by Jilly Cooper
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 Titanic sank under the waves.
“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.
He swung, around in terror, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. It must be her ghost, come back to mock him.
“Jake,” she whispered again.
He was beside her in an instant, seizing her hands, willing her to speak.
“Is it really you?” she murmured.
“Really me.”
“You came back.” The words were so faint he had to bend close to catch them. “Or have I gone to heaven?”
“Must be hell,” he said unsteadily, “if you found me there. Please don’t die, I love you so much.”
“You need a shave,” she said, drifting back into unconsciousness.
Sick with terror, Jake had to wait, cradling her in his arms, frightened even to move. He’d asked only to be able to have time to tell her he loved her, but now it wasn’t enough and didn’t make him feel any better. He longed to call for Fen and Dino, but panic-stricken that she might die at any moment, he knew he could only face it alone.
After a couple of hours she gave a little sigh, shuddered, and opened her eyes again.
“I’m sorry I took all your belladonna. I couldn’t go on without you.”
Jake kissed her forehead. “I was the same. I just didn’t know how to come back. Please get better. I’ll never survive unless you do.”
“I’m sorry about Wolf. I should have had him on a lead, but he stuck so close since you, since you…” Her voice faltered.
“I know. I got you a puppy.” He picked the sleeping lurcher out of the basket, and laid her beside Tory on the bed, placing Tory’s hand on the fluffy narrow head. The puppy gave a deep contented sigh, licked the inside of Tory’s wrist, and snuggled back to sleep again.
Tory smiled weakly. “He’s lovely. I didn’t mean to blackmail you into coming back.”
“You didn’t have to. I didn’t even know you’d taken the belladonna until I turned up here with the puppy. Tanya told me about Wolf being run over. All
I needed was an excuse to come back. I never stopped missing you the whole time I was away. Please don’t talk. You must rest.”
“Can I see your silver?” she said drowsily.
“I flogged it to buy the puppy.”
As he drew the blankets up around her, the door opened softly. It was Fen. Jake put his finger to his lips. Shaking with sudden hope, Fen tiptoed towards the bed.
“You were speaking to her?”
“Twice.”
“Did she make sense?”
“Perfect.”
“Oh, my God. Is she going to be all right?”
“I don’t know. It’s too early to say.”
Together they gazed at the sleeping Tory. Then Fen put a hand on Jake’s shoulder.
“You made her better,” she said softly.
For a second, he glanced up, his face soaked with tears.
“I failed her,” he mumbled. “I tried and tried, but I couldn’t remember the missing ingredient.”
“You blind, stupid idiot,” said Fen very gently. “Only you could have cured her. Don’t you understand? The missing ingredient was love.”
Epilogue
The following afternoon, Rupert Campbell-Black passed his first interview with the Birdlip and Chalford constituency committee with flying colors. There was only one sticky moment, when deaf old Lady Oakridge, who never read the papers, asked Rupert if he and his wife would be living in the constituency.
Everyone held their breath in embarrassment.
“My wife will certainly be living in the constituency,” said Rupert emphatically.
“Good, good, glad to hear it,” said Lady Oakridge.
“But not actually with me,” said Rupert.
Everyone, except Lady Oakridge, suppressed smiles.
“Better to have a wife,” she said.
“I absolutely agree,” said Rupert. “Unfortunately mine’s only just pushed off, so I haven’t had time to get another one.”
“Fellow’s certainly got charm,” said Lord Oakridge after the meeting.
“Views are sound too,” said the brigadier. “Think we should seriously consider him.”
“You did so well,” said Amanda, patting Rupert’s thigh as she drove him back to London. “It’s a cinch.”
“Glad you think so.” Privately Rupert wondered how much he would enjoy listening to his constituents grumbling about one-way streets and their rows with their neighbors. Being off the circuit for two months had made him realize how desperately he missed show jumping. With any luck he should be back for Olympia.
