happiness”?’ He was incredulous.
‘What else? The happy engagement must be broken and the couple utterly severed. That is not difficult, of course— you might do it yourself, with some application. My skill lies in producing the outcome you desire from the debris of that destruction.’
She regarded him complacently. He reviewed the price a second time, and pursed his lips. She leaned forward, so that her face came very close to his own, and gave a kind of smile. It was a smile of the mouth, while the fixed intensity of her gaze remained unaltered. She reached forward and tapped very gently on one side of his chest, where the square shape of his cheque book was just visible through the fabric of his jacket. He withdrew from her touch, hesitating; and then drew out the book as prompted.
While he was writing, she remarked: ‘Bridget Elveden will love you within a year, if you follow my instructions exactly.’
‘A year!’ he exclaimed. ‘I told you, they’re getting married before Christmas!’
‘What difference does that make? I’ve told you she will love you within a year. And to the exclusion of all others. You can forward-date the cheque if you like, if you’re anxious. Put the first of May next year.’
‘You’re that confident?’ he asked, surprised.
‘I am,’ she said, ‘so you don’t need to be.’
He scribbled the amount, took advantage of her offer regarding the date, and signed. She studied the cheque carefully, and then rose to secure it in a lockable box hidden in a drawer at the back of the shop.
‘What do I do next, then?’ he wanted to know. ‘What are the instructions you mentioned?’
‘Where is Bridget Elveden now?’ came the response.
‘She’s here in Cromer. We’ve come down for the weekend— the three of us. We’re always together if I can help it. I need to be near her, you see— even if John’s there too. They don’t mind me hanging around— neither of them realise how I feel. I suppose she thinks of me as her brother-in-law already. Nothing more than that, in spite of how I— in spite of what— oh, in spite of me altogether. When I heard of you, I suggested the trip. I thought you might need to meet her.’
The witch neither confirmed nor denied the necessity of an introduction. Once the box was back in its drawer she turned to him and resumed her scrutiny of his features, apparently ignorant of his words. At last, after a long pause of excruciating stillness, she said briskly: ‘Go to the pier and catch a crab with a white cross on its shell. Take it to the café with the white flag and ask the chef to cook it for you. Mention me and he’ll oblige, for a tip. Then share the crab with Bridget Elveden. Let no-one else taste it on any account. If you do this, her love will transfer to you within a year. That’s all.’
She went to the door, took the key from the velvet pouch and unlocked it. He posed several questions, and begged further explanations and reassurances, but she was mute, as though lost in studying his face. Eventually he submitted to remain uncertain, bid her goodbye and departed. He certainly did not thank her for her services. Indeed, he was irritated to conclude that the entire expedition had been a waste of time; but consoled himself that it need not have been a waste of money as well— he had a whole year in which to cancel the cheque, if Bridget’s affections should prove unchangeable. In the meantime, he saw no harm in executing the witch’s orders; he did not really believe in her powers, but had hope enough to be persuaded.
He was a meticulous man, so allowed himself time to ensure that everything was performed correctly. He arranged for his brother to leave Cromer the next day for a few hours in the early afternoon. John was malleable enough to take his older sibling’s suggestions and make them his own decisions, so he drove back to Norwich with enthusiasm to purchase some particular present or other as a surprise for Bridget. Meanwhile, Bridget herself was secured for a lunch date, and all that remained was catching the crab.
The intriguing lover went down to the pier first thing in the morning, to give himself plenty of time. He had seen groups of little boys fishing from the end, and concluded that it could not be difficult to get a catch; however, he wanted to make certain the sea would yield sufficient to feed two people, and the tiny crabs he had noticed in the children’s nets would hardly produce a mouthful.
He hired his own net, bought some bait and strode to the end of the pier, where it stood in deepest water. Some local lads were stooped by the edge, feeding their lines through the railings, and he observed their progress for a while to see how best to proceed. Their excitement on drawing up a crab the size of a small lemon communicated no such enthusiasm to him, but he settled himself to venture in any case. Crouching nearby, he baited the cage-like wired net, dangled it over the side, and unwound the line until the sloshing waves covered the trap and he felt a vibration in the string as it settled against one of the iron posts. After that, it seemed to be a matter of waiting, so wait he did— but not for very long. Almost immediately, in fact, he felt the line quiver violently, and then give a sustained tug as though something had gotten into his net.
He had no idea what to expect, and felt rather self-conscious as he began to wind in the line again so soon, because the boys at hand smirked with the pitying experience of seasoned crab-fishermen. Their smirks changed to surprise, however, when the net jerked into view to reveal a substantial red crab, six or seven times the size of their most boasted catch. With envy, but also anticipation that the crab’s peers might be queuing up to crawl into their own traps, the children watched the lucky newcomer haul up the crabbish behemoth, give it an approving examination, and then walk back the way he had come.
The crab had no marking on its shell of any kind, let alone a white cross, but its catcher was still satisfied— it was eminently suitable in every other respect, and he did not mean to spend the rest of the morning waiting for anything better. The café with the white flag fluttering from a pole above its door was situated at the start of the pier, just inside the gates, so there was not far for him to carry his prize. The chef of the establishment, a scruffy, daydreaming sort of fellow, proved only too pleased to cook and dress it, once two notes were pressed into his hand.
