Free Portent by James Herbert

back of the armchair and leaned on it, her head resting on top of her joined hands. She continued to watch Rivers gravely.
        Poggs raised his glass and said, 'Slainthe.'
        Distractedly, Rivers replied, 'Slainthero.'
        The gesture seemed to please the other man. He sipped the malt Scotch with relish. 'Initially, I'd like to discuss your experience before the American research aircraft crashed.'
        Rivers stiffened. 'I'm sure you followed the news reports and the various newspaper "insights" afterwards. Didn't they tell you all you need to know?'
        'Superficially, yes. The accident certainly attracted a great deal of media coverage.'
        'Air crashes do. But that's not why I came here. I'm here to find out what you know about Tinkerbell.'
        'All in good time,' said Poggs in an irritatingly benign manner. The girl leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. He patted her cheek, then returned his attention to Rivers. 'Our little dryad tells me you're afraid of us.'
        Rivers almost choked on the whisky. 'Is there any reason I should be?'
        'None at all, although it's only natural that you should be suspicious. After all, you must wonder at our motives. Perhaps that's what gives you fear, and that's something I wish to allay. In most ways, Mr. Rivers, we're a very normal family.'
        'And in others?'
        'Hmn?'
        'You said in most ways you're a normal family.'
        Poggs chuckled. 'May I call you James?'
        'No.'
        'Ah.'
        Rivers finished the Scotch and felt better for it. In this he agreed with his host: whisky was better with its challenge mildly subdued. He balanced the glass tumbler on the arm of his chair, fingers arched over its rim.
        'Another for our visitor, if you will, Diane.'
        Before she could rise, Rivers shook his head. 'Thank you, but no.' A small numbness had set in the centre of his forehead, perhaps as a result of combining pills with alcohol. 'Either we talk privately, or I leave now.'
        Poggs drew a wheezy breath. 'Oh dear, this is not going the way I planned.'
        The plump woman leaned across and squeezed his hand. 'Tact was never one of your strong points, Hugo, and I don't quite understand why you're making such an effort this time. With the way things are in the world today, and given his profession, I'm sure our visitor is a very busy man.' She turned to the climatologist, a no-nonsense expression on her face. 'Firstly though, if only for the sake of good manners, it's time we introduced ourselves to you. Then you and my husband can get on with the business at hand.'
        'There's no need.' He hoped his own expression conveyed impatience to leave.
        'No, there's no need, but as your car is presently stuck nose-first in a ditch, there is time. Now, I'm Barbara Poggs, and as they've nicknamed Hugo Poggsy, I have to suffer Bibby. You can blame that on our grandchildren.' She tapped the boy's head and he grinned up at her. 'Diane you've already met, and sitting by the window over there is Mack-that is his name, not an abbreviation-and without him to help us with our livestock and market garden-we're self-sufficient here, Mr. Rivers-we'd be lost. He's also very good at fixing things, from electric irons to bam roofs and he lives in an apartment above the old stables opposite. You'll have noticed he's a very quiet man.'
        She ruffled the boy's hair and gestured the girl to come over to her. She did so without hesitation, snuggling up tight and reaching round to touch her brother's arm.
        'The children are our little wood nymphs-dryads, you heard Hugo call them-this one is Eva and this one is Josh, although in the great tradition of nicknames, Eva insists on being called Minnie. Heaven knows why, but I suspect a certain cartoon mouse has something to do with it. Fortunately, Josh is quite happy with Josh.'
        She huffed a breath of relief. 'There,