Blackberry Wine (34 page)

The
kiss
of the sun for pardon—

But what he had done was beyond that. Joe was there, he told himself. Joe was alive at Pog Hill throughout that summer.
Astral travel
, he’d said.
That’s why I do so much bloody sleepin
. Joe had come to him after all. Joe had tried to make amends. And still Joe had died alone.

It was good for him that Rosa was still here. Marise’s visits, too, lifted him temporarily. At least this way he had to stay sober during the daytime. Routines needed to be observed, even if they had become meaningless.

Marise half noticed a change in him, but there was already too much to think about at the farm for her to give him more than passing attention. The drainage work was almost completed, the vineyard free of standing water, the Tannes shrinking back to normality at last. She had to give
up a proportion of her savings to pay for the work and the new supplies, but she felt heartened. If the harvest could be salvaged there was still hope for next year. If only she could raise enough money to buy the land – poor enough land for building, most of it too marshy to plant. She knew Pierre-Emile was uninterested in leasing the property: there was too little profit in such an arrangement. He had a family in Toulouse. No. He would sell. She knew he would. There was a good chance that the price would be low, she told herself. After all, this was not Le Pinot. Even now there was a good chance she would be able to raise the money. Twenty per cent was all she needed. She only hoped Mireille would not interfere. After all, the old woman had no interest in seeing her leave. Quite the opposite. But Marise needed to be in charge of the property. She would not be at the mercy of a lease arrangement. Mireille understood why. They needed each other, however much the old woman loathed the thought. Balanced on a bridge, each one holding one end of the rope. If one fell, they both fell.

Marise had no qualms about lying. She had, after all, done Mireille a favour. The lie protected them, like a weapon too terrible to be used in war. But time was running out for both of them. For herself, the lease’s end. For Mireille, age and illness. The old woman wanted her off the farm because it made her vulnerable. Marise only wondered whether the old threat would hold fast. Perhaps it meant nothing to her now. The thought of losing Rosa had once kept them both silent. But now … She wondered what Rosa still meant to Mireille.

She wondered what each of them still had to lose.

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.’