Tapestry (8 page)

‘He’s no use to you in a coma,’ Robin replied evenly, returning from his dreamy state, his gaze alert and twinkling again.

Did she trust him? ‘That’s what Will’s father said.’

Robin shrugged. ‘He can lie here unconscious, or there unconscious. It doesn’t bring him back to you, keeping him in London. Besides, I imagine you can afford to hold his hand in either country.’

‘Whatever makes you say that?’ she asked, her tone brittle, ever touchy about her family’s financial position.

‘If you were only wearing a vintage Chanel coat, Jane, I’d allow that it might have been something you’d saved up for, or perhaps something given to you. The fact that you shrug it off so carelessly along with your Hermès scarf, and barely cast a backward glance at either, suggests you are used to wearing fine, thoroughly expensive clothes. The jewelled, harlequin leather Chanel hobo slouch, however, is a dead giveaway.’ She could feel the blush rising from her neck. ‘No one carries that sort of thing around London, unless she’s some sort of celebrity with lots of minders, or someone like you with access to money that she cares little for. Those three items alone amount to thousands of pounds and most people couldn’t hope to afford them.’

She had the grace to show her embarrassment by looking down at her hands. How curious it was that he could recognise her styling choices.

‘Yes, all right.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I could sit by his bedside in London or in America.’

‘Nevertheless, how thoroughly pointless,’ he said, flicking away a piece of lint from his thin, sea-green V-neck. She’d thought his eyes were blue when they met, but she realised now they were green, echoing the soft, woven Italian yarn sweater. He touched the knot of his multi-coloured silk tie. It was a Paul Smith, so maybe she shouldn’t be surprised he recognised Chanel when he saw it. She’d bought Will the identical tie, but hadn’t given it to him yet. She didn’t want it to be the tie he wore to his own funeral.

‘So, what?’

He blinked. ‘That’s up to you. You can either accept, or you can act.’

‘Robin, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

He grinned. ‘Irritating, isn’t it? But that’s my role. As I say, I can only show you the paths.’

‘I don’t see any.’

‘I’ve already given you a clue. Consider where Will would most like to be right now.’ He winked at her. ‘Apart from awake and in your arms.’

‘I can’t imagine,’ she said, frustrated. ‘Anywhere but where he is. I don’t know.’

‘Think about it.’ He handed her a card; she didn’t even know he’d been holding one. Then he stood up. Clearly the free session was over.

‘You haven’t shown me the path,’ she said, as he went off to fetch her belongings.

He slipped the coat onto her shoulders. ‘When you arrive back at your hotel, your mind will feel clear, I promise. It will allow you to go back over what we’ve discussed and realise that I have given you the information you need to see a clear path. A straight line,’ he said meaningfully. ‘Trust your instincts, Jane.’

She turned to face Robin as she knotted her scarf and slung her bag over her shoulder. She held out her hand. ‘Well, thank you … for your time. It has been interesting.’

‘Enlightening, I hope.’

She smiled. ‘We’ll see.’

Robin shook her hand. ‘You came to see me. Use what you learned. Use what you know. I promise, you alone have the capacity to keep William safe.’

William
. Jane never called him by his full name. She could feel the ball of emotion rising through her throat. ‘I … I wish I knew how.’

He held her hand between both of his. ‘Search within. The answers are there, and even though you don’t feel it, I promise you I have shown you the path forward. And I know you need that self-assurance, that control. It’s up to you now to walk that track. It won’t be easy. One more thing to bear in mind: there’s a push and pull in life always.’ So did he. Jane gave a perplexed shrug. ‘For every action there’s a consequence,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she replied, trying to show him she was following his line of thought.

‘Drop a tiny pebble into still waters —’

‘And there’s a ripple effect,’ she finished. She understood the concept, but not the application of it to her circumstances.

‘Good,’ Robin said, as though pleased they’d got that out of the way. He smiled sadly. ‘There’s always a price, isn’t there?’

‘Robin, I …’

Then she shook her head. He really did sound like a mystic now, and maybe that was for the best. She hadn’t really expected answers. She’d come here for a diversion and he had certainly provided that. She glanced at her watch. Her parents really would be worried now. ‘I must go.’

He nodded, and again she saw the knowingness in his gaze. As though he understood her perfectly … knew her thoughts, anticipated her actions, felt her sorrows. ‘You have my card. Perhaps we’ll meet again.’

She smiled sadly. ‘You’ve been sweet to a stranger. I hope what goes around comes around.’

Robin chuckled. ‘Never a truer phrase. Take care, Jane. There’s a bumpy road ahead, but you’re a survivor. Always remember that.’

