Free Blackstone's Pursuits by Quintin Jardine Page A

deepen, and eat its way upward into the sky, diluting and beating back the darkness. Patches of morning mist lay in gullies along the plain between the Lammermuir Hills and the sea, moving and shifting very slowly, as they began to yield to the rising temperature.
    ‘It’s like being in an aeroplane, above the clouds,’ said Prim. ‘Do you do this often?’
    I looked down at her, held in the circle of my arm, and I smiled. ‘Never done it in my life before. It’s been one of those things you think of doing, but never quite get round to. Tonight, this morning, whatever, I realise that I’ve been saving it to share with the right person.’
    ‘That’s very profound, for you, Osbert.’
    ‘Aye, but don’t worry, I’ll be back to normal soon.’
    Around the Law, in the distance, the light began to intensify. We watched as it strengthened; we watched the rotation of the planet at the horizon dipped, revealing the great golden ball, and the day began. ‘D’you realise what’s happening, Primavera? The Earth’s moving for us!’
    She squeezed me tight, almost crushing my ribs. ‘I was right, Blackstone. You’re a romantic to the core.’ She stood up on tiptoe and she kissed me, softly, her arms round my neck, my arms encircling her narrow waist. ‘D’you still fancy me, then, even in this gear?’ she asked.
    ‘Dressed from head to toe in a black bin-liner, I’d still fancy you,’ I said in a sudden outburst of total candour. Something welled up in my throat, and I realised it was a lump.
    Suddenly there was a noise below us, a panting, scrambling noise. We looked down in surprise, to see the first of the morning joggers cresting the summit. She pulled herself on to the small flat peak and fell face-first against the cairn, gasping.
    ‘Morning,’ said I.
    The woman looked round. ‘Christ, you’re early,’ she spluttered.
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Miss,’ I said. ‘I’m not him. He’s got a beard, and he wears a dress. You never know though, if you wait long enough, this is the sort of place where he might turn up. More likely it’ll be in Glasgow, though. He’s more needed there.
    ‘Come Magdalene,’ I said, tugging Prim’s waist, and wincing as she nipped my bum to shut me up. ‘We’d best get back down.
    ‘So long,’ I said to the speechless, knackered jogger. ‘Enjoy the morning, it’s worth the effort.’
    We picked our way down the almost sheer path from the summit, on to the gentler, but still steep descent. Two more runners were starting out from the road below. As we walked hand in hand, more relaxed than on the ascent, a flight of swans made their way slowly and clumsily across the sky, on their way to St Margaret’s Loch and another hard day’s work, posing for tourist photographers and gobbling stale breadcrumbs.
    ‘They’re not very good at flying, are they,’ said Prim.
    ‘Thank the Lord for that. They’re good in the water and aggressive on land. If they were air aces as well the CIA would be training them as operatives!’
    As we walked on down the path, a piece of the day before came back into my mind. ‘Prim, that bottle in the kitchen. Prozac. Why should Dawn be on the happy pills?’
    She looked up at me anxiously. ‘I don’t know. It came as a shock to me. Dawn’s always been moody, very up one minute, very down the next. Maybe, with me being away, there’s been no-one to help her through the down bits.’
    ‘Not even Willie Kane?’
    ‘Seems not.’
    There were three more parked cars when we reached the roadway, one per jogger, I assumed. We drove around the south side of the great hill, until the Old Town stretched before us again, blinking itself awake. I parked and we walked up to the High Street, to pick up the makings of a real breakfast from Ali’s.
    The turbanned one was on duty early as always. If there are people there and pennies to be taken in, Ali will take them. ‘Hullaw ther, Ozzie,’ he bellowed. I’ve never been quite sure