The slight pause didn't go unnoticed by me. "Then how come I don't feel the same?"
She was back with me, eyes shining with humor. "Oh, probably because anywhere that isn't within walking distance of a pub, a Big Mac, and a three-in-one cinema isn't civilized to you."
I was hurt. "You know I want to get out as much as you."
She gave a short laugh. "Perhaps not quite as much, but all right, I admit your values have changed recently. I'm not sure our complaining neighbors haven't had something to do with that, though."
"Yeah, I'll agree I need somewhere to play when I want and as loud as I want, but that's not all of it. And anyway, I didn't appreciate their noise too well, either."
"Nor me. Or the traffic, or the dust—"
"—or the hustle—"
"—and the bustle—"
"—Let's get away from it alllll—" we harmonized, putting our heads together.
When she'd stopped giggling, Midge said, "It's true, though. Sometimes I think the whole city's going to collapse in on itself."
"You could be right." I was busy looking for a turning on the left, one of those that Bickleshift had warned us not to miss.
"I know it's weird," she went on, lifting from her lap the information sheet the agent had given us, "but when I looked through the paper on Sunday, this place seemed to fly out at me. I couldn't concentrate on any others, my eyes kept coming back to this one. It was as if everything else was out of focus."
I moaned, long and low. "Midge, Midge, I hope you're not going to be disillusioned."
She didn't reply, just looked straight ahead. And suddenly I wanted to turn the car around and go back the way we'd come, and keep on going, right back to the smoky old city. A shiver of premonition? Yeah, I think it was. But such things were uncommon to me then, and I thought the feeling was only cold feet at the prospect of moving out. Maybe she'd been right: I wasn't ready yet for the little house on the prairie.
Of course I kept going. What kind of fool would I have looked if I'd U-turned? What good reason could I have given? I loved Midge enough to make changes in myself and I knew that what was good for her would eventually become good for me. She had values and motives that I admired and loved her for, and I'm not too proud to say that I felt a need to acquire some of those ideals for myself. I'd had too many good times and not enough right times. She made right times.
The turn I was keeping an eye out for soon materialized and the agent had been correct—it was easy to miss. I slowed the car, almost coming to a stop to take the sharp corner. Our Volkswagen Passat used up most of the road as it gathered speed, and we were still in a wooded area, trees brimming the lane right up to the edge. The roadway dipped and curved too, and Midge loved every yard we covered, her eyes alight, while I concentrated on taking the bends, occasionally stealing glances at her happy face.
"Shouldn't we have reached the cottage by now?" I was beginning to wonder if I hadn't taken the wrong turn.
Midge consulted the sketched map. "Shouldn't be far—"
I'd slammed on the brakes, an arm automatically stretching across Midge's chest to hold her back even though she was belted in. She rocked with the car and turned to me in surprise.
"Will you look at the nerve of that guy." I indicated the road ahead with a nod.
The squirrel was sitting upright slap-bang in the middle of the road, nibbling an acorn or something between its paws, pale tan-to-white tail fluffed up behind. The little devil didn't appear to be oblivious of us—it kept darting its tufty head in our direction—but we didn't seem to bother it any.
"Oh, Mike, he's gorgeous!" Midge was leaning forward as far as her seat belt would allow, her nose only inches away from the windscreen. "He's a red. I heard they were coming back to this part of the country. Oh, he's lovely!"
"Sure, but he's—it's—taking up the road." I was about to thump the horn, but Midge must have read my mind.
"Let him stay there for a moment," she urged, "he'll move on soon enough."
I sighed, although I quite enjoyed the sight of the furry little brute munching its lunch.
Midge clicked free of her seat belt and peered out of the side window, smiling all the while. That was just too much for our friend: he dropped the acorn and scampered off.
I couldn't help but laugh. "Terrific. It didn't turn a hair at this great, noisy, metal monster, but your grinning face sent it into shock."
Then I had to eat my words. The squirrel streaked back, retrieved its lunch, looked our way for a second, and hopped up to the Passat on Midge's side.
"Hello," Midge said nicely.
I couldn't see, but it might have smiled back. I leaned over and just caught sight of the stirring of undergrowth as the squirrel departed once more. I expected Midge to give me one of her smug smirks, but there was only immense and innocent pleasure on her happy face. I pecked her cheek, amused, and shifed the automatic gearshift into D. "Onward," I said.
Midge settled back and scanned our surroundings as we sped by.
We soon came clear of the trees, rough grass shoulders on either side of the lane opening up into stretches of heavy green bracken and yellow gorse, pushing back the thick woodland as if to say enough is enough. The sun was high now, at its zenith, and the sky around it was bleached a pale blue. We'd chosen a perfect day for a trip into the country and my enthusiasm was picking up once more, despite the disappointment of Cantrip itself.
Midge clutched at my arm. "I think I see it," she said with restrained excitement.
I squinted but didn't catch anything.
"It's gone," said Midge. "I thought I saw a splash of white ahead, but now the trees are in the way."
The car was rounding a long sweeping bend and the woodland was coming back at the road with a vengeance. In places, leafy low-hanging branches brushed against the windows.
"This forest could do with a trim," I grumbled, and then we saw the cottage, set back from the road, a low, weathered fence, with many of its uprights reclining at angles or fallen out completely, bordering the front garden. The small gate was closed and a sign, peeling and weary-looking, was battened across the struts. In beautiful but faded script, the sign said:
Gramarye
THE COTTAGE
SO THERE it was before us. And on initial observation the cottage was enchanting.
I'd pulled the car over onto the grass in front of the crumbling fence and now we both sat staring at Gramarye, Mora Chaldean's roundhouse, Midge, it seemed, as if in awe, and me—well, let's say pleasantly surprised. I'm not sure what I had expected, but this wasn't quite it.
The building really was round, although the main section facing us was conventionally straight, only one end curving away (we were to understand the structure a little later), and it was on three levels if the attic was included, so maybe "cottage" was the wrong description. Yet it did look like a cottage, because it was set into a grassy bank which somehow reduced its size. The bank swept around from the sides, moss-covered stone steps eating into the lefthand slope, leveling down to the front garden. There were trees on the rise, some with branches scraping against the white brickwork, and beyond was further woodland (wouldn't you know?). The windows at the front were small and multipaned, adding even more charm to the general setting, and the roof was of discolored red tiles.
Okay, that was our first glimpse, and the overall impression was more than pleasing.
"Mike, it's wonderful," Midge said in a kind of hushed breath, her gaze roaming over the wild colors rampaging through the garden area, flowers that had got used to having their own way.