We’re not out of the woods yet.’
He caught her hand before she could move and lay back, taking her with him. Closing his eyes. ‘We rest. Try and get some sleep.’
‘Sleep?’
‘What’s up, princess? Missing your silk sheets and goose down pillows?’
‘Silk sheets? Please…’ But she shivered.
‘You’re cold?’
‘Not cold, although it is colder up here. There’s more air, too. Do you think there’s a way out?’
‘Part of the roof has gone. Look, you can see a few stars.’
‘Oh…’ Then, eagerly, ‘Can’t we press on?’
‘We need to recover a little before we attempt another climb,’ he said. He needed to recover. ‘And when the eagle collapsed it took part of the floor at this level with it. It seems solid enough here, but…’
‘We could take more pictures.’
‘If we wait, we’ll have daylight,’ he said. ‘There’s no point in taking any risks.’
‘I’m not sure about that. It’s easier to be brave when you can’t see the danger.’
‘Trust me.’
‘You keep saying that.’ She shrugged. ‘I guess it makes sense,’ she said, but not with any real enthusiasm and who could blame her? ‘It’s just this place. It gives me the creeps.’
‘Afraid of the dark?’ He released her hand. ‘Come on, cooch up,’ he said, holding out his arm so that she could curl up against him, ‘and I’ll tell you a bedtime story.’ She ignored the offered comfort, keeping her distance. He went ahead with the story, anyway. Telling her about the people who’d built the temple. The way they’d lived. What they had worshipped.
He thought she’d be happier if she knew that they didn’t go into for bloody sacrifice. That their ‘fire’ was not a thing to fear. How, when the moon was full, they’d built a fire on the altar at the heart of their temple, then heaped the huge night-scented lilies that bloomed in the forest on to the embers so that the eagle could catch the sweet smoke that was carried up the shaft and fly with it in his wings as a gift to the moon.
‘How can you know all that?’ she asked in wonder.
‘They carved pictures into the walls, drew their ceremonies in pictograms. And laboratories have analysed the ashes we found under centuries of compacted leaf litter.’
‘But that’s really beautiful, Jago. Why didn’t the guide tell us all this?’
‘Because the guide doesn’t know. I haven’t published any of my findings.’
‘But what about—’
‘Enough.’ He didn’t want to think about Fliss. He was angry with her, angry with Felipe, but most of all he was angry with himself. This was his fault. If he hadn’t been so stubborn, so intent to keeping the world he’d uncovered for himself… ‘It’s your turn,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you’re running away from.’
‘WHO said I was running away?’ she demanded.
‘“Time out”?’ Jago offered, quoting her own words back at her. ‘That’s a euphemism if ever I heard one. Not checking your messages? Not sending postcards home?’
She drew in a long slow breath and for a moment he thought she was going to tell him to get lost. That it was none of his business. But she didn’t. She didn’t say anything at all for a long time and when, finally, she did break the silence, it was with just one word.
‘Myself.’
‘What?’
He’d been imagining a job fiasco, a family row, a messy love affair. Maybe all three.
‘All my life I’ve been running away from this horrible creature that no one could love.’
It was, Jago thought, one of those ‘sod it’ moments.
Like that time when he was a kid and had poked a stick into a hollow tree and disturbed a wasps’ nest. It was something you really, really wished you hadn’t done, but there was no escaping the consequences.
‘No one?’ he asked.
Her shoulders shifted imperceptibly. Except that everything was magnified by the darkness.
‘Ivo, my brother, did his best to take care of me. In return I came close to dragging him to the brink with me. Something I seem to be making a habit of.’ There was a pause, this time no more than a heartbeat. ‘Although on that occasion I was in mental, rather than physical, freefall.’
‘You had a breakdown?’
‘That’s what they called it. The doctors persuaded him to section me. Confine me under the Mental Health Act for my own safety.’
And suddenly he wasn’t thinking sod it. He was only thinking how hard it must be for her to say that to a stranger. Actually, how hard it would be to say that to someone she knew well.
Mental illness was the last taboo.
‘You both survived,’ he said, mentally freewheeling while he tried to come up with something appropriate. ‘At least I assume your brother did, since you’ve just been godmother to his sprog. And, for that matter, so did you.’
‘Yes, he survived—he’s incredibly strong—but it hurt him, having to do that.’
And then, as if suddenly aware of what she was doing, how she was exposing herself, she tried to break free, stand up, distance herself from him.
‘Don’t!’ he warned, sitting up too quickly in his attempt to stop her. His head swam. His shoulder protested. ‘Don’t move! The last thing I need is for you to fall back down into that damn hole.’ Then, because he knew it would get her when kindness wouldn’t, ‘I’d only have to climb all the way back down and pick up the pieces.’
‘I told you—’
‘I know. You fall, I’m to leave you to rot. Sorry, I couldn’t do that any more than your brother could.’
For a moment she remained where she was, halfway between sitting and standing, but they both knew it was just pride keeping her on her feet and, after a moment, she sank back down beside him.
‘You remembered,’ she said.
‘You make one hell of an impression.’
‘Do I?’ She managed a single snort of amusement. ‘Well, I’ve had years of practice. I started young, honing my skills on nannies. I caused riots at kindergarten—’
‘Riots?
