by Rose, M. J.
“You’ve really had a hard time, haven’t you?” she asked.
He nodded and then did look up at her. She could see the grief in his eyes. This was only the second time he’d mentioned his wife. And other than Malachai saying it had been an accident, Jac still didn’t know how she died.
“Thank you for coming,” Theo said.
Regardless of what happened with the Druid find, Jac was glad she’d come. It felt right to be here with him—with someone who was as lost in his way as she was in hers. The strange bond she’d had with this man years ago when he was a sullen teenager was still there. She didn’t quite know who he’d become, but they’d once started to help each other. Maybe they could finish that job now.
“Okay, let’s get a look,” she said. “If we spot anything on these old maps, we can compare it to what is now on the current map.” A few minutes passed. “What is this place called Devil’s Hole?” Jac asked. “That sounds promising.”
“It’s a crater originally called the Spiral Cave. About thirty meters across and sixty meters deep. During a shipwreck in 1851 the vessel’s figurehead wound up washing inside. It was recarved by a local artist to resemble a devil, hence the name. It was my first thought when I found the letter. But sadly there’s no way Hugo could have hidden anything there. One of the caveats is the area had to be accessible by foot without too much arduous climbing. Hugo was in his early fifties at the time.”
“What do you think of this?” Jac asked after ten minutes of studying the coastline on the oldest hand-drawn map. “Do you think this area looks like a horn?”
Theo looked where she was pointing. “It might—but a single horn doesn’t suggest Lucifer, does it?”
“Not really.”
After a quarter of an hour he said, “The land hasn’t changed all that much from the map I’ve been studying, and I just don’t see anything.”
She heard frustration and didn’t blame him. “I’m not seeing anything either, but that doesn’t mean it’s not here.”
“There are just too many caves and so few of them are identified. If only he’d given Fantine directions.”
“She knew where they’d gone together. She knew where to look.” Jac stood up, stretched and walked over to the window. The sun was shining on the sea, glinting on its surface. “Do you know where Hugo lived when he was on the island?”
“The house isn’t there anymore. It’s a big apartment complex now.”
“Can you reach the sea from there?”
“In Jersey, you can reach the sea from everywhere.”
“Can we go see it? Walk from where the house would have been, down to the water? Maybe we’ll notice something.”
“I’ve done that, but of course, yes.” Theo looked at his watch. “We should go at low tide. Otherwise not all the beach will be passable and not all the cave entrances will be visible. Would you like some lunch in the meantime? There are some decent restaurants near there.”
Theo called up the stairs. A middle-aged blonde woman leaned over the balustrade. He introduced Jac to his assisant, Samantha Philemon, and told her where he was going. Then he and Jac got back in the car and headed to St. Helier and the Royal Yacht Club.
The restaurant was more than decent. Jac ordered grilled salmon and Theo ordered a hamburger. They both had ale. The food had just arrived when Jac saw Ash Gaspard walk in. He had a benign expression on his face till he noticed Theo, and then Ash frowned.
Theo saw his brother coming toward them when Ash was about ten feet away. Jac sensed him stiffen in his seat. She thought she could smell fear.
The Scent of Fear was one of the fragrances she and Robbie had worked on the longest. Except for the Fragrance of Loyalty, Fear was one of the biggest challenges. Robbie didn’t think it smelled like fear at all but instead like the air up on the roof of the maison they lived in. But that was what she was trying to re-create, she told him. She’d never been more frightened in her life than when she almost fell off that roof, high above the street. Before her brother grabbed her and pulled her back, she thought she was doomed. Robbie had saved her that day, literally. Figuratively, so many times.
“Hello, Theo,” Ash said.
Theo nodded. The friction between the two of them, which she’d sensed last night, was just as strong today.
Seeing both of them in the daylight instead of the dimly lit bar, she was struck by how much they looked alike. Ash had lighter hair and skin and looked younger. Less ravaged. Less pained. His eyes were almost the same color blue but they were more vibrant. As if he hadn’t once had the life drained out of him. They both had the same build and strong aesthetic features.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this interruption?”
“I called the gallery, Samantha told me where you were. I need to talk to you. Can you step outside for a moment?”
“No, just sit down and tell me whatever it is. It’s impolite to leave a lady at the table. And I don’t mind Jac hearing.”
The waiter came over as Ash pulled out the chair.
“I won’t be eating,” Ash told him, “but I’d like a cup of coffee, please. Black.”
With a precise, “Yes sir,” the waiter was gone.
“I need to talk to you about the gallery.”
“Yes, fine.”
“A woman named Elizabeth Timmonson is haranguing me. Apparently she’s been in touch with you about a Renoir pastel? Is there a reason you’re not dealing with her?”
“The paperwork is complicated, Ash. This was all being done through proper channels and now . . .” He left off without finishing the sentence.
“If you would hire someone to replace—”
Theo interrupted. “It’s not like finding a new secretary.” His voice was harsh and raspy with pain.
It occurred to Jac that the death of Theo’s wife, who had run the recovery project, had probably left many loose ends. She stood. “I’m going to excuse myself.” She hoped that when she got back they’d be done talking about the gallery business.
