The Wicker Tree (8 page)

Seduction in a wet climate has a long tradition of inspired improvisation. One has only to think of bundling, a Scots innovation where two young lovers were placed together in an open box but, to preserve their virtue, a wooden plank divided them from the chin down. This had given way in recent years to a custom imported from America, which was lending them the keys to dad's car. Virtue was no longer the aim. Stopping them mooning around the parental home while staying out of the ubiquitous rain, that was the point.

In the case of Orlando and Lolly, things moved at a pace he could hardly have imagined possible were it not for the fact that, later that day, she gave him an eloquent guide to Sir Lachlan's topiary. As they were proceeding up what the locals called the Willies Walk, she recalled for Orlando the genesis of this wildly erotic avenue: a whim of Sir Hamish Morrison (third of Tressock), the trees represented just some of the infinite variety of male organs that the French writer Rabelais had thought worth mentioning in his satirical fantasy,
Gargantua
. The topiary trees, she explained, were exceedingly ancient but greatly cherished by the Laird and his gardeners. In the wide variety of their shapes and attitudes each phallus had its own unique character.

'Reflecting a universal truth,' said Lolly. 'One never sees even a really similar one twice, does one? Well of course you wouldn't know. You're fairly obviously a hearty. But almost any girl would agree with me,' she concluded, as if quoting Germaine Greer rather than an old French satirist.

'Really?' said Orlando. Not a question. Playing for time. Feeling a sudden shiver of Scots Puritanism at the sound of the words issuing from Lolly's lovely unpainted mouth, that too-big humorous mouth quoting Rabelais. This talk, that mouth, this fabulous woman, that feeling Orlando had never felt before. If, impossible if, she will have me, let me make love to her, nothing, he thought, will ever be the same again. He decided he must, in spite of the turmoil going on in his mind, somehow keep up his end of the conversation. 'Odd though that they should all be more or less erect, don't you think?' he was slightly surprised to hear himself saying, then adding: 'I like the notion that they only assume these positions when you, Lolly, walk up this drive.'

Lolly stopped in her tracks and faced him, taking both his hands in hers.

'Oh PC Furioso, I know I'm going to like you. A lot. What a delectable thing to say. But there are some quite flaccid, pathetic ones halfway up the drive. You'll see. I'm afraid my presence leaves them quite unmoved.'

Direct though she could be, most of the time, Lolly possessed at least one of the ancient wiles of born coquettes – a talent to fashion useful surprises; to make the male caught in her web flounder a little.

'If I was a dress designer,' she was saying, 'I would bring back the cod-piece. It would make the fashion houses' fortunes. Think of all the precious materials and jewels a man would be prepared to have lavished on his cod-piece. There would be pin-striped ones with discrete silver clasps for businessmen. Imagine a pop star's, all glittery jewels and maybe a line of little tinkly bells which would sound like a tiny carillion when he got excited. Now this is the west wing. The body of water over there looks like a river, but is not. It is actually a reflecting pool and is only about two feet deep.'

Never having heard of cod-pieces before, it had taken a moment or so for Orlando to realise that she had not suddenly switched to Scotland's favourite North Sea fish but was still on the subject of the male member, though the context seemed obscure to say the least. They had emerged from the topiary, somewhat to Orlando's relief, and Lolly had started to describe those parts of the estate through which they were now passing. He noted that the castle would be very hard to burgle except by a really agile cat burglar, for all the great Georgian windows seemed to be on the upper floors whereas, at ground level, there were only heavily barred apertures dating from the castle's past role as a fortress. One exception to this lay on the south side of the building where a series of tall French windows opened out onto a flag-stoned terrace strewn with terracotta pots planted with herbs. One of these rooms was heavily shuttered from within, but, as it was dusk, Orlando noticed a rosy pink glow peeping through cracks in the shutters.

'What happens in there?' he asked Lolly.

For the first time, Lolly – who had expounded on the usefulness of the ha ha in keeping the deer away from the roses, on the rarity of the five pine trees ringing the lawn, each imported from a different continent, and on the hideousness of the Henry Moore sculpture of a disembowelled mother and her headless child – was suddenly perceptibly silent for a whole long moment.

