“Dad, listen.” There was something in his tone – he sounded upset.
“Jack are you alright? Or Jamie?”
“Dad it’s Liz!” For a moment Philip’s mind was a blank. Liz, Liz who? “You are talking about Elizabeth?”
“Yes.” Jack explained about the accident. He and Jamie wanted to go. “Please, Dad will you give us the cash?” Philip’s mind was in a turmoil. He pictured her in the boat happy and carefree – then his imagination took over and he saw her poor body torn and hurt. “Jack,” he said firmly. “I shall go. I shall go for you and Jamie. I shall tell her that and I will telephone you every evening. Jack are you there?” He heard a sob. “Jack, it’s alright, old chap, I’ll go and look after her I promise. I will look after her for you and Jamie,” he added to himself, I will look after her for me as well.
Philip found the flight to Phoenix endless. His thoughts ranged from his conversation with Jack and his son’s obvious distress, to his subsequent conversation with Elizabeth’s sister – her coolness which he sensed despite her distress too. He wondered at the coolness and her surprise that he was flying to Phoenix. “What about Jack and Jamie?” she had asked and he heard the real concern in her voice. It was almost as if she knew them, yet how could she?
Of course, he thought of Liz – he saw her in his mind’s eye leaping off the yacht, helping with the ropes. He remembered, even though he had been in conversation with Jack, how he had seen her “forward” with an arm around Jamie’s shoulders. He couldn’t hear the shrieks of delight as they watched the dolphins – but every now and again as their heads had turned he had caught glimpses of such joy, and he had felt a momentary envy that it was she and Jamie, and not himself who Jamie’s joy was shared with.
He thought about the night they made love. Her soft responsiveness. Her trust – the way she gave herself and the way she touched his body – giving him something that made him crave her more and more, and as their bodies became one he had no idea where he ended and she began with a total “oneness” of body and mind.
He had acknowledged later, much later, that it had never been quite like that with Helen. She had been more reticent and he was never convinced that she really enjoyed their lovemaking. She had adored him, he knew that. She hung on his every word. She wanted nothing more than for them to be happy and she clung to him when they made love, but he felt there was, on her part, a sense of relief when it was over. Her happiness came from being with him and being his “angel”. Now, after all these years, he knew he had loved her, but he had let slip away the only woman he had ever been “in love” with.
Once again he remembered the night when Jack burst into the cabin. Him, naked as the day he was born; Jamie and the operation for a burst appendix in the tiny hospital with one doctor and nurse. He remembered coming back to the yacht; his anger at himself for being in such a compromising position when Jack found him and Jamie needed him – an anger that spilled over and caused tension between him and Liz. She, he remembered, had her bags packed when he arrived back at the yacht. He should have stopped her, but didn’t. His guilt over the way he treated her, mixed up with his guilt over Jamie and Jack which left him feeling furious with himself, had caused him to act so stupidly and selfishly and prevented him from holding on to a most precious love. Now it was probably too late. He stiffened, a new resolution taking place inside his head and heart. He would not let her die, he would do anything, everything, to save her and he would never let her out of his sight again.
She was a fighter – she would come through. For the first time since the news, he suddenly felt exhausted. A new peace filled him now that he had resolved what to do. He slept, he continued to sleep and, only as the aircraft landed and the light bump made him aware that they had arrived, did he wake feeling refreshed and ready.
chapter 38
He may have been ready, but nothing could have prepared him for the shock of seeing her. He was allowed in, despite the fact that he couldn’t claim to be family. He used his diplomatic title, feeling this was definitely not an occasion to hold back. He also explained that he was to marry Elizabeth O’Malley. The nurse looked sympathetic. “I am so sorry,” she said. Philip was startled, something in her tone made him realise how bad it was and, knowing this, he walked into her room.
A young woman who bore some resemblance to Liz sat by her bed. Philip only glanced at her briefly, the still, slight figure in the bed, covered to her waist with a light cotton sheet, was his only focus. “Elizabeth,” he could hardly believe her frailty, he had imagined of course, but this… her beautiful black hair had been shorn and he could see a large gash, neatly stitched, went right across her head.
She had another gash right down the left side of her face, she was bruised and, perhaps most awful of all, her eyes were covered with taped-down dressings. She seemed to have drips everywhere, tubes up her nose, cannulas in her arms. Her bare arms were lacerated and stitched, and the yellow of the antiseptics used covered most of the skin he could see.
She moaned and the sound pulled him out of his reverie. “Oh Elizabeth, my darling, darling girl,” he moved to the bed and kissed her gently on her forehead. “Why is she moaning?” he wondered aloud. “The doctors say it is a good sign, it will hopefully mean she will come out of the coma before too long. You must be Philip – I’m Kathy, Liz’s sister.” She added a shade coldly: “So you finally, now she is near death, crept out of the woodwork did you?” She sounded bitter and Philip knew she was right. He bowed his head in acquiescence. “She was as stubborn as you. You have no idea how many times I told her to contact you.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she would wait until you contacted her.” He put his head in his hands in total despair.
“I’ve been such a fool.”