Five minutes later they were still going at it.
“But this case isn’t simple at all,” Theo was saying. “The Gaspard receipt indicates a sale.”
“But Timmonson says the nephew claims his grandfather, who sold it to us in 1937, was acting under duress—”
“I know the laws, Ash, and I told you already, the letters I have prove there was no duress. In fact quite the opposite in this case. He sold us the Renoir and he turned around and bought a Dürer for a few thousand pounds more.”
“Well then, there won’t be any problem, but you have to deal with it. You can’t just let all these issues sit and wait for you to get over your mourning. We all cared about Naomi—”
“Don’t you dare even say her name.” Theo’s voice was so low that Jac wasn’t even sure she heard the right words. “You? Of all people? Aren’t you ashamed?”
Ash turned to Jac. “It was lovely to see you again, Jac. I’m sorry it wasn’t under more pleasurable conditions. Maybe while you’re here I could show you my very different version of the island than the one my brother is—”
“Will you please leave,” Theo said. “How I run my business at the gallery is not your concern.”
“There you are wrong. Everything with the Gaspard name on it affects us both. A scandal at the gallery will reflect badly on the bank, Theo. We can’t afford to have this drag out.” He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to his brother. “Timmonson is expecting your call. She wants to take the ferry over and sit with the files herself. Let me know when you’ve set it up. I’d like to be there at the meeting. We need to make sure this doesn’t turn into an incident. If there’s any question as to the provenance of the pastel, I just want it returned to the family regardless.”
Ash looked at Jac. “Again, I’m sorry that I interrupted your lunch.”
He stood up and, without saying good-bye to Theo, walked out.
Once he was out of sight, Theo turned to Jac. �
�I’m sorry too.” He picked up his glass and drank what was left of the pale ale. For a few moments he seemed lost in thought. Then he glanced at his watch. When he looked up, whatever concerns he’d had a moment ago were invisible.
“Time and tide and all that. Would you like coffee, or are you ready to hit the beach?”
Nineteen
They walked to the area near the bay known as Grève d’Azette, where rows of uninteresting small houses lined both sides of the street. Typical of urban sprawl in any town, Jac thought. Tear down what’s charming and historic and put up new housing designed with the lowest aesthetic-to-cost ratio as you can manage and still ensure high prices.
“This is where Marine Terrace was.” Theo pointed to a group of modest two-story homes so tightly packed in, their side walls were touching. “The area wasn’t at all built up then and there was only a walled garden between Hugo’s house and the beach where he walked so often. From his bedroom on the second floor, he could see the sea.”
Theo took her arm in a companionable gesture and led the way to the end of the block and then took her down a side street to Le Dicq, the beach access pathway. At the bottom of the cobblestone slipway were towering, rugged rock formations lining the shore.
Jac felt sudden recognition. It was as if she’d seen all this before. She knew this place. Was it a déjà vu? A dream?
Theo was talking, pointing to the horizon. “We’re facing France now. Which is why this was such a favorite spot of Hugo’s. He liked to climb these rocks and sit up there and stare out at his homeland. He named this formation Rocher des Proscrits—Rock of the Exiles. He and his friends adopted it as a symbol of their exile.”
“This looks so familiar.”
“There’s a famous photograph of Hugo taken here, looking out at the sea. His son Charles was a photographer who honed his craft while living in Jersey. Hugo seemed to have been endlessly willing to pose for him. There are dozens of shots of Hugo on this beach among these rocks. We have quite a few at Wells in Wood. I’ll have to show you.”
Jac noticed the sun glinting off the rock and walked over to read a plaque commemorating Hugo. Large patches of mold and iron deposits had turned the tablet into a piece of impressionist artwork.
“This being a tourist destination, I’d guess Lucifer’s Lair isn’t here,” Theo said. “There can’t be anything undiscovered in this area.”
“Just because a spot is highly trafficked doesn’t mean it can’t still keep secrets.” She was speaking to Theo but felt as if only part of her was focused on what she was saying. “But you’re probably right in this case. It doesn’t look like there are any openings into these rocks . . .” She paused, then turned to him. “Theo, how can this all look so familiar? I’ve never been here but I know this place. And not from seeing a photograph, it’s much more.”
He smiled, and it might have been the first time that she couldn’t see any of the ever-present pain behind the expression. “I don’t know. Unless . . . it has something to do with us. I want to show you something. Let’s go this way.”
“Us?” He had to be referring to the weeks they’d spent together at Blixer Rath. There wasn’t anything else they shared but that curious time they’d spent so connected that it had both scared and exhilarated her.
He nodded but didn’t explain. “Come on, it’s not too far.”
They were walking as close to the water’s edge as they could without soaking her shoes. Sometimes a wave hit a rock and sprayed her face. Smelling the salty brine that hadn’t changed in centuries, she thought about Hugo walking here and smelling the exact same scent. Her father used to talk about how scent connects us to a past we can’t always see, that seems lost but can so easily be conjured up and found.