'Mm?' she murmured, as if she hadn't quite heard his question.

'What happens in there?' he repeated, pointing to the windows.

'Nothing really. It's a ballroom that is almost never used.'

'Someone's left the lights on,' he said, just as he felt her arm slip through his.

'Guess so,' she murmured, steering him back towards the front of the castle. Her sudden closeness banished the room with the eerie pink light completely from his mind.

Sherry in the gun room was not what Orlando would have expected if he had had any grounds or previous experiences to lead him to expect anything in particular – except of course sherry. This was as nauseatingly sweet and sticky as he remembered it from the time when he had, as a child, secretly sipped the dregs from some left-over glasses after one of his mother's whist parties.

Lachlan dominated the conversation from the start with a series of penetrating questions about Orlando's opinion on the rules of rugby.

'Drop kick goals, Orlando – and I hope I may call you that?' said

Lachlan, assuming that anything he hoped was instantly fulfilled and getting a smiling nod from his guest. 'Don't you find it absurd that they should be worth three whole points? I'm referring of course to our match against Italy. Or was it Iceland?' He looked to Lolly for the answer:

'Close. The Faroe Islands.'

Orlando knew they were both wrong but saw no point in saying so. Lachlan went on as if rugby was almost as important to him as nuclear power or choral singing. Orlando, who guessed that Lachlan had not been above doing a little research into his background, was nevertheless flattered. More so, when the Laird reported that he knew, thanks to the ACC, of Orlando's key role in the Caledonian Inward Investment affair.

'No one in Tressock knows that you are not an ordinary Police Constable,' Lachlan informed him, rising after about half an hour to indicate that
Sherry in the Gun Room
was over. 'And of course no one will hear it from Lolly or me,' he added. 'I just wanted to assure you of that.'

Having made a polite but rather formal farewell to his host, Orlando walked part of the way home with Lolly. He left her making her way to the stable block above which she evidently had a flat. The shock of learning that someone, presumably quite high-up in the force, had told the Laird of his real mission at Tressock had been eclipsed by what had happened after, that magical moment when Lolly kissed him boldly on the mouth before leaving him.

Poetry was not a part of Orlando's life. He had never bought a book of poetry, but at school he had been subjected to a certain amount of verse and a few snatches of it, here and there, had stuck. Now, closing his battered front door behind him, shutting out the suddenly less than cruel world, verse came to his lips. He found himself almost singing it aloud to his stuffed aviary.

'To see her is to love her

And love but her for ever

For nature made her what she is

And never made another.'

He even knew that Rabbie Burns wrote that and that the poet was thinking of a unique girl. God knows Lolly was as unique a girl as he was ever likely to meet. She had promised to come out with him. When she gave him that memorable kiss on the mouth she had said: '
See you soon sweet constable.'

Going to bed that night, he thought only of her. What else was there to think about?

Shaving, the next morning, he found himself re-reading several times the elegant little embossed card she had slipped into his pocket. He had stuck it into the frame of his shaving mirror:

Loelia (Lolly) Morrison, BA

PO Box 521, The Stables

Tressock Castle

Roxburghshire

it read, before providing telephone, fax and e-mail details.

He had to admit that he found the Bachelor of Arts slightly intimidating. His own two A levels had got him into the police college, from which he had graduated very creditably. But a BA labelled her, in his book, an intellectual. Someone must shag intellectual women, he assumed, but he hadn't imagined himself doing so. It was a slight set-back. While it no way made her any less gorgeously desirable physically, there were bound to be gaps in between their lovemaking when conversation was inevitable and one thing he really couldn't talk to her about was his undercover work. But then again, perhaps that was the advantage of the ACC having told Sir Lachlan what he was doing in Tressock, and Sir Lachlan having informed her of it.

Starting his day in the Police Station, checking out the new missing persons lists, filling in the voluminous report forms required for almost every misdemeanour he had encountered in Tressock, and fortunately there weren't that many, his mind returned to Lolly and planning his first date with her. There was a cinema at Kelso. He checked what was showing and what the reviewers in the Sunday paper had said about the films. During his lunchtime break he went up to the Grove and consulted Peter, the publican, who provided a list of local restaurants in what the credit card leaflet blurbs call the 'fine dining' category.

