The Six Messiahs - Mark Frost [191]
"Someone you know?" whispered Innes, with the intuitive insinuation only a brother could manage.
Doyle nodded slightly, waving him away, unable to speak.
"You got my letter, I guess," she said when they were alone. The letter in which she'd said good-bye when she left England ten years before; the letter that had snapped his young heart in two.
"Yes," was all he could manage.
"How have you been?" she asked, then before he could answer: "What a stupid question, I know perfectly well how you've been; you're famous, for God's sake, probably fabulously wealthy, and married—"
"Yes."
"—I remember reading somewhere, with a lovely wife and three gorgeous children. And how have I been? Well, look at me."
"You look... beautiful."
She smiled ruefully and pulled the paste tiara off her head. "Awfully nice of you to say, Arthur."
"I mean it."
"If I'd stayed with you, I'd most likely own a real one of these by now. Really know how to back a winner, don't I. . .No, I've been all right, it's been a fine life. I'm just not at the top of my game at the moment...."
She burst into tears. Doyle put a comforting hand on her shoulder, then allowed her to hug him briefly before she pulled herself together. "Give me a moment, would you, dear?"
She walked off a short way without meeting his eyes.
The thousand things he had longed to say to her. All the experiences they'd never shared. He still wanted her, he knew that much. And it was impossible; not here, not now. And unless he wanted to destroy the life he'd worked so hard to build, not ever.
Jack had gathered Presto and Walks Alone at the edge of the street. He moved to where Doyle was standing. "We need to move on."
Doyle nodded wearily. Jack looked over at Innes, favoring his wounded arm. "Innes all right?"
"He'll survive."
"Will you?" said Jack, with a sly glance back at Eileen.
Doyle took him in. "That remains to be seen."
"Arthur, you're under no further obligation. Already far beyond the call. We'll carry on from here."
"But Jack—"
Sparks raised a gentle hand to still him. "We were the only ones actually invited to this party, remember?"
"What will you do if you find him? Alexander."
"I don't honestly know."
Through the net of his turbulent feelings, Doyle realized that standing in front of him was a man bearing an exact resemblance to his old friend Jack; light in his eyes again, life animating his gestures, a curl of amusement lifting the corners of his mouth.
How extraordinary to find him here, now, in this moment. Just when I might lose him again.
"My God, it's you," said Doyle, blinking in amazement.
"None other. Ever so faithfully yours, old friend," said Jack.
He laid a hand on Doyle's shoulder; Doyle covered Jack's hand with his and gripped tightly; the rest, a great deal, passed wordlessly between them. Doyle nodded in gratitude, wiping away the single tear that rolled down his cheek. Jack pulled away, snapped a jaunty salute, and with Presto and Walks Alone flanking him, started down Main Street toward the black church.
The bells in the church tower stopped ringing; the howling of the fire filled the silence.
"I'm coming with you," said Lionel, trotting after them, still carrying the Book of Zohar.
"We should follow behind," called Doyle to Jack. "Lay down some covering fire...."
"Up to you, old man," shouted Jack over his shoulder. "I can't stop you."
"So," said Innes, who'd been slowly working up to speaking with Eileen. "Where do you know my brother from?"
Eileen, sitting on the steps of the House of Hope, resting her head in her hands, looked up through bleary eyes and gave the young man a once-over. "Church group."
"Shared the same pew, did you?" said Innes, with a knowing smile.
She smiled back; cheeky one, wasn't he?
"My dance card's a little crowded at the moment, junior," she said. "But thanks for asking."
"Sorry?" said Innes, thoroughly