Blackberry Wine

60

JAY AWOKE TO BIRDSONG. HE COULD HEAR ROSA MOVING AROUND upstairs, straw-coloured sunlight was coming through the shutters. For a fleeting moment, he had a sensation of well-being. Then the recollection of Joe’s death hit him, a bolt of grief he was unable to field, taking him by surprise. Every day he woke up expecting things to be different, but every morning it was the same.

He stumbled out of bed half-dressed and put some water on to boil. He splashed cold water on his face from the kitchen tap. He made coffee and drank it scalding. Upstairs he could hear Rosa running a bath. He put food and milk on the table for her breakfast. One bowl of café au lait, with three wrapped sugar lumps on the side. A slice of melon. Cereal. Rosa had a healthy appetite.

‘Rosa! Breakfast!’ His voice sounded hoarse. There were a number of cigarette butts in a saucer on the table, though he could not recall having bought or smoked any. For a second he felt a stab of something which might have been hope. But none of the butts were Player’s.

There was a knock at the door. Popotte, he thought dimly, probably bringing another bill, or an anxious letter from Nick demanding to know why Jay hadn’t returned the contracts. He drank another mouthful of stale-tasting coffee and made for the door.

Someone was standing outside, immaculate in grey slacks and cashmere cardigan, smart new crop, J. P. Tod’s, Burberry and red Louis Vuitton document case.

‘Kerry?’

For a second he saw himself through her eyes: barefoot, unshaven, harried. She gave him a brilliant smile.

‘Poor Jay. You look absolutely derelict. Can I come in?’

Jay hesitated. It was too smooth. He’d always mistrusted Kerry’s smoothness. It was too often the signal for warfare. ‘Yeah. Sure. OK.’

‘What a wonderful place.’ Drifting past on a wave of Envy. ‘I absolutely adore the spice chest. And the dresser.’ She hovered elegantly, looking for an uncluttered place to sit. Jay pulled some dirty clothes off the back of a chair and nodded to her.

‘Sorry it’s such a mess,’ he began. Too late he realized his apologetic tone gave her the advantage. She gave him the patented Kerry O’Neill smile and sat down, crossing her legs. She looked like a very beautiful Siamese cat. Jay had no idea what she was thinking. He never did. The smile might have been genuine. Who could know?

‘How did you find me?’ Again he tried to get the apology out of his voice. ‘I didn’t exactly go out of my way to advertise where I was staying.’

‘What do you think? Nicky told me.’ She smiled. ‘Of course, I had to persuade him. You know everyone’s been very worried about you? Running off like that. Keeping this new project to yourself.’

She looked at him archly and put her hand on his shoulder. He noticed her eyes had changed colour – blue instead of green. Joe was right about the contact lenses.

He shrugged, feeling graceless.

‘Of course, I understand completely.’ Her hand moved to his hair, smoothing it from his forehead. Jay remembered she’d always been at her most dangerous when she was being maternal. ‘But you look positively wasted. What have you been doing to yourself? Too many late nights?’

Jay brushed away her hand.

‘I read your article,’ he said.

Kerry shrugged. ‘Yes, I’ve been writing a few pieces for the literary supplements,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t help thinking that Forum! was getting to be just that little bit too cliquey, don’t you think? Too restrictive?’

‘What’s wrong? Didn’t they offer you another series?’ Kerry raised her eyebrows.

‘Darling, you’ve learned sarcasm,’ she said. ‘I’m so pleased for you. But now Channel Five have come up with a wonderful idea.’ She glanced at the cereal, coffee and fruit laid out on the table. ‘May I? I’m absolutely starving.’ Jay watched her pour a bowlful of café au lait, and her eyes flicked again to the cup in his hand. ‘You’ve really gone native, haven’t you? I mean. Coffee in bowls and Gauloises for breakfast. Were you expecting company, or am I not supposed to ask?’

