Country Pleasures by Primula Bond Page A

She’d never been good with blood. The sight of it made her sweat. Still with her eyes closed, she tugged off her drenched coat and shook her hair in wet ropes down her back.
    â€˜I was rude,’ she said into the floor. ‘If we’re going to be closeted away in here until the rain stops, I should say I’m sorry. But I wasn’t expecting to bump into anyone. It’s been derelict up here for years.’
    â€˜I know. It’s going to take a lot of work to sort this place out. I’m sorry, too, for alarming you.’ He tried the light switch, but nothing happened. Then she heard his feet rustling through the straw. The dry scent of old hay wafted into her nostrils. He stopped. ‘The natural light’s not very good, but I wonder if there’s something familiar about you.’
    His voice was right up by her face, tickling her ear. The hay bale wobbled as he sat down next to her.
    â€˜What?’
    Janie lifted her head. It felt better. She felt better. This was the first moment since Sally’s descent on the cottage with her fizzing urban energy and her teasing, tormenting tales, that Janie had felt some calm. The heat was still there, resting in her veins, but it made her limbs languid. She was so calm that she was pinned to her hay bale like a butterfly.
    â€˜That dark-red hair of yours, colour of claret. I’ve seen hair like this before. Never got close enough to smell it, though, in the old days. Tell me, what is that smell? Rain, mixed with nervous female heat and what? Marigolds?’
    Janie’s mouth dropped open. In the dull light hisspecs were like blank screens. Behind them she could just make out his eyes, fixed like beads.
    â€˜How would you know that?’ she asked. ‘As it happens, you’re exactly right. It’s my shampoo. It has marigolds in it.’
    â€˜I told you. It’s either the smell or the colour that’s familiar. And so are you, though I can’t put a finger on it yet.’
    â€˜You’re mistaken. I’m not from round here.’
    â€˜Nor am I, but you knew this farm was derelict.’
    â€˜We used to visit, and play around here as kids. My cousin and his friend. We used to think old Maddock and his sons were evil trolls. They used to chase us with their pitchforks. Once the whole tribe came after us with a gun.’
    â€˜I don’t blame him,’ said the stranger. ‘You were probably ruining the harvest and frightening the livestock.’
    â€˜Yes, we were pains in the arse, but nobody could say I was frightening the livestock today.’
    â€˜You frightened me.’
    Janie laughed. He smiled back, his glasses glinting. He slid off the bale and squatted down in front of her, then balanced his hands on either side of her thighs. His oilskin jacket creaked across his shoulders as he sniffed at her again like a gun dog.
    â€˜I ought to call you Marigold,’ he said.
    â€˜And I ought to call it a day,’ replied Janie, swallowing her laughter and pulling back. She glanced towards the door, where the rain was bucketing down. There was no light out there, not even a sickle moon. She had no idea what time it was.
    â€˜You can’t, not yet, you have been injured. Head injuries need rest, and relaxation.’
    â€˜Head injury? It’s a tiny cut from a rafter!’ protested Janie.
    â€˜A rusting metal rafter. You can’t be too careful. And this storm is doing nothing to clear the air, is it?’ The stranger wiped his hand across his face. ‘If anything, it’s getting hotter in here.’
    Still staring at her, he pulled his heavy jacket off, taking the tweed cap with it, and letting everything fall in a wet heap behind him. He looked younger without the ‘Farmer Giles’ outfit; not much older than her, in fact. He wore a faded blue T-shirt, so old and loose that she could see the ropes of muscle in his deeply tanned neck and shoulders, and a pulse