material possessions, but where my wine's concerned I'm unbelievably cranky. If you caused an accident …” He shook his head glumly. “I wouldn't say much, but I'd silently despise you forever.”
“I'll steer clear,” I laugh. “I'll find a different source if I want to go boozing.”
Dervish smiles and leads the way up. The lights switch off automatically behind us, plunging the cellar into cool, precision gloom.
“And that's it.”
Back where we started, the main hall, beneath the giant chandelier. Dervish checks his watch. “I usually have dinner anywhere between five and seven. You can eat with me — I'm a nifty little chef, if I do say so myself — or do your own cooking and eat whenever you like. The freezer's stocked with pizzas and microwave dinners.”
“I'll eat with you,” I tell him.
“Then I'll shout when it's ready. In the meantime, feel free to explore, either inside or out. And remember — you can't come to any harm here.”
He heads for the wide set of marble stairs leading to the first and second floors.
“Wait!” I stop him. “You never showed me my room.”
Dervish slaps his forehead playfully. “You'll get used to that,” he chuckles. “I'm forever overlooking the obvious. Well, there are fourteen bedrooms to choose from — any except mine is yours for the taking.”
“You don't have a room set aside for me?” I ask, surprised.
“I thought about it,” he replies, “but I decided to let you choose for yourself. You can test out as many as you like. If you want to stay on the upper floor, close to me, you can — though the rooms there are quite modest compared to those on the first floor.”
He tips an imaginary hat to me, then trots up the stairs to his study.
Standing alone in the vast hall. The house creaks around me. I shiver, then recall Uncle Dervish's promise — I can't come to any harm here. I shake off the creeps before they have a chance to take hold.
Picking up my bag, which I dropped by the front doors when we came in, I climb the ornate stairs and go searching among the beautifully kept, expansive array of rooms for one that I can dump my gear in and call my own.
PORTRAITS
I DON'T expect to get much sleep the first night — new surroundings, new bed, new life — but surprisingly I drop off within minutes of climbing underneath the covers of the small first-floor bed I chose, and don't wake until close to ten in the morning.
I feel good as I use the
en suite
bathroom. Refreshed. The sun's broken through the clouds and is shining directly onto my bed when I come out of the bathroom. I lie on the covers and bask in the rays, smiling softly. For a moment I think of Gret's
en suite
… the rat guts … the start of the nightmares. But I'm in too good a mood to dwell on all that. Shaking my thoughts free, I head downstairs for a late breakfast.
I'm finishing off my cornflakes and munching my third slice of toast when Dervish enters through the back door. He's been jogging. Red-faced, sweaty, panting.
“I looked in … on you … earlier,” he gasps, rolling his neck around, jiggling his arms and legs. “Didn't have the heart … to wake you.”
“I don't normally sleep this late.” I grin guiltily.
“I should hope not.” He stretches, holds his hands over his head while he counts to ten, then relaxes, pulls up a chair, and sits. “Any plans for today?”
“I'm not sure,” I admit nervously. “I'm used to having nurses plan my days for me.”
“I've been thinking about school,” Dervish says. “Ideally I'd like to get you started quickly, but they're midway through the semester. You'd be playing catch-up from the second you sat down. I think it'd be easier if we waited until after the summer, when you can go in fresh with the rest of the class.”
“OK.” I'm relieved — I was dreading the return to school.
“If you want, I can give you some lessons, or we can enroll you for private tutoring,” Dervish continues. “You've
“I'll steer clear,” I laugh. “I'll find a different source if I want to go boozing.”
Dervish smiles and leads the way up. The lights switch off automatically behind us, plunging the cellar into cool, precision gloom.
“And that's it.”
Back where we started, the main hall, beneath the giant chandelier. Dervish checks his watch. “I usually have dinner anywhere between five and seven. You can eat with me — I'm a nifty little chef, if I do say so myself — or do your own cooking and eat whenever you like. The freezer's stocked with pizzas and microwave dinners.”
“I'll eat with you,” I tell him.
“Then I'll shout when it's ready. In the meantime, feel free to explore, either inside or out. And remember — you can't come to any harm here.”
He heads for the wide set of marble stairs leading to the first and second floors.
“Wait!” I stop him. “You never showed me my room.”
Dervish slaps his forehead playfully. “You'll get used to that,” he chuckles. “I'm forever overlooking the obvious. Well, there are fourteen bedrooms to choose from — any except mine is yours for the taking.”
“You don't have a room set aside for me?” I ask, surprised.
“I thought about it,” he replies, “but I decided to let you choose for yourself. You can test out as many as you like. If you want to stay on the upper floor, close to me, you can — though the rooms there are quite modest compared to those on the first floor.”
He tips an imaginary hat to me, then trots up the stairs to his study.
Standing alone in the vast hall. The house creaks around me. I shiver, then recall Uncle Dervish's promise — I can't come to any harm here. I shake off the creeps before they have a chance to take hold.
Picking up my bag, which I dropped by the front doors when we came in, I climb the ornate stairs and go searching among the beautifully kept, expansive array of rooms for one that I can dump my gear in and call my own.
PORTRAITS
I DON'T expect to get much sleep the first night — new surroundings, new bed, new life — but surprisingly I drop off within minutes of climbing underneath the covers of the small first-floor bed I chose, and don't wake until close to ten in the morning.
I feel good as I use the
en suite
bathroom. Refreshed. The sun's broken through the clouds and is shining directly onto my bed when I come out of the bathroom. I lie on the covers and bask in the rays, smiling softly. For a moment I think of Gret's
en suite
… the rat guts … the start of the nightmares. But I'm in too good a mood to dwell on all that. Shaking my thoughts free, I head downstairs for a late breakfast.
I'm finishing off my cornflakes and munching my third slice of toast when Dervish enters through the back door. He's been jogging. Red-faced, sweaty, panting.
“I looked in … on you … earlier,” he gasps, rolling his neck around, jiggling his arms and legs. “Didn't have the heart … to wake you.”
“I don't normally sleep this late.” I grin guiltily.
“I should hope not.” He stretches, holds his hands over his head while he counts to ten, then relaxes, pulls up a chair, and sits. “Any plans for today?”
“I'm not sure,” I admit nervously. “I'm used to having nurses plan my days for me.”
“I've been thinking about school,” Dervish says. “Ideally I'd like to get you started quickly, but they're midway through the semester. You'd be playing catch-up from the second you sat down. I think it'd be easier if we waited until after the summer, when you can go in fresh with the rest of the class.”
“OK.” I'm relieved — I was dreading the return to school.
“If you want, I can give you some lessons, or we can enroll you for private tutoring,” Dervish continues. “You've
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