I?” she commented.

  I smiled back. “In the circumstances, can't say I'm surprised,” I answered gallantly, glad that she was thawing towards me, or at least just a little, “I'll get the dressing gown, you go on in.”

  She squelched off in the direction I indicated, and I dashed into the bedroom where I became heartily relieved on discovering that I had at least one clean towel that wasn't fraying out in the middle. I abstracted a dressing gown from my meagre wardrobe, and walked swiftly back towards the bathroom. The door was just partially open, and I had a brief mental picture of a very attractive young woman stripping off, which in turn immediately suggested everything else that I fondly hoped might go along with such an image. Fortunately common sense suggested that any ill-conceived overtures on my part might well result in more fireworks than I could cope with, and the whole concept was swiftly abandoned.

  “Here you are,” I called out as I threw the towel and dressing gown in. “Kick your wet things out here when you're ready.”

  “Thanks,” she called back, and seconds later I had the very briefest glimpse of a shapely calf as a soggy pile of wet clothing came slithering out towards me, “I'm taking you up on your offer of the shower,” and with that the door was firmly closed. I waited a few moments, and it was with an odd feeling of satisfaction that I did not detect the sound of the bolt being shot home. Some time afterwards she told me that she had been standing behind the door waiting with the bathroom stool held ready to beat my brains out if I had decided to try anything. However, that, as they say, is another story.

  I scooped up the sodden mass of clothing, went back out in to my kitchenette and threw it all into the tumble dryer. No doubt it could all have done with a good wash, and certainly it should have been put through the spin dryer before the tumble-dryer, but I'm no expert when it comes to doing washing, particularly women's things. Apart from that, I doubted she would want to spend that much time waiting around with no clothes on. After I'd set the dryer in motion I suddenly realised that I was hungry. This wasn't too surprising considering that I had been on my way to lunch when fate had intervened, so to speak. I looked in the fridge and discovered that I had some bacon. I also had eggs, and a large tin of beans, so I decided that I might just as well knock up a snack for the pair of us; after all, she could only say no, and she wasn't going very far until her clothes were dry anyway. I set to work with a will, and even found myself whistling, something I don't do very often without radio accompaniment I admit. I was just about ready to put the food out on plates when I suddenly realised she was standing behind me.

  “That smells good,” she commented, and without further ado she sidled in and took the chair situated on the far side of the small kitchen table from the one upon which I customarily sat, “particularly as I haven't eaten a thing since about six o'clock this morning.”

  Being six to eight inches shorter than me ,and probably about half my weight she looked a bit lost in my dressing gown, which she had firmly tied round what appeared to be a remarkably tiny waist, and her feet, naturally enough, were bare. I couldn't help but notice that she also had quite small feet with nicely formed toes. She looked fresh and pink from the shower, and her hair, although still a bit wet, certainly looked a hell of a lot better than it had done since she had climbed out of the water at the ford. Seen without hair draped all over them, I observed that her features were small and regular, and I saw no reason to revise my earlier view that she was physically an exceptionally attractive young woman.

  “Best I could do at short notice,” I responded, putting a plate in front of her. “If I'd known I was going to have company I would have laid on champagne.”

  “I'm quite happy to settle for bacon and eggs,” she said, and proceeded to tuck in like she was absolutely famished.

  I squatted down in the remaining chair and proceeded to attack my own meal.

  “If you don't mind me asking,” I spluttered, unfortunately forgetting that my mouth was full of food, “what were you doing down that road anyway; it's not a short cut to any place other than 'Cobblers Bottom' that I'm aware of?”

  “I was in a hurry, and I took a wrong turning,” she responded, “and before you ask; if there was a sign saying there was a ford, I certainly didn't see it.”

  “It’s set back amongst the trees,” I said, having by this time swallowed the food, “not very clear I agree, but just about everybody hereabouts knows it’s there. Not usually that much water in it this time of year either, but we've had a lot of rain recently. You're lucky you didn't get pushed a bit further downstream; it’s deep enough there to just about submerge a small car.”

  “I'll take your word on that,” she responded as if it was of no particular consequence.

  “Want me to locate a garage to get your car out of there?”

  “No hurry.”

  “If the local fuzz find it there there's bound to be a hue and cry?”

  “So what; not my car anyway.”

  I looked at her in astonishment. “You don't mean?”

  “I borrowed it,” she said, as if that explained everything. “It's my boyfriend's.”

  “I guess he's likely to become an ex-boy-friend when he finds out what's happened,” I observed hopefully.

