Joan helped him set up the small CD player beside the bed, and as he left he heard the opening bars of the da Palestrina Agnus Dei he had chosen—one of Winnie’s favorite pieces.
In the canteen, he ate his sandwich mechanically. He couldn’t get Andrew Catesby’s words out of his mind. Why would Andrew think that someone Winnie had met through Jack would want to hurt her? And how could he possibly say that Winnie would be better off dead than with him? Were Andrew’s feelings for his sister even more twisted than he had suspected?
A horrifying thought struck him. Had it been not his voice that had triggered Winnie’s brief response a few moments ago, but his mention of Andrew’s name?
Jack … Jack’s voice … deep, smooth, a river of sound.… Telling her—No, she had lost it. She tried to speak, to tell him she heard, but she seemed to be at the bottom of a well.… Couldn’t reach the surface. Her heavy limbs wouldn’t respond. Or did they belong to someone else? There was a light.… Somehow she knew that. Was she dead?
But there was pain. Hers, she was sure, although it was distant, quite separate from her. Not dead, then.
But where? And how had she got here?
Andrew—it had to do with Andrew. Something bad about Andrew. Something she must do …
Weary … too weary … Jack’s voice faded to nothingness, and she drifted away once again, untethered … except that she heard, as if from a great distance, the sound of singing.
By the time he left the lights of Taunton behind, Jack knew he was too exhausted to drive safely. He should have taken a hotel room near the hospital, stayed the night, but he couldn’t summon the energy to turn round.
All his senses seemed heightened, raw, and the headlamps of the oncoming cars seemed unnaturally bright. He found himself squinting—once even closing his eyes, which terrified him so much he spent the remainder of the journey wide-eyed, gripping the wheel.
As he turned into his drive, his lights caught a flash of something white within the shelter of the porch. It took a moment to register that it had been a human face. He got out of the car with some apprehension, calling out “Hello?”
He heard a thread of sound in reply, perhaps a whimper. His alarm increasing, he went forward. He had to kneel to be sure of the identity of the huddled shape against his door.
“Faith?”
“I didn’t tell,” she whispered urgently through chattering teeth. “But she left—left me … shouldn’t have.… I wouldn’t have told.”
Jack touched her cheek. The girl was burning with fever.
“Who left?”
“She never goes out, not that time of night, not in the van.… I didn’t tell, did I?” She peered beseechingly up at him.
He lifted her to her feet and held her, shivering, against his chest. “Of course you didn’t. We’ve got to get you inside, ring for the doctor—”
Faith tugged away. “You’ve got to find her, before it’s too late—”
“Find who, Faith?”
“Garnet. They’ve taken her away.”
“Who has?”
Making an obvious effort, she looked round, as if afraid someone might overhear. Then she rested her cheek against his chest and whispered, “The Old Ones. But it was me they wanted.”
CHAPTER TEN
… to the great Spirit and Fountain of life, all things, in both space and time, must be present … action, once begun, never ceases … thus the past is always present, although, for the purpose of fitting us for this mortal life, our ordinary senses are so constituted as to be unperceptive of these phenomena.
—CATHERINE CROWE,
FROM THE NIGHT-SIDE OF NATURE
THE MILES FELL away under a leaden sky. Traffic had been fairly light on the M4 since they’d left Reading, allowing Gemma to relax enough to enjoy driving. Beside her, Kincaid dozed, head tilted back against the headrest. They had departed London before seven, hoping to avoid the worst of the morning rush hour.
He’d rung her the previous afternoon with the invitation to spend a long weekend in Glastonbury. Her first response had been an adamant no, she had too much pending at work. Kincaid had patiently reminded her that she had the authority to delegate, and that she hadn’t taken a full weekend off since she’d started the new job.
Bristling, she’d pled a meeting and hung up. But afterwards, sitting at her desk in the brief after-lunch lull, she wondered if Kincaid were right. When she’d first been promoted, he’d warned her that the biggest danger in command was thinking oneself indispensable—had she unsuspectingly fallen victim to that delusion? Her team was competent, and although they were working a number of ongoing cases—a string of petty burglaries in the Portobello Road; a serial rapist who posed as a Good Samaritan—there was nothing they couldn’t manage on their own for a few days.
And staring into the cold cup of coffee that had made up her lunch, she had to admit she was exhausted. She wasn’t eating right, nor sleeping well. Maybe a weekend away would give her a chance to recoup.
She’d rung Kincaid back and accepted. Before he could respond, she’d added, “I’ll drive. You’re daft if you think I’m riding all the way to Somerset in your rattletrap of a car.”
Now, as she glanced at his relaxed form beside her, she realized that perhaps there had been more than duty involved in her overwork the past few weeks—she’d been avoiding spending time with Duncan as well.
What a coward she was! To confirm what she suspected she had only to go in the nearest chemist and buy a test. But then she would have to deal with her choices—and with Kincaid’s reaction, should she decide to go through with the pregnancy.
Would he be pleased? Horrified? Although they had smoothed over the rift caused by her leaving Scotland Yard, she knew the hurt was still there, beneath the surface, and it had left their relationship on shaky ground. Not to mention the fact that he had just begun to adjust to the acquisition of a twelve-year-old son. How would he cope finding himself abruptly saddled with her, Toby, and another child on the way? Not that she couldn’t manage on her own, she’d proved that, but just now the thought of it seemed overwhelming.
Oh, Lord, how could she have been so careless, with so much at stake on the job? She was at a point in her career when a maternity leave was the last thing she needed. And how would her new superiors respond to a pregnant and unmarried detective inspector?
Blinking back tears, she concentrated on overtaking a lorry, then slid the Escort back into the center lane. She’d done too much of that lately: crying at the drop of a hat. A bad sign. Out-of-control hormones mixed with a healthy dose of self-pity. She snorted at the irony of the whole situation, and beside her Kincaid blinked and stretched.
“Sorry. Was I snoring?”
“Actually, you were sleeping quite gracefully. I could use a map check, though. I think our exit’s coming up soon.”
He retrieved the large-scale AA map book from the rear seat and glanced at the open page. “Exit seventeen, towards Chippenham, Bridgwater, and Taunton.”
“We passed sixteen a few miles back.” Rain spattered against the windscreen and Gemma turned the wipers on. “It’s getting darker by the minute.”
“Not a bad omen for the weekend, I hope,” Kincaid said, grinning. “Want me to drive the last leg?”
“I’m fine.”
“You just don’t want to give up possession.” Kincaid patted the car’s dash. “Now aren’t you glad I gave you an excuse to take it out on the motorway?”
“I’m looking forward to meeting your cousin,” she quipped back. “So he can fill me in on all your embarrassing childhood exploits. Seriously, though,” she continued, glancing at him, “it sounds as if he’s a bit paranoid, thinking someone may have run his girlfriend down deliberately. I hope you’re not getting into something awkward.”