“Oh, damn,” said Amanda, as they drew up at her house in Rutland Gate. “Conceptione’s left the drawing room light on. She’s getting awfully slack.”
“Hope it isn’t Rollo.”
“Rollo’s in Paris,” said Amanda, opening the front door. “Anyway, he knows I’m driving you around. Georgina!” she cried in outraged tones as she went into the drawing room. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“The rest of the form’s gone to the Old Vic. I couldn’t face it. I thought it would be more fun to come and see you,” said Georgina. “Hello,” she turned to Rupert. “Mummy’s never allowed us to meet.”
Oh, Christ, thought Rupert helplessly.
For there, in school uniform, exuding lascivious innocence, was a replica of Amanda, just as beautiful, but twenty-five years younger. No, he told himself firmly, it simply wouldn’t do. Now he was almost a prospective Tory candidate, he’d got to behave himself—although, heaven knows, they all seemed to be at it.
“What was the play?” he heard himself saying in an abnormally avuncular voice.
“All’s Well That Ends Well,” said Georgina smiling dreamily. “I hear you’re going into politics.”
“Not sure I’ll be very good,” confessed Rupert. “The only babies I like kissing are female and over fifteen.”
“Oh, brill!” said Georgina. “I was sixteen last week.”
Billy Lloyd-Foxe, just back from Amsterdam, watched his beautiful wife feeding his beautiful son with enormous pride and decided against pouring himself another glass of whisky. He was just getting over the glow of being on This Is Your Life. So many people had emerged from his past and said such amazingly nice things.
“I heard the most riveting bit of gossip today,” said Janey.
“What was it?”
“Well, Tracey told me she heard it from Dizzy, who heard it from Sarah, who heard it from Bridie, who’s just got this tremendously intellectual boyfriend, who actually takes her to the opera. Poor Bridie had to sit through Parsifal the other night. Said she nearly died of boredom.”
“Oh, get on with it,” said Billy, grinning.
Janey’s eyes gleamed. “I’ll give you three guesses who she saw in the stalls together, looking radiant and not at all bored.”
“You know I can never guess anything.”
“Malise and Helen.”
“Good God,” said Billy, astounded. “Isn’t Helen rather too old for him?”
“I would have thought so,” said Janey, “and Monica Carlton will certainly call Malise out.”
Tory was getting better by the minute, but Jake, terrified that she might still elude him, hardly left her alone for a second.
“From the way he bullies her into resting and polices her every mouthful, you’d think she was Macaulay,” grumbled Fen, but she was so happy for them both.
As the doctor said, it was little short of a miracle.
A few days later, however, when Tory was definitely out of danger, Jake was persuaded downstairs to see Garfield Boyson.
“Well, lad,” said Boyson.
“Well,” said Jake.
“You’ve made a right cock-up of your career, haven’t you?”
“I don’t need anyone else to tell me.”
“I gather you’ve been to see every other sponsor, touting for business. Didn’t come to me. Not much faith, have you? I said I’d keep my side of the bargain, if you kept yours, and you did. You got your medal. I’m still ready to back you.”
“The BSJA are going to suspend me.”
“Happens they won’t. Under the circs, you may get off with a hefty fine.”
“I’m not interested,” said Jake. “I’m not going back on the circuit. I’m going to train instead. I don’t want to leave Tory or the children anymore, and Dino and Fen are going back to the States.”
Looking out of the kitchen window, he saw Fen ride into the yard and collapse off Macaulay and into Dino’s arms. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible for anyone to go on kissing for so long. Boyson brought him back to earth.
“You’ll be looking for riders, then. My lad can be your first jockey.”
Jake looked skeptical, so Boyston went on: “I’ve just had a look at Africa’s foal. Dino said she jumped six foot out of her field this morning.”
Jake laughed for the first time since the night he won his silver.
“I suppose you’re trying to tell me that she and your boy’ll be ready for the next Olympics,” he said.
