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Dinah’s smile widened.  ‘Lobster – you were teasing.  And brie, fresh rolls – this is looking delicious. ‘

With a
flourish,
George brought out the two flutes for the champagne. ‘They’re plastic, but they’ll do. I didn’t like the thought of carrying glass over these hillocks. ‘  

Dinah clapped her hands ‘Champagne – now you are spoiling me.  I’ll be tipsy.’

Exactly,
thought George, as he said, ‘It’s beautiful here. Everything just sparkles – the boulders, the rocks in the steam, even the grass is a so different from any other green grass I’ve seen. ‘

Dinah sank her teeth into the succulence of the lobster whilst George tucked into the chicken and smoked salmon canapés
,
rounding off with the Brie now almost dripping on the crisp crackers covered in thick fresh butter. He found they chattered easily on a variety of
subjects,
whilst they ate. She was an intriguing woman besides being beautiful. Clearing away the debris into his rucksack
,
George sighed
,
leaning back on the waterproof. ‘Now this is what I call luxury – fin
e
food, champagne and a gorgeous woman.’

Dinah giggled, the compliments building her confidence in her generous curves.  Stretching over to her, George stroked her arm
,
before pulling her gently down beside him. She went willingly, her heart speeding up, body tingling. As his lips closed on hers, Dinah gave a strangled gasp. 

Starting back he said, ‘What’s up.’

Dinah croaked, ‘Pig – pig. Over your shoulder.’

Frowning, George raised himself to look straight into the snout of a small pig.  The pig’s eyes met his. As George sprang up, the pig squealed joining four others that now encircled him.

Dinah overcoming her shock, giggled.  ‘They’re the pot bellied Vietnamese pigs.  Oh God.’ She laughed hysterically.  The picture of George standing there with the pigs looking earnestly up at him was too much.

George and the pigs turned on hearing Nat’s voice, ‘Hey George – Dinah.  It’s okay. They're friendly – pets.’

‘Pets my arse – what the fuck is going on?’

On seeing Lucy
,
Dinah rose to her feet. ‘Can you believe it?  A love scene serenaded by pigs.’

George now grinned at the ludicrous situation.  ‘So here are the famous pigs?’

Nat beamed. ‘Yeah, a recent addition. You’ve wandered  onto the Wild Park enclosure.  Didn’t you see the sign?’

‘No, we came in from over there – climbed the style. I thought we were on open public land. Christ – where d’you keep the lions?’

‘The estate has a few thousand acres.
But, don’t worry we keep the dangerous animals behind double gated, electric fenced enclosures. No way could you have wandered into those enclosures without paying your money, getting a ticket and a safety truck to take you around. 

Dinah knelt to one pig who was actually sitting up on its rear legs as if begging.’

Nat smiled, ‘Some of them are so tame. They’re more intelligent than dogs, beg for their food, give you a kiss as a thank you, and roll over on their backs if you ask them.’ 

George muttered, ‘I’m not having any pig kiss me.’

Getting up, Dinah scolded him, ‘George, these are gorgeous, and they’re so pretty, fat little angels.’

‘Angels?’

Now Lucy knelt down. ‘I’ve already been introduced to them. This little one is Daisy.’

George quipped, ‘I wouldn’t let Jessie know you’ve got a pig called Daisy.’

Dinah laughed, ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t mind – she’s an animal lover.’ 

‘These came from Sweden. It used to cost thousands of dollars to buy from the US
,
but now as they’ve become more popular they’re about the same price as a pedigree dog or cat.’

One now lay across Lucy’s lap, ‘How big will these grow?’

‘These are miniature compared to domestic swine, which average six hundred to one thousand five hundred pounds, but miniature pigs average around seventy to one hundred and fifty pounds but, they have been known to grow to two hundred pounds.

‘That’s big enough – gosh – when you consider Jessie’s golden retriever is a hundred and two pounds.’

