for each breath. Not far, not far now — she was almost there.
Her hair had worked loose, tumbling around her shoulders. She unbuttoned her coat. Soon she would be on the very peak, high above the valley.
Far below, Freedom began to climb. He couldn’t see her, but he had found her suitcase by the grave. Further on he found her scarf caught in a bramble bush and held it, standing poised and still, listening, shading his eyes to look up the mountain against the sun. He threw his jacket aside and moved on, his heart thudding in his chest. Alert as an animal he could sense her, knew she was not far. He climbed higher, and suddenly fear gripped him tight. He looked down — it was her coat, cast aside. For one terrible moment he thought it had been her, his manushi. He called for her, shouted. Her name echoed around emptily, no Evie answered back.
‘Evelyne … Evelyne … Evelyne!’
Rounding a shelf covered in man-sized boulders, he saw her, way above him, standing like a statue, arms up, hair blowing in the clean wind. She was turning, slowly, dangerously, her head back and eyes closed. At any moment she could fall, lose her balance. She was dancing with death.
His voice was low and soft, a whisper. ‘Is it a partner you’re wanting, Evie?’ He was terrified she would open her eyes and fall, but she smiled, head high, facing the sun. He inched towards her without a sound, closer, until he could reach out and catch her … he grabbed her by her long hair and pulled her to him. She turned on him like a wildcat, eyes blazing, and struck out at him, but he held her, took the blows … dragged her to safety, while she scratched and fought him every inch. When he had got her to a safe distance, he gripped her by the shoulders, trapping her arms at her sides … ‘Look, look, see how close you were, woman, you could have been killed.’
She struggled, kicked out at him. ‘Maybe that’s what I want, get off me, you bugger, let me alone, this is my business … It’s my life, God damn you!’
He didn’t mean to hit her so hard, her head snapped back and her mouth started to bleed. The shock made her still, calmed her.
‘You’re my life too, you’ll give yourself to no mountain.’
‘I’ll not give myself to you either, let me go!’ But she didn’t struggle any more, and he eased his hold until he simply held her in his arms. The wonder of the valley spread below them, as if only for them. He picked her up, gently, and carried her to a rock, sat her down.
‘What was his name? Your Da’s name?’
She turned her head away from him, touched her bleeding lip … after a moment she whispered his name, ‘Hugh, Hugh …’
‘Well, girl, call out to him, call as loud as you can, release it, release him …’
She shook her head, and Freedom cupped his hands to his mouth and called her Da … called for Hugh.
His voice came back with the name of her father, and she felt the tears inside. She threw her head back and, as if defying the mountain, she cried out for her father. ‘Hugh … Dal Da… Da. ‘
The echo thundered, boomed, the words meeting, joining, until the sound became a roar …
Freedom watched her, her face like a child’s as she cupped her hands to her mouth and called to the air. He let her rise, moving closer to the edge … ‘Mary … Will… Mike … Daveyyyyyyyyyyyyyy…’
She reached out to her dead, arms spread, calling to them, and when her grief broke through he was there at her side. All the tears she had not shed when she was a child, the tears for Hugh, for her family, for all of them.
She would never remember how long she had wept, only that he was there. He cradled her, rocked her like a baby and she felt safe, secure, and slowly, gradually, she was quiet.
‘I can feel your heart, manushi He laid his hand over her right breast. It felt as if it was burning through her … then he took her hand and laid it against his own heart. He laughed, lying back in the grass.
‘You laughing at me, man?’
He took her hand, kissed her fingers. ‘No, manushi, I’m not laughing … see, we gyppos, when we marry we don’t need no church, no service. Some of ‘em have ‘em, but most place hands to hearts … when they beat as one, well, then they’re married.’
She didn’t know whether he was serious or not, because he had such a strange smile on his face. But she could feel the imprint of his hand on her breast, as if her heart were on fire. She looked into his eyes, and he drew her gently to him. His kiss was so sweet, his lips hardly brushed hers, and it was Evelyne who reached for him, pulled him to her … the burning in her heart spread through her whole body, and she clung to him.
He reached over and slowly undid each button of her blouse. She didn’t resist, but lay still until it was undone completely, and he pulled it gently away from her breasts. Her skin was white, white, her breasts had the palest pink nipples he had ever seen … He bent his dark head and kissed each nipple in turn, then lay his head on her breast and felt the pounding of her heart.
He whispered, ‘Manushi, my manushi…’ Gently, unhurriedly, he slipped her boots off, untying each lace and easing them away from her feet, kissing her toes, light, featherweight kisses. He unhooked her skirt, and she did nothing to assist him, lying with one arm across her face, eyes closed. He lifted her in his arms and pulled the skirt from beneath her until she was naked, and then he laid her down on her skirt. She was frightened, afraid to open her eyes, to see him, see his face. He stood up and slipped out of his trousers until he too was naked, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then he lay next to her, she could feel his heart and she waited, but he didn’t touch her. Her whole body was burning, her mouth dry, her heart pounding as if it were going to burst through her breasts.
She lowered her hand from her face and let it rest at her side. She could feel his skin. Slowly turning her body to face him, looking into his eyes, she put her hand to his heart. He smiled and laid his hand on her heart.
He made love to her gently, guiding her, making sure he didn’t hurt her or make her afraid, and when he was sure of her, knew by the movements of her body that she was ready, he let loose his passion. Evelyne rose with him, moved with him, and they were insatiable, their greed for each other consuming. She made love with a rage, until she was released by an explosion inside her body that in turn released her mind. It was such an exquisite emotion that she wanted it over and over again.
She slept safe in the crook of his arm. He studied her face. She sat at peace now, and she was his. He would never let her go, she was his manushi, his wife.
She was shy at first when she woke, covering her naked breasts with her hands. He made her take her hands away, telling her she was more beautiful than any wild-flower they could see. To assure her of this, he gathered wild cornflowers till his arms were filled with them and laid them over her body.
‘Oh, these were my Ma and Da’s favourite.’
There was no pain when she said their names. Her grief had gone as her loved ones had been embraced and kissed goodbye. Then together they laid cornflowers on the grave.
‘Now, gel, which way would you say London was?’
‘London?’
‘Aye, I’m to be a champion boxer, I signed a contract. Sir Charles said he’d give thee work … Come, give us yer hand, gel.’
Freedom had made a crown of cornflowers. She laughed when he set it gendy on her head! Then arm in arm they walked down from the mountain, away from the grave. Evelyne’s gentle, delighted laugh echoed back to them, like the soft whisper of Mary Jones …
‘Leave the valley, Evie, promise me …’
BOOK THREE
Chapter 17
SIR Charles Wheeler’s estate was twenty miles from Salisbury, After passing through Andover, the route
