Riders

63

Autumn came, bringing huge red suns and frosty mornings and clogging the millstream with yellow leaves. Tory carried on as though there was a key in her back. There were no money problems. Fen came back from L.A. to a heroine’s welcome. She and Dino carried on taking the horses to shows and trying to keep their delirious happiness within bounds, at least when they were with Tory. The children, particularly Isa, were at first bewildered, even distraught, by Jake’s disappearance, but soon got involved in a new term, where they were both the object of increased sympathy and interest. Dino, whom they both adored, was back, and Fen and he infected the children with their happiness and took them out a lot, to give Tory a break. To Tory they seemed like four children, or very young parents with two kids. She was glad Dino and Fen had finally got it together, but it didn’t ease her own despair.

Tory normally loved autumn best of all, chopping logs for huge fires, making chutney, jam, and elderberry wine, loading up the deep freeze with vegetables and apple pies. But this year there seemed to be a glut of everything. Too many green tomatoes, too many apples thudding from the trees. She tried to pick them and gave up. She was always cold, always shivering. She covered herself up with three or four jerseys, so that no one should realize how much weight she had lost, or that she wasn’t eating. Alone in the house, she spent her time crying, then crept into bed at night to clutch an equally shivering Wolf, who missed Jake as much as she did. Malise came down to offer comfort, but was daunted by her grief. His own sadness that Helen had run off, he kept to himself.

To buck Tory up, Dino and Fen tried to persuade her to go to Wembley. But she couldn’t face the prying eyes or the memories. Billy Lloyd-Foxe had a brilliant week and won the Victor Ludorum. Every night Ivor Braine, Fen, and Rupert, with his arm in a sling, appeared at the end of the Personality Parade, and brought the house down as they displayed their gold medals. Otherwise, Rupert was off the circuit for two months. The doctor in L.A. had, in fact, trapped a nerve when he put Rupert’s shoulder back. An operation was needed to sort it out. That Rupert had been brave enough to carry on jumping, despite such excruciating pain, only enhanced his almost magical prestige. The press reported his increased interest in politics. He was tipped to take over a safe seat in Gloucestershire.

The press were also wildly interested in Jake, keeping a watch on all the airports, and continually ringing the Mill House in case there was news of him. But there was none. He simply hadn’t got in touch. Heaven only knew what he and Helen were living on.

Then, in the middle of October, the press caught Jake and Helen arriving at Heathrow, both wearing dark glasses. Neither would say a word to anyone, and somehow, as elusive as his gypsy forebears, Jake managed to shake off a pack of reporters and vanish. But not for long. The press’s blood was up and within a few days they had hunted them down, staying near Gloucester with a horse-dealing friend of Jake’s. Again, he and Helen refused to talk, despite the astronomical sums of money which were offered for their story. And two days later, blazoned across every paper, were pictures of Jake, again in dark glasses, applying for the dole at Gloucester Labor Exchange.

The fact that Jake was so near, yet still hadn’t contacted Tory, was for Dino the final straw. He saw how Tory was being crucified. He was all for driving over to Gloucester and beating the hell out of Jake, but Fen managed to restrain him.

“You can’t make him come back if he doesn’t want to. Tory would hate that more than anything.”

Once back in England, when he wasn’t dodging the press, Jake made heroic efforts to get work, but found every door shut. There was no point in ringing Garfield Boyson, as he hadn’t kept his nose clean, but he rang all the other sponsors who’d been pursuing him before the Games. They all gave him an earful or hung up. He buried his pride and applied for jobs running riding schools or working as a stud groom. A few people saw him out of curiosity before rejecting him. No one wanted a fallen idol.

Horse and Hound had announced that the inquiry into his defection at the Olympic Games would be held at the BSJA headquarters in November. Jake was expected to turn up and defend himself. If he didn’t, the general consensus of opinion was that he’d be suspended for at least ten years, if not for life.

Jake could have handled all that if he and Helen had been happy. But, as the days passed, he began to realize the full extent of her neurosis and egoism. Even if he did get a job, her insecurity was such that she couldn’t bear him out of her sight for an instant.