  “He's 'ex' anyway; I told him where he got off this morning.”

  She said it in such a laconic manner that I stopped eating and looked at her again in complete astonishment.

  “I don't like being taken for granted,” she added, catching my expression. “I'd been thinking of dumping him anyway. When he tried to cut up rough I took his car keys.”

  “And he just let you walk out with them?”

  “He didn't have a lot of choice,” she smirked, “I kicked him where it would do him the least good, and either he's still writhing on the floor where I left him, or he's down at the local A & E.”

  I suddenly felt extremely glad that I hadn't chanced my arm earlier; just thinking about what she had said so casually all but brought tears to my eyes.

  “Look, I know it's none of my business,” I said after a few moments as she continued to wolf the food down like a famine victim, “isn't someone going to be missing you? I mean, you must have been going somewhere? Do you want to phone, or would you like me to drop you off some place?”

  “That's very sweet of you to be so thoughtful,” she said, flashing me a really attractive smile that made my heart do a distinct wobble, “but I wasn't going anywhere you could take me, and I certainly couldn't go visiting dressed like this, now could I?”

  “No, I suppos
e not.” I admitted.

  “What's your name?” she asked suddenly, leaning forward to help herself to a slice of bread and butter I had put out on a plate. In leaning forward the dressing gown gaped a little and my eyes nearly dropped down the cleavage. In the nick of time I thought of ex-boyfriend sweating in agony in A & E, and swiftly pulled my eyes away.

  “What?” I muttered stupidly. “Oh, sorry, I'm Neil, Neil Hammond.”

  “Hi Neil, pleased to meet you,” she responded, straightening up and attacking the bread. “I'm officially Miss Daniella Fortescue, but if you ever call me Daniella I'll black your eye. My friends call me Danny.”

  “May I take it that I am classified as a friend?” I asked tentatively, not being particularly desirous of acquiring a damaged peeper.

  “Well, I don't usually have lunch with a mere casual acquaintance whilst dressed only in a man's dressing gown,” she said with mock seriousness, “and as I've eaten your food, used your bathroom and messed up your car for you, I guess that just about qualifies you.”

  “Well, I must say that's a relief,” I said, and meant it. “So, what happens now?”

  “That depends.”

  “Depends on what?”

  “Well, for a start, it is obvious to me that this is a bachelor-pad, so it depends upon what your current lady-love will think of you sharing a cosy meal with a female possessing only a dressing-gown between her and her modesty?”

  “There is no 'current lady-love'.” I responded.

  She stopped and looked at me with a vaguely worried expression. “Oh dear, you're not....?”

  I glared at her and she seemed to get the message.

  “Well, then if it’s ok with you, I'll bide here until my clothes are dry,” she said blithely, “and then I'll trot off and find somewhere to stay for a night or two.”

  “Huh,” I exclaimed. “You'll be lucky!”

  “Why?”

  “For your information there are no hotels or boarding houses worthy of the name around this neck of the woods.”

  “Oh, that's awkward.”

  “I can always run you home,” I said, “or get you a taxi if you prefer?”

  She sat there looking at me pensively for a couple of moments as if weighing her options. I was weighing mine up also, but lacking the courage of my convictions I did nothing

  “Right now,” she announced abruptly, “and for reasons I'm not prepared to discuss, I don't particularly want to go home.”

  Still distracted by all the pointless options I was weighing, and with my usual penchant of failing to engage brain in time, words slipped out of my mouth before I had a chance to consider the possible consequences of what I was saying. “Well, if you don't want to go home, you can always stay here if you want to?”

  Like I've already said, I do have this tendency to engage vocal chords long before my alleged intellect has a chance to slam the brakes on. I sat back and waited for the inevitable scathing comment.

  “You serious?”

  I knew I couldn't back down without looking even more stupid than I already felt.

  “You can have the bedroom, I'll sleep on the couch in the lounge,” I said hastily, trying to smooth out the king-sized gaffe I had undoubtedly perpetrated. “Look, I don't want you to get the wrong idea, I-”

  “Who said anything about you sleeping on the couch being the wrong idea?” she asked with mock innocence.

  I looked at her a bit vacantly, trying hard to make up my mind if she was joking, leading me on, or just being sarcastic. Frankly, I'd never come across a female like this one before in my life, and I simply didn't quite know what to make of her. The alarm bells that had been ringing in the background ever since I'd invited her into my car now started ringing louder. She was radiating such confused signals that came across to me as an even mixture of ‘come on I’m all for it’ and ‘try it mate and I’ll break your neck’! Common sense said back out while I had a chance, but one look at those luscious lips, not forgetting the magnetic cleavage, and it was common sense that backed out.

