him, feeling her hair against his face, her lips against his, her eager softness in his arms and her breath against his cheek. Her kiss tasted exactly how he’d imagined it: raspberries and smoky roses. They made love there, on Jay’s unmade bed, with the goat looking curiously through the half-closed shutters, and the sweet golden light kaleidoscoping across the dim blue walls.
For a while that seemed enough.
62
Jay looked at Marise asleep beside him. She looked trusting, secure. She murmured something quiet and wordless in her sleep. She smiled. Jay pulled the blanket closer around her and she buried her face in it with a long sigh.
Jay watched her and thought about the morning. There must be something he could do. He could not let her lose the farm. He could not abandon Lansquenet to developers. The film crew was arriving tomorrow. That gave him what? Six hours? Seven?
To do what? What could he do in seven hours? Or seventy, for that matter? What could
The voice was almost familiar. Cynical, hearty, a little amused.
Sure. He almost spoke aloud. But Joe was dead. Grief surprised him again, as it always did when he thought of Joe. Joe was dead. No more magic. Like the Specials, it had finally run out for good.
This time it really was Joe’s voice. For a second his heart leaped, but he realized that Joe’s voice was in his mind, in his memory. Joe’s presence – his real, independent presence – was gone. This was just a substitute. A game. A conceit, like whistling in the dark.
‘Of course I do,’ whispered Jay helplessly. ‘But there are no Specials any more. They’re all gone. I finished them. I
Why don’t you bloody listen? Joe’s voice, if it was Joe’s voice, was everywhere now – in the air, in the light from the dying embers, in the glow of her hair spread out across the pillow.
‘Sure.’ Jay shook his head, puzzled. ‘But without Joe none of that stuff works any more. Like that last time at Pog Hill-’
From the walls, laughter. The air was rich with it. A phantom scent of apples and smoke seemed to rise from the coals. The night sparkled.
‘But I had the talisman. I believed-’
Jay thought about that for a moment.
‘But I can’t-’
Then the voices were gone, and suddenly his head was ringing, not with dizziness but with sudden clarity. He knew what he had to do.
Six hours, he told himself. He had no time to lose.
NO-ONE SAW HIM LEAVE THE HOUSE. NO-ONE WAS WATCHING. Even if they were no-one would question his presence, or find it odd. Nor was the deep basket of herbs which he carried in any way unusual. The broad-leaved plants which filled it might be a present for someone, a gift for a flagging garden. Even the fact that he was muttering something under his breath, something which sounded a little like Latin, would not surprise them. He was, after all, English, therefore a little crazy.
He found he remembered Joe’s perimeter ritual very well indeed. There was no time to make incense, nor to prepare any new sachets, but he did not think that mattered now. Even he could sense the Specials around him, hear their whispering voices, their fairground laughter. He took the seedlings carefully from the cold frame, as many as he could carry, along with a trowel and a tiny fork. He planted them at intervals on the roadside. He planted several at the intersection with the Toulouse road, two more at the stop sign, two more on the road to Les Marauds. Fog, Lansquenet’s special fog, which rolls off the marshes and into the vineyards, rose about him like a bright sail in the early sun. Jay Mackintosh hurried on his circuit, half running in his haste to make the deadline, planting Joe’s tuberosa
As Joe hid Pog Hill Lane, he thought in triumph, he had hidden the village of Lansquenet-sous-Tannes.
Marise and Rosa had gone by the time he got back. The sky began to lighten. The mist cleared.
63
IT WAS ELEVEN O’CLOCK BEFORE KERRY ARRIVED. CRISP AND COOL in a white blouse and grey skirt, her document case in one hand. Jay was waiting for her.
‘Good morning, Jay.’
‘You’re back.’
She looked over his shoulder into the room, noting the empty glasses and the wine bottles.
‘We
Jay looked at her. It hadn’t worked, he thought bleakly. In spite of everything, in spite of his faith.
‘So you’re still going ahead with it?’
‘Well, of course I’m going ahead,’ replied Kerry impatiently. ‘It’s too good an opportunity to miss.’ She examined her nails. ‘You’re a celebrity. When the book comes out I can show the world where you got your inspiration.’ She smiled brightly. ‘It’s such a wonderful book,’ she added. ‘It’s going to be a terrific success. If anything, it’s even