Ennja -- Thanks for your continued support -- I'm very glad you're enjoying Bill as a character, he's fun to write... in a dark sort of way!
Apologies to all for the delay in posting this update -- the next one should be sooner.
TAS x
*
The days passed so quickly.
It's the generally accepted wisdom that 'time flies when you're having fun', but, as Margaux reflected, it can also be true when one is so bored that the hours blend together into an eternity of inaction.
And this was definitely the case.
After the second day in this new place, the third day in these strangers' custody, she could comfortably say that she had explored every room that wasn't locked, and knew every little detail of each room rather better than she wanted to. She had even given the moth-eaten hunting trophies names: the buck's head behind the sitting room door was called Mickey, she had decided, and after she had discovered a split beanbag in the airing cupboard she had taken to throwing the little white foam balls at it, trying to get them in its mouth.
On the fifth day, Margaux was half-lying in the armchair, playing this very game, when Bill walked in.
He glanced down at the tiny white balls that littered the fading carpet, then back at her.
"Get your coat."
"Are we moving?" Margaux couldn't help but let slip a hopeful tone in her question. At least if they moved she would have something new to look at.
"No."
"...Oh." She swung her leg down from where it hung over the arm of the chair, and stood up, looking down at her jeans as she brushed off a stray piece of filling that clung to the fabric.
"I thought you might like to go outside."
Margaux looked up at him. No hint in those eyes.
"Ou-outside?"
"I thought the exercise might stop you getting..." he looked at the foam again, "restless."
"I'm sorry about that. I-I'll clean it up--"
"Do it later. Right now I want you to get your coat."
*
Robert glanced up from the laptop as Margaux sat down to slip on her boots, but said nothing. What was the dynamic here? Well, obviously Bill was in charge -- at least as far as she could tell -- but even so, wasn't Robert getting annoyed at being left with all the work... whatever it was that he was doing?
Bill opened the front door, and for a moment Margaux could only stare at the landscape beyond the portal. The world outside had started to become something which she assumed she would only see again once she was free.
"Go on."
He stood and waved her through, and she took a tentative step out onto the doorstep.
As the door clicked shut behind them, Margaux took her first breath in days of clean, fresh air.
"You've behaved well so far, Margaux."
It was another overcast day, grey and dim, but as she looked out over the purplish hills, and the road that wound down between them, silvery with this morning's rain, Margaux thought that she had never seen anything more beautiful in all her life.
"I suppose."
"I wanted to show you the benefits of doing what you're told."
"It's not as if I've had much choice."
She pulled her coat tight around her and thrust her hands in her pockets. Her shoes -- the ankle boots that she had worn for the last book-signing -- felt a little awkward in these surroundings, but she was grateful at least that she hadn't come home that first strange night wearing stilettos.
"As long as you keep doing what I want, Margaux, there's no reason your little stay with us shouldn't be comfortable. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I suppose."
Bill grasped her arm, and she flinched.
"That way."
He pointed to a dirt path that went down one side of the house, then up a set of uneven steps. She walked ahead of him, wary of his eyes on her back -- she could almost feel them burning a hole in her -- but she was far too glad of being outside to think about it for long.
They came out among a patch of heather and yellow-flowered, spiny gorse bushes, at the top of the hill.
There was a footpath. An honest-to-goodness public footpath. There was even a little wooden signpost with its plastic marker. Margaux looked down at a boot print in the mud. She couldn't decide whether to feel relief at being so close to other people -- potentially so close to freedom -- or to feel despair at Bill's apparent confidence, that no one would suspect what was going on in the little cottage on the hill.
"Cross over."
Bill pulled up the collar of his coat against the wind and directed her across the footpath and down the hill. Margaux stepped tentatively down the slope, listening to the crunch of the twigs beneath Bill's boots as he followed her.
"It's cold out." She couldn't suppress a smile as she rubbed her hands together. Bill didn't respond. "It looks like it might rain again soon." Still nothing. Margaux resolved not to bother making conversation. Instead she focused her attention on her surroundings. She ran her hands across the top of the heather as she walked through a patch, revelling in the smell of the flowers and the cool droplets of water on her skin.
On the opposing hilltop, she could just make out little pale shapes -- sheep? It certainly looked like sheep country. She'd mostly given up, in the last few days, trying to figure out where they were, but as she regarded the hills around them she couldn't help but wonder. They must be in Scotland -- that was fairly obvious -- but it was a big old country, so that didn't narrow down the possibilities much.
A protruding root caught around her toe, and as she tripped forwards she felt Bill grab her elbow. He hauled her back, a little too hard, and she fell back against him.
"Alright?"
She swallowed nervously.
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
She pulled away and started to walk again, and when they reached a patch of flat ground Bill started to walk level with her. She was shaking again. The moment his fingers had tightened around her arm, she had remembered the cold indifference with which he had pinned her against the kitchen wall. Her arms came up almost unconsciously, and as she hugged herself she felt rather than saw Bill's eyes on her.
"Robert is posting the disc today."
"Oh."
Bill stopped, looking down at the slow-moving traffic in the distance with his hands in his coat pockets.
"David should receive it in a couple of days. Perhaps as long as a week."
"What happens then?"
"He'll have a number to call."
"So... you just wait for the call."
"We do."
"How long will Robert be gone?"
A strange look passed through Bill's eyes, and Margaux looked away.
"You seem to talk to him often."
Margaux frowned.
"I'm just bored."
Bill stopped her as she started to walk again, a hand on her shoulder turning her to face him.
"You ought to be careful, Margaux. He isn't your friend."
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it.
"And I suppose you are?"
"Now, Margaux, did I say that?"
The intensity of his gaze was too much -- Margaux tried to pull free of his grasp, to turn away, but he only tightened his grip. She couldn't take much more of this. She would have preferred being locked up somewhere to having to play out each day with these men, acting out a vague approximation of real human interaction.
"I'd like to go back now. Please."
*
"What are you doing?"
Robert was behind her.
Margaux was standing at the sink, filling the kettle.
"I'm making some tea."
"Bill said not to let you use the kettle."
"Why not?"
Bill entered the kitchen and leaned against the wall, a mug in his hand.
"The same reason you're not allowed near the knives."
"What am I going to do with the kettle -- hit you with it?"
"Boiling water can be a dangerous weapon."
"I'd never do that. That's horrible."
"Wouldn't you, Margaux?"
"No!"
He was silent, watching her. Expressionless.
"Alright. Let her use it." He took a sip from his mug. "She knows what will happen if she tries anything. Don't you, Margaux?"
"I could hardly forget."
Bill walked into the kitchen, and as he passed where she stood he laid one hand on her shoulder.
"Good girl."
