Chapter II.4

'You are so very lucky, my friend,' said Dentressangle, 'We are finding you just in the Old Nick of time.'

Although Loofah had not noticed the other men leave, the two of them now seemed to be alone in the woods. The Frenchman was still supporting his arm as they walked, even though he now felt perfectly fit.

'I was trapped. The warmness and the milk—I would have stayed forever.'

'No, not forever,' said Dentressangle, in a heavily ominous tone.

Two insect nurses lifted a tiny baby from the folds of an oversized lime green tee-shirt and carried it towards a hungry rubber-lipped mouth; Loofah shuddered and shook his head to dislodge the last clammy globs of the memory from the inside of his skull.

'You are un étranger here,' his companion went on, 'and there are many dangers you are knowing not of. It is not good for you to be without the friends.'

The Frenchman had thankfully pocketed his sunglasses and revolver and now looked more like a fashion conscious undertaker than a gangster. Also the golden sheen was returning to his pallid skin, as if he were being quick-tanned by the early morning light that filtered through the thick foliage.

'I see that now,' said Loofah, 'But it is sometimes difficult to know who is a friend and who is not.'

'I am your friend, you can be having the sureness of that.'

'You certainly saved my bacon back there, and I am very grateful to you.'

'It is rien, really,' said Dentressangle modestly, 'But please, you must be très careful—remember that you are having the enemies as well as the friends.'

'Enemies? I don't have enemies, do I?'

'What about Monsieur Stobart and Mademoiselle Leggett?'

'Are they my enemies? I mean real enemies.'

'They have tried to kill you—is this not real enough? And then there is the autre one, the one they have sent you to chase.'

'Him?' said Loofah with a shudder, as something stalked through his mind like a dark demon.

'It is wanting to destroy you, it is a créature of great evil. Do not be forgetting about the kittens, or the pauvres little enfants and the machine-gun.'

'You mean the puppies, and it wasn't a machine gun, it was a—.'

'And also the autre foul monstre who works with your reflection-man.' Dentressangle's voice trembled as he spoke, as if he were being stalked by his own demon. 'Evil, totally and complètement evil.'

For a moment the Frenchman stood facing Loofah, his eyes luminous with the pale light of a supernatural loathing. Loofah shivered and turned away quickly; he had seen that baleful light once before, in another's twisted visage—but stamped down hard on the nascent memory before it had time to form.

'Come, my friend,' said Dentressangle, breaking his unwholesome reverie, 'It is best not to dwell on these nastinesses.'

'And these are your enemies, too?' asked Loofah, 'Mr Stobart? The—the other one and his allies?'

'Naturelement. These are bad people and I, Norbert Dentressangle, will always be opposing the forces of badness.'

They walked in silence for a while. The chill morning air washed through Loofah, cleansing the last vestiges of filth from his body. Even the light had a white freshness to it, as if all the tiredness were being filtered out as it trickled through the canopy. When Dentressangle eventually spoke, his tone was especially serious and sincere.

'My friend, you are knowing that you are très welcome here and I will be doing everything I can to help you. But you must aussi be knowing that it is very dangerous for you ici, very dangerous indeed.'

'You think I should go home?'

'I would hate to be the no more seeing of mon chèr ami—but yes, it would be for the best.'

'Which means I must find—.'

'Exactement,' said Dentressangle, with a solemn nod.

'But as I told you last time, I really don't know anything about this weird woman.'

'In your own temps, my friend, no pressure. You are having your reasons for not going to her right now and this, of course, I respect.'

'Norbert, please believe me—.'

'You are, after all, The Seeker. It is not pour moi to be questioning your actions.'

Loofah opened his mouth to speak again, but gave up; the Frenchman had been pursuing this theme relentlessly for a good fifteen minutes and seemed utterly impervious to Loofah's protestations.

They had now reached the edge of the wood and Dentressangle was climbing a neat stile into a field, an emerald ocean of grass where giggling waves and ripples chased each other across the surface, fleeing the playful breeze. Far away on the opposite shore was a bank of stately trees that shielded a small collection of affluent homes, with only their orange tiled roofs and multiple brick chimneys visible above the foliage.

'Although if I were being you,' continued the Frenchman, stepping down onto the shimmering green water, 'I would not be delaying for too much of the longness.'

'Oh?'

'It would not be good if the evil one was finding her first.'

A cold hand closed around Loofah's innards—but the chill in his bowels was quickly swamped by an uprush of hot spleen.

'Him? How can he find her?' he cried, 'I'm The Seeker, not him! It's for me to find The Woman Who Looks Both Ways—not him!'

'You—yes. But the other is knowing also where she is—it too can find her.'

Loofah scowled and hunched his shoulders, stamping onto the stile.

'Are you sure about that, Norbert?' he asked, 'It's what Miss Leggett said, so it can't be true, can it?'

'Pas de doubt about it, I'm afraid.'

'Government sources?'

Dentressangle nodded. 'And if l'autre is finding her before you…' he said, leaving the sentence hanging ominously.

