“But he’s not half as lovely as you, is he, darling?” whispered Gemma, who had leaned over to stroke Phoebe’s silky ears. She thought of her flat, not big enough to swing a cat in, much less a dog. Owning a dog had seemed an impossible proposition, in spite of Toby’s constant pleading. But now she faced challenges much more daunting than that, and she felt suddenly liberated, as if anything were possible, alight with excitement at the prospect of the inevitable changes to come. What had happened to her?
Could it be, she wondered, that Glastonbury worked its magic in more ways than they had imagined?
They stood beneath the great stone transepts of the Abbey Church. It was a perfect November afternoon, but the sun was sinking and the first hint of evening’s chill had crept into the air. It was near closing and the precinct was deserted; soon they would have to leave as well.
“Here,” Winnie told Jack, moving through the nave into the Choir. “I think it should be sung here, where it was meant to be sung.”
“And where the monks shed their blood to preserve it,” agreed Jack, gazing at the spot where the altar had once stood. “Is that possible? Could it be done?”
“I don’t see why not. There are choirs all over England—all over the world, for that matter—that would jump at the chance. But …”
“What?” he pressed, seeing her frown.
“I think the chant should be sung in Glastonbury, by ordinary Glastonbury folk. It’s not perfection that matters, but intent.”
Jack pulled from his pocket the piece of paper he had brought to show her. “I wrote this today, at the office.”
“Edmund?”
He nodded and started to hand it to her, but she shook her head. “No, read it to me, please. I always imagine that his voice would have sounded like yours.”
Peering at the faint script in the fading light, Jack began to read haltingly.
Jack looked up from the page. The western sky was washed with the rose and gold of the setting sun, and for an instant, he could have sworn he heard an echo of voices raised in song.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEBORAH CROMBIE has received international acclaim for her first six mysteries, as well as nominations for the Edgar and the Agatha Awards. She grew up in Dallas, Texas, and later lived in Edinburgh and in Chester, England. She travels to Great Britain yearly to research her books. She now lives in a small north Texas town with her family, where she is at work on the eighth book in the Duncan Kincaid/Gemma James series,
If you enjoyed Deborah Crombie’s A FINER END, you won’t want to miss any of the exciting novels from a writer who “gets better with every book.”*
Turn the page for a tantalizing preview of AND JUSTICE THERE IS NONE, available from Bantam Books.
AND
JUSTICE
THERE IS
NONE
DEBORAH
CROMBIE
*
CHAPTER ONE
Portobello took on a different character once the shops closed for the day, Alex Dunn decided as he turned into the road from the mews where he had his small flat. He paused for a moment, debating whether to go up the road to Calzone’s at Notting Hill Gate for a celebratory pizza, but it wasn’t the sort of place one really wanted to go on one’s own. Instead, he turned to the right, down the hill, passing the shop fronts barred for the night and the closed gates of the café run by St. Peter’s Church. Bits of refuse littered the street from the day’s traffic, giving it a desolate air.