Theo had gotten a few steps ahead of her. Now she remembered he used to do that on their walks at Blixer Rath. Always in a hurry to get to the next destination. He’d been in a rush the day of the accident too. The memory rolled in like the ocean, surprising her with its vividness.
It had been mid-May. The sixteenth of May. She was surprised she could pull up the date after so long. Since the incident with the stone circle drawing, Jac and Theo had been inseparable. For two months their connection grew stronger and stronger. Several times Jac dreamed of scenery Theo had drawn. All ruins around Jersey. All places that had some special meaning to him.
Yes! That was it.
“That’s why this place looks familiar now,” Jac said. “I dreamt about it at Blixer!”
“Yes,” Theo said. “This place and a few others. Let me show you.”
As they walked through the rocky landscape, she felt as if she were walking through those long-ago dreams. The water, the outcroppings, the barren shore. She’d been here in those dreams that Theo used to joke she stole from him, that Malachai used to attribute to her openness to the collective unconscious.
• • •
On that May afternoon she’d been playing piano, and when she looked up from the keyboard, Theo was standing there, just watching her. The sun shining through the window illuminated him, and then as she watched, all the natural light disappeared and he was thrust in darkness as if the clouds had left the sky and come down to get in between them.
“Let’s take a walk,” he’d said.
There was nothing unusual about his suggestion. During free periods he often asked her to roam the countryside with him. They’d start off at the same pace and then Theo would see something he wanted to explore and she’d have to rush to catch up. And then once she had, he’d outdistance her again. Like he was now, he always walked as if he had an appointment in a specific spot and he didn’t want to be late. Once another one of the kids had joined them and Theo’s gait was different. He hadn’t moved as if he’d been on a mission anymore. The walk turned into just a stroll through evergreen glades and fields of wildflowers.
Jac hadn’t liked someone else being along. But on that May afternoon there was no one with them. They were alone.
They reached the field that she thought of as the border between the clinic and what was beyond. Once they crossed it, if you looked back, Blixer was invisible. As he always did, Theo stopped to pick various kinds of flora to braid into crowns. Typically he used sprigs of rosemary. It was easy to bend and shape. Lilies of the valley had popped up that week, and so he picked those too and wove them into the rosemary. He placed a crown on Jac’s head and one on his own.
At first the ritual had seemed strange, but now she expected it and loved how the flowers’ fragrance surrounded her. Especially that day. The scent of the small, white bells was delicate but potent. Her father had used it as the base for his well-known and popular Blanc de Nuit fragrance.
Crossing the field, they entered the forest and after about a hundred meters came to a clearing. Here Theo performed what he called the “second ritual.” Together they hunted for rocks, but only smooth, rounded stones because Theo had told her negative energy could stay trapped in crevices and cracks. The gathering usually took the better part of fifteen minutes. They were quiet as they worked, and she never minded when they didn’t talk. The silence between them seemed like its own kind of music.
Once they’d collected two dozen rocks, he made a circle of them about six feet across.
The first time she’d seen him doing it, she asked why.
“Don’t you know?” he said. “Isn’t this part in your dream?”
No, she’d never dreamed anything but the circle itself. Not how they used it.
So he showed her.
They sat down inside the formation, facing each other. Then with the last three rocks, Theo closed the circle. Sitting in the lotus position they’d learned in meditation class, the “third ritual” began. This was what Jac yearned for. And the only reason she put up with the tedium of all the rest of it.
They would begin by meditating, opening themselves up to their connections, as he described it. And then Theo would lean forward and begin to kiss her.
Jac had k
issed people before—as a thank-you, a good-bye, a hello, or a show of comfort or support. But those first kisses between them were none of those.
Each was an invitation to a world that was dark in the light and light in the dark. Each began with their lips pressed together but moved throughout her body. Each altered her so that she became feeling, not thought. His kisses found the parts of Jac that were waiting, dormant, and ready to bloom. They set off tiny sparks through her body. Her skin became so sensitive that if he just put one fingertip on her neck she’d spasm. He was the first boy who had ever touched her. Until Theo she hadn’t known the secret ways her body worked. Or the wonder of how someone else’s body could affect hers.
That May day she smelled Theo’s cologne of eucalyptus, honey, cinnamon and oakmoss laced with the lily of the valley and rosemary. The scents combined in a heady mix that made her feel as if she were floating, being held aloft by stem-and-leaf arms. She wasn’t sure if the flowers were kissing her or Theo was. But it didn’t matter. Those first kisses fed her. They began with taste. Sweet like honey, and fresh like mint. They gave her sustenance in a way that no food ever had, were delicious in the way only something you’ve never tasted before can be. They were both gentle and passionate. As light as the fragrance of the lilies and as deep as the color of the green rosemary. Those kisses were as much about discovery as they were about destination.
On previous days he’d brought wine or a joint. On that day he had brought neither. Instead he extracted a folded envelope, opened it and showed her what was inside. The dark and powdery irregular disk looked like dried leather and smelled of mold. He broke off a small piece and gave it to her. Then broke off an equally small piece, put it in his own mouth and chewed. She was frightened but also curious. And she wanted to be his companion on whatever journey he took.