He telephoned her as soon as he got back to the station. She was out but he left a message with a giggling girl – one of Lolly's under grooms, he supposed. Lolly called back almost at once.

'Is it a police matter?' she asked.

'No. I just wanted to ask you out to dinner. Go to the cinema perhaps. If you're free sometime. One evening. Whenever you can make it.'

'Oh Orlando. I'd love to. But not this week.'

'Not this week?' It was Tuesday. Did she mean Saturday? Did she mean next Monday?

'The blacksmith's here all week. Lachlan and Delia are away. They'll be back on Monday. Next Monday?'

Think of all the hours we'll be sleeping apart till then, Orlando wanted to yell down the phone. How can you bear it Lolly? But he said:

'Monday then. About six o'clock? Great!' he hung up, fondly believing he had sounded like Mr Cool, with five other girls to call now she had said 'wait'. But in Tressock, where everyone seemed to know everything about everybody else, he realised that she probably knew the truth. Five – six days to go. Meanwhile there was always the bloody cult to investigate.

WHEN THE LIMO finally returned them to their hotel after the concert, Beth and Steve were both in a state of elation, the high that comes after performing or witnessing a hit show. '
The Redeemers'
Messiah
and their lead singer Beth Boothby's sublime voice blew the capacity audience in the cathedral away
,' reported the BBC radio news programme. Steve would never forget the excitement of that colossal standing ovation at the end. Beth was still feeding upon it, that power to move people so much. She only worried slightly that her plain black dress was not quite adequate for the occasion. Steve just couldn't wait to get out of his formal suit and tie.

Terry Buckhauser, the Redeemers' co-ordinator, over from Texas just for the concert, had talked to them both in their limo as it was taking them to the Dome, the Grand Hotel's real fancy restaurant where Lachlan and Delia were giving a reception for Beth. Terry told them how terrific the concert had been and how good for America's image it was to have something other than war to export right now. 'Not that I am suggesting it is anything but a just war,' he said hurriedly, adding: 'God certainly wants us to punish those evil-doers out there. But right here in Scotland you'll be facing, when you start going door to door, preaching God's word, probably a very different reaction. You mustn't think you're going to get quite the reception you got in that cathedral. But I know you're brave people. You'll find some hostility, no doubt. But these Scottish, they're basically kind, decent folks. You'll find that too. I'm sure of it.'

When she entered the small lobby of her suite, Beth found banks of flowers, in baskets, pots and wrapped in fancy paper; all tributes for her performance. Steve was waiting for her, watching the television coverage of the reception from which she had just come, which was still going on down below. Breathlessly excited, she ran towards him, and he, equally excited, caught her in his arms, swinging her off her feet.

'Steve, I just cannot believe how those folks can talk,' babbled Beth. 'I mean they're just so kind and enthusiastic but like so totally polite… it's awesome… in that amazing accent of theirs.'

Steve, dressed now in jeans and a T-shirt, laughed at her slightly incoherent babble. 'You're just used to kids, honey. Fans that are kids and teens.' He was looking at the television showing the milling crowd, and a presenter interviewing Lachlan and Delia. 'Those dudes are old.

But boy did they love you. Wow!'

'So how about you, cowboy? That singin' gal is the new me. D'you still love me?'

For answer he grabbed an open bottle of champagne he had been drinking and took a gulp of it from the neck. He put his mouth to hers, letting the champagne flow in. Beth went slightly pop-eyed as she tried to gulp it down, and they were both spluttering and laughing and falling on the bed, Steve on top of Beth. Suddenly they were both following their strong instinct to make love to each other, his hands on her thighs, her open mouth hungrily seeking his. Steve whispered teasingly: 'I loved you when you had braces on your teeth. And I love you now you're the most beautiful and talented woman in Scotland.'

Beth's dress was up to her waist now. She suddenly wrenched herself away from him, sitting bolt upright, stretching her legs to plant her feet firmly on the floor again. She grabbed his silver ringed hand in her silver ringed hand, and thrust them close to his face.