‘I see you’ve got different colourings as well. I love this one, pale grey and white. Her fur is really
soft,
and she smells so sweet. I thought pigs stank?’

‘Well these would but we’ve had them spayed and neutered. It’s not only the smell; they would also develop quite dangerous traits if we didn’t do it. They wouldn’t be safe as pets for the kids to stroke.  Mind you, we don’t let them touch them unsupervised.’

George said, ‘Poor buggers, a bit drastic neutering and spaying. So you’re not going to breed from them?’

‘Oh yes, we’ve got a
few,
but as they grow so they’ll be behind electric fences, they are really
boars,
as you know, and the females can be quite moody even vicious with PMS.  It also lessens the risk of uterine or testicular cancer.

The little pig squealed in Lucy’s arms wriggling to free itself.  Even at such a young age it was so strong that Lucy had to let it go.

Nat grinned.  ‘They don’t like being handled – it’s not because they don’t like being petted
,
it’s because these are not predators.  They’re prey so being held frightens them.  But, some pet owners have managed to calm them over time, so they enjoy petting or a cuddle.’

George frowned, ‘Catch me cuddling one – what next?’

Lucy laughed,
‘Well; I
think they’re gorgeous, in
fact; I'll
look into it. They’re so sweet. I’ve fallen in love with this one.’

Nat‘s cheeks dimpled, ‘I’ve had the same thought, seems we’re one of a kind.’

Lucy blushed lowering her eyes.  Rising
up,
she dusted off her jeans, tickling the little pig’s pot belly she whispered, ‘I shall come and see you again.’  Turning to Dinah, she said, ‘Nat’s showing me around the park, and then we’re off to see the Chinese Water Deer, Nat tells me they’ve got horns and fangs, and they nest in trees.  Would you believe it? Would you like to come with us?’ 

Catching George’s frustrated glance, Nat realized the guy was not pleased with the idea.  He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.  George shook his head ruefully, another bloody chance to get Dinah alone, now gone.  Putting on a strained smile he said, ‘That’s a great idea – Dinah?’   He still held some vain hope that she might not agree, that this vision of dark curls and ample curves might want to continue their foray into sex.  His hopes were dashed
,
as Dinah took Lucy’s arm and started walking in front with her.

Seeing him grimace, Nat laughed, ‘Come on mate, there’s always another time.’

‘Yeah tell me, these women hardly let each other out of their sight. Have you noticed they always seem to arrange things in a group?

‘Women are like that. You’ll just have’ to be clever’ as they say on Twitter, find another way.’

CHAPTER 29

Although her stomach begged for food, Jess didn’t really want to eat; nothing appealed to her. It had been over a week since they last met. Douglas had called, left messages, but she refused to have any contact with him. But for Dinah, she
saw
no-one, using room service for meals, spending most of her days out touring the area by cab. If it wasn’t for Daisy, she would have left the hotel already. The Merton Hotel would not accept any dogs and there was no way she would put Daisy in strange kennels. She’d heard from Dinah that Douglas was distraught.  Even though her cousin urged her to at least contact him and talk it out, she was adamant. Besides, it was so embarrassing. How could she possibly face him?

Her stomach rumbled. Biting her lip, anger rose up through the anguish. Was she going to suffer for him? Although the thought seemed rather belated after all the tears shed during nights of tossing and turning. She’d phone for room service, but tomorrow she would brave the dining room with Dinah. Wandering into her lounge, she wondered if she was losing her sanity. Had all that happened? Were the dreams, psychic trances or nightmares?  Lifting her head, she became aware of an odour of sea-weed. It was familiar.  The sea was a couple of miles away, but there was a strong breeze today.

