He said, They dont by any chance let women become Jesuits nowadays, do they?
She smiled again and turning away from him said, I spy with my little eye something beginning with H.
He let his gaze drift to the horizon.
Harrison Stickle, he said promptly.
Good, she said. Your turn.
B, he said.
Bow Fell, she replied.
You know you cant see Bow Fell from here, he chided. The Langdales get in the way.
So they do, she said innocently. I give up then.
Blea Rigg. There.
He pointed.
So it is, she said. Well done.
I pass the test then?
Do you? My marking scheme is, to say the least, eccentric.
But it was a test?
A tiny one, she smiled. When I saw that brand-new Wainwright fall out of your pocket, I did wonder if you mightnt be shooting a line with all that great fellwalker stuff.
He complimented himself on having studied both his Wainwright and his OS map carefully for a good hour that morning. But perhaps it was time for a bit of truth to get himself a rest from those searching eyes.
Youre right to some extent, Im afraid, he said. I was trying to project a good image. To be honest, my Lakeland walking was all done when I was a mere lad. So any expertise Ive gots a bit dated.
Those boots dont look like theyve been in the coal hole for twenty years. Or do you use them to garden in?
No. Theyve been around a bit.
Where, for instance?
Oh, here and there. Alps, Andes, Pyrenees, very low down in the Himalayas, rather higher in the Harz. Yes, here and there, you could say.
She looked at him darkly.
Well, thats me put in my place, isnt it? she said. And finally, overcome by age, youve returned to these undemanding hillocks, is that it?
Dont be silly, he said easily. One thing I learned early was that any hilly terrain that takes you more than half a mile off a road in uncertain weather deserves great respect.
What a wise man you are, Mr Hutton. Though Im glad to say the weather doesnt look at all uncertain at the moment.
No it doesnt, he agreed looking out across the sun-gilt landscape. Was it only a week since he had greeted the forecast of a settled spell of fine autumn weather with a coldly professional gratitude that it would bring the target out into his garden and make the long kill possible? He turned his gaze onto the woman. For the moment her company was like this late reburgeoning of summer. How long it would last, how far it might take him, were not yet questions to be asked. For the moment her presence was to be enjoyed like the autumn sunshine without threat or complication.
What shall we do this afternoon? he said.
Im sorry?
I thought we might go on to Calf Crag then back to Grasmere down Far Easedale.
She sat upright and said, Whoa, Mr Hutton! Our appointment was for lunch, not a days outing. Ive got things to do this afternoon. I ought to be on my way back down now.
He must have looked disappointed for she smiled faintly and added, You mustnt take things for granted, Mr Hutton, not with me anyway. I have a tendency to the pedantic. I expect people to mean what they say and I prefer them to say what they mean. You should have been more precise in your proposal.
And if I had been?
Then very probably I would have come with you. Its not every day a little Lake District mouse has the chance to scurry in the wake of a Himalayan Yeti!
She started packing the lunch debris into her rucksack. He followed suit, saying, Then let me be precise about two things. One: would you please stop calling me Mr Hutton? Two: will you spend tomorrow, or as much of it as you can, walking with me?
What shall I call you? she said.
Jay, he said after a fractional hesitation. He should have been prepared, indeed he had thought he was. William was out of the question. Hutton he had conditioned himself to respond to, but he would probably walk right past anyone addressing him as William or Bill. His real name belonged with the old years; he might yet come full circle and touch them again but for the moment the gulf was too deep, too wide. Which left Jay, the closest familiarity he permitted those few who came close to being friends. But he didnt like giving it to this woman, didnt like the cold breath of his previous life it brought into their relationship. Hence the hesitation.
Jay? Why Jay?
My middle initial, he said easily. It was used at school to differentiate me from another William Hutton, and it stuck.
All right. Jay. She tried it doubtfully.
And Ill call you Annie if thats all right.
No!
She was very emphatic.
Anya, she said. My names Anya. Too outlandish for good Cumbrian folk like Aunt Muriel, but Anyas my name.