Before the Games, all they had really talked about was their love for one another and The Situation. Like a prisoner of war, Helen had dreamed of escape; now, having escaped, she found she was living in some bleak gray Eastern European zone. By running off, she and Jake had deprived themselves of everything except each other. Claustrophobically thrown on their own resources, they found they had nothing in common.

Helen longed for her beautiful house and garden, her children, particularly Marcus, her checkbook, and her status as Rupert’s wife. Rupert blocked her application to see the children, so she would have to go to court and, as they had no money, that would mean applying for legal aid.

Horses had been Jake’s life. Deprived of them, he was like a junkie without a fix. He missed the Mill House, the children, Wolf, but most of all he found he missed Tory. And yet some strange pride stopped him getting in touch. He was convinced they were all managing perfectly without him. It would look as though he was slinking back only because he’d run out of money and couldn’t cope. He also realized the enormity of his crime towards her and towards his country and was too ashamed to show his face. Above all, he’d given Helen the handkerchief; he must stick by the rules.

He never blamed her once for forcing his hand, but he retreated inside himself. Knowing he was miserable, she became obsessively jealous of Tory, the good wife, who never made a fuss. Why the hell couldn’t Jake bitch about her occasionally? But Jake realized now that Tory had loved him for himself. Helen only loved the new, infinitely desirable image of herself which his love had created, and which must be preserved at all costs.

Feeling that the horse dealer who’d put them up shouldn’t be subjected to such a bombardment from the press, Helen and Jake moved into a bedsitter in Gloucester. But they were absolutely skint. The social security office came up with one reason after another why they shouldn’t give Jake any money. He sold his cuff links and some of Helen’s jewelry. Soon, the only thing left would be his silver medal. And all the time Fleet Street was tempting him, offering more than a quarter of a million pounds for their story.

Jake was accustomed to being poor. Helen was not. She tried to economize, but she was used to going to the hairdresser’s at least twice a week, and never having a run in her tights, and paying £15 for a pot of face cream. If she paid any less, she was convinced Jake would go off her. Having run away in Los Angeles with only summer clothes, she was desperate to buy winter ones, and thought wistfully of her furs in the wardrobe at Penscombe.

The last Monday in October began badly for Tory. She got up and took the children to school, only realizing when she got there and found the doors locked that it was half-term. Later, making her bed, she retrieved her hot water bottle from the bottom and, unscrewing it, found herself solemnly emptying it into her jersey drawer. In the middle of the morning Dino found her in floods of tears, turning out the contents of the vacuum cleaner in the sitting room, because she’d hoovered up a moth by mistake.

“The poor little thing was alive,” she sobbed, scrabbling frantically through the dust. “I can’t find it anywhere.”

Dino cleared up the mess, then sat her down.

“Angel, you’re very very tired. Fen and I have got to go up to London for this program.” (They were doing Billy Lloyd-Foxe on This Is Your Life that evening.) “We’re going to take the kids to get them out of your hair for twenty-four hours. They’ll enjoy seeing the inside of a studio. Hannah will be here to keep an eye on you. Sarah’ll be back first thing tomorrow morning, so you don’t have to worry about the horses. Tomorrow, when we get back, I am taking you to the doctor.”

“I’m all right,” protested Tory.

But the children’s wild delight at the prospect of a jaunt only depressed her more. They’re bored by me, she thought miserably. I’m no fun anymore.

“You do promise to look after her, don’t you?” said Fen to Hannah as they left.

After they’d gone, Tory tried to pull herself together and get down to making green tomato chutney. But as she was chopping the onions, she remembered it had been Jake’s favorite, and how he used to eat it neat out of the jar with a spoon, which made her cry again.

She started as the doorbell rang. Why did she still harbor some inside hope that it might be Jake? But it was her mother, in a new burgundy suit, looking very chic despite a burgundy face from the car heater.

“I’m not crying,” lied Tory, wiping her hands on her skirt.

“No, I can smell you’re not,” said Molly, backing off slightly. “We’re on our way to stay with some of Bernard’s dreary relations. I left him in the car.” As though he was a smelly old Labrador behind a grille, thought Tory.

“Doesn’t he want to come in?”

“No, we won’t be able to gossip.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Molly looked pointedly at her watch.

“I would have thought it was more like sherry time.”