She left, lifting a hand in farewell as she disappeared down the flight of stairs, wondering at the strangeness of Robin, but also at how curiously powerful he’d made her feel during the short time she’d spent with him. She needed to hold on to that feeling of security — feed off it, if she could, in the difficult times ahead.

Scotland, autumn 1715

A
t the beginning of September Mar’s troops had seemed unstoppable, and the Duke of Argyll had been sent to Edinburgh to take command of the English government’s army in Scotland, which was hopelessly outnumbered by a rolling mass of Scots, increasing by the day in numbers and confidence.

But within a month, William’s words had returned to haunt him and his fellow lords. The new French regent turned out to be far more determined to remain on good terms with George I in England than to support the Jacobite cause, and as William and his fellow rebels had feared, the French ships and their precious cargo of weapons intended for Scotland were unloaded, to be held in France indefinitely.

As October drew on, their exiled King James III of England was no closer to returning triumphant to Scotland, no matter how much his Catholic supporters proclaimed his name in various towns and how many English-based Catholics joined their marching throng.

The highlanders stood firm for independence, but while Lord Mar might have a way of gathering men, he was rapidly proving he was no strategist and certainly no army commander.

‘His indecision will get us all killed!’ William growled as he sat beside the fire. They were camped at Perth, where food
and accommodation were poorly organised. He glared at the two other noblemen sharing his meagre meal of rabbit and ale. Their faces looked ghostly in the glow of the flames and their expressions told him he was saying nothing they didn’t already know. He pointed behind them to other small campfires where men sat morosely hunched in groups, a few singing quietly, some playing dice by candlelight, but most silent. ‘There’s our army. Hungry, frozen and drenched, while the redcoats are fed, warm and well drilled. How can we expect farmers to sit around here while their animals and families starve through the coming winter because of our leader’s absence?’ No one bothered replying. William pressed his point. ‘I shall write to Mar this night. He has no grasp of what lack of direction, and ultimately boredom, will do. To a highlander especially.’

But William’s declaration fell on deaf ears; he didn’t receive even so much as a reprimand for his forthrightness.

By month’s end, with winter now nipping at their heels, a smaller force of Jacobites had completed a fatiguing march into England, and it felt to William as though this must be the final push.

Wednesday, 9th November dawned slate-grey, with fierce, drenching rain and a chill that clawed beneath the highlanders’ tartan plaid to make even the most robust of them shiver. The sombre weather lowered the mood within the Jacobite ranks as the army moved out on what it hoped would be another triumphant march.

One of William’s vassals, a bastard of the Pollock family, with which the Maxwells had been aligned down the centuries, drew his horse alongside his lord’s. They plodded slowly in the bedraggled column of Scots. ‘I don’t know how we’re doing it but we’re doing it, My Lord. The men believe we are touched by magic.’

William laughed aloud. ‘Nay, Pollock. We are told the Almighty works in mysterious ways. Remind the men that we
are witnessing a demonstration of that and tell them to cleave to their faith. It is beyond me, too, how we’ve come this far with so little support, and with even our own commander dithering so much he might effectively be our enemy.’

Pollock grinned at the dark humour. ‘Perhaps, My Lord. But we will follow you into the very maw of the redcoats.’

William shook his head, hating the responsibility that burdened him day and night, and especially the sense of foreboding that seemed to build within him on this twenty-five-mile march to Preston through slick and treacherous mud.

‘Urge the men forward, Pollock. Rally our boys’ spirits with the reassurance that we shall take the city of Liverpool next.’

William arrived in Preston to the cheerful news that two troops of government dragoons had left the town on discovering the Scots were approaching. Whispers among the Jacobites quickly turned to open chatter, and ultimately into the belief that the King’s men would not be giving them any opposition.

‘Well, isn’t this a surprise!’ a fellow rider remarked, as they walked their horses unchallenged into the city centre.

William nodded. ‘I had no idea Preston possessed such fine buildings,’ he observed, noting the fine Town Hall and mansion-like residences of the local landed gentry.

‘I think at last the men can enjoy the spoils of their success.’

William wasn’t convinced it was time to celebrate just yet, but kept his own counsel on this. ‘This city must not be destroyed. I must talk to General Forster about instructing our men not to pillage too enthusiastically.’

But it soon appeared that there was no threat of this, as General Forster, a Tory politician who was in command of their smaller force, decided to spend the next couple of days relaxing and enjoying the delights of the town, and encouraged his men to do the same.

By the time the General had recovered from his convivialities and crossed the Ribble Bridge with his fellow nobles to
reconnoitre the region, he was astonished to see government troops gathering in numbers.