She spoke lightly but Jaysmith caught a hint of something deeply felt. Perhaps her husband, being presumably good Cumbrian folk too, had called her Annie and she didnt like to hear the name on another mans lips.
All right, Anya, he said. Yes, it suits you better. Annie is too
What? she challenged him.
Buxom, he said.
They laughed together.
As they began the descent, Jaysmith reminded her, You havent answered my second very specific request.
I was thinking about it. To tell the truth I could do with a good walk after a week in London. But I couldnt start till, say, ten AM and I must be down again by half past three.
Five and a half hours, he mused. Lets say what? Eighteen to twenty miles?
She looked at him in horror then saw the amused twist of his lips.
Thank heaven youre joking, she said. I was wondering what kind of mountain goat Id fallen in with! Two miles an hour is quite rapid enough for me, thank you very much. I like to be able to stop and admire the view from time to time. Perhaps Id better pick the route.
Accepted, he said.
What? No macho resistance at all?
When I was a young man faced with the choice between scouting for boys or being guided by girls, I knew which side my bread was buttered on, he replied.
Yes, she said thoughtfully. Thats the impression I get of you, Jay. A man who knows which side his bread is buttered on.
In the Crag Hotel, Jaysmith had been very noncommital about his encounter with Miss Wilson, partly because of his own ambivalence of feeling but also because he reckoned the old lady was entitled to be her own gossip in Grasmere. But that night Parker greeted him with a broad smile, outstretched hand and hearty congratulations on his purchase of Rigg Cottage.
So the news is out? he said.
Out? Trumpeted abroad, old chap! Everyone in the village knows. And theyre all dying of curiosity about you.
Even with allowance made for Parkers hyperbole, this news did not please Jaysmith. After a professional lifetime of not drawing attention to himself, even this very mild and local limelight was distressing. A half bottle of champagne appeared on his table at dinner with Parkers compliments.
He said to Doris Parker who had delivered it, Really, I should be paying you a commission.
She smiled in her placid down-to-earth way and said, Bring a few friends in for dinner occasionally and that will do nicely. Youd rather just have your Chablis, I suspect?
He nodded.
She said, Ill take this off your bill, and went away with the champagne.
After dinner, in the bar, Parker showed a strong tendency to act as his mentor in the minutiae of Grasmere life so he escaped to the lounge and watched television for a while. The news was the usual mishmash of political piffle, royal baby rumours, sporting highlights and bloody violence. Thered been an attempt on the life of the Turkish Ambassador in Paris, a botched-up job by some idiot with a Skorpion machine-pistol leaping out from behind a potted palm and spraying the vestibule of the hotel where the Ambassador was lunching. A doorman was killed, an American tourist seriously injured, and the assassin himself cut down by a hail of security mens bullets which also killed a lift attendant. The dead and the injured were all filmed in glorious technicolour.
Jaysmiths disgust must have shown. The female half of an elderly couple, the only other viewers, said, Its horrifying, isnt it? Quite, quite horrifying.
He nodded his agreement, but did not explain that his disgust was merely at the sight of the carnage caused by amateurs. Was he himself an amateur now? No, only if he started killing people without getting paid for it and that wasnt likely! Even then, he would still proceed in a professional way. That was what he was, a retired professional. Fully retired now. He had sent a coded telex to his Swiss bank instructing them how to pay back the last unearned fee. Jacob would not be pleased, but his displeasure would be professional not personal. He would have to find a new man to do the job, if the job still had to be done. He would not miss Jaysmith; there would be no farewell speech, no commemorative gold watch.
It was only to Jaysmith himself that his retirement was of any real moment. It was a slightly disturbing thought.
He watched the weather forecast. The Indian summer was to go on a little longer.
He said goodnight to the elderly couple and went to bed.
Chapter 6
That night he dreamt, and the dream brought him awake. It was the first broken night he had had in more years than he could remember.