As Tory poured her a glass, Molly said how pleased she was about Fen and Dino. Tory returned to chopping onions.

“Seems a nice chap,” Molly went on. “Very good-looking and very rich. You should have married someone like that in the first place. Now I want to have a serious talk with you.”

Tory gritted her teeth.

“What are you going to do about your future?” said Molly. “Fen and Dino won’t want to stay here forever with you and the children. They’ll need a place of their own — perhaps they’ll go back to America.”

Tory looked up in horror. “D’you think so?”

“I know so. Of course, they’re too nice to say anything, but you can’t hold them back forever.”

Tory said nothing, but chopped one piece of onion to pulp.

“And when are you going to divorce Jake? I mean, he’s deserted you, so you shouldn’t have any difficulty. His father did the same thing to his mother. Like father like son, I suppose.”

“Please, Mummy, don’t.” Tory’s voice broke. “I can’t bear it.”

“Can’t think why you mind so much,” said Molly. “You always knew he never loved you. Only married you for your money. What d’you expect?”

Tory looked down at the sink tidy. It was a disgusting mess of bacon rinds, spaghetti hoops, rusty Brillo pads, and old tea bags. Like me, she thought, I’m as useless as an old tea bag.

“Let’s be positive,” Molly was going on. “I’m pleased to see you’ve lost a lot of weight. You may be looking quite frightful, but at least you’ve got a waist, and even ankles now. But you really shouldn’t have let yourself go like that. Can’t blame Jake pushing off, really. You never tried to hold him.

“However, Bernard and I have a plan. We’re going to send you to a health farm for a week. There’s a special offer for one in Harper’s this month. No, I won’t take no for an answer. We’ve filled in the form and sent it off. You can have it as an early Christmas present.”

Tory was obviously not going to offer her another glass of sherry, so Molly helped herself. She wondered if the child was quite right in the head at the moment.

“Cheer up,” she said. “You’re only twenty-eight. If you smarten yourself up, you might easily get another man. One of your own class this time.”

After her mother had gone, Tory sat down and cried and cried. Wolf sat at her feet, raking her knee with his paw, licking her face, desperately trying to comfort her.

Eventually she responded to his sympathy. She had to go up to the village to buy brown sugar for the chutney, and afterwards she’d take him for a walk. She couldn’t be bothered with lunch. As she got her coat and purse, the telephone rang. But it was for Hannah, who took it in the tackroom.

Going out into the yard Tory met Hannah, standing on one leg. Her boyfriend, she explained, had got tickets for the Rolling Stones concert that night. Of course she must go, said Tory. If Hannah gave the horses their final feed Tory would check them last thing to see everything was all right.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” said Hannah.

“I’ll be fine,” Tory reassured her. “It’ll be rather peaceful to have the house to myself.”

She didn’t need a lead for Wolf anymore. Since Jake had gone he never left her heels, waiting outside the village shop for her, with an anxious expression on his pointed brindle face. As she came out of the baker’s, the low afternoon sun shone directly into her eyes. Suddenly she gave a gasp of excitement. Across the road a black-haired man was watching them. Then she felt a desperate thud of disappointment. It was very like him — but it was not Jake. Wolf, however, gave a bark of joyful recognition and shot across the road into the path of an oncoming lorry. The passers-by, watching in horror, couldn’t be sure if it was the dog or the girl crouched over him who was screaming.

Everyone was very kind. They recognized poor Mrs. Lovell. A man offered her a lift to the vet, but Wolf died on the way. He licked Tory’s hand and gave a last thump of his shepherd’s crook tail, as if to apologize for deserting her, too, and his head fell back.

The vet drove Tory home, and dug a grave for Wolf beside Sailor and various of the children’s guinea pigs and hamsters, and buried him in his blanket with his old shoe. He didn’t like what he saw. Tory was shivering uncontrollably; there was no color in her cheeks; her clothes hung off her. She insisted on making him a cup of tea, but forgot to put any tea in the pot and didn’t even notice that she’d handed him just hot water and milk.

“It was Jake’s dog,” she kept saying. “I should have had him on a lead.”

“Now, you’re not going to be by yourself?” asked the vet.

“No, no, the others’ll be back soon.”

