The Magic Cottage

members of a cautious advance party; a clearer area, obviously trampled down over the years, spread out ten or twelve yards from the building, with smaller trees—plum and crab-apple I thought, though I was no expert at the time—standing fruitless (and somewhat dejected, I also thought) closer to the cottage. On this side, because Gramarye was built into the embankment (or rise) the cottage appeared to have only two stories, and was as round as an silo. The apparent 'ground'-floor windows were arched at the top and Midge had already left me to press her nose against one.

'Mike, come and look,' she called, 'it's fabulous inside.'

I joined her and was as impressed as she—although 'fabulous' was stretching it a bit—for the curved walls accommodated three longish windows which must have enabled the room to capture the sun's rays throughout the day.

Opposite, and through an open doorway, I could make out a hallway with stairs leading up and down; presumably another door led off into the squared section of the building from the hall. Sunlight fairly glowed from the walls, no shadowed corners to be found, even the dirt on the windows unable to suppress the radiance from outside. It looked warm and happy in there, despite the bareness. And oh yeah, it looked inviting.

'Let's sit for a moment.' I'd noticed a weather-beaten bench tucked in the corner where the straight wall of the cottage peeled away from the circle; the wooden seat looked as if it had either taken root or had grown from the very earth itself.

'I want to go inside,' Midge replied impatiently.

'Sure, in a minute. Let's just take stock of what we've got so far.'

She was reluctant, but moved with me to the bench, where we sat and gazed out at the nearby woods. They seemed thick and impenetrable, but at that time not the least bit sinister.

'It's wonderful,' Midge sighed needlessly. 'So much better than I expected.'

'Oh really? Between you and me, I thought you expected quite a lot.'

A frown marked her face, but didn't make her any less pretty. 'I—I just knew instinctively it was going to be right.'

I held up a hand. 'Wait. We haven't been in there yet.'

'We don't need to.'

'Oh yes we do. Let's not get carried away here. The ad said in need of renovation, right? That might just be enough to push it over our price. The outside alone's gonna need a lot of repair, and God knows what the inside's like.'

'We can take that into account when we make our offer.'

'I think that's already been done by the agent. He told you over the phone the kind of price they're looking for, but unless we go under that we could have trouble finding the cash to make the place liveable.'

I was saying all the wrong things to Midge, but I had to make her face up to the reality of the situation. She studied the ground as though an answer might lie in the soil. When she looked up again I could see stubbornness had set in—no, not exactly stubbornness, Midge wasn't that kind of person; let's call it a quiet determination. She was generally pretty soft, pliable even (a facet that often annoyed me when her agent pressured her into accepting commissions she didn't really want either because of timing or subject matter), but underneath that lay a resoluteness which surfaced only when she knew she was absolutely right about something, or needed that particular trait to carry her through a difficult time. I suspected, in fact, that her quiet determination had been born out of bad passages in her life, and believe me, Midge had had some.

My arm went around her shoulders and I hugged her to me. 'Just don't want you to build your hopes too high, Pixie,' I said softly, using the nickname saved for tender moments. 'So far, I like the place myself, even though the location scares me a little.'

'It'll be good for your work, Mike,' she replied, and there was an endearing earnestness in her voice. 'It's what you need, away from all those distractions, those . . .'

She had paused and I said the word for her. 'Friends.'

'So-called 'friends.' And Gramarye will be so right for me, too. I just know I can work here.'

'You don't figure we'll get lonely?'

She shook her head emphatically. 'No chance. Not together, Mike, you know that. And have you already forgotten all those times we've talked of being away from everybody, somewhere out of reach, with no agents or musicians dropping in or sacking down for the night? Being lonely would be bliss. Anyway, I bet there's a lively community hereabouts. We'll soon make new friends, friends of a different kind though, and ones we can keep at a safe distance.'

'They might be too different for our liking.'

'We're in Hampshire, not Outer Mongolia. A couple of hours away from the city. They speak the same language here.'

'Maybe not quite the same.'

Midge rolled her eyes heavenward. 'You city slickers are full of it. You'll learn soon enough.'

'All right, but don't forget that today the sun is shining, the sky is blue—'

'There's not a cloud to spoil the view,' she rhymed.

'But when it is raining, when winter comes and it's freezing, or when we're cut off completely because of snow—'

'Mmm,' she murmured, snuggling up, 'that'll be lovely. We probably won't be able to leave the cottage for weeks and we'll have to have a roaring fire going to keep ourselves warm, or cuddle under bedclothes for days on end. lust imagine the things we can get up to to keep ourselves amused.'

Midge had a knack of hitting below the belt, my weakest point. 'Be sensible,' I complained.

'I am. I'll make things so cozy you'll become a hermit.'

'That's what I'm afraid of.'

'And I'll have to force you out into the harsh cold wind to bring back bread for the table.'

'You're not helping.'

She became serious again, but still smiled when she said, 'Feel this place, Mike. Close your eyes and really feel it. Gramarye is so good and so perfect for us.'

I didn't actually close my eyes, but a peculiar sense of well-being definitely rose inside, an intoxication that was very mild yet filling. No, not the kind that comes from a good toke, but something else, something more real, somehow more permanent. Say it was the warmth of the sun's rays, the very pleasantness of the day itself and my surroundings. Call it, even, the strength of Midge's own conviction flowing into me, a sensing natural enough to true lovers. At one time I'd have concluded it was only those influences. Not now, though. Oh no, not now that I know so much more.

'Let's look inside,' I said to avoid the final commitment, and Midge's smile only became more knowing. She stood and drew out the three labeled keys from her jeans' pocket. Dutifully she handed them to me, a gesture that seemed to say, 'Okay, fate is in your own hands and inside is where you'll find it.'

I took them and moved toward the back door with Midge close on my heels. Stopping before the marked and tired-looking old door, I held up the long keys and pondered on which one to try first. Two were cut the same, so I decided they would probably be for the front door. I pushed the odd one home and it fitted easily. But it wouldn't turn.

Neither would the next key. Nor the next, the second's twin.

I groaned. 'Looks like Bickleshift gave us the wrong set.'

'Let's try the front,' Midge suggested.

'Okay, but one of these has to be for this door if they're the right keys.'

We descended the curving steps carefully because of the moss and were soon under the open porch. I chose number one and inserted it into the lock to find it still wouldn't turn. Growing more frustrated I tried two and three again with no luck. The door wouldn't budge, even when I twisted the handle and used shoulder pressure. The wood creaked, but didn't move a fraction.

'Let me,' said Midge, pushing between me and the door.

'It's no good. The lock's either rusted solid, or Bickleshift made a mistake with the keys.' I examined the label and GRAMARYE was clearly typed.

She took them from me without a word and held one of the 'twins' up to her face for a second before