While William had little faith in Forster, he trusted the man known as Old Borlum. William Mackintosh, the Laird of Borlum and uncle to the clan chief of Mackintosh, was in charge of two thousand of the most hardened and brave highland souls. It was his men who had inflicted most of the damage that had been giving the Jacobites cause for cheer until now.

William found himself drawn to Old Borlum, particularly as the older man had served with Louis XIV’s army and had visited the palace where he and Winifred had met, fallen in love and married. He passed up a night of revelry with his fellow lords in favour of a drink with the highland clan in a copse on an incline overlooking the English Army’s encampment.

‘The sumph! That man’s soft in his head,’ the older man said of Forster. ‘He’s as timid as Mar in making decisions. He should be protecting the bridge.’ Mackintosh growled as he stomped up to where William was sipping an unhappy wine. He pointed. ‘That’s our weakness, Maxwell! If they take the bridge, they have us.’

William nodded. Old Borlum was making sense. ‘We’ve had the men working on putting the town in a state of defence all afternoon as you instructed, Mackintosh. Lord Derwentwater has been giving the soldiers extra money to encourage them.’ William hoped this would give Mackintosh some reassurance as to their readiness.

William’s neighbour nodded in agreement and added, ‘The Earl even pulled off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to help, My Lord. He was most energetic.’

Mackintosh gave a sneer. ‘Meanwhile, Mar lingers in Perth, impressed to learn that the Frasers, MacDonalds and Mackenzies have rallied.’

Tomorrow would tell them whether the bridge would hold. William chose to sleep on the ground with his men in a barn. When Pollock protested, he hushed him.

‘In war we are equal, Pollock. We all bleed.’

The next morning — as cold as its predecessor and, though not raining, just as sodden underfoot — William sought out Mackintosh, leaving instructions for his men to be ready to move at the given order.

Old Borlum saw him coming and spat on the ground. William looked out across the fields to where the English Army was also readying itself.

‘Do you worry about the target you make?’ he asked, gesturing at the bright green, blue and red tartan the older man wore.

The gruff highland leader curled a lip. ‘Aye, I might well have a target painted on my back, but I’d rather take a pike through my tartan than die in soft velvets.’

William cleared his throat and grinned disarmingly. ‘The highlanders are certainly a force to be feared.’

Old Borlum scowled. ‘Mar has received more men in the space of a week than all of Argyll’s army put together, and still he hesitates. He’ll get my highlanders slaughtered.’

‘Our barricades are strong at four points,’ William said.

‘Then pray it’s enough, laddie, for they’ll be over that bridge by midday, ye mark my words.’

London, December 1978

J
ane threaded her way back to the hotel at the Seven Dials, banishing memories as they erupted.

The concierge opened the hotel door. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Granger,’ he said sombrely. Obviously word about Will had spread around. ‘Your parents have left messages.’

She hurried through the foyer, deliberately not making eye contact with any of the counter staff, who tried to capture her attention with notes. Then she walked briskly around the corner to the lifts. The trip up to the fifth floor felt like an eternity. Back in her room, she flopped onto the bed, still in her coat, and closed her eyes to prevent herself from crying. She took slow, deep breaths until her heart felt as though it had stopped racing.

Robin was right. What was she fighting it for? She would let Will go with his parents. There was nothing to be done for him here. The decision was made and it felt like a monstrous weight had lifted from her burdened shoulders. Before she could change her mind, she reached for the phone and called her parents.

Her father was silent until she’d finished speaking. ‘You sound very sure.’

‘I
am
sure, Dad. I don’t like the alternatives. I’m going to give him this chance. If it doesn’t work, I’ll face the next big decision then.’

She heard him sigh and whisper something, presumably to her mother. ‘Are you back in the hotel?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I’m going to try and sleep once I’ve spoken to the Maxwells.’

‘I suggest you sleep on that decision before you share it with them. But in the end it’s up to you, love. Your mother and I would really like you to go and see someone called Hollick. He’s been recommended by Uncle Dick.’ She knew her parents had been muttering between themselves about seeking some professional counselling for her.

‘Dad … is this a psychiatrist?’

‘Pyschologist,’ her father corrected, as if it made all the difference.

‘I’m not mad, Dad. I’m sad.’ The rhyming made it sound comical, but neither of them laughed as they might have in another situation.

‘I didn’t say you were mad,’ he replied quickly, not entirely masking his frustration. ‘In fact, you’re one of the most clear-thinking people I know. It’s why I’ve trusted your decisions all of your life, even when you wanted to marry Will in such a rush.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Jane …’ he began, sounding dictatorial. Then his voice softened. ‘I’ve never known you to be anything but your own girl. Will seemed to smother your natural inclination to be …’

So her dad had also noticed. Typical! They were too alike. ‘To be what, Dad?’