The stile tried to unbalance him with a bit of half-hearted swaying but Loofah ignored its feeble efforts, giving the cross-piece a vicious kick as he as he swung over.

'But then,' the Frenchman went on, 'who am I to be telling you what to do? I am, after all, rien more than a humble official, ma place is to serve not to command.'

'So you work for the government, then?'

'For my felonies,' said Dentressangle, 'And proud to be doing so.'

'Like the Emergent—.' Loofah stopped himself, realising almost too late that he did not want to mention the little animal.

'Like the what, my friend?'

'The—er—emergency services,' stammered Loofah quickly, 'The police, the fire brigade, all that lot—government people, same as you.'

'Fire brigade?' sneered the Frenchman, bridling, 'You think that I am putting out the run away bonfires and rescuing the little pussy-chats from les arbres? Pah! I am part of the Secretariat itself, the executive leg of the government.'

'The Secretariat? That does sound very important, I must say.'

Dentressangle, obviously mollified, shrugged modestly. 'The position is carrying certain—how you say?—responsabilitées, but really I am a servant of the public, no more than this. My duty is très simple.'

'Your duty?'

'To keep you out of the way of harm, to protect you from those who would be interfering with your grand quest.' Dentressangle smiled, humility squatting awkwardly on the native arrogance of his features. 'We stay with you now, me and mes collègues, for the after of you looking—I think this is best, yes?'

They walked side by side across the rippling surface of the green sea, two disciples of unflinching faith. Streams of wavelets flowed gentling towards them in endless criss-crossing ranks, then scuttled away from their advancing feet in speeding concentric circles. Behind they left a languid wake, an advancing arrowhead which expanded slowly across the surface. The Frenchman had somehow changed out of his black suit and now wore neat navy slacks and a tweed jacket of a similar cut to that of the young man on the village green. He had also managed a quick coiffure; the severe slicked-back style had been replaced by more homely auburn waves.

It was then that Loofah noticed another disciple hurrying across the sea—a distant figure in white, heading directly towards them.

'Look, Norbert,' he said, 'I think there's someone coming towards us.'

'Ah, oui, you have the rightness. There is sans doute a someone, a someone that I have been expecting to be coming. And a someone who is very much looking forward to the meeting of you, mon ami.' He paused, then lowered his voice to a honeyed purr. 'Very much looking forward indeed.'

As they waited for the new arrival, Loofah's curiosity was certainly piqued—as was undoubtedly intended—but Dentressangle's tone did ring a tiny alarm bell. And as the white-clad figure gradually emerged from the swirling emerald dazzle, the volume of the ringing increased.

'Permit me to be introducing Georgette, one of my—how you say?—protégées.'

'I am so pleased to meet you,' murmured the girl, offering Loofah her hand and smiling up at him, her black eyes brimming with promise.

She could have one of the dryads from the woodland clearing, but he wasn't certain. If so, she had now changed out of the flowing white gown and into a tee-shirt and shorts. The ringing in Loofah's head had now reached a deafening crescendo—yet somehow hardly registered in the saccharine-sweet jelly that his brain was rapidly metamorphosing into.

'Likewise,' he muttered, taking her hand.

'Pardon moi,' said Dentressangle and leant forward to mumble in Georgette's ear. She nodded and pulled something out of her shorts—a folded piece of paper—which she passed to the Frenchman. He glanced at it briefly, then pushed it quickly into his jacket pocket.

'My friend,' he said, with a sudden edge of tension in his voice, 'I must be leaving you briefly. Something has—um—been coming up.'

'Government business?' asked Loofah dreamily, not taking his eyes off the girl.

'What? Ah oui, naturellement—the business of the government. I will not be away for much longness and I leave you in the good hands.' Dentressangle spoke quickly, pulling nervously on the fingers of one hand. 'Georgette will be staying with you until my returning.'

'That's nice,' muttered Loofah.

'And if you need anything—,' added the Frenchman.

'Just ask,' finished Georgette, with a smile that could have liquefied carbon steel.

They soon left the playing field and were walking slowly up a tree-lined driveway. He wasn't sure where they were going and he wasn't sure that she knew either. The air here was thick, like jelly, turgid with a pulsing heady throb. They swam forward in slow motion, each step an infinity of buzzing sensation. At the top of the drive a car slid slowly by, forcing its way through the syrup of his senses, passing through his body in a warm wave of vibration.

The road was as quiet as the drive: heavy trees—oak and beech—and old houses in spacious grounds, serene and eternal. Georgette sidled closer.

'Remember what Nobby said,' she purred, 'If there's anything you want—and that means anything—do just ask.'

Her electric-satin voice shimmered over his skin in a quivering wave. The invitation was like a black hole, inexorably pulling him towards its hyper-sweet singularity. And yet for some inexplicable reason he maintained his orbit, resisting the delightful spiral down into the centre.

'Thank you,' he said, in little more than a whisper, 'I will remember that.'

