Wednesday, March 28, 2007

The Law of the Green Man: Part Eight

Lady Sylvia slept deliciously late. When she awoke, the young aristocrat could hear the healthy bustle of the village, housewives shopping, carts on the road outside the inn, birdsong, and ducks on the mere. She picked up a book from her bedside and leafed through it, reluctant to leave the safety and warmth of her bed.

If there was any justice in the world, she reflected, then the Green Man would have bumped off the ghastly Sir Harold. But there was more to this campaign than that.

Lady Sylvia rose slowly, stretching as she swung her legs off the mattress. She felt deliciously lazy, as she lay down again for a moment. Another day of being just a lazy aristocrat, riding, golfing or another way in which she might be able to keep an eye on Sir Harold. Maybe, she reflected, he'd shoot himself.

She had just put on her slippers when the 'phone rang. Jumping out of bed, Lady Sylvia crossed the room in a couple of bounds.

"Hullo," she spoke swiftly, "Lady Sylvia Vaughan."

"Good morning, Lady Sylvia."

Much to the brunette's surprise, the voice was not that of the Green Man. It was the civillised, sensual voice of Sir Harold Rait.

"Oh!" Lady Sylvia could not keep herself from emitting a little squeak of shock.
"Yes," Sir Harold laughed. "I want you to come here. I have a little secret to share with you."

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