They reached the stand of trees, where the gravel walkway forked. Without hesitation Uncle Lou bore to the left.
Here, more trees loomed alongside the path, their branches entwining above unruly thickets of thorny brush. Acorns and beech mast crunchds underfoot, so that it seemed as though they had entered a forest. There was a spicy smell of bracken, and another scent, unfamiliar but unmistakably an animal’s.
After a few minutes Uncle Lou stopped. He glanced behind them, and for a moment remained still, listening.
“This way,” he said, and ducked beneath the trees.
“Are we allowed here?” Nina called after him in a low urgent voice.
Uncle Lou’s words echoed back to her. “At night, everything is allowed. Shhh!”
She hesitated, trying to peer though the heavy greenery; finally ducked and began to push her way through, shielding her face with one hand. Brambles plucked at her dress, and she flinched as a thorn scraped against one leg.
But then the underbrush receded. She stepped into a small clearing thick with dead leaves. Several large trees loomed against the moonlit sky. Uncle Lou stood beneath one of these, breathing heavily as he stared at a small hill several yards away. More trees grew on its slope, between boulders and creeping vines.
“Uncle Lou?”
She took a step toward him, froze as a dark shape flowed between the boulders then disappeared. Before she could cry out she heard Uncle Lou’s soft voice.
“There’s a fence.”
She swallowed, blinking, looked where he pointed and saw a faint latticework of twisted chainlink. She waited for her heart to slow, then darted to his side.
And yes, now she could discern that behind the chainlink fence was a deep cement moat, maybe twenty feet wide and extending into the darkness in either direction. Vines straggled down its sides, and overhanging mats of moss and dead leaves.
They were at the back of one of the enclosures, a place where visitors were absolutely not allowed.
“Uncle Lou,” Nina whispered, her voice rising anxiously.
As she spoke, the shadowy form rematerialized, still on the far side of the moat, and directly across from them. It lowered its head between massive shoulders, moonlight flaring in its eyes so that they momentarily glowed red, then stretched out its front legs until its belly grazed the ground. A wolf.
Nina stared at it, torn between amazement and an atavistic fear unassuaged by the presence of the moat. When a second form slipped beside the first, she jumped.
“They won’t hurt you,” murmured Uncle Lou.
A third wolf trotted from the trees, and another, and another, until at last seven were ranged at the foot of the hill. They gazed at the old man, tongues lolling from their long jaws, and then each lay down in turn upon the grass in a watchful pose.
“What are they doing?” breathed Nina.
“The same thing we are,” replied Uncle Lou. “Excuse me for a moment—nature calls…”
He patted her shoulder and walked briskly toward another tree.
Nina politely turned away—he sometimes had to do this when they were embarked upon a long stroll on the Heath, always returning to shake his head and mutter, “Old man’s bladder.”
She looked back at the wolves, who now appeared somewhat restive. The largest one’s head snapped up. It stared at something overhead, then scrambled to its feet. At the same moment, Nina heard a rustling in the treetops, followed by a creaking sound.
“Uncle Lou?” She glanced at the tree where he’d gone to relieve himself. “Everything all right?”
The rustling grew louder. Nina looked up, and saw one of the upper boughs of the tree bending down at an alarming angle, so that its tip hung over the moat. A large whitish animal was clambering down its length, sending dead leaves and bits of debris to the ground beneath. Nina clapped a hand to her mouth as a shaft of moonlight struck the bough, revealing Uncle Lou, naked and slowing to a crawl as the branch bowed under him.
The wolves had all leapt up and stood in a row at the enclosure’s edge, eyes fixed on the white figure above them. With a loud crack, the bough snapped. At the same instant, Uncle Lou sprang from it, his pale form mottled with shadow as he landed upon the grass and rolled between the creatures there.
With a cry Nina ran forward, stopped and fought to see her uncle in the blur of dust and leaves and fur on the other side of the hidden moat. The wolves danced around it, tails held low, heads high, then drew back as another wolf struggled to its feet.
It was nearly the same size as the largest wolf, its muzzle white, and iron-gray fur tipped with silver. It shook its head, sending off a flurry of leaves and twigs, stood very still as the other big male approached to sniff its hindquarters, then its throat. Finally it touched the newcomer’s white muzzle, growling playfully as the two engaged in mock battle and the other wolves darted forward, tails wagging as they joined in.
Nina watched, too stunned to move. Not until the wolves turned and began to stream back into the shadows did she call out.
“Wait!”
The biggest wolf paused to glance back at her, then disappeared into the underbrush with the others. Only the grizzled wolf slowed, and looked over its shoulder at Nina. For a long moment it held her gaze, its tawny eyes and pale muzzle gilded by the moonlight. Then it too turned and trotted into the darkness.
Nina shook her head, trying to catch her breath. Astonishment curdled into terror as she thought of the reception not far away. She raced to the tree Uncle Lou had climbed, and beneath it found the plastic Sainsbury’s bag. Stuffed inside were his clothes, velvet jacket and corduroy trousers, socks and underwear, and at the very bottom the worn Moroccan slippers.
At sight of them she began to cry, but quickly wiped her eyes. Clutching the bag to her chest, she pushed her way back through the trees and overgrown brush until she reached the path again.
Somehow she found her way back to the carpark where she’d left the Aston Martin. She passed no one, walking as fast as she dared before breaking into a run as she neared the hedge that bounded the lot. The moon had dipped below the trees. The sounds of the reception had long since dwindled to the distant drone of departing cars.
She started the Aston Martin, heart pounding as she eased it onto the access road and headed toward the main highway, sobbing openly now, always careful not to exceed the speed limit.
At last she reached her apartment. She parked the car in the underground garage, leaving a note on the windscreen for the security guard so it would not be towed; retrieved the manila envelope from the glovebox, grabbed the bag containing Uncle Lou’s clothes, and went upstairs. She poured herself a stiff drink—a martini—downed it and with shaking hands opened the envelope.
Inside was a long, affectionate letter from her uncle, along with the title to the Aston Martin, and precisely detailed instructions as to how to dispose of his clothing and answer the awkward and inevitable questions that would soon arise regarding his disappearance. There was also contact information for his longtime accountant and solicitor, as well as for an old friend who lived in central Romania—and, of course, a copy of his will.
In addition to the car, he left the Pallis Mews flat and all it contained to Nina, along with his shares in the By Night enterprise. And there was an extremely generous bequest to the Whipsnade Zoo, with a provision that a sizable portion of it be used for the continued upkeep and improvement of the gray wolves’ habitat.
Nina sold the Aston Martin. Upkeep was costly, and she worried about it being vandalized or stolen. After six months she moved into the Pallis Mews flat, refurbishing it slightly and donating the unworn clothing to Oxfam, though she kept the Moroccan slippers. She continues to visit Uncle Lou every week, taking the train to Luton and then the bus to the zoo. The gray wolf exhibit is seldom crowded, even on Sundays, and Nina often has it to herself. Sometimes, the grizzled old wolf sits at the edge of the enclosure and gazes at her with his tawny eyes, and occasionally raises his white muzzle in a yodeling cry.