Solo - Jack Higgins [77]
'Fool, there is a fever on thee already. Do you seek death?'
But he had nothing to say now - nothing at all, for it was like being under water, everything happening in slow motion. Between them, Maria and George got him into the saddle and started back up through the pine trees.
By the time they got him to the bed he had been using he was shaking. George pulled blankets on and Maria went to the kitchen and came back with a cup.
'Drink, boy,' she ordered.
It tasted foul and Morgan gagged but got it down, thinking of Katherine Riley.
'A great pity that, Mam,' he said in Welsh. 'A nice girl. But you know how it is?'
And then the darkness swallowed him up.
Mikali and Deville were at the far end of the rear terrace talking when she went in. She watched them for a while from behind a window in the sitting-room then went to the sideboard and poured herself a large gin and tonic. There was a slight movement and Mikali slipped his arms around her waist.
'A little early for you, isn't it?'
'I'm tired,' she said. 'That's all.'
He kissed her neck and turned her round and there was concern on his face. 'I hate to say it, angel, but you look awful.'
'I know,' she said. 'I've been working like a dog and then the plane trip and last night in Athens.' She paused and what came out next was somehow in spite of herself, but once said could not be taken back. 'I was thinking. Would you mind very much if I hung on here for a couple of days?'
For a moment he hesitated and then smiled. 'Why not? The rest would do you good. But I want you in London, Saturday, without fail. There'll be a seat in a box as close to me as I can get you. I need you there, angel. Something to share. Something to remember.'
He held her close and kissed her. Amazing how easy it was, yet after all, he was the same man, this man she had given her body to so many times. The Cretan Lover from the beginning. The only difference was that now she knew it.
'If you don't mind, I think I'll go and lie down. I've got a splitting headache.'
'Of course.'
She went out and Deville moved in through the french window.
'I think you should kill her.'
'Why?' Mikali said calmly. 'She knows nothing.'
'You love her?'
'I don't know what that word means. I like her - yes. Her presence, her company. She pleases me in these things more than any other woman I've ever known.'
'The seeds of doubt have been planted in her. Who knows when they may germinate?'
'A particularly purple passage, even for you.'
He sat down at the Bluthner and his fingers started to play 'Le Pastour' entirely of their own volition.
13
Morgan was tramping over the mountain on his way home from the pit again, half-running to beat the thunderstorm that threatened in the black, anvil-shaped clouds that filled the horizon.
The rains came, a downpour of such force that he was soaked to the skin in a moment. And the cold of it seemed to reach inside his brain so that he cried aloud in agony as he went down the hillside to the village below.
She had the door of the little cottage open as he stumbled along the path, her head draped in a black knitted shawl so that he couldn't see her face.
Her arms enfolded him, drawing him into the warmth. 'Mam,' he said. 'I'm so cold. So bloody cold.'
He was on his back, head against the pillow, only when she leaned over and the shawl slipped back, it was Katherine Riley who gazed down at him.
'It's all right, Asa. I'm here. Sleep now.'
'Yes, Mam,' he said, closed his eyes and did as he was told.
Morgan came awake from a dreamless sleep and lay staring up at the wattle and plaster ceiling over his head. He was himself again, his skin cool, the dull persistent ache in his arm and shoulder the only reminder of what he'd been through. It was daylight, sun streaming in through the window.
He could hear singing close at hand, the dull rhythmic chopping of an axe against wood; he flung back his blankets and got to his feet. He was no longer lightheaded. Now, there was only the pain and that was good. That