As she turned to her laptop, she stood transfixed her heart leaping, blood rushing to her head.  A young woman sat writing at the desk, rust red curls cascading down a slender back, the skirt of water silk brocade sparkling in the late afternoon sun.  God – was it Muriall – would she turn around – would she try to ... whimpering, paralysed with terror, thoughts scattered through her mind. This was a ghost – a nemesis – a ghost.  Trembling she felt adrenaline coursing through her veins, unlocking the paralysis. Almost screaming, she ran to the door.  Dammit – dammit she’d locked the bloody thing.  Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the lock, half-screams mounting in her throat. Hearing the key turning, she tugged the open and flew into the passageway, her legs now pumping towards the lift.  But, she couldn’t wait; besides Muriall might follow her to the lift, she might be stuck in the lift with her.  She ran to the fire exist door and pulling it open, clattered down the stone stairs.  Swearing under her breath, God, God, don’t let her follow me – please.  No way was she ever, ever going back into that room.

A startled Aileen watched her rushing through reception.  Turning to
Margaret,
she said, ‘The ween’s terrified, looks like she’s seen a ghost. I’d better go after her.’ As she moved her wide girth from the chair, she walked surprisingly swiftly to the main doors looking down the balustrade and then the paths. A few people were out walking, but Jessie was not in sight.  She turned back, panting slightly as she reached the desk. ‘No sign of her.  Maybe we should call his Lordship?’

Margaret shook her head, ‘He might be a wee bit miffed at that Aileen, after all it could be just a wee quarrel, and maybe with himself. They
did go
off for a picnic together last week. No Hen, best we stay out of it.’

Shaking her head, Aileen sank into the chair reaching for her Kindle. ‘Aye, best we dinna
interfere,
I suppose.’

Rushing past the Orangery to the studios, Jess was relieved to see small electric light bulbs sprouting from the grass verges lighting the darkening paths. Each pine logged cabin came complete with daylight lamps, a selection of easels, shelves for paints and a table for sketching,  an artist’s delight.   There was even a projector for the digital graphic artists along with a computer with the latest software.  Security cameras discreetly placed
among
trees and flowering shrubs, ensured the safety of the hotel guests.

Feeling more secure now, Jessie found her studio. Unlocking the door, she peeped in.  She sighed with relief; it was empty. Thank God – no terrifying figure in any of the corners. Picking up her mobile she clicked on Dinah’s number only to receive her answering message. 

‘Hi there, glad you contacted – Obviously I am not here at present. Please leave a message – I love them.  I will get back to
you,
as soon as I can. Have a good day – evening – night.’

Damn, she was most probably with George, wrapped in his arms, whilst here she was shivering and petrified.  Taking a deep breath, she put the mobile on the
table,
and began exploring the room. Already deposited in the corner of the room, were her chest of paints, oil pastels, soft pastels brushes, palette knives, mahls, oil thinners and textures.    A cardboard container holding her boxed canvasses lay just inside the door.  Yet, even this painter’s paradise did not relieve her fear.  Dinah and Lucy warned Muriall might appear, but Jessie was not ready for it. Perhaps she should give up psychic art altogether.  But, the thought niggled that she should see a professional medium. Maybe he or she could cast light on what was happening to her; hopefully show her how to avoid manifestations.

Right now, she needed to lose herself in the paints, feel the tubes as she squeezed the soft oils onto the palette board, spread her fingers through the mess.  Besides using brushes to paint, Jessie used her own fingers, knuckles and heel of her hand to spread the oils on the canvas. She needed to dwell in the smell of oil and turps, the touch and colour of the paint on the canvas, flooding her mind with images other than those of Muriall and Duncan.

She was impressed on discovering the disc player with a selection of classic and pop.  Maybe some R & B or Tchaikovsky would alleviate the terror simmering through her muscles. 

Hours passed, as she concentrated on the canvas, the juddering in her heart now stilled.  Already, the first stage of the painting was finished; the lake with the island shrouded in trees, quartz stone glittering in splash of moonlight whilst stained-glass windows cast a rainbow of shifting patterns on the water.   As she drifted deeper into the creative zone, utterly engaged now in the painting, she did not see the face at the window peering in, or seconds later, hear the footfall behind her.