Hannah, going off at dusk, her thoughts full of her boyfriend and the Rolling Stones, wondered if she ought to ring Dino and Fen in London. Tory was just sitting at the kitchen table, twisting a drying-up cloth, gazing unseeingly at a mountain of chopped onions.

“Honestly, I’m perfectly okay,” she said. “Sarah’ll be back first thing and I’ve got an awful lot of chutney to make.”

At nine o’clock, Tory checked the horses. They were all dozing or lying down. She gave Macaulay an apple and a cuddle and then shut all the top doors. Then she took a flashlight and looked at Wolf’s grave.

“You’re lucky,” she said. “You won’t miss him anymore.”

Life without Jake, she reflected, wasn’t worth a farthing. A far thing. Nothing could be further away now than he was. She was useless as a mother, no good as a human being. If she wasn’t there, Jake could come home with Helen when Dino and Fen went to America and take over the yard.

The note took her hours to write, her mind was working so slowly. She screwed up several drafts and chucked them in the bin. In the top of Jake’s chest of drawers in the bedroom, under the lining paper, she found the key to the poison cupboard. Back in the tackroom, she had to stand on a chair to open it. What a choice awaited her. Like Jake asking her what she wanted to drink the first time he’d taken her to a pub. There was henbane, used by Dr. Crippen, and hemlock water dropwort, which Jake often used as a poultice for horses with sore backs. Deadly poison it was, but it also paralyzed you, leaving your mind clear to the end. She couldn’t cope with that. Then there was deadly nightshade, or belladonna as it was called. A more appropriate name for Helen than herself. Jake had once told her that there was enough poison in that bottle to kill off a dozen Campbell-Blacks, with all their phenomenal strength. It should be enough for her. She took down the bottle.

Next morning Jake walked towards the social security office to have another crack at getting some dole. It was totally against his nature, hustling or wheedling for money — but things were getting desperate. A conker fell at his feet. Automatically he picked it up and was about to put it in his pocket for Isa. Then he realized there was no point and savagely hurled it across the car park.

“Hello, Jake,” said a voice.

Wary of rejection, he turned, frowning. But it was Tanya, his old groom, now married and wheeling a baby in a carriage. Jake knelt down to admire the child, picking up his little hands, tickling his ribs to make him laugh. He’d always been sweet with kids, thought Tanya. He must miss his own terribly, his swarthy face gray, his eyes deeply shadowed. The cotton jacket and jeans were far too thin for a bitter cold morning.

“He’s beautiful,” he said, reluctantly getting to his feet.

“I’m sorry about Wolf,” she said.

“What about him?” said Jake, suddenly tense.

“Oh, God, perhaps I shouldn’t have told you. Hannah rang me. He was run over yesterday afternoon.”

An hour later Jake got back to the bedsit to find Helen painting her nails and not in a good mood. She had just read in the Daily Mail that her husband had joined the Tory Party and was expecting to be given a safe seat at any minute. Tory, Helen reflected bitterly, was not her favorite word at the moment. She thought so even less when she saw Jake’s face.

“What’s the matter?” she asked in alarm.

“I’ve got to go home.” She winced at the word. “There’s been an accident.”

“Oh, God, not one of the kids?”

“No, Wolf.”

“Wolf? Is that a horse?”

“No, the dog. He was run over yesterday.”

“A dog?” said Helen incredulously. “A dog! You’re going back just for that? I could appreciate it if it was a child.”

“Wolf was like a child to Tory.” And to me, he wanted to add.

Helen looked at him in bewilderment. It was all part of this hideous conspiracy between the English and their animals.

“I simply don’t get it,” she said. “You refuse to go back when Malise appeals to you over and over again to jump for your country, then you scuttle home because some goddam dog’s been run over. I just don’t understand you.”

There was a pause.

“How long will you be?” she asked. “I suppose you’ll want the car.”

Jake looked at his watch. “I’ll be back in time for you to go to the hairdresser’s. If I get delayed, take a taxi.”

“We can’t afford it, and I’ve got to pay the hairdresser’s.”

Jake pulled a huge wad of tenners out of his pocket.

“Did you rob a bank?” asked Helen in amazement.

Jake shook his head. “I flogged my silver.”