High hedges and trees. Sun dappled tarmac. Red brick houses, ancient and solid, squatting like lords on velvet lawns of liquid green. Although the tree-shaded lane was a cool corridor, his entire world was now a musk-scented capsule of overheated, buzzing jelly.

He stole a sidelong glance at his companion and a grenade of giddiness exploded in his spine, sending shock waves of delight across his belly. The black hole's gravity pulled harder still, but still he resisted the fall. The ringing of the warning bell had now become a siren's scream, impossible even for him to ignore.

They reached a gateway in the hedge, beyond which—like super-models on holiday—elegant slender-legged horses paddled languidly in a sea of buttercups. Georgette took Loofah's hand and smiled up at him.

'You do look a bit tired,' she said, 'Why don't we lie down for a bit in that field? I could help you relax—I'm very good at helping people to relax.'

The buzzing in the sweet jelly capsule reached a climax and seemed to blend with the shrieking of the alarm claxon into a tsunami of sound, smooth and silky and jagged and harsh. He looked from the girl to the buttercup field and then back to the girl. With what could have been a half-sensed shiver of despair, he sighed. It was no good—the gravitational pull had become irresistible and he felt himself beginning to fall, to spiral down towards the singularity.

'It is a hot day,' he heard his voice say, 'Perhaps we could—I would very much like to—.'

He never finished, for at that moment a beam of white sunlight seemed to shine through his body and the trace of an April breeze seeped through the warm thickness of the air to brush against his face. Suddenly he felt lighter, cooler.

Looking up, he saw that a figure was coming up the road towards them, a girl with dark long hair and a white gown floating like mist around her slim body. She smiled like a spring morning; the jelly capsule melted, the musk-scented heaviness collapsing and falling away in layer after turgid layer, and cool air now flowed around and through him, washing away the staleness in his lungs, chilling his overheated blood.

'What would you like to do?' purred Georgette in a sex-kitten voice, again squeezing his hand.

But Loofah hardly heard her; the nymph floated by without stopping, brushing his other hand with her fingers and flooding him with fresh sunshine. As she passed, she left two quiet words hanging in the air—'the garden'—and was gone.

'Tell me,' murmured Georgette, pushing her hot body against his, 'We can do anything you want to.'

Then, on the other side of the road, Loofah noticed a hand written sign on white cardboard tied to a green painted gatepost: 'Synge Green Horticultural Society—Open Garden'.

'I'll tell you what I want to do,' he said, moving away from the girl's oppressive closeness, 'I want to look at that garden.'

'Look at a garden!' she cried, with a petulant scowl. Then she smiled again and sidled up to him, stroking the front of his jacket. 'Wouldn't it be much nicer to go into that little field and just relax together, until Nobby comes back?'

He looked down at the girl, her fine chest pressing softly on his forearm. Warm honey began to trickle down his spine and he felt himself sliding once again into the sticky pool. Now, however, he held himself firm, clutching onto the nymph's freshness. He shook himself like a wet dog and stepped away from her.

'Actually, I think that looking at some flowers would be very pleasant.'

'Gardens are for old people,' cried the girl, stamping her foot, 'I'm not going in!'

Then she planted herself on the verge, hands on hips, scowling sulkily with her lower lip pushed out.

'You wait here, then,' said Loofah, rather coldly, 'I won't be long.'

The old green gate into the garden was set in an ancient brick wall, topped by an immaculate yew hedge, every plane flat and velvet smooth, every angle sharp and straight. 'The Old Vicarage' declared a black metal plate screwed to the wood.

As he went to close the gate behind him, Georgette was there, following him in.

'I thought you didn't like gardens.'

She replied with a silent pout then pushed past him to lead the way along a dark damp path behind towering banks of yew and up some moss covered brick steps.

'Who was that girl?' asked Georgette, deliberately undulating her hips as she climbed the steps ahead of him.

'Which girl?'

'The one we passed in the road—that stupid looking tart in the flouncy dress.'

Loofah shrugged. 'I don't know. Just a girl, I suppose.'

Georgette turned to face him. 'You seemed to know her.'

'Never seen her before in my life,' he said deadpan, looking her straight in the eyes.

At the top of the steps the path opened onto a sunlit patio in front of a stone built Victorian house, a towering edifice, solid as a mountain, a citadel of continuity, confidence, and assured prosperity.

'Good afternoon,' said a friendly voice.

A lady in late middle-age was coming round the side of the house. Plump in a round motherly way, she wore a pink floral dress and white pumps, with a wide-brimmed straw hat pushed down onto her grey curls. She was also wearing leather gardening gloves, with a trug over one arm and a pair of secateurs in her hand.

'Have you come to see the garden?' she said, 'If so, you're in for a treat—it's at its absolute best just now.'

'It sounds lovely. I'm certainly looking forward to it.'

'Your daughter?' she asked, beaming at the glowering Georgette.

'My…? Er… niece, actually.'

The woman smiled at the girl, getting a dark scowl in return.