‘I’m looking after a neighbour’s child,’ Jay told her, trying not to sound defensive. ‘Just for a few days until the floods go down.’

Kerry smiled. ‘How lovely. I’m sure I can guess which child, too. After reading your manuscript-’

‘You’ve read it?’ So much for defensiveness. She would have had to be blind to miss the way his arm jerked, slopping hot coffee onto the floor. She smiled again.

‘I glanced at it. That kind of naïve style is very refreshing. Very now. And there’s such an amazing sense of place – I just had to see it all for myself. Then, when I saw how well it could tie in – your book, and my programme -’ Jay shook his head. It was aching, and he couldn’t help thinking that he’d missed something important.

‘What do you mean?’

Kerry looked at him in mock impatience. ‘Well, I was about to tell you. The Channel Five programme, of course,’ she said. ‘Pastures New. It’s going to be all about British people living abroad. One of those lifestyle-travelogue shows. And when Nicky mentioned this wonderful place – plus everything that’s happening with your book – it just seemed like serendipity, or something.’

‘Wait a minute.’ Jay put down the coffee cup. ‘You’re not thinking of getting me involved in this scheme of yours, are you?’

‘Why, of course,’ replied Kerry impatiently. ‘The place is ideal. I’ve already spoken to a few of the locals, and there’s terrific interest. And you’re ideal. I mean, just think of the publicity. When the new book comes out-’

Jay shook his head. ‘No. I’m not interested,’ he said. ‘Look, Kerry, I know you’re trying to help, but the last thing I want right now is publicity. I came here to be alone.’

‘Alone?’ said Kerry ironically. Jay saw that she was looking beyond him into the kitchen. He turned round. Rosa was standing behind the door in her red pyjamas, eyes bright with curiosity, hair corkscrewing in all directions.

‘Salut!’ said Rosa, grinning. ‘C’est qui, cette dame? C’est une Anglaise?’

Kerry’s smile grew a little broader. ‘You must be Rosa,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard so much about you. And do you know, sweetheart, I always imagined you’d be deaf?’

‘Kerry.’ Jay was looking edgy and uncomfortable. ‘We can talk later. Right now it’s really not a good time. OK?’

Kerry sipped her coffee lazily. ‘You really don’t have to stand on ceremony with me,’ she said. ‘What a lovely little girl. I’m sure she takes after her mother. I feel I know them both already, of course. So sweet of you to have based all the characters on real people. It’s almost like a roman-à-clef. I’m sure that will come out marvellously in the programme.’

Jay looked at her. ‘Kerry, I’m not going to do any programme.’

‘I’m sure you’ll change your mind when you’ve had the chance to have a think about it,’ she said.

‘I won’t,’ said Jay.

Kerry raised her eyebrows. ‘Why ever not? It’s just perfect. Plus it could relaunch your career.’

‘And yours,’ he said drily.

‘Perhaps. Is that so bad? After all, after everything I’ve done for you – the work I’ve put into you – perhaps you owe me a little something in return. Maybe when all this is settled I could write your biography, giving my insights into Jay Mackintosh. I could still do your career a great deal of good, you know, if you’d let me do it.’

‘Owe you?’ Once he might have felt angry at that. Even guilty. Now it was almost funny. ‘You’ve used that on me too often, Kerry. It doesn’t work any more. Emotional blackmail is no basis for a relationship. It never was.’

‘Oh, please.’ She controlled herself with an effort. ‘What would you know about that? The only relationship you’ve ever cared about was with an old faker who took you for a ride and dumped you when it suited him. It was always Joe this, Joe that. Maybe now he’s dead you’ll grow up enough to appreciate that it’s money, and not magic, that makes the world go round.’

Jay smiled. ‘That’s quite a little soundbite,’ he said mildly. ‘But as you pointed out, Joe’s dead. This isn’t about him any more. Maybe it was when I first came here. Maybe I was trying to recreate the past. Trying to be Joe somehow. But not now.’