“Oh Jake,” she wailed. “How could you? It was the one thing we had to cling on to, your one link with immortality. We’ve scrimped and saved so much so that you could keep it.”

He gave her eight hundred and fifty pounds—“Now you can buy some winter clothes”—and kept a hundred and fifty for himself.

With it, he went to his friend Harry, who bred lurchers, and bought a puppy: a tiny replica of Wolf, with a brindle, fluffy coat, a nose like an anteater and huge, anxious eyes. By the time he drove over the bridge at Withrington the puppy had been sick five times. As he gently lifted the little creature out of the car, she was sick again all over Jake’s coat. Jake hardly noticed. Unsure of his reception, his heart was thumping, his throat dry.

The yard seemed curiously deserted, except for the stable cat, who arched his back at the puppy, and the horses, particularly Macaulay, who nearly broke down their half-doors with delight at seeing their master again. The back door was open but there was no one in the house. As Jake washed the vomit off, he was tempted to go upstairs and get a sweater. But Helen would do her nut if he came back wearing something different. His heart was still thumping when the telephone rang and he automatically picked it up. He had great difficulty in even saying “Hello.”

“Dino,” said a voice, “this is Malise. I’m desperately sorry. Just wondered if there was any more news of Tory.”

“What about Tory?” snapped Jake.

“Who’s that?”

“Jake.”

“What the hell are you doing there?”

“What about Tory?” said Jake, on a rising note of fear.

“She tried to commit suicide last night.”

“Must have been a mistake.”

“I’m afraid not,” said Malise, losing his temper. “She took a massive overdose of one of your bloody poisons. She wasn’t expecting anyone back till this morning. Dino and Fen got worried, came back and found her last night.”

“Oh, my God,” whispered Jake. “Is she, is she…?”

Malise realized he’d been too harsh. “I’m afraid she’s dying, Jake.”

“Where is she?”

“The Great Warwickshire.”

Jake took Fen’s car because it was faster. It had never been driven so fast in its life. The poor puppy rattled back and forth in the back like a shuttle. The hospital steps were swarming with press.

“Hello, Gyppo. Shown up at last, have you?” shouted the Daily Mail.

“About bloody time. You come to pay for the funeral?” asked The Sun.

“Fuck off,” snarled Jake.

Mrs. Lovell was in intensive care on the second floor, said the receptionist, giving Jake a strange look. “You can’t bring that puppy in here.”

But Jake was off, limping across the polished floor, pulling the heavy gates of the lift with one hand, holding the puppy with the other. On the way up, it licked Jake’s face. Oh, please God, he prayed frantically, don’t let her die.

As he walked down the passage, a voice said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

It was Dino towering over him, barring his way, like the Archangel Michael with the flaming sword. For a second Jake thought Dino was going to smash his face in, knocking him flying back into a trolley of instruments. Jake stood his ground.

“I want to see Tory.”

“Well, you bloody can’t. She’s in a coma and fading fast, and it’s all your bloody fault, you bastard, you and your lousy poisons. My God, you wouldn’t treat a horse, or even a dog, the way you treated her, leaving her without a fucking word, never getting in touch, letting her just pine away.”

For two minutes Dino carried on in the same vein, calling Jake every name under the sun. His eloquence was fueled by misery and guilt that he and Fen had left Tory on her own, not appreciating how desperate she was. Jake let him finish.

“Everything you say is true,” he said.

Hearing the din, a nurse came out of Tory’s room.

“If you’d like to come in, Mr. Ferranti.”

Jake stepped forward. “I’m her husband, I’ve got to see her.”

But at that moment Fen came out, fighting back the tears, and went straight into Dino’s arms.

“Look who’s just turned up,” said Dino bitterly.

Fen spun around. “Jake, where the hell have you been?” She gave a sob. “You’re too bloody late, that’s all; she’s dying. She was just conscious when we got to her, but she’s got no will to live.”

Not waiting to hear any more, Jake pushed past them and into the room. At first he thought he was hallucinating. For there on the bed was Fen. Then he realized it was Tory — she’d lost so much weight since he’d seen her. Her face, still flushed from the belladonna, gave an illusion of health. Long lashes swept her hollowed 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 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.”