Wildwood by Janine Ashbless

wood. Did you make a start on the wood?’
    I blinked heavily. ‘Yeah. Um, yeah … sort of. I walked through to the bridle path.’ I wasn’t going to admit getting lost. ‘It’s not easy terrain.’
    ‘You went in?’ His voice was sharp. ‘How far?’
    ‘A mile or so. To the path. I could do with picking up an OS map, you know …’
    ‘But you got in?’ I couldn’t work out why he was repeating himself, or why he sounded so agitated. ‘What happened?’
    What happened? I thought about the holly wolves and my voice dried up. ‘Uh. I, uh, met this bloke,’ I admitted grudgingly. ‘He didn’t seem very pleased about you buying the estate. He was quite –’ I hesitated:
threatening
was too strong a word to admit to ‘– unfriendly. He warned me off out of the woods.’
    There was a silence on the line.
    ‘Uh, you still there?’
    ‘What was his name?’ My employer’s voice was gravelly.
    ‘I don’t know, sorry. He was tall … coppery hair … looked like he’d been sleeping rough, maybe. Looked like a New Age Traveller.’ I heard an exhalation of breath.
    ‘I’m coming to pick you up. You’re at the cottage, are you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I’ll be with you in twenty minutes.’ The line went dead.
    Fifteen minutes later I heard the grunt of his big four-wheel-drive vehicle outside and I came out, keys in hand. He’d already emerged from the driver’s side. ‘Come on,’ he said; ‘let’s go.’ From his manner on the phone I’d expected to find him in a bad mood, but there was a smile on his face. He was impatient certainly, but he looked pleased with himself.
    ‘To the wood?’
    ‘Oh yes.’ He was wearing more casual clothes today but they still looked neat and expensive. In fact a second glance suggested that they were brand new, fresh from the packet. The creases on his cotton trousers were still sharp and his Timberlands were unscuffed. City boy, I said to myself.
    I went round and climbed up into the passenger seat and the scent of clean leather and some
parfum pour homme
filled the car’s interior. I inhaled with secret pleasure. I checked out the dashboard admiringly, though the vehicle I really aspired to myself was a beat-up Land Rover that stank of two-stroke and collie dog.
    ‘Nice motor.’
    ‘Hold on,’ Deverick warned, releasing the handbrake and slamming the difflock. We sprang forwards. He took the car straight across the estate as if it were a paved road, completely indifferent to the terrain and the threat to his transmission, slewing around bushes and lurching up and down folds in the ground, ploughing through bonnet-high foliage which might have hidden rocks or fallen trees or anything. ‘Oh God!’ I gasped once. I had to grab at the overhead handle straight away and brace my feet; my butt didn’t stay in contact with the bucking upholstery for more than a second at a time. My knee-jerk exasperation at his showing off gave way to exhilaration as we careered through the orchard and, with both of us grinning and whooping like teenagers on a roller coaster, finally drew up near the old Wood Gate.
    ‘What do you think?’ He turned his dazzling smile on me.
    I shook my head expressively; none of the phrases that sprang to mind were the sort you could use on your boss. ‘More money than sense’ was the politest of them. ‘Is that how you drive in London?’ I sputtered, laughing.
    ‘I go rallying at weekends. I find it relaxing after a long week in the city.’
    Now there was a hobby I could relate to. I warmed to him, just a bit. ‘Nice.’
    He turned sideways in his seat to look at me. ‘So tell me, have you been to the Eden Project, Avril?’
    The change of tack took me by surprise. ‘Not yet. I mean to, because we’re quite close here, aren’t we? But I’ve had so much to do.’
    ‘Well, as it happens I’ve got a function to attend there shortly. A dinner party, you understand. After hours. I could do with a partner and I thought you might like to