stones, then the Devil pops up and drags you back down to Hell with him."
"And yet," said Dave, "here I am."
" Why, this is Hell ," Nicholas muttered, " nor am I out of it ."
Margaret looked from one to the other of them - but surely fretting more over the maintenance of their happiness rather than anything real relating to the stones. "It's nothing but tall tales. I'm sure there's nothing at all to worry about."
Then Joan spoke, proving she wasn't so oblivious after all. They all hushed to listen to her quiet voice. "If you see someone up there, sitting on the altar stone …"
"Admiring the view," put in Dave. "It's a great view from up there." Not that they had really looked, now that Dave thought about it. They'd been more concerned with the actual stones.
"I wouldn't go disturbing them, my lad."
"Why's that?" he asked. Though he knew he didn't want to hear the answer.
"Because sometimes it'll be folk having a rest while walking along the coastal path. And sometimes it'll be folk who aren't resting at all."
At which Nicholas was looking decidedly spooked.
"Right," said Dave. "I think that's probably enough hair-raising stories for now."
"Pay it no mind," Margaret urged. "They're just stories."
"Exactly. And we're on our honeymoon. To be honest, I plan to spend most of it safely tucked away in bed." At which Maeve guffawed appreciatively - and Dave abruptly blushed crimson, realising that not only had he managed to set Nicholas's imagination working overtime about the stones but he hadn't avoided the honeymoon-related embarrassment after all. "Oh God ," he grumbled. "One day I'll learn when to shut up."
At least Nicholas was looking at him fondly, ghosts forgotten for now. "I think that's our cue to leave, taking what little is left of our dignity with us."
"Absolutely."
Margaret kept them long enough to press upon them another business card with her phone numbers, despite them having already found a stack of such cards at the cottage - and to assure them at disconcerting length that she wouldn't be dropping by without phoning first, so they should feel free to do whatever they liked at any time without fearing any surprises . Soon enough, however, they were out of there.
"I think," said Nicholas, "we should go and do … exactly what they think we're going to go and do …"
"All right," Dave gamely replied. It wasn't as if he could feel any more embarrassed.
"Or … maybe something wickeder still."
Dave grinned at him. "You're on."
They had lunch at a pub in Lizard the next day. It was cold but sunny, so they sat out the front under a canvas umbrella, taking in the view to the south. The land fell away until it reached the southernmost point of mainland Britain. "We should do that, should we?" asked Dave in admittedly lazy tones. "Are we doing the tourist thing?"
"We could wander down there … if I've left you with the necessary energy."
Dave thought for a moment, and chuckled. "There's no right answer to that, is there?"
"No," Nicholas smugly replied.
"Have you done the other points? I mean, north, west, east …"
"No, and I'm not likely to now, am I?"
"Maybe we should do this one anyway. Seeing as we're here."
Nicholas scrunched up his face a bit. "Have you done that in Australia?"
"No … Byron Bay's pretty cool, though. That's the easternmost point. That's worth a visit, anyway. Pete Murray lives there, though he's really a Queenslander."
Nicholas was grinning again. "Will we go on holiday there, do you think?"
"Yeah, maybe." It was Dave's turn to scrunch up his face. "I dunno. Some years, I'm so busy with the tours that just hanging out at home is enough of a holiday."
"I can understand that."
Their conversation might have ambled on forever, if a couple of blokes hadn't come out from the pub with their pints, and sat themselves down at the next table along. And they obviously weren't there for the ploughman's lunch. One was an older man with a white hair and beard, who seemed
"And yet," said Dave, "here I am."
" Why, this is Hell ," Nicholas muttered, " nor am I out of it ."
Margaret looked from one to the other of them - but surely fretting more over the maintenance of their happiness rather than anything real relating to the stones. "It's nothing but tall tales. I'm sure there's nothing at all to worry about."
Then Joan spoke, proving she wasn't so oblivious after all. They all hushed to listen to her quiet voice. "If you see someone up there, sitting on the altar stone …"
"Admiring the view," put in Dave. "It's a great view from up there." Not that they had really looked, now that Dave thought about it. They'd been more concerned with the actual stones.
"I wouldn't go disturbing them, my lad."
"Why's that?" he asked. Though he knew he didn't want to hear the answer.
"Because sometimes it'll be folk having a rest while walking along the coastal path. And sometimes it'll be folk who aren't resting at all."
At which Nicholas was looking decidedly spooked.
"Right," said Dave. "I think that's probably enough hair-raising stories for now."
"Pay it no mind," Margaret urged. "They're just stories."
"Exactly. And we're on our honeymoon. To be honest, I plan to spend most of it safely tucked away in bed." At which Maeve guffawed appreciatively - and Dave abruptly blushed crimson, realising that not only had he managed to set Nicholas's imagination working overtime about the stones but he hadn't avoided the honeymoon-related embarrassment after all. "Oh God ," he grumbled. "One day I'll learn when to shut up."
At least Nicholas was looking at him fondly, ghosts forgotten for now. "I think that's our cue to leave, taking what little is left of our dignity with us."
"Absolutely."
Margaret kept them long enough to press upon them another business card with her phone numbers, despite them having already found a stack of such cards at the cottage - and to assure them at disconcerting length that she wouldn't be dropping by without phoning first, so they should feel free to do whatever they liked at any time without fearing any surprises . Soon enough, however, they were out of there.
"I think," said Nicholas, "we should go and do … exactly what they think we're going to go and do …"
"All right," Dave gamely replied. It wasn't as if he could feel any more embarrassed.
"Or … maybe something wickeder still."
Dave grinned at him. "You're on."
They had lunch at a pub in Lizard the next day. It was cold but sunny, so they sat out the front under a canvas umbrella, taking in the view to the south. The land fell away until it reached the southernmost point of mainland Britain. "We should do that, should we?" asked Dave in admittedly lazy tones. "Are we doing the tourist thing?"
"We could wander down there … if I've left you with the necessary energy."
Dave thought for a moment, and chuckled. "There's no right answer to that, is there?"
"No," Nicholas smugly replied.
"Have you done the other points? I mean, north, west, east …"
"No, and I'm not likely to now, am I?"
"Maybe we should do this one anyway. Seeing as we're here."
Nicholas scrunched up his face a bit. "Have you done that in Australia?"
"No … Byron Bay's pretty cool, though. That's the easternmost point. That's worth a visit, anyway. Pete Murray lives there, though he's really a Queenslander."
Nicholas was grinning again. "Will we go on holiday there, do you think?"
"Yeah, maybe." It was Dave's turn to scrunch up his face. "I dunno. Some years, I'm so busy with the tours that just hanging out at home is enough of a holiday."
"I can understand that."
Their conversation might have ambled on forever, if a couple of blokes hadn't come out from the pub with their pints, and sat themselves down at the next table along. And they obviously weren't there for the ploughman's lunch. One was an older man with a white hair and beard, who seemed
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