She looked at him. ‘You’ve changed,’ she said.

‘Perhaps.’

‘At first I thought it was this place,’ she continued. ‘This pathetic little place with its single stop sign and its wooden houses on the river. It would have been just like you to fall in love with it. To make it another Pog Hill. But that isn’t it, is it?’

He shook his head. ‘Not entirely, no.’

‘It’s worse than that. And it’s so obvious.’ She gave a brittle laugh. ‘It’s exactly the kind of thing you would do. You’ve found your muse here, haven’t you? Here among the ridiculous goats and scraggy little vineyards. How wonderfully gauche. How fucking like you.’

Jay looked at her. ‘What do you mean?’

Kerry shrugged. She managed to look amused and vicious at the same time. ‘I know you, Jay. You’re the most selfish person I’ve ever met. You never put yourself out for anyone. So why are you looking after her child? Anyone can see it isn’t just this place you’ve fallen in love with.’ She gave an angry titter. ‘I knew it would happen some time,’ she declared. ‘Someone would manage to light the fuse. At one point I even thought it was going to be me. God knows, I did enough for you. I deserved for it to be me. I mean, what has she done for you? Does she even know about your work? Does she even care about it?’

Jay poured himself a second coffee and lit a cigarette. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she does. She cares about the land. The vines. Her daughter. Real things.’ He smiled at the thought.

‘You’ll tire of that quickly enough,’ predicted Kerry scornfully. ‘You never were one for living in the real world. You’ve never had a problem yet that you couldn’t run away from. Just wait till things get a bit too real for you. You’ll be off like a shot.’

‘Not this time.’ His voice was level. ‘Not this time.’

‘We’ll see,’ she said coolly. ‘Won’t we? After we finish Pastures New.’

AS SOON AS KERRY HAD LEFT, JAY DROVE INTO LANSQUENET, leaving Rosa with strict instructions not to leave the house, and blew off some of his anger on the phone to Nick Horneli. Nick was less receptive than he’d hoped.

‘I thought it would be a good bit of promotion for you,’ he said blandly. ‘It isn’t often you get a second chance in the publishing business, Jay, and I have to say, I thought you’d be a bit more keen to make the most of this one.’

‘Oh.’ It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear, and for a moment he was taken off-balance. He wondered what exactly Kerry had been saying.

‘Plus, I don’t like to rush you, but I’m still waiting for your signed contracts and the last part of the new manuscript. The publishers are getting edgy, wondering when you’re going to finish. If I could only have a first draft-’

‘No.’ Jay could hear the strain in his voice. ‘I’m not going to be pressured, Nick.’

Nick’s tone was suddenly, terrifyingly indifferent. ‘Remember you’re an unknown quantity nowadays, Jay. A bit of a legend, sure. That’s no bad thing. But you’ve got a reputation, too.’

‘What reputation?’

‘I don’t think it’s very constructive at this-’

‘What fucking reputation?’

Nick’s shrug was audible. ‘O?. You’re a risk, Jay. You’re full of great ideas, but you haven’t produced anything of real value in years. You’re temperamental. You don’t meet deadlines. You’re always late to meetings. You’re a bloody prima donna living on a reputation ten years out of date, who doesn’t understand that in this business you can’t afford to be precious about publicity.’

Jay tried to keep his voice level. ‘What are you trying to say, Nick?’

Nick sighed. ‘All I’m saying is be a little flexible,’ he said. ‘Publishing has moved on since Jackapple Joe. In those days it was OK for you to be eccentric. It was expected. Even a little cute. But nowadays you’re just another product, Jay, and you can’t afford to let anyone down. Least of all me.’

‘So?’

‘So I’m telling you that if you don’t sign the contract and finish the manuscript within a reasonable time – say a month or so – then Worldwide will pull out and I’ll have blown my credibility for nothing. I have other clients, Jay. I have to think about them, too.’