He dreamt of Jacob, or rather of Jacobs voice. Jacobs face he could hardly recall, except for something faintly simian about it, like one of the great apes looking with weary wisdom out of its cage at the shrill fools beyond the bars who imagined they were free. It was many years since he had seen the face, but the voice was still fresh in his ears: dry, nasal, with its irritating habit of tagging interrogative phrases onto the end of statements, like little hooks to draw the hearer in.
In his dream he picked up the phone expecting to hear Enid. Over the years one young Enid had replaced another as his route through to Jacob. What became of the old Enids? he sometimes wondered, but was never tempted to ask. In his relationship with his employer as with his targets, distance suited him best. With women too. Until now.
Instead of Enids voice, Jacob had come instantly on the line. He spoke without emotion, without emphasis.
Youre Jaysmith, he said. I invented you, didnt I? Youre Jaysmith now and for ever, arent you? Theres nothing else for you. Youre Jaysmith, Jaysmith, Jaysmith
Suddenly with the voice still in his ear he had been back in the gill on Wanthwaite Crags. Across the valley he could see the red roof of Naddle Foot. He brought his rifle up to his eye and the terraced garden leapt into close focus. The white metal chair was there and in it a sleeping figure. He traversed the weapon and adjusted the sight till the silvery head filled the circle, quartered by the hairline cross. Now the sleeper woke and slowly raised his head. But when the face was fully turned to the sun, Jaysmith saw to his horror that it was not the old man after all, but the woman he had just met, Anya Wilson. She smiled straight at the gun, though she could not possibly see it, and his finger continued to tighten on the trigger
With a huge effort of will he forced himself awake. If anything the waking was worse than the dreaming. It was four oclock. He rose and poured himself a drink and sat by the window looking out into the night. It had all been a dream: that was the childhood formula which put such things right; but now fully awake he knew that this dream was true.
He was Jaysmith. He should have been back in London days ago, packing his belongings, easing himself into one of the alternative lives he had prepared over the years. Where could it end, this lunacy of pretending to buy a house and running around after this child, Annie or Anya or whatever she liked to call herself? She was at least fifteen years his junior, recently widowed and not yet emerged from that unthinkable pain. Suppose he did worm his way into her affections? It would be as bad almost as making her a target with his rifle.
His room faced east. After a while the false dawn began to push forward the great range of fells which runs from Fairfield to Helvellyn. He felt their advance, hard and menacing; it seemed that if he sat there long enough they would rumble inexorably onward to crush the hotel and the village and all its unwitting inmates. There was strength as well as terror in the thought. It confirmed his own certainties, silenced his own debates. In the morning he would rise early and pay his bill and leave, and that would be an end to Mr William Hutton and probably the beginning of a good half-century of speculation for the trivial gossips of this unimportant crease in the coat-tail of the universe.
He went back to bed, the future resolved, and slept deep.
When he awoke it was a quarter to ten.
Oh Christ! he swore, touched by a new terror in which the great threat was that she would not wait for him at their rendezvous point. So potent was this that he forewent both breakfast and shaving in his rush to get there.
She looked at him with considerable disapproval.
The good burghers of Grasmere will expect a much better turnout from the new inmate of Rigg Cottage, she said.
I came out in a hurry, he said. I had a bad night.
And how did the night feel, I wonder?
He glowered at her and the mockery faded from her eyes and she murmured almost to herself, Are we always so bad-tempered in the morning, I wonder?
He got a grip of himself and smiled ruefully and said, Im sorry. As for what Im usually like in the morning, I dont know. Its been a long time since there was anyone to tell me.
Anyone who dared, you mean?
Or cared. And really, I did have a bad night.
He got in the car beside her. She had arranged to pick him up at the edge of the village on the road leading up to Rigg Cottage. He hadnt queried the arrangement but just assumed that she didnt care for a more public rendezvous under the eye of Mr Parker or her aunts many acquaintances.
What was bothering you? Not Doris Parkers cooking, I hope?
No. Thats fine. Sos she; I like her. She doesnt come at you like dear Phil.
She nodded. Another shared judgement to bring them closer. Hed guessed that was how shed feel and though his opinion of the Parkers was precisely as stated, he felt a twinge of guilt at the element of calculation in what hed said.