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The Watchers

Page 56

by Jon Steele


  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Miss Taylor.’

  ‘That’s what the doctors keep telling me, but it’s all so confusing. I can’t remember things and I have the strangest dreams.’

  ‘Give yourself some time. It’ll pass.’

  ‘They had me meeting with a counsellor. He told me to imagine life never really ends, that people always come back. They just don’t know it and we can’t see them the way they were.’

  ‘I’ve heard that too.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then that means Marc could be somewhere in the world right now, and that makes me feel better. Even if I run into him and he doesn’t know me and I don’t know him, it makes me feel better thinking he’s still in the same world. I really want to believe it.’

  ‘Then believe it, Miss Taylor.’

  The Inspector called from the esplanade:

  ‘Mr Harper, we must leave in three minutes.’

  Katherine rolled her eyes.

  ‘God, he’s such a stickler for time. Keeps telling me I must be punctual in all things. I asked him if I could see you because I want to ask you something before I left Lausanne.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Before … before Marc died, I remember talking to him in the loge. I had a feeling he knew I was just a hooker hiding out in his tower. I was wondering if you said anything to him.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like I wasn’t an angel.’

  ‘No, he figured it out by himself.’

  ‘Honestly?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She wiped a tear from her cheek.

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Why are you asking?’

  ‘I keep seeing him in the loge, looking at me and knowing I wasn’t the angel he wanted me to be. And I keep thinking I broke his heart. Like I took something from his life that made him happy and I broke it, then he died.’

  ‘You didn’t break his heart.’

  ‘Really?’

  Harper looked up at the belfry again.

  ‘We were up there, on the roof, waiting for the killers. And out of nowhere he asked me about things girls like. Flowers, perfume. What kind of movies did they like, did they like to eat pizza on Thursday nights, Tom and Jerry cartoons. And he asked me if I thought you were beautiful. I teased him at first, said I didn’t think so. But he kept saying you were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen till I agreed. Then he asked if I thought you might like to come to his flat sometime for tuna-noodle casserole. Seems he had a secret recipe from his mother back in Canada.’

  ‘Oh, God. What’d you tell him?’

  ‘I told him I was very sure you’d accept his invitation with genuine pleasure.’

  ‘Please tell me it’s the truth. You know what a sucker I am for fairytales. I’m afraid I hurt him so terribly, I can’t let go of it. I don’t know what to do. Please, tell me something.’

  Harper stepped close to her …

  ‘One thing I know, that love with chance

  And use and time and necessity

  Will grow, and louder the heart’s dance

  At parting than at meeting be.’

  Katherine looked at him.

  ‘That’s lovely, Harper, what is it?’

  ‘A poem by a soldier killed in the First World War, his name was Edward Thomas.’

  ‘Where would someone like you ever get something like that?’

  ‘Just something I heard somewhere. You’re going to be all right, Miss Taylor. Someone will be watching over you.’

  ‘I think someone already is, I just can’t see him.’

  The engines of the Mercs turned over. The Inspector stepped to Katherine’s side.

  ‘I apologize but we must be going.’

  ‘OK.’ Katherine scratched the head of the fat cat in her arms. ‘Say goodbye, Monsieur Booty.’

  Mew.

  The Inspector took Katherine’s arm and they turned to leave. Katherine turned back to Harper.

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you.’

  Something in her fingers. He held out his hand and watched a five-franc coin, well-dented at the edge, fall into his palm.

  ‘Where … How did you get this?’

  ‘Marc gave it to me that night, before he died. He gave it to me for good luck. I thought you’d like to have it.’

  Harper stared at the remembered thing.

  ‘I’m grateful for this, Miss Taylor, I truly am.’

  She stood on her toes, kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Goodbye, Harper.’

  He watched her walk away and settle in the back seat of the Merc, fat cat still in her arms. Officer Jannsen climbed in behind her and closed the door. The rear window slid down. Katherine leaned across Officer Jannsen and through the window.

  ‘Hey, Harper, I didn’t even ask you how you are.’

  ‘Ask me now.’

  ‘How are you?’

  He put his weight on the cane and pulled himself up from the fountain wall and made himself steady.

  ‘I’m good. Taking a bit of vacation.’

  ‘Send me a postcard?’

  He waved.

  ‘Sure.’