She heard him sigh gently. ‘To be you. He speaks for you, I noticed.’

‘Isn’t that how it is when people fall for one another? They begin to think for their partner?’ She knew she sounded defensive.

‘Of course, love. Sorry, I’m just used to outspoken, darling Jane. I’m not used to you deferring to anyone.’

‘I’m not, Dad. I promise.’

‘Good. Don’t let Maxwell senior bully you either. Do this because you want to. Anyway, I do think talking through your pain with a professional will be helpful.’

She didn’t have the strength to argue. Besides, it was another diversion. ‘When?’

‘Your mother made an appointment for tomorrow at 10.30. He’s in Harley Street.’

‘Of course he is,’ she said, not meaning to sound as sarcastic as she did. ‘All right, Dad,’ she said softly. ‘If it brings you and Mum some peace of mind.’ She pictured them sitting side by side on the hotel bed a floor below, both listening in.

‘It would.’

‘Fine. Don’t worry about me for dinner.’

Her mother chimed in, proving Jane’s suspicions correct. ‘Darling, please, you have to keep your strength up and your sister’s arriving this evening. She’ll want to see you.’

‘I just want to rest. Please don’t worry. If I wake up at a reasonable hour, I’ll call. If not, I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast.’

There was a pause and the sound of scuffling; her father must have taken back the handpiece. ‘We’ll check in on you later, Jane.’ Clearly they didn’t trust her state of mind. ‘You take your time … rest.’

‘Thanks, Dad. I love you.’

She heard the click of the phone. Distantly she registered the hum of the hotel lifts, the sigh of the heating in the room, the faint growl of traffic below, but mostly she was aware of the coo of the doves — or were they pigeons? — fluttering and landing intermittently on her balcony. One pair marched up and down the railing, male wooing female intently, cooing and begging her to capitulate. Was it true that doves mated for life? She wasn’t sure, but she liked the notion that they might. She knew some birds did give their lives to each other. Swans did,
she was sure. And if one died, the romantics believed the other would grieve itself to death.

Her mind was drifting.
Will isn’t dead
, her internal voice assured, refocusing her.
He’s sleeping, waiting for you
.

But waiting for her to do what?

She heard Robin’s question in her mind.
Where is Will’s special place?

Where indeed? She sat up, balancing on her elbows, too troubled to sleep and yet too tired to think about being anywhere but quietly here in bed. But life had taught her that action was better than inaction in most circumstances, and certainly in this instance.

She remembered Will’s parents and immediately rang their hotel, Claridge’s. She had to leave a message, realising now that they were both probably still at the hospital.

‘Yes, thank you. Can you tell Mr Maxwell that I’ve reached a decision? Please ask him, or Mrs Maxwell, to call me when they can.’ She waited for the inevitable question. ‘Yes, it’s Jane.’ Pause. ‘No, just Jane. They know.’ Another pause. ‘Yes, they have it.’ She was sure Will’s father would already have spoken to her parents at this hotel.

She pulled off her coat, scarf and boots and looked around the room, which was still scattered with Will’s belongings. She was planning a shower, but absently moved around touching his things, even smelling one of his sweaters to inhale his cologne. She ran a finger across his old leather briefcase, stuffed and overflowing with books and files containing his notes. She sucked in a breath, suddenly remembering the talk he was giving in Scotland. Had someone let them know up there? She dug around in the briefcase to find his diary.

Several minutes later she ended another call, trembling from the stress of having to explain to the event manager, and then again to a professor at the university, what had occurred.
They’d both heard the reports about the attack, but no name had yet been released.

She ran a shaking hand across her face, recalling the shocked silence of the woman on the other end and how, eventually, her lovely Scottish accent did its best to give the appropriate responses. Jane understood it was all anyone could do, yet the words felt hollow, fell so very short of the mark in easing her pain. The sympathy, the gentle voice, the wishing for everything to become well again just made it worse, in truth.

Snatching two tissues from the nearby box and sniffling into them, she opened a folder from Will’s briefcase, flicking through the pages of the speech he’d laboured over. She felt a deep pang as she remembered how he’d anguished over hitting just the right note for this presentation and would never give it. In a brief flash of bright-coloured madness, she toyed with the notion of delivering the talk on his behalf. Rationality returned as she realised that she wouldn’t make it through the first few sentences of his presentation without breaking down. Besides, she didn’t know anything worthwhile about ley lines, and hardly anything about his research project as a whole.

Her gaze absently scanned the carefully written words, the letters large so he could refer to the notes easily.

