Free Once by James Herbert

tilting her head to one shoulder to scrutinize his face. Just in those three words he could detect the slight Shropshire lilt that betrayed the county’s closeness to Wales, this mixed with the faintest burr of the south-west counties, a fine, comfortable blend that was pleasant to the ear.
    ‘Uhh …’ was all he could find to say.
    She gave a laugh that came from deep within her throat, so that it sounded like a chuckle.
    ‘Not quite awake then?’ she said. ‘I thought you might still be sleepin’, s’why I banged on the door so hard and kep’ at the bell.’ The missing letters in her speech hardly mattered at all, for there was still something soft and pleasing in her accent. ‘S’gone nine, you know.’
    Her smile seemed to drink him in, the look in her eyes a little too knowing. It was seductive though, God, her whole persona was seductive.
    She stood about five foot six and he guessed her to be in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. Her high breasts swelled against a plain, buttoned blouse and her skirt was long and loose, flimsy and gaily patterned. The blouse was short-sleeved and her bare arms were tanned a tawny-gold; that same colouring in her face enhanced the whiteness around her pupils - which he now realized were so darkly brown that they appeared black - and the perfect flash of her smile. She carried a large wicker basket, a red-chequered teacloth covering its contents.
    ‘Hugo told me about your illness, but he never explained you had no tongue in your head.’ She stuck a fist against her hip, her other arm looped under the basket’s handle.
    He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, embarrassed and a little perplexed. ‘Hugo didn’t tell me anyone was…’ He stopped, vaguely remembering that Hugo had
    mentioned something about looking in on him occasionally. He lightly slapped his head. ‘Sorry, he did say … I just didn’t expect…’ He was surprised, and annoyed, at his reaction.
    ‘Uh, won’t you come in?’ He stood aside, waved a hand at the room behind him.
    ‘Can’t fix your breakfast without comin’ in, can I?’
    Still smiling, she brushed past him and dumped the obviously heavy basket on the centre table, while Thom remained by the doorway as if transfixed. There was a certain arrogant vanity about her, but then who could blame her for that? He had caught her scent as she went by and, although he was no connoisseur, it was unlike any he had ever known. It wasn’t subtle, nor was it particularly distinct; it wasn’t teasing, but it was … it was strangely intoxicating, as though some mild stimulant was part of its mix. The perfume hinted at fresh forest air and musk, plus one other indefinable ingredient, Lord knows what.
    Forgetting to close the door, Thom followed after the woman, noticing the thonged sandals she wore, the pleasing shape from lower calf to slim ankle. She was still smiling as she unpacked the wicker basket - fresh bread, two milk cartons, fruit, and other items to which he could pay no attention.
    Glancing up at him, the woman said, ‘Name’s Nell Quick, and I’m very pleased to meet you, Thom.’ Her voice was low-keyed, husky in a whisky-and-cigarettes way. She stopped her task for a moment to study his face.
    At least he had finally remembered to close his mouth.
    You look very tired,’ she said in her soft lilt. ‘Is it the illness or didn’t you sleep well on your first night home? I s’pose the cottage will take some time gettin’ used to again.’
    He returned her smile, even though he felt mildly uncomfortable under her bold, almost mocking gaze. Was she flirting with him?
    As if to answer his unspoken question, Nell Quick
    allowed her eyes to rove down his bare chest, a deliberate action he was sure was meant to be interpreted as such. He began buttoning up his shirt, the fingers of his left hand fumbling awkwardly.
    ‘Let me do that for you,’ she said immediately, stepping round the table and reaching forward.
    ‘No.’