Downstairs by the window in the unlit lean-to kitchen, Ginny was forced to accept the truth of her nightmare. Half-asleep she may have been, but those shapes on the flower beds were moths. Others were slowly emerging from the dark soil, gradually unfolding their broad wings, then resting.
For a few seconds she could do nothing but stare at them in complete disbelief. She had a confused image of the fully-armed soldiers of Greek legend springing out of the earth where dragon’s teeth had been sown. But this was the twentieth century, and these were moths.
They were still not moving, as though waiting for something. A dozen of them, at least; maybe more.
Ginny changed back into the clothes she had discarded earlier — everything: boots, surgical mask, goggles, hat, gloves, the lot. Before opening the door, she checked the food was under cover, then sprayed the kitchen with pesticide, enough to discourage them.
Then she went out, closing the door behind her. The sky was darkening, but the rectangle of light from her bedroom window was bright enough. Against the wall was an old, rusting hoe. It must have been there for years and Ginny had intended to throw it away. She picked it up.
Calmly she went about the task of slaughtering those moths one by one, bringing the hoe blade sharply down on each to sever the wings and crush the body. They made no attempt to fly off, not even the slightest quiver. No regret on her part either as she destroyed those rich, soft, delicate creatures which had so fascinated her when she first saw them.
‘Killers, that’s all they are.’ Her voice was muffled by the surgical mask, but it gave her some satisfaction to speak the words aloud. ‘Ruthless killers. Well, humans can be ruthless too.’
She brought the hoe down once again and felt it slice into the emergent moth’s tubby body. That seemed to be the last one, yet who could say what lay hidden beneath the topsoil? Starting at the shed, she began to work her way around all the flower beds, hoeing vigorously, determined that not one square inch would escape her.
Bernie arrived just as she was finishing and came into the garden to find her. Save for the light from the cottage windows everything was in darkness.
‘Odd time to start gardening!’ he greeted her cheerfully. Coming over, he put his arm around her shoulders. As far as she could see he was wearing a motorcyclist’s helmet with rubber masking across his face. ‘You all right, love?’
She showed him the fragments of wing from the moths she’d killed.
‘Came out of the soil,’ she explained.
‘They what?’
‘Oh, let’s go inside where we can talk. I’ve finished out here.’
Leaving the hoe outside in its old position, she led the way in through the kitchen door. There she stripped off her headgear and discarded her stained blouson. Bernie put down his helmet on top of it and took her in his arms. No hesitation about their kissing this time.
‘Oh Bernie, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she murmured, still holding him tight. ‘I tried to ring you this afternoon. No one knew where you were.’
‘I kept imagining you’d been killed.’ He ran his fingers through her short hair. ‘Like a recurring nightmare, all the way back from London. They took some of us up to Whitehall to brief the Minister, not that it did much good, I’m afraid. I heard you were involved in that business in the church.’
‘That’s not all,’ she told him, sitting down to pull off her boots. ‘The Reverend Davidson’s dead. I was with him.’
She tried to explain briefly what had happened, but then stopped in mid-sentence. ‘Oh shit!’ she exclaimed. ‘Not now! Let’s get out of these things and have a drink. I don’t think I want to go over it all again. Bernie love, the whisky’s on the sideboard.’
When she joined him in the living room she wore only her light housecoat. He had the drinks ready but she merely smiled when he held one out for her, and kissed him instead. It was all she wanted at that moment — a long, savouring kiss to take away her tensions.
‘I love you, Ginny,’ he told her softly, stroking her back through the housecoat. ‘Though I probably shouldn’t.’
‘Mm-m.’ She nuzzled him sensuously, then slowly found his lips again. Breaking away from him, she said: ‘I was working upstairs before I saw those moths outside. I’ve got papers scattered all over the bed.’
‘Let’s go and clear them up then, shall we?’ His eyes laughed as they caressed her face. ‘Mustn’t interrupt your work.’
No doubts lingered in her mind any longer. At that moment she wanted him more than ever; nothing would make her turn back now. If she was being unfair to Lesley, that was how it crumbled. She couldn’t help falling in love, could she? Besides, Lesley need never know. After this business with the moths was over she’d move back to London and that would be the end of it. She’d be the only one to suffer. Not Lesley, if she could help it.
She glanced in the mirror before following Bernie upstairs. A slightly flushed, very guilty face stared back at her. Oh shit, she thought unhappily; if only it could be different.
In his arms, her self-doubts disappeared again. It seemed so right for her to be with him and no one else. He made love gently at first, then with increasing urgency until at last they lay back, completed, yet knowing this was only the start.
She sat up, twisting around to look at his face and run her finger down his chest. ‘I’m very much in love with you,’ she said quietly, almost as if speaking to herself. ‘But if the day comes when this ends, promise me you won’t make a fuss.’
‘What a depressing thought!’
‘Promise?’
‘I promise I’ll try. D’you intend it to end?’
She shook her head.
‘You’re very beautiful, Ginny.’
‘Rubbish.’
‘It isn’t rubbish.’ His eyes flickered down to her chest. ‘That trouble cleared up, then?’ He laid his fingertips over the area where the ‘sunburn’ had been.
‘Yes, doctor!’ she laughed at him. Taking his hand, she placed it over her breast. ‘A small thing, but mine own. You’re in a lady’s bed, not a consulting room.’
They made love again: a celebration of their new relationship because that was what she was experiencing. They were meeting afresh, as though they had never known each other before, and were conscious of neither past nor future: only an eternal present.
But at last Bernie said he should return home to the house. He wanted her to go with him, but she was reluctant. She sat on the edge of the bed thinking about it. Lesley’s house.
‘Can’t we stay here?’
‘I’ve not been back since morning,’ he explained apologetically. His hand lightly touched her thigh, keeping their physical contact. ‘There may be messages on the machine. I am the village doctor, don’t forget. Please come with me.’
‘I’m not sleeping in Lesley’s bed.’
‘Agreed.’
‘I’ll get dressed then.’
Had circumstances been different, she’d have chosen that long Indian cotton dress she’d bought last time in London, simply to luxuriate in being feminine. Instead, she pulled on her jeans, then the rest of her protective outfit, making sure not an inch of skin was exposed.
‘That’s what it was!’ she exclaimed suddenly just as they were ready to leave. She took off her mask and goggles again, then began to hunt among her books. ‘I knew I’d read something like it.’
‘Like what?’ He waited, half-amused.
‘Those moths crawled out of the earth as though someone planted them there.’
‘Dragon’s teeth,’ he suggested.