Her reading was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone on the desk where she was sitting. She snatched it. Predictably, it was Will’s father.

‘Hello, John.’

‘Jane, sorry, darlin’. I’ve only just been able to pick up your message.’

It annoyed her briefly that he suddenly sounded so like Will. It was just the American accent, she assured herself. Yet she also realised they were sharing an awkward pause, and although it was barely more than a couple of heartbeats in length, in that time everything about her miserable situation shifted from confused to sparklingly clear. Jane could almost hear chimes in her head as a crystal light winked and seemed to take her hand and guide her in a straight line.

Will must go to America to be saved.

And Jane would go to Australia to save him.

Where is Will’s special place?
Robin had asked. She hadn’t been able to answer then, but she could now.

He would want to go to Uluru, where some insisted that one of the Earth’s greatest magical vortices existed. She knew from his excited chatter that it was a site of immense sacred significance and of strong spirituality. It was the destination he had chosen when she asked him a question nearly identical to the one Robin had posed! How could she have forgotten Will’s answer?

Perhaps waiting there in the desert were more answers for her. Was that what Robin had been getting at? Was that his clue,
the pathway that he was trying to show her … the straight track to Ayers Rock and redemption? Would she find deliverance at this vortex? If the realisation hadn’t been so traumatic, Jane was sure she would have found herself laughing. She was even thinking in the right terminology.

‘So, Jane, you … er … you said you’d reached a decision,’ John murmured awkwardly at her ear.

She blinked herself out of her roaming thoughts, surprised by the sudden
release
she felt.

‘Yes. I … I agree he should go with you. He must have this chance.’

She could feel his relief sizzling down the phone.

‘Thank you, Jane. Wow, you impress me. I want you to know, kid, I truly believe this is the right path to take.’ His words resonated. ‘Will you come with us?’

‘No.’ She hadn’t meant to sound so convinced or answer so fast. ‘Er … I’m going to be doing something else for Will.’

He couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice. ‘Not coming? How can you help him if you’re not with him? You’re his fia—’

Don’t say it! Don’t undermine me
. She forced her voice to sound positive. ‘Will wanted to go to Ayers Rock.’

‘Ayers Rock? What, that huge monolith in
Aussie
?’
Americans never quite grabbed on to that terminology correctly, did they?
she thought absently as she formulated her excuse.

‘Central Australia was on his must-do list. He wanted to take me there.’

‘So?’ Now he just sounded belligerent.

‘So, I’m going, John. I’m going for both of us,’ she pressed, more firmly now.

‘Why?’

I don’t know why! Robin seems to think it’s the right path!
her internal voice screamed at him. ‘Because it’s what he’d want,’ she said instead, sounding softly exasperated. ‘It was going to be our honeymoon destination,’ she lied, grabbing at
the only plausible excuse she could think of. ‘I have to do this. It’s where he wanted to go — it was one of the last things we were talking about before he … Anyway, my mind’s made up,’ she said, sounding far surer than she felt inside. ‘I’m going to take something of him with me and go there for him.’

‘He didn’t tell me he was marrying into Heaven’s Gate.’

She didn’t know what Heaven’s Gate was, but it sounded like a slap, an insult. However, she didn’t back down, her father’s warning burning in her mind. ‘And he didn’t tell me his father was so narrow-minded. Now, I’m giving you and Diane what you want —’

‘I should think we all want the same thing,’ he cut in.

‘… But I’m no help to Will in his present state.’

‘You don’t know that. I’m sure the doctors would like the love of his life nearby, talking to him, trying to get through to him.’ He couldn’t disguise the sarcasm in the words
love of his life
. She loathed him in that moment, and wondered how a man with his personality had produced such a gentle soul as Will. ‘How does rushing off to a fucking big, red rock in the middle of Australia help my son?’

‘Listen, John, swear at me again and I won’t take your calls — as well as which, I may just refuse you the freedom you want with your son. Remember the Baltimore adventure is your idea, not mine.’ It felt good to assert herself. This was the Jane she preferred. ‘I’m supporting you because I agree we have to give Will every possible chance. He may be your son, but please don’t forget that I’m entrusting you with my fiancé. And while you’re putting your faith in science and medicine, let me balance it up with the potential healing of the spiritual plane.’ She was breathing hard, feeling the anger creeping past her defences. She didn’t believe in Will’s hippy-trippy stuff either, but now she definitely wasn’t going to back down. Either she defied Maxwell, or became his doormat. ‘Don’t ever think Will wasn’t into it,’ she added as a final barb. ‘He was a
researcher who demanded fact, but he also loved the notion of the mystical.’