Merlin's Wood (Mythago Wood) by Robert Holdstock

heed of Eveline’s wishes, then you may need to know it’s there.’
    Lights were on in the farmhouse, and the warm smell of garlic, herbs and red wine was on the air, suggesting a casserole under preparation.
    Rebecca was at the wood stove, shaking an iron pan which sizzled loudly. The table was set, a candle in the middle, a bottle of claret opened, one glass half full. She glanced round and smiled as Martin entered staring at her in some shock. ‘Won’t be long,’ she said.
    There was a note from her, discarded on the sideboard. It read, ‘
Hi early riser! 9am. Gone to Vannes for clothes food hair a few special little things. No idea how long I’ll be. Hope you’re having fun
.’
    ‘I’m sorry. I should have left a note for you before I went out …’
    ‘Why?’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘If you’d wanted me to share in what you were doing you’d have woken me. I hope you’re hungry. I bought far too much beef.’
    ‘I’m starving. I appreciate it. I haven’t eaten all day. Beck, you look … wonderful.’
    She removed her apron and stood across the table, grinning, her arms outstretched. ‘A transformation, eh?’
    ‘Very sexy. Not that you need clothes to be sexy, of course. I didn’t mean …’
    She laughed as he contorted through the words,saying, ‘Burble, squirm, burble. I know what you mean. Shut up and feast your eyes. It won’t last.’
    She had dyed her hair jet black, cut the fringe in a straight line and made three thin ringlets on each temple, each strand decorated with golden amber beads. Her black silk blouse left her arms bare. It was cut low over her breasts. Her skirt flowed fully from below her tight waist, a green fabric patterned with lines of tiny red and purple squares. She’d rouged her lips and applied make-up to her face. The etching of her skin was hardly visible, now, and in this illusion she had shed ten years of age.
    Amused by his scrutiny she laughed, ‘One small nod to vanity, one huge dent in the purse. Don’t worry, it’s just for fun.’
    ‘You look very … er … Romany?’
    ‘Earlier than that. A lot earlier than those travellers. You’ll see decorations like this on Bronze Age vases. But it’s how my mother looked, it’s how I remember her. A traditional look in the group of families. I wish you’d met her. I wanted to share a touch of her memory with you. May I please have a welcoming hug, now?’
    She came round the table, oak-brown eyes flashing with pleasure, a hint of passion. Martin reacted apprehensively, his whole body stiffening slightly. She saw this and frowned, then put her arms round him and kissed him, holding the kiss for a few seconds then pulling away, turning away.
    ‘Some wine? I opened it an hour ago. It should have caught its breath by now.’
    ‘Mm.’
    She passed him a glass, then raised her own. ‘To health.’
    ‘Health,’ he echoed and sipped the wine appreciatively. He raised the glass again. ‘To the traveller.’
    ‘Bright path, Eveline.’ She drained her glass and set it down, then leaned back on the table and folded her arms, looking at him curiously. ‘The question, then, is this: do you tell me now, or after we’ve eaten?’
    ‘Tell you what?’
    Rebecca laughed, but there was little humour there. She shook her head, saying, ‘Anxiety is a song that sings from eyes.’
    ‘French proverb?’
    ‘Thunder people
spiritlook
. It’s part of a long chant teaching how to read the inner songs when the words are unclear. In other words, body language and heightened sensory perception. What’s made you apprehensive all of a sudden? You seem almost frightened of me. You’re not regretting last night, are you?’
    ‘Of course not.’
    She came over to him quickly and put her arms round him, fixing him with her level gaze, dark eyes searching. ‘Where did you go today?’
    ‘Into the forest. With the old bosker. Conrad.’
    Rebecca smiled, ‘I’m glad he’s still around. I want to see him.