cheeks. All Jake could think was how beautiful she looked. He sat down beside the bed, taking her hand. It felt so small and bony now, almost like Helen’s. Oh, Christ, how could he have done this to her? It was he who’d killed her, not the poison.
The doctor came in, and decided to overlook the sleeping puppy curled up on Jake’s knee. This was really no time to worry about hygiene.
“Can’t you do anything?” asked Jake, in desperation.
The doctor shook his head. “We’ve done all we can. She took a massive overdose, enough to kill four people. Luckily we caught it very early, but I’m surprised she’s lasted this long. We washed out her stomach, of course, but she’s got no resistance. There was nothing in her stomach. She can’t have eaten for days. I’m afraid there’s very little hope she’ll ever regain consciousness. I’m so sorry.”
Jake was frantically wracking his brain. When he was living with the gypsies one of the girls had taken an overdose of belladonna after her lover had walked out. The old gypsy grandmother had produced some antidote or emetic and saved her. What the hell had she used? But it was such a long time ago. He must concentrate and try to remember.
“Did she leave a note?” he asked Fen.
Fen got it out of her jeans pocket. “It was addressed to you. She’s left you everything. She knew horses were the only thing that mattered to you, that you and Helen could only come back if she was out of the way.”
But Jake was reading the note.
“She loved you,” said Fen bitterly. “Isa, Darklis, me, the horses, Wolf, were only extensions of how much she loved you. She knew you didn’t love her, but she felt you needed her. That she made life easier, that was enough.”
“Oh, Christ,” Jake groaned, putting his head in his hands. “I only realized in L.A. how much I loved her. Then Helen spilled the beans to Rupert. I couldn’t let her down. I was frightened at what Rupert would do to her. I’d got myself into such a stupid fucking corner.”
“You could have got in touch,” said Fen bleakly. “Nothing, not a word to anyone since you walked out.”
“I didn’t know what to say. I’d treated her so horrendously. I felt so guilty, and besides I’d given Helen the handkerchief.”
Fen lost her temper. “What about the handkerchief you once gave Tory?” she hissed. “You conveniently forgot about that when it suited you, didn’t you? So much for your bloody gypsy integrity. Tory was clutching it when we found her.”
Jake was stunned. “She always seemed so strong that she could cope with anything. I didn’t realize I meant so much to her.” He looked down at Tory, touching her cheek. With a lurch of fear, he realized her breathing was even fainter. Both he and Fen jumped as Dino came in.
“You’ve been here long enough,” he said to Jake, making absolutely no attempt to conceal his contempt and loathing.
Suddenly Jake seemed roused out of his state of apathy.
“She’s my wife,” he snarled, “and I love her.”
“Funny way of showing it,” said Dino, holding the door open for him.
Tipping the puppy gently onto the floor, Jake stood up. “Well, they won’t cure her in here.”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Taking her home.”
“She’s dying, godammit.”
“Then she might as well die at home, surrounded by people and the animals she loves.”
Pulling one of the thick gray blankets off the bed, Jake wrapped it around Tory and picked her up. She was so light now, he could carry her easily. The puppy, already recognizing Jake as her new master, wagged her tail and trotted after him out of the room. Deaf to the protestations of doctors and nurses, desperately trying to remember the name of that miracle cure of the old gypsy grandmother, Jake hardly seemed to recognize Malise coming out of the lift.
“Where d’you think you’re going?” said Malise icily.
“Home.”
“What about Helen?”
“Helen?” Jake wrinkled his brow. It was as if Malise were asking him whether he’d turned off the tap in his cabin as the
“Yes, Helen,” said Malise grimly, holding the lift door shut, blocking Jake’s path.
Dragging his mind back, Jake gave Malise the address in Gloucester. “She doesn’t know what’s happened. Could you go to her, explain to her, look after her, and say I’m sorry?”
Back at the Mill House, Jake tucked Tory up in the big double bed and lit a fire in the grate. Then he settled down in an armchair, as near her as possible, to pore over his ancient flower books and herbals, frantically searching for a clue to the missing ingredient that might cure her.
Late in the afternoon the children came home. Jake braced himself, longing to see them but prepared for sullen antagonism, even abuse. He nearly wept at their incredulous joy that he was home again, hurling themselves into his arms without a word of reproach.
Isa was clearly demented with worry about his mother. Darklis was young enough to be distracted. The puppy was a godsend and was soon taken over by both children. What frightened Jake was their touching faith that, now he was back, their mother would recover. Macaulay and Hardy had been close to death, numerous other horses, dogs, and members of the family had been ill and Jake had cured them.
“Mummy definitely won’t have to be put down now,” Jake heard Darklis telling Dino.
But Tory showed absolutely no sign of regaining consciousness, gradually growing weaker and weaker. Jake hardly left her side, not eating or sleeping. His anguish was so obvious, Fen, and even Dino, came to respect it, leaving him on his own with Tory. They fended off the press, keeping the children away if they became quarrelsome, even though most of the time Jake seemed to gain strength from their presence.
Two more days crawled by. Doctors and specialists, wheeled in by Dino, came and shook their heads. They no longer suggested Tory should go back into hospital; there was nothing anyone could do.
Jake refused to give up. If only it had been high summer, or even spring, some of the plants he suspected might cure her might have been flowering, or at least in leaf, and identifiable. Anyway, he was terrified to leave her too long in order to search, in case she died when he wasn’t there. Hour after hour he turned the pages with his right hand, holding her hand with his left, hoping against hope that she might return the pressure, showing some sign of life.
And now it was midnight on the third day. Outside, the foxes were barking. The fire was dying in the grate. Tory’s breathing had almost stopped. Her heartbeat was so faint he kept thinking he had lost her. She was deathly pale; the belladonna flush had long since gone. If only she could regain consciousness just for a second, so she could die knowing how much he loved her.
In one last desperate hope, he turned back to his most ancient flower book. He was so exhausted and he’d been reading small print for so long now that the words blurred before his eyes.
The only possibility had been the lesser spearwort, but it was such a strong emetic it would finish Tory off completely in her hopelessly weakened state. It was no good; he was powerless to save her.
Frantic, he took her in his arms, trying to warm some life into the frail body. He remembered how she had held Africa for him when he’d rushed off to be sick that first hot afternoon at the Bilborough show, never letting on she was scared stiff of horses. He remembered how she’d got tight and bought Africa for him, and how she’d never complained at the long hours away, had always welcomed him home, delighting in every victory, yet boosting his morale, professing her faith in him whenever he lost. Believing she would always be there, he had taken her for granted. He knew she was going to be taken away from him. At the end he had failed her again, by not being able to remember that missing ingredient.
“Don’t die,” he pleaded for the thousandth time. “Please don’t die.”
Laying her gently back on the pillow, he noticed the fire was nearly out and got up to put on another log. He hadn’t even bothered to draw the curtains. Stiff from sitting so long, he went to the window. There were no stars. The sky was already in mourning. He couldn’t bear it. Despairingly, he pressed his forehead against the cold windowpane. He had no idea how long he stood there.
“Jake,” came the faintest, faintest whisper.