“You’ve both been fools. Let’s hope it’s not too late.”
*
Liz was having a wonderful time. When Ashok had first put the hammock in the garden, suspended from two of the tall palms, she had been just a shade disappointed. The hammock was made of corks joined by strong black threads. She didn’t like to tell him that, although she loved the motion of the hammock rocked gently by the breeze, she had never found it truly comfortable. That was until today. It was as if it was made of silk. She nuzzled into its comfort. Looking up, she watched as the palm fronds moved lazily in the breeze – they reminded her of huge ostrich feathers. For a while, they lulled her and she rested feeling cool and comfortable.
It was the sound of the caw-caw of the rooks that woke her. The pair sat on fronds above her. “I wish I knew what you are saying,” she said out loud. Caw-caw they repeated. “Oh, you want some fruit.” She went to move, happy to chop up some apples for them, but she was so drowsy and comfortable that once again she drifted off to sleep.
Next time she opened her eyes she was amazed to see Coco and Guinness. She was surprised that they had left the coolness of their stables with the whirring roof fans she had decided were better for them than air-conditioning. They stood at the foot of the hammock in the shade of the palms. “What are you doing here boys?” she asked them. “Did you just want company?” As if understanding every word they moved their heads up and down in perfect unison. “Oh, you are so clever,” she exclaimed, marvelling at their understanding.
A flutter of wings made her look across to the lawns on her left where the family of egrets were out searching for their favourite grubs hidden among the grasses – not hidden well enough though. Poppa and Momma egret now had three young to feed and, like a family of swans, they processed in a stately line. She loved them. With their eager walking and their serene flight they reminded her slightly of miniature storks.
She heard the sound of tinkling ice. Anjali was coming down the steps and across the lawn towards her. She carried a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade and, over her arm, she carried Liz’s favourite blue pashmina.
Fo
r a moment Liz was disappointed – she was so enjoying the peace and tranquillity. She wondered who had arrived to disturb her serenity, for Anjali had made up a second glass for a guest. She looked beyond the housekeeper but could see no one.
Anjali put the tray on the small round table and sat down on a chair that Liz couldn’t remember noticing before. “Why Anjali are you going to stay with me and have a glass of lemonade?”
“Yes, Madame. I wanted to be with you.” She put out her hand. Liz held hers out and grasped the slim cool hand. “Oh dear Anjali, how fortunate I am to have you as my friend.”
“I am the fortunate one,” Anjali answered. “But you are cold, Madame. Here let me cover you.” She gently laid the blue pashmina over her mistress. “I will stay with you, Madame.” With a contented sigh, Liz closed her eyes, she was so tired she must sleep again.
*
Anjali received a telephone call from America. It was Philip Broderick. “You may remember I was the Ambassador in Delhi,” he said, by way of introduction. Anjali never forgot anything so she knew immediately who it was. “Sir Philip,” she began. “I’m afraid Madame O’Malley is touring in America at the moment, she will be so disappointed to miss your call.”
“No, Anjali,” Philip spoke gently. He remembered Liz talking of her housekeeper so warmly. A friend as well as an employee she had said.
“There is no easy way to say this Anjali. Elizabeth, Madame O’Malley, has been in an accident. She is very ill I’m afraid.” Anjali felt fear clutch at her heart.
“Bring her home sir, please. We will look after her.” As gently and as firmly as he could he explained that she was still in a coma but he promised that, when it was possible to bring her home, he would bring her himself. “I will telephone again, Anjali, every few days.”
Anjali couldn’t tell the others, not yet. Feeling a slight shiver, she went to her bedroom and collected her blue pashmina, the one Madame had so kindly given to her on her birthday. She wandered aimlessly down the steps, collecting a small chair from the veranda as she went. She carried it over to Madame’s favourite place under the palms. She pictured Madame lying in bed. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to the bedside. She searched for the fragile white hand which seemed cold and clammy. Mentally she took the blue pashmina and laid it gently over the still form. In her head, she heard Madame O’Malley’s voice. “I am so fortunate,” she said, “to have a friend like you.”
“Oh Madame,” Anjali said. “It is I who am fortunate.”
*
Philip sat by the bed, hearing every sound, seeing every movement. Sometimes she smiled and he wondered what thoughts were making her happy. Other times she moaned a little as if she was trying hard to form words. She had been in surgery again this morning, he had learned to dread surgery days, for he was always uncertain what condition she would return in.
With the cage over her legs to keep the sheet from touching her burned flesh, he had no idea how bad they were. He knew she was on strong medication to alleviate as much pain as possible and they were using the most current techniques in skin-grafting they could.
That morning they had removed the pads that covered her eyes. Amazingly, the operation to remove shards of glass from her eyes seemed to have been very successful and the retina appeared to have been undamaged. “When she opens her eyes,” the surgeon told Philip, “she is likely to have blurred vision at first, but that should clear in a couple of days, hopefully.” He added as a cautionary rider.
Philip watched helplessly as she seemed to search for something – she kept plucking at the sheet. What, he wondered, could she be seeking? He asked if he could look at the things of hers that had been taken off the burning helicopter, amazingly they had found her suitcase flung yards away as the helicopter crashed and before the subsequent fire.
