ARE YOU FOR REAL?
There was a comforting coolness on her cheek, she knew that much.
Slowly forcing her eyes open, she found she was face down, level with the grass. Her head might have been split in two, she wasn't sure, and her body felt as though an elephant had sat on her.
She rolled over on to her back and groaned. There was a churning sensation in her stomach that didn't bode well for the immediate future.
"Can you stand?"
A voice!
Clipped, abrupt and not very friendly, but nevertheless, a voice. Help was at hand.
"I'm...not sure," she answered. "I think...I think I fainted..." She looked up and tried very hard to get her eyes into focus.
All she could see was a blurred figure, dark with a pale face and black eyes that seemed to be glaring at her.
A hand was extended. She took it and felt herself pulled to her feet. The sudden elevation made her reel. She put her hand to her forehead...ohhhh Goddddd...
...she bent forward and threw-up. The figure stepped back just in time to avoid vomit-covered shoes.
Andi heaved again, but it was a dry wretch and although she still felt bad, she thought perhaps the actual sickness had finished.
"Any more?"
She shook her head, not looking up.
"Here." A large handkerchief was thrust under her nose. She took it, gratefully, wiped her mouth and blew her nose. Without thinking, she handed it back.
"Delightful," sneered the voice. "Please feel free to keep it."
Andi lifted her head in an attempt to see her rescuer.
"Ohhh!"
She had time to take in hard, pitch black eyes, long lank black hair and an extraordinarily hawk-like nose, before the world began to swim again.
Her legs could no longer support her, and she gave up the struggle. Teetering on the edge of oblivion, she was aware of arms at her back and under her knees. Hoisted up to her rescuer, her nasal senses picked up a sweet herby scent as she felt herself being carried along and through into a cool building.
Semi-conscious, she felt jogged to sickness again as she was carried along and along and along for what seemed like ever, until a door was kicked open and she was put down on a blissfully soft surface.
She was aware of sounds, of movement, but really, she couldn't be bothered to look. Sleep seemed wonderfully inviting, and just as she was about to accept, a hand came behind her neck and lifted her head.
"Here. This will help the sickness."
The tone, the touch, were perfunctory. There was no caring bedside manner detectable in either.
Not bothering to open her eyes, she felt the edge of a glass offered to her mouth. She parted her lips to allow the liquid in.
It wasn't entirely pleasant, but tolerable. It felt thick and syrupy and it warmed her as she swallowed.
A second sip, which strangely tasted slightly better than the first and seemed to jump-start her. Her head began to clear rapidly and her stomach felt slightly more settled.
"One more..."
It felt almost as though the warm liquid was flushing the sickness out of her system and cleansing it. She even felt well enough to open her eyes.
She was lying on a dark red sofa. Her rescuer crouched next to her, a glass of rich amber liquid in his hand.
Seeing her eyes open, he put her head back on the soft surface, took his hand away from her neck and stood up.
"Thank you," she managed to stutter to his back as he turned away abruptly. "I think I must have fainted."
"Evidently."
He bent to a plain wooden chair and picked up a dark grey blanket which he shook open and threw over her.
"Oh, thanks, but you know, I'm much too warm..."
"I am less concerned with your temperature than your modesty," he said, coolly. "You appear to have lost some clothing."
"Huh?"
She felt under the blanket. Her dress was there, her G-string was there...
"No, I don't think so," she said with relief.
He lifted an eyebrow.
"That is your normal state of dress?"
"Ye-ah..." She replied slowly, slightly amused at the hint of disapproval in his voice. Where had he been hiding lately?
"Extraordinary."
She looked at him and wondered how old he was. She calculated anywhere in his forties...certainly not old enough to react like a dried-up maiden aunt, unless..
Perhaps he was a priest? He was dressed in black, his shirt buttoned to the high collar - in the middle of a heat wave; and now she looked around, this place could be part of a church.
"However, the Headmaster will be here very soon and you may wish to remain covered for the duration of that meeting."
"Headmaster? Where the hell am I?"
"I am quite certain I am not the person to explain that to you, Miss..?"
"Carver. Andi...I mean, Andrea Carver." She offered him a hand. Instead of taking it, he turned away.
"I expect the Headmaster very soon," he said, shortly.