  “I merely make a genuine offer, and only until you can find somewhere suitable,” I said a bit woodenly. “Just for the record, there are pretty strict rules on what one can do as a tenant here.”

  “Oh, come off it,” she laughed. “You’re not seriously expecting me to believe that you've never had a bird stay here with you once in a while?”

  “Of course not!” I said stoutly, and seeing the surprised look in her eyes I added hastily; “What I mean is, I’ve never , well, you know.”

  “Didn't I mention it?” was her response. “The other one has bells on it!”

  I decided that enough was enough. I knew that quite a few of my contemporaries had done what she was suggesting, and I had been ragged about my singular lack of conquests of the fair sex in the past. It was a sore point, and I resented her poking fun at what I considered to be my failings as a man.

  “Miss Fortescue, I've done what I can to assist you,” I said rather huffily, by now fully convinced that she was intent on making me feel even more inadequate that I actually was, “I have put myself to a considerable amount of inconvenience on your behalf, I've fed and given you a chance to dry off following an accident I'm convinced was entirely of your own doing, and if you can think of nothing better to do than-”

  “Oh dear,” she interrupted, her face suddenly becoming a picture of abject contrition. “I've been and put my dainty little foot well and truly in it, haven't I? Look, I'm genuinely sorry Neil, it's me and my big mouth; gets me into all sorts of trouble at times. You're quite right on all counts; I was driving much too fast; yes, you have really been a knight in shining armour in coming to my rescue, and I'm just a selfish pig with a big nose and a bigger mouth! Forgive me?”

  One look at that beautiful expressive face, the glistening eyes, the perfect teeth, and that almost wistful expression, I would have needed to have been made of brass to have resisted it. On second thoughts, even the brass might have melted.

  “I just didn't want you to think-”

  “Of course you didn't,” she almost cooed, “and it was very, very wrong of me to even think such a thing! You have been a perfect gentleman, and that's a fact. Not many of your sort about these days; at least, not that I've met anyway. Yes, I will be absolutely thrilled to accept your kind offer, but only if you are absolutely sure that I won't be putting you out?”

  There was nothing to be gained by standing on my dignity, such as it was, and there was so little of it anyway it would have been a very difficult task. I knew at once that attempting it would undoubtedly make me look even more stupid in her eyes than I did already. “I'll be delighted to have you,” I responded, realising a split second later the unintended double-intendre I had uttered which of course was the absolute truth, even though the last remaining shreds of my common sense told me she was likely to be trouble with a capital 'T', and I would be far better advised to throw her out while I still had the chance. I felt a bit like a moth looking at a candle-flame.

  “If anyone comes snooping,” she said coyly, “you can always say I'm your sister?”

  Good grief, if she was my sister I was already contemplating incest!

  “Just one thing,” she added in a sugary tone complete with the same sweet smile that tied my inside in knots and made my trembling knees dissolve into biological jelly.

  “Oh?” I had visions of her asking for a padlock, or bolt for the bedroom door, or exclusive rights to my bathroom.

  “Call me 'Miss Fortescue' just one more time and I really will blacken your eye,” she snapped, “The name's Danny, remember?”

  “I'll remember,” I assured her with almost indecent haste.

  “Good, I'm glad all that's settled,” she said, smiling once more in that devastating manner I was already getting to recognise. “Now, what's on the agenda for this afternoon?”

  For a girl who'd just been rescued from a river following a motor accident, transported heaven knows where in an unknown
vehicle of doubtful vintage, sitting in the home of a strange man whilst wearing no clothes, and having eaten half of his lunch, she certainly displayed an astonishing amount of sang-froid. It left me wondering if anything ever dented the sense of total self-belief that oozed from her like treacle from an upset tin.

  “I guess that at some point I will have to go back to the office,” I said, suddenly remembering what I was supposed to be doing, “but I won't be there long.”

  She looked at me in surprise. “Back to the office?” she echoed, “You don't look like an office-wallah to me; what do you do?”

  “Well, actually, I'm a design engineer,” I explained, whilst thinking that what designs I had in mind at that precise moment had little to do with engineering, “but right now I'm sort of helping a friend out while I look for a suitable career opening. Recession you know; not many jobs around for design engineers at present.”