He felt rather awkward, as if he was prying – but he determined there might be a clue to be found there. Everything was neatly folded. Shoes in cloth shoe-bags, blouses and tops, each in their own zipped pochette. The blue pashmina had been on the top and it was only when he could not find anything obvious that he returned to it. Lateral thinking he reminded himself. The pashmina was on the top, perhaps because it was important to her, or perhaps she put it around her when sitting up in bed. The air-conditioning could sometimes feel a little chill.
Clutching at straws, he took the pashmina over to her bed, leaving the bag open in case he could find something else. The pashmina was fortunately very light so, opening it out, he spread it as gently as he could over the sheet. He lifted one of her hands and placed it on the pashmina. He watched the clutching fingers despairingly. It was no good, it had been a crazy thought. Suddenly, her fingers stopped their restless movements. The other hand joined its fellow on the pashmina. He watched as her fingers curled the pashmina within them and, looking at her, he saw a smile of pure joy.
Despite her scars and her poor shorn hair – which was beginning to grow back a little now – despite all that he had never seen her look more beautiful. For the first time in a very long time, he knelt by the bed and thanked God for her life, vowing he would never leave her side.
After he had made his usual evening call to the boys, Philip rang number ten, Downing Street. His call with the boys had a more optimistic tone and he was able to say, quite genuinely this time, that there was an improvement. Jack and Jamie didn’t ask this time, they demanded that at the end of the term in three weeks they would join their father in Phoenix. Philip didn’t demure, he realised that there was something special between his sons and Elizabeth that he didn’t fully understand, in fact, he didn’t understand at all but felt that whatever it was it was good, and they certainly must be allowed to visit.
The call to Downing Street was difficult for Philip, who had always believed his career must come first. He originally decided that he must offer his resignation as he planned to stay with Elizabeth indefinitely. After some discussion when the Prime Minister expressed her concern about Liz, whom she had, of course, met in Delhi, she suggested Philip take an indefinite leave of absence. His deputy could take over in the short term and she insisted that he must put Liz first. Philip was both relieved and surprised at her generosity.
Julia herself was in the midst of some rather unpleasant matters dealing with a hitherto supposedly respectable politician, who had been found to be dealing in a people-smuggling ring. She had been horrified to learn about Liz and the Foreign Office had not thought to inform her that Philip had taken a month’s compassionate leave. He smiled ruefully on hearing this, knowing that someone was going to get their knuckles rapped – at the very least. After a little more conversation about the temporary handover, Philip agreed to her various suggestions, and then, putting any contemplation of his professional life out of his mind, and with Julia’s blessing, all thoughts of his Ambassadorial role went out of the window.
The following morning yet more flowers arrived, this time not from students at Flagstaff University, or people she had addressed during the tour, or even the chairman of the publishing house, who was still trying to deal with the trauma of losing his favourite PA, Vivien Brown, but still sent regular messages and flowers. No, this time the flowers were from Julia, the Prime Minister. The accompanying card read : Get well, dear friend. The flowers are golden, for I shall never forget you in your gold dress. I wish I could visit you, we shall meet again I promise. Warmly, Julia.
Of course, Liz could not see the flowers, nevertheless Philip knew that the perfume of the golden roses filled the air and he had them put on a side table as close to her bed as possible.
chapter 39
She was warm at last, it was good that Anjali had put the pashmina over her whilst she rested on the hammock. She thought perhaps it was Anjali’s pashmina, a slightly different shade of blue than the one she had bought for herself. When Anjali had admired it she immediately decided to buy one for her, and on her birthday when Anjali had u
nwrapped it, she saw with pleasure the delight her gift was giving. She wondered where her pashmina was, it was so kind of Anjali to share hers.
She was so tired and she so wanted to sleep. People kept talking to her. She knew she must be dreaming again, she was having so many dreams. She tried to get back to the peace of her garden. The hammock was empty, she could see it moving slightly in the breeze. The voice again – calling her – she tried to concentrate but the darkness kept coming back. “Elizabeth.” Yes, someone was calling her. She tried hard to think who it could be.
Yes, yes, she remembered. That’s what my father called me. How can he be calling me now? The darkness came, blessedly, and she didn’t have to think anymore.
He watched silently, only ever leaving her for a few hours. Kathy had returned to England for a photographic assignment, but they had parted on good terms after a few awkward exchanges when Philip had first arrived. He kept her up to date with what was happening on an almost daily basis and they had finally reached a rapprochement.
Philip would go back to his hotel for a few hours – shower, set his alarm and close his eyes. Three hours later he would order room service and try and eat something. It was usually wasted as he was anxious to return to the hospital.
Judy and Greg took it in turns to stay with her whilst he was away. When the red-headed woman had first appeared at the hospital he had thought she was yet another well-wisher. Judy explained the school connection and, after some hesitation on his behalf, Philip “allowed” Judy or her husband, Greg, to stay with Liz during some, if not all, of his absences.
The Portuguese House Page 20