Heavily, Jay replied, ‘I see.’

‘Look, Jay. I’m on your side, you know.’

‘I know.’ Suddenly he wanted to get away. ‘I’ve had a bad week, Nick. Too much has been happening. And when Kerry turned up on my doorstep-’

‘She wants to help, Jay. She cares about you. We all do.’

‘Sure. I know.’ He made his voice gentle, though he was burning with rage. ‘I’ll be OK, Nick. You’ll see.’

‘Sure you will.’

He hung up with the definite feeling that he’d had the worst of that interchange. Something had shifted. As if with the removal of Joe’s protective influence he had become suddenly vulnerable again. Jay clenched his fists.

‘Monsieur Jay? Are you all right?’

It was Joséphine, her face pink with concern.

He nodded.

‘You’ll have some coffee? A slice of my cake?’

Jay knew he ought to be getting back to check on Rosa, but the temptation to stay awhile was too strong. Nick’s words had left a nasty taste in his mouth, not least because they were true.

Joséphine was full of news.

‘Georges and Caro Clairmont have been in touch with an English lady, someone from the television. She says she might want to make a film here, something about travel. Lucien Merle is full of it, too. He thinks it could be the making of Lansquenet.’

Jay nodded wearily. ‘I know.’

‘You know her?’

He nodded again. The cake was good, glazed apple on almond pastry. He concentrated on eating. Joséphine explained that Kerry had been talking to people for several days, making notes with her little tape recorder, taking snapshots. There was a photographer with her, too, an Englishman, très comme il faut. Jay read disapproval of Kerry in Joséphine’s expression. No wonder. Kerry wasn’t the kind of woman other women took to. She only made an effort with men. It seemed that both of them had been in the region for some time, staying with the Merles. He remembered Toinette Merle was in journalism. That explained the photograph and the article in the Courrier d’Agen.

‘They’re here because of me.’

He explained the situation, from his hasty departure from London to Kerry’s arrival. Joséphine listened in silence.

‘How long will they stay, do you think?’

Jay shrugged indifferently. ‘As long as it takes.’

‘Oh.’ Pause. ‘Georges Clairmont is already talking about buying up derelict properties in Les Marauds. He thinks land prices will go up when word gets out.’

‘They probably will.’

She looked at him oddly. ‘It is a good time to buy now, after the wet summer,’ she continued. ‘People need the money. There’s been no harvest to speak of. They can’t afford to keep unproductive land. Lucien Merle has already spread word in Agen.’

Jay couldn’t shake the idea that her eyes were disapproving. ‘It won’t harm your business, though, will it?’ he said, with an attempt at lightness. ‘All those thirsty people hanging around the place.’

She shrugged. ‘Not for long,’ she said. ‘Not here.’

Jay could see what she meant. Le Pinot had twenty cafés, restaurants, a McDonald’s and a leisure centre. Local businesses had closed down to be replaced by more enterprising outfits from the cities. Locals had moved away, unable to change rapidly enough with the times. Farms had become unviable. Rents doubled, trebled. He wondered if Joséphine could handle the competition. On the whole, it was unlikely.

Did Joséphine blame him? Impossible to tell from her expression. Her face, usually so flushed and smiling, seemed closed now. Her hair fell lankly across her brow as she fussed with the empty cups.

He drove back to the farm with a feeling of unease which Joséphine’s lukewarm goodbye did nothing to alleviate. He saw Narcisse on the road and waved at him, but he did not wave back.

IT WAS ALMOST AN HOUR LATER WHEN JAY GOT BACK TO Château Foudouin. He parked the car on the drive and went in search of Rosa, who, he supposed, must be getting hungry. The house was empty. Clopette was wandering about at the edge of the vegetable patch. Rosa’s raincoat and hat were hanging on the back of the kitchen door. He called her. There was no reply. Feeling slightly worried now, he went around the back of the house, then to Rosa’s favourite spot by the river. Still nothing. What if she had fallen in the water? The Tannes was still dangerously swollen, its banks eroded to the point of near collapse. What if she had wandered into one of the old fox traps? Or fallen down the cellar steps?

