The Man in the Moss by Phil Rickman

Author:Phil Rickman
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-05-30T11:23:20+00:00

He guessed she'd never been to college. He guessed she hadn't always talked so refined. He guessed her life-story would make more than one mini-series.

Then he guessed he'd better start keeping a tighter hold on his thoughts until he was someplace else.

'I'm not a fortune-teller, you know,' she said, like some women would say, what do you think I am, a hooker?

'I, uh ... Moira never said you were,' Macbeth said uncomfortably.

'I appear to be able to do it. Sometimes. But I don't make a practice of it.' She poured herself more tea. 'So why did I let you in here?'

Macbeth didn't know.

'Because I'm worried about the child,' she said. 'That's why.'

He said, 'I can understand that.'

'Can you?'

'I'm, uh, a Celt,' he said, and she started to laugh, a sound like the little teaspoon tinkling on the bone china.

'To be Celtic,' she said, 'is more an attitude than a racial thing. Like to be a gypsy is a way of life.'

'What about to be a psychic?'

Her face clouded. 'That,' she said, 'is a cross to bear. She'll tell you that herself. It's to accept there's a huge part of your life that will never be your own. It's to realise there are always going to be obligations to fulfil, directions you have to go in, even though you can't always see the sense of it.'

'That's what she's doing right now?'

The Duchess nodded. 'She has things to work out. Oh, I don't know what she's doing and I wouldn't dream of interfering, she's a mature person. But I am her mother, and mothers are always inclined to worry, so I'm told. I was only thinking - coincidence - just before you arrived, I wish she had someone who cared for her. But she's a loner. We all are, I fear. We learn our lesson. We don't like other people to get hurt.'

'You're saying you think Moira needs someone with her?'

The Duchess shrugged her elegant shoulders. 'Someone looking out for her, maybe. When Donald told me there was a man at the gate asking after Moira, I wondered if perhaps ...'

Then she gave him the kind of smile that was like a consolatory pat on the arm. 'I don't really feel you're the one, Mr Macbeth.'

Sometimes, when he interviewed would-be film-directors, there was one nice, bright-eyed kid he could tell was never going to make it. And trying to let the kid down easy he'd always start out, 'I don't really feel ...'

'Look, Duchess ...' Macbeth felt like he was about to cry. This was absurd. He started to tell her about the night at the Earl's Castle, about Moira singing 'The Comb Song', and how it ended.

'Yes,' the Duchess said impatiently, 'I know about that.'

'So am I right in thinking Moira caused all that, the deer heads and stuff to come crashing down?'

The Duchess looked cross. 'The question is ... pouff! Irrelevant! How can anyone ever really say, I did this, I caused this to happen? Perhaps you are a factor in its happening, perhaps not.

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