‘The Witch of Cromer recommended you.’
‘Did she now? The Witch of Cromer. Well, well.’
‘She said you’d know how to prepare it.’
‘I know how to prepare it, right enough. Don’t you worry. No witchcraft needed in my kitchen.’
He released the crab from the net into a large plastic container on the floor, and the red brute scuttled into the corner to await its doom.
‘I’ll be back for lunch at one o’ clock, with a friend,’ were the parting directions, and the first part of the witch’s directions were completed.
Bridget was due to meet her future brother-in-law by the pier at half twelve. She was always late for any appointment, so he had anticipated the delay. Even so, he was exactly on time himself, and stood waiting with his hands in his pockets as the church tower above him on the cliff top chimed the half hour. He amused himself by imagining what the immediate effect of eating the crab might be— whether Bridget would suddenly blush and take new notice of him, whether she would suddenly reveal that she meant to call off the engagement. But these were idle fantasies, not expectations. Chilly reality was always at hand to dampen his desire.
After the bell struck another quarter he spied her descending the steep stairs from the town in a hurry, scarf fluttering wide from her throat, coat over one arm billowing amongst shopping bags, long-handled umbrella and giant handbag over the other, a single glove on, and holding its twin, while struggling to secure her dancing hair beneath a jaunty hat. She laughed at her own chaos as she approached, tugging up her sleeve to peek at her watch.
‘Don’t tell me I’m late! I already know!’ she cried. ‘I couldn’t resist a nose around the shops— but there’s one I’ve saved for this afternoon— can you guess? The witch’s shop! The Witch of Cromer! I’m so excited! I’ve wangled Jonny into coming with me— I’m go
ing to have my fortune told! I’d never do it alone, I’m much too frightened, so he’ll have to sit there and hold my hand whether he wants to or not. My fortune! What do you think she’ll say? Oh! My hat! I knew I was a fool to wear it— quick— quick! Oh no! It’s gone in the sea!’
In fact, the blowaway item had only sailed over the promenade railing, and skimmed safely onto the beach below. Bridget dashed down the steps to retrieve it, but he was quicker, snatched it up and handed it back to her.
‘Thank you! What a rescue! Not that it deserves it, for flying off. How did those Edwardian ladies manage I wonder? That breeze must collect hats for a hobby. Look at it, wretched thing— though I suppose the sand won’t hurt— what’s that? A bit of seaweed? Sorry, I won’t be modelling the mermaid look today! What would the witch think of me turning up with kelp on my head? Maybe she wouldn’t mind, though— I daresay green hair’s all the rage with witches. Oh! Do you think she’ll have an inner third eye and see that I’m not a natural blonde? If she’s a wicked witch she’ll point it out— if she’s a good one she’ll recommend a better shade. Now, where’s Jonny? It’s not like him to be later than me.’
‘I asked him to run an errand,’ he returned calmly. ‘So he’ll miss lunch.’
‘He always does what you tell him to— I wish I had your knack! Well, well, to lunch then! What are you in the mood for?’
He was in the mood for crab, of course, and led her up onto the pier, while she chatted on exuberantly. Her disorderly energy was the antithesis of his strict, deliberate manner— which is why she magnetised him. He knew the rules and limits of his own character so thoroughly, that he adored her ability to confound his logic, exasperate his routine, blow him off course. That is why he had taken the unusual step of seeking supernatural aid to win her— no reasonable strategy, nothing methodical, could possibly prevail.
They sat down at a little table next to a window overlooking the water, and while ordering he revealed that he had actually caught the crab they were about to consume.
‘Really! Well, I shall enjoy it all the more! I had no idea you were a fisherman— or crabberman, or whatever they call it. I never thought you’d surprise me, Steven. Here it comes— it looks delicious! Steven! Did you really catch it yourself? It’s a monster! Well done indeed! Did it put up a fight? One of those claws would have your hand off! What a feast!’
Steven himself could hardly avoid admiring the size of the creature now that it lay before them on a bed of salad greens. Indeed, it seemed even bigger than he remembered. More remarkable still, the red of its shell was now emblazoned across with two thick, chalky streaks, which crossed in the middle. He supposed that it must be the effect of the cooking— though he wondered whether it was really the same crab he had caught at all.
They tucked in with gusto, and throughout the meal there was no perceptible change in Bridget. ‘Within a year,’ he thought to himself, by way of consolation.
She soon resumed the subject of her visit to the Witch of Cromer’s emporium, and mused on the secrets of futurity that the sorceress might reveal.
‘What if she doesn’t tell you what you want to hear?’ he asked her. ‘Your fortune might be— unexpected.’
‘Oh, I’m prepared for the worst, I assure you! Fore-warned is fore-armed, that’s why I’m going. I’ve no doubt she’ll read ten or eleven children in my palm, all strapping boys like Jonny, and I’ll spend the rest of my life breast-feeding, washing socks, sewing up rents in their rugby kits, pulling them out of bars and despising their girlfriends, until I’m too