He searched the house again, then the grounds. The orchard. The vineyard. The shed and the old barn. Nothing. Not even footprints. Finally he crossed Marise’s field, hoping the child might have gone to see her mother. But Marise was putting the finishing touches to her newly dry and repainted kitchen, her hair bound up in a red scarf, paint on the knees of her jeans.

‘Jay!’ She seemed pleased to see him. ‘Is everything all right? How’s Rosa?’

He couldn’t tell her.

‘Rosa’s fine. I wondered if you needed anything from the village.’ Marise shook her head. She seemed not to have noticed his unease.

‘No, I’m all right,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’ve almost finished here. Rosa can come back in the morning.’

Jay nodded. ‘Great. I mean…’

She flashed him one of her rare, warm smiles. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’ve been very kind and patient. But I know you’ll be pleased to have the house to yourself again.’

Jay grimaced. His head was beginning to hurt again. He swallowed. ‘Look, I should be getting back,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Rosa…’

She nodded. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘You’ve been very good with her. You can’t imagine-’ Jay couldn’t bear her gratitude. He ran all the way back to the farm.

HE SPENT ANOTHER HOUR GOING OVER POSSIBLE HIDING PLACES. He knew he should never have left her. Rosa was a mischievous child, subject to all kinds of whims and fancies. She might even now be hiding from him, as she had often hidden during his first weeks on the farm. All this might easily be her idea of a joke. But as time passed and Rosa was nowhere to be found, he began to consider other options. It was all too easy, for example, to imagine her climbing the banks of the Tannes and sliding in, being taken downriver for a couple of kilometres to be washed up against a mudbank, or even as far as Les Marauds. Easy, too, to imagine her simply wandering off down the road to Lansquenet, perhaps being picked up by some stranger in a car.

Some stranger? But there were no strangers in Lansquenet. Everyone knew everyone else. Doors were left unlocked. Unless… Suddenly he remembered Patrice, Marise’s stalker from her Paris days. Surely not – in seven years. But that would explain many things. Her reluctance to come into the village. Her refusal to leave the place which had become a safe haven for her. Her fierce protectiveness of Rosa. Could Patrice have somehow traced them to Lansquenet? Had he been watching the farm, waiting for an opportunity to make his move? Could he be one of the villagers themselves, keeping close, biding his time? The idea was ridiculous, pure comic-book fiction; the kind of thing he himself might have written, aged fourteen, on a lazy afternoon by the canal. All the same he felt his chest contract at the thought. He imagined Patrice looking a little like Zeth, grown taller and meaner with age, his tribal cheeks thinner, his eyes mad and clever. Zeth, with a real shotgun this time, waiting at the gate with that look of mean appraisal in his eyes. It was ridiculous but it seemed very possible then, a logical conclusion to the rest of that summer, to Joe’s final disappearance, to the way events had slipped back relentlessly towards that last October and to Pog Hill Lane. No more ridiculous, in any case, than the rest of it.

He thought of taking the car, but rejected the idea. Rosa might be hiding in a bush or by the roadside, too easy to miss for even a slow driver. Instead he walked along the road towards Lansquenet, stopping occasionally to call her name. He looked in ditches and behind trees. He detoured to a welcoming duckpond, which might possibly have tempted an inquisitive child, then to a deserted barn. But there was no sign of her. Finally, on reaching the village, he tried his last realistic option. He made for Mireille’s house.

The first thing he noticed on arrival was the car parked in front: a long grey Mercedes, with a smoked-glass windscreen and hire-car plates. A gangster’s car, he thought, or that of a game-show host. Heart pounding in sudden realization, Jay made for the door. Without pausing to knock, he opened it, calling harshly, ‘Rosa?’