  Car doors slammed and the convoy rolled quietly over the cobblestones of the esplanade, down the hill and out of sight. Harper hobbled to the base of the belfry tower. He saw the cars speeding over Pont Bessières, flashing blue lights chasing evening shadows from the road. The cars rounded the corner at Rue Caroline and were gone.

  Six deep-throated gongs rang from above.

  Harper looked out over the lake, all that was left of paradise.

  He turned and hobbled to the cathedral façade, standing at the massive wood doors. He waited till all the bells began to sound. He placed his right hand on the iron handle. He stood perfectly still, waiting for the bells to finish, waiting to pull open the doors and enter the nave before the last bell faded.

  He saw the coin tucked in the palm of his hand.

  He curled the tips of his fingers and felt the dent at the side.

  He looked at his watch. Five fifty-five. Still running five minutes slow.

  ‘Bloody hell, what’s the rush?’

  He pulled his hand from the door and turned away. He dropped the coin in his mackintosh and hobbled across the esplanade. He tucked the walking cane under his sling, grabbed the side rail and slowly counted his way down the wood steps of Escaliers du marché.

  acknowledgements

  My deepest gratitude to Renato Häusler, who at the time this story was written was serving as le guet de la cathédrale de Lausanne. His genuine kindness and devotion to the cathedral were the inspirations for this story.

  To M. Patrick Addor, secrétaire de la Direction de l’enfance, de la jeunesse et de l’éducation for le Canton de Vaud.

  To M. Giulio Pistolato, l’intendant de la cathédral de Lausanne.

  To Sœur Marguerite and Mme Maret of the Lausanne Cathedral gift shop.

  To Julian Magnolly of 24 Heures and Omid Safi of Colgate University.

  To Paul Reed, military historian and author.

  To Georgina Capel and Doug Young for their never-ending belief.

  To J. J. Gauer, l’hôtelier extraordinaire, for his never-ending encouragement.

  To a handful of friends who were there when everyone else wasn’t.

  To the bells of Lausanne Cathedral for allowing me the honour of their very fine company over the months I spent in the belfry loge writing the first draft.

  Author’s Note

  Author’s note: In writing the prologue Quietus, lines of Edward Thomas’s poetry, as well as lines from his diary and letters, are used as dialogue and/or narrative, sometimes without quotes, to create a realistic portrait of the man at the moment of his death, based on his own thoughts and emotions. This is also the case with the description of Edward Thomas’s War Diary. It is taken from the web page of the University of Oxford’s First War Poetry Archive.

  About the Author
>
  Jon Steele was born in the American Northwest in 1950 and was raised in Great Falls, Montana. He worked an assortment of legal and illegal jobs all across America before joining Independent Television News of London. Jon earned a reputation as one of the world’s top cameramen in dangerous environments. His autobiography, War Junkie, was published in 2002 by Transworld and is today recognized as a cult classic of war reportage. In Baghdad, on the day before the Iraq War began, he put his camera on the ground and quit. Jon moved to the South of France and lived without a television, radio or newspapers for a year. He spent his days writing and taking walks in quiet places. In 2007 he travelled to Iraq, alone and without the support of any news organization. He lived for three months with an American combat unit, filming their lives and recording their emotions for the award-winning documentary, The Baker Boys: Inside the Surge. Currently Jon lives in Switzerland with his Jordanian-born wife and the two abandoned cats they found in an Amman road.

  Also by Jon Steele

  War Junkie

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA

  A Random House Group Company

  www.rbooks.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain

  in 2011 by Bantam Press

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © Jon Steele 2011

  Jon Steele has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Version 1.0 Epub ISBN 9781446486771

  ISBN 9780593067512

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk

  The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009

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  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title page

  Dedication

  Quietus

  Book One: The Forty-Sixth Latitude of Planet Earth

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Book Two: The Place of Broken Angels

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Book Three: The Awakening

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Book Four: The Thing in the Well

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Of a Saturday Evening Three Months Later

  Acknowledgements

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Also by Jon Steele

  Copyright

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Book

  Title page

  Dedication

  Quietus

  Book One: The Forty-Sixth Latitude of Planet Earth

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Book Two: The Place of Broken Angels

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Book Three: The Awakening

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Book Four: The Thing in the Well

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Of a Saturday Evening Three Months Later

  Acknowledgements

  Author's Note

  About the Author

  Also by Jon Steele

  Copyright

 

 

 


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