said, in a voice that could have been Prussian, like some people said, or it could have been Welsh â or anything else. âLook at the state of you! What are you doing out there on my drive? Donât just stand there like that, boy â come inside, or youâll freeze to death!â
9
Hocus Pocus
My first thought, upon entering Clockvine House, was that Iâd made a terrible mistake. I might have been freezing cold and half dead, but it had always been drummed into me that I should never go anywhere with people I didnât know. Not only that, but the inside of the house was almost as dark and inhospitable as the mountain upon which it had been built. By the time Iâd got to the end of the long hall, I could hardly see my way back to the front door.
I began to feel sick and slightly panicky. The place had a musty, cold smell about it, and I was just beginning to think that the local gossipmongers had been right about it lacking electricity, when a door opened and a voice said, âReally, Pa. What are you doing, stumbling around in the dark? Youâll trip over the carpet if youâre not careful.â
A light went on, and there stood Gilda Katterfelto. Her eyes were like bright emeralds and her hair was dark. Her father explained about finding me on the doorstep and sent her upstairs to fetch warm clothes. Ichanged straight into them, a baggy sweater, jogging bottoms, slippers and thick socks, then allowed myself to be led into their sitting room, where a fire was burning.
âSit down,â Dr Katterfelto said. âWhatâs your name? Zed? Well, Zed, pull up a chair and get warmed up.â
I did as I was bidden, and immediately began to feel better. The Katterfeltos might be strangers, but they couldnât be kinder. Gilda disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a trolley laden with tea and a cake. It was as if I was an honoured guest. Her father poured the tea while she sliced the cake with a silver knife.
âI hope youâre hungry,â she said. âHelp yourself.â
I didnât need to be asked twice. Suddenly my being here didnât feel like a mistake. I piled my plate high, then emptied it, then did the same again, and then again. Before too long my life began to take on a distinct glow. Gilda sat at my elbow, wielding the cake knife, while Dr Katterfelto topped me up with tea and filled my awkward silences with tales about his show-business life.
He was a brilliant storyteller, full of tales he couldnât possibly have made up because, on every wall, I could see the photographs that proved him right. I looked at a pop legend from the sixties, proud to shake the doctorâs hand. A famous violinist. A late-night newsreader. A politician. Even a minor royal.
âBefore you ask,â said Dr Katterfelto, following my eyes, âIâve met them all. Kings and princes, lords and ladies â you name them and Iâve performed for them. Iâve put on shows in palaces, and Iâve put them on in village halls. High and low â it makes no difference.And Iâll put on one for you. Test-drive my latest tricks on you â if youâd like me to, that is.â
My plate was empty by this time, and so was my cup. Gilda nodded at the cake, but I shook my head. She wheeled the trolley out of the way, and I said that I would love to see the doctorâs new tricks. At this, he rose to his feet.
âShall we go, then?â he said.
I was more than willing. The three of us set off through the house, down yet more long, dark corridors, through a pair of glazed double doors, and into an elegant old conservatory. Its great expanse of glass revealed a sky full of stars, and I realised for the first time that night had fallen. Dr Katterfelto pulled up a cane chair between a pair of potted palms, and told me to make myself comfortable. Then he and Gilda made their way down the conservatory to a makeshift stage full of
9
Hocus Pocus
My first thought, upon entering Clockvine House, was that Iâd made a terrible mistake. I might have been freezing cold and half dead, but it had always been drummed into me that I should never go anywhere with people I didnât know. Not only that, but the inside of the house was almost as dark and inhospitable as the mountain upon which it had been built. By the time Iâd got to the end of the long hall, I could hardly see my way back to the front door.
I began to feel sick and slightly panicky. The place had a musty, cold smell about it, and I was just beginning to think that the local gossipmongers had been right about it lacking electricity, when a door opened and a voice said, âReally, Pa. What are you doing, stumbling around in the dark? Youâll trip over the carpet if youâre not careful.â
A light went on, and there stood Gilda Katterfelto. Her eyes were like bright emeralds and her hair was dark. Her father explained about finding me on the doorstep and sent her upstairs to fetch warm clothes. Ichanged straight into them, a baggy sweater, jogging bottoms, slippers and thick socks, then allowed myself to be led into their sitting room, where a fire was burning.
âSit down,â Dr Katterfelto said. âWhatâs your name? Zed? Well, Zed, pull up a chair and get warmed up.â
I did as I was bidden, and immediately began to feel better. The Katterfeltos might be strangers, but they couldnât be kinder. Gilda disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a trolley laden with tea and a cake. It was as if I was an honoured guest. Her father poured the tea while she sliced the cake with a silver knife.
âI hope youâre hungry,â she said. âHelp yourself.â
I didnât need to be asked twice. Suddenly my being here didnât feel like a mistake. I piled my plate high, then emptied it, then did the same again, and then again. Before too long my life began to take on a distinct glow. Gilda sat at my elbow, wielding the cake knife, while Dr Katterfelto topped me up with tea and filled my awkward silences with tales about his show-business life.
He was a brilliant storyteller, full of tales he couldnât possibly have made up because, on every wall, I could see the photographs that proved him right. I looked at a pop legend from the sixties, proud to shake the doctorâs hand. A famous violinist. A late-night newsreader. A politician. Even a minor royal.
âBefore you ask,â said Dr Katterfelto, following my eyes, âIâve met them all. Kings and princes, lords and ladies â you name them and Iâve performed for them. Iâve put on shows in palaces, and Iâve put them on in village halls. High and low â it makes no difference.And Iâll put on one for you. Test-drive my latest tricks on you â if youâd like me to, that is.â
My plate was empty by this time, and so was my cup. Gilda nodded at the cake, but I shook my head. She wheeled the trolley out of the way, and I said that I would love to see the doctorâs new tricks. At this, he rose to his feet.
âShall we go, then?â he said.
I was more than willing. The three of us set off through the house, down yet more long, dark corridors, through a pair of glazed double doors, and into an elegant old conservatory. Its great expanse of glass revealed a sky full of stars, and I realised for the first time that night had fallen. Dr Katterfelto pulled up a cane chair between a pair of potted palms, and told me to make myself comfortable. Then he and Gilda made their way down the conservatory to a makeshift stage full of
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