‘Thank you. The countryside is full of odd little corners and forgotten gems like this. We were lucky to find it.’ Ardwyn returned with a glass of water, and Dennie sipped.
‘If you don’t mind my asking, why do you need an allotment if you’ve got a whole farm?’
‘This place was so badly run-down when we found it that we worked out it’d be cheaper to level it and start again from scratch, but farming’s a long-term investment and we just don’t have the kind of cash to jump-start this place to make it a going concern. The allotment’s the next best thing – a bit more manageable.’
‘I’m impressed that you have time for both. If you don’t mind my asking, what does Everett do?’
‘He’s a security consultant,’ Ardwyn replied smoothly. ‘He works from home a lot and can pick and choose his hours. We’re both so lucky not to have to deal with the whole nine-to-five rat race.’
‘And you?’
‘Oh, I manage this place, which is more than enough of a full-time job, believe you me.’
‘It must get lonely, though.’
‘Well, I do have plenty of visitors!’ she replied with a little laugh that was meant to sound playfully teasing. ‘And the village is only just down the road. Plus, I like my peace and quiet. It gives me plenty of time to read and draw.’
‘Oh! Is that one of yours?’ Dennie pointed to a pencil sketch that had been pinned to a noticeboard next to the fridge. ‘It’s very good.’ The image was a statue of a woman with loose robes draped over the shoulders of her otherwise naked form, with a crown on her head, a necklace about her throat, her right hand on her hip and holding a staff like a shepherd’s crook in her left. She was gazing off to one side in imperious disdain, and there was nothing as far as Dennie could see to distinguish it from a thousand other similar classical statues except that the woman’s right foot was resting on the severed head of a boar.
‘It’s Circe,’ said Ardwyn. ‘The statue of Circe at the Louvre, actually, sculpted by Charles Guméry in 1860. Do you know the story?’
‘Not really, no,’ Dennie replied, surprised – this wasn’t the kind of conversation she’d expected to have in a farm kitchen in rural Staffordshire.
‘Circe was a sorceress, the daughter of the sun-god Helios, and Hecate, mother of all witches. She lived on an island called Aeaea where she perfected her skills in magic and herb-lore, bothering nobody, until Odysseus came sailing on his way back from the Trojan War. Faced with a crew of battle-hardened Greek sailors who were likely to gang-rape and then kill her, she used her powers to turn them into swine – all except Odysseus, of course, who had to resort to help from the god Hermes to defeat her. Hermes gave him a magic herb called “moly”, which we know as the snowdrop, that would make him immune from her magic. And so basically he raped her at sword point, made her restore his crew to their human forms, then lived on her island for a year, forcing her to bear his children while he was supposed to be trying to find his way home to his loyal wife in Ithaca. Meanwhile Circe, of course, has been written as the enchantress and temptress in all of this.’
‘No big surprises there,’ said Dennie.
‘No. But here’s an interesting thing. The transformation of men into swine has been interpreted by some as a parable of the way that drink and drugs can degrade a person’s capacity for rational thought. The bulb of the snowdrop contains a substance called galantamine, which is prescribed by doctors for the relief of certain forms of mental dissociation such as Alzheimer’s.’
Dennie felt her blood run cold and did her best to cover it with a laugh. ‘That’s incredible! How do you know all of this?’
‘I told you, I like to use the peace and quiet to read as well as to draw.’ Ardwyn went over to a Welsh dresser that was crammed with bottles and jars of every shape and size, selected one, and brought it back to the table. Rattling around inside were what looked like a handful of dried peas. ‘These are dried snowdrop bulbs. Now I don’t want to interfere – I’m not a doctor and I’m certainly not judging – but, if you don’t mind my saying so, there have been a couple of times like Friday night when you seem to have been a bit, oh, I don’t know…’
‘Off my trolley? Gaga? Ready for the men in white coats?’
‘I was going to say “confused”. These might help with that, is all I’m saying. Dennie, the last thing any of us wants is to see you hurt or in hospital because of another incident like that. I mean we nearly ran you over! I feel terrible!’
When had Ardwyn come to be one of ‘us’ along with Lizzie and the rest of Dennie’s friends and relatives, she wondered, instead of ‘them’? It was all said with such solicitude and care, but Dennie couldn’t help feeling the iron of a threat lurking under the fleece of her soft words.
What she actually said was, ‘That’s very kind of you, but I think I’ll trust to the traditional remedy of tea and gardening for the moment.’ She finished her tea, pushed her plate away with a sigh of satisfaction and got to her feet. ‘I’d better be on my way,’ she said. ‘I feel like I’ve imposed on your time too much already. That cake really is wonderful. Enjoy the veg, and don’t worry about the box.’
Ardwyn saw her out of the back door where Dennie untied Viggo from the clothes hoist. ‘Just out of curiosity,’ she said, as she wrapped his leash around her hand. ‘Which estate agent found