She was sitting on the landing in her orange jumper and jeans, looking at an album of photographs. Her Wellingtons were parked by the door. She looked up as Jay called her name, and grinned. Relief almost brought him to his knees.

‘What did you think you were playing at? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. How did you get here?’

Rosa looked at him, unabashed. ‘But your friend came to fetch me. Your English friend.’

‘Where is she?’ Jay could feel the relief washing away into black rage. ‘Where the fuck is she?’

‘Jay, darling.’ Kerry was standing in the kitchen doorway, very much at home with a glass of wine in one hand. ‘That’s hardly the kind of language you want to be using in front of a child in your care.’ She gave one of her winsome smiles. Behind her stood Mireille, monumental in her black house-dress.

‘I called to have another word with you, but you’d gone out,’ explained Kerry sweetly. ‘Rosa answered the door. She and I have been having a lovely talk, haven’t we, Rosa?’ This last utterance was in French, presumably to include Mireille, who stood wordlessly behind her. ‘I have to say you’ve been frightfully secretive about everything, Jay darling. Poor Madame Faizande had absolutely no idea.’

Jay glanced at Mireille, who was watching, hands crossed over her enormous bosom.

‘Kerry,’ he began. She gave another of her hard, brilliant smiles.

‘Charming reunion,’ she remarked. ‘You know, I’m beginning to understand what you see in this place. So many secrets. So many fascinating characters. Madame d’Api, for example. Madame Faizande has been telling me all about her. Not quite the way she comes across in your book, though.’

Jay looked upstairs at Rosa. ‘Come here, Rosa,’ he said quietly. ‘Time to go home.’

‘You’re very popular here, by all accounts,’ said Kerry. ‘I imagine you’ll be quite the local hero when Pastures New takes off. Give the place a boost.’

Jay ignored her. ‘Rosa,’ he said again. The child sighed theatrically and stood up.

‘Are we really going to be on television?’ queried Rosa smartly, stepping into her Wellingtons. ‘Maman and you and everyone? We’ve got a television at home. I like Cocoricoboy and Nos Amis Les Animaux. But Maman doesn’t let me watch Cinéma de Minuit.’ She made a face. ‘Too much kissing.’

Jay took her hand. ‘No-one’s going to be on television,’ he told her.

‘Oh.’

‘I don’t think you’ll have the option,’ remarked Kerry blandly. ‘I have the makings of an excellent programme already, with or without you. The artist, his influences, you know the thing. Forget Peter Mayle. Before you know it people will be flocking here to Jay Mackintosh Country. You really ought to be grateful.’

‘Please, Kerry.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! Anyone would think I had a gun to your head. Anyone else would give their right arm for this kind of free publicity!’

‘Not me.’

She laughed. ‘I always did have to do all the work myself,’ she remarked cheerily. ‘Meetings, interviews. Getting you to the right kind of parties. Pulling strings. And now you’re turning your nose up at a terrific opportunity – for what? Grow up, sweetheart. No-one finds gauche endearing any more.’

She sounded so like Nick that, for a moment, Jay had the dreadful conviction that they were in it together, that they’d planned it between them.

‘I don’t want people rushing here,’ he said. ‘I don’t want tourists and burger bars and souvenir shops springing up in Lansquenet. You know what that kind of publicity does to a place.’

Kerry shrugged. ‘Seems to me that’s exactly what this place needs,’ she said reasonably. ‘It looks half dead.’ She scrutinized her nails for a second, frowning. ‘Anyway, it’s hardly up to you to decide, is it? I don’t see anyone turning business away.’

She was right, of course. That was the worst of it. The momentum sweeps everything away in front of it, welcome or not. He imagined Lansquenet, like Pog Hill, relegated to the growing ranks of things which only existed in the past.

‘Not here. It’s not going to happen here.’

Kerry’s laughter followed him down the street.