her.
At least anger was warming. When she decided she had enough logs indoors to last for a while she walked around outside at the back of the house, her hands tucked into her sleeves. The wind was blowing the top snow in spiralling flurries, and several times the frozen surface gave way and she was up to her knees in softer snow.
She stayed close to the house. She had never taken a good look at the back before. There were four windows up there, which must surely mean more than one bedroom, and although Duncan Keld said there was only one bed there might be a camp-bed, or even sheets. It would be lovely to wrap herself up in a sheet instead of that hairy smelly travelling rug.
The door at the bottom of the stairs creaked slightly, but the typewriter probably drowned that, and the sound of her footsteps on the stone steps. Two doors led from the little landing at the top of the stairs. Pattie opened one and closed it very quickly because it was obviously Duncan Keld’s bedroom and she had no desire to go poking around in there. She gave a little grimace which she couldn’t have explained, because the glance had shown it to be fairly tidy with white sheets on a turned down bed.
The second room was big, at least twice the size of the first, very cold, and empty except for a couple of old trunks. The walls were white and the roof beams were black and in summer it would have been pleasant with windows both sides letting in the light, but it didn’t look as if it was in use summer or winter. There wasn’t even a rug on the bare boards of the floor.
Pattie breathed on one of the windows to melt a peephole, rubbing the frost away and looking out over the unbroken white landscape. It was the most desolate scene she had ever seen, like a dead planet, and she thought how wonderful it would be to spy a snowplough in the distance, or helicopter in the sky— although could helicopters land on snow? There wasn’t a helicopter. There wasn’t even a bird. And she would have to go down to the fire because she was shivering again.
She got through that day thanks to the magazines. There were actually times when the articles and pictures transported her for a little while, and time passed, and when the light started to fade she read by the firelight, moving closer to the flames.
She saw Duncan Keld lighting the lamp, then he went into the kitchen and she thought, that’s another day nearly through, now for the night, only the nights are worse, and automatically she went to hold her amulet. But it had gone. She was no longer wearing it, and she fumbled frantically round her throat as though the chain might have slipped inside the high neck of her sweater. Then she jumped to her feet and pulled off her jacket, but it wasn’t there, and she stared around on the chair and on the rug and in the circle of firelight where she had spent most of the day, her head jerking from side to side, her eyes wild.
Her sense of loss was enormous. She would have been heartbroken at losing it any time, but here, where she was so miserable and under such strain, it tipped the balance of her self-control into hysteria so that she hardly knew what she was doing.
But she had to find it again, she knew that, and she had been upstairs. So she ran up the stairs, into the big empty room where through the failing light she could see nothing on the floor but the faint mark of her own footsteps in the dust.
Oh God, she thought, outside! I went to the woodpile how many times? I walked around. I could have dropped it in the snow. The chain was so fragile, I must have weakened a link. Last night I nearly jerked it off.
It had been snowing again since she brought in the wood. It would be covered and it was getting dark: she would have to wait till morning, although it could still be in the house. She had been in the kitchen, to the loo, earlier she had walked around looking for something to read, opening a cupboard and finding the magazines. She was by the
At least anger was warming. When she decided she had enough logs indoors to last for a while she walked around outside at the back of the house, her hands tucked into her sleeves. The wind was blowing the top snow in spiralling flurries, and several times the frozen surface gave way and she was up to her knees in softer snow.
She stayed close to the house. She had never taken a good look at the back before. There were four windows up there, which must surely mean more than one bedroom, and although Duncan Keld said there was only one bed there might be a camp-bed, or even sheets. It would be lovely to wrap herself up in a sheet instead of that hairy smelly travelling rug.
The door at the bottom of the stairs creaked slightly, but the typewriter probably drowned that, and the sound of her footsteps on the stone steps. Two doors led from the little landing at the top of the stairs. Pattie opened one and closed it very quickly because it was obviously Duncan Keld’s bedroom and she had no desire to go poking around in there. She gave a little grimace which she couldn’t have explained, because the glance had shown it to be fairly tidy with white sheets on a turned down bed.
The second room was big, at least twice the size of the first, very cold, and empty except for a couple of old trunks. The walls were white and the roof beams were black and in summer it would have been pleasant with windows both sides letting in the light, but it didn’t look as if it was in use summer or winter. There wasn’t even a rug on the bare boards of the floor.
Pattie breathed on one of the windows to melt a peephole, rubbing the frost away and looking out over the unbroken white landscape. It was the most desolate scene she had ever seen, like a dead planet, and she thought how wonderful it would be to spy a snowplough in the distance, or helicopter in the sky— although could helicopters land on snow? There wasn’t a helicopter. There wasn’t even a bird. And she would have to go down to the fire because she was shivering again.
She got through that day thanks to the magazines. There were actually times when the articles and pictures transported her for a little while, and time passed, and when the light started to fade she read by the firelight, moving closer to the flames.
She saw Duncan Keld lighting the lamp, then he went into the kitchen and she thought, that’s another day nearly through, now for the night, only the nights are worse, and automatically she went to hold her amulet. But it had gone. She was no longer wearing it, and she fumbled frantically round her throat as though the chain might have slipped inside the high neck of her sweater. Then she jumped to her feet and pulled off her jacket, but it wasn’t there, and she stared around on the chair and on the rug and in the circle of firelight where she had spent most of the day, her head jerking from side to side, her eyes wild.
Her sense of loss was enormous. She would have been heartbroken at losing it any time, but here, where she was so miserable and under such strain, it tipped the balance of her self-control into hysteria so that she hardly knew what she was doing.
But she had to find it again, she knew that, and she had been upstairs. So she ran up the stairs, into the big empty room where through the failing light she could see nothing on the floor but the faint mark of her own footsteps in the dust.
Oh God, she thought, outside! I went to the woodpile how many times? I walked around. I could have dropped it in the snow. The chain was so fragile, I must have weakened a link. Last night I nearly jerked it off.
It had been snowing again since she brought in the wood. It would be covered and it was getting dark: she would have to wait till morning, although it could still be in the house. She had been in the kitchen, to the loo, earlier she had walked around looking for something to read, opening a cupboard and finding the magazines. She was by the
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