by Sheila Burns
‘I worked in a mental institution for a time, and all those people were seeking friendship in some strange way of their own. They fought for it. I was sorry for them, for their despair was brought about by the loss of hope.’
He watched her.
‘You think I’m mad, then?’
‘Most certainly I think nothing of the sort. How could I?’
‘I had a breakdown, goodness knows it knocked a lot out of me, but I was never mad. I was alone, I know, I wanted friendship, I longed for it.’ He paused, took in a deep breath, then said, ‘I was never violent.’
‘I know, and all that is behind you now, and does not matter.’ She looked at him. ‘You have your aunt’s deep affection, she dotes on you, you know.’
‘And I love her. You do think she is going to be all right, don’t you? I mean your friend Mr. Bland will cure her?’
‘I am sure that he will do a great deal for her, he certainly is brilliantly clever.’
‘It would be awful if she died,’ and suddenly his voice thickened and she recognised a heavy despair coming over him.
‘But she won’t die. I won’t let her die,’ she promised him.
He looked at her for a moment, his eyes searching, seeking for some information, seeking for some foothold and perhaps some hope. She knew that he believed her and only wished that she had that power in her hands, that glory of being the keeper of the door between this world and the next, and being able to shut the door firmly in the face of death, and save people if only for a few more years.
He said, ‘Thank you.’
He was a kind man, a man who still suffered badly from that mental collapse, and probably was wretchedly unhappy because of it. She should not blame him or confuse him with the stranger, but pity him and try to help him; perhaps teach him to conquer the grim ghost of loneliness that assailed him and the curious moods that it provoked. He believed her.
‘You’ll be all right,’ she told him gently, ‘and your aunt will be all right, too; please, Roger, do try not to worry yourself quite so much. It is difficult to help you when you keep worrying.’
‘I know.’
He turned and without another word went along the corridor and down the stairs. Right away. She believed that she had comforted him and that he had some confidence in her. She suddenly felt differently towards him, changed; perhaps after all, at peace.
Chapter Eight
‘Your kind doctor has accepted my invitation and he is giving up that awful room at the Cross Keys and going to stay here with us,’ Mrs. Liskeard said next morning when Lorna went to her.
She had been much better again, and the last couple of days her colour had changed, and her eyes were more restful. Lorna had finished her last night on the sofa in the patient’s bedroom, with the bell to hand.
‘Mr. Bland has accepted?’
‘Yes, he has indeed, and we are so glad.’ Then seeing Lorna’s face she knew that the announcement had come so suddenly that she had not had sufficient time to hide her feelings. ‘What’s the matter, Lorna? Didn’t you want Mr. Bland to come here?’
Perhaps she had disclosed more than she intended. ‘But of course … it’s nothing to do with me anyway, and it will be much nicer for him than staying at the Cross Keys. I am sure … I am quite sure that he will be very happy here.’
The calm eyes of Mrs. Liskeard were watching her all the time. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but tell me about yourself, dear?’ then, in a low tender voice, ‘Lorna, you’re in love with him?’
It was said kindly, and came so out of the blue that surprise made Lorna confess the truth. ‘I … I was once …’
‘Then he isn’t married?’
‘No, Michael isn’t married.’
‘Perhaps it still could be, Lorna dear, you never know.’
Lorna shook her head. ‘You can never trust a man the second time once he has badly let you down. That’s the trouble. I … I don’t want to talk about it, and I can’t tell you any more, that’s all there is to it.’ Possibly her voice was decisive, most certainly Mrs. Liskeard understood something of what she was feeling, for she said no more. Just once, when Lorna was going away, she said, ‘I am so sorry, dear. I had no idea that it might be awkward for you that he was here.’
And because she saw that her patient was really worried, she said, ‘It will be no more awkward than he or I make it, you know. Don’t worry, please. I promise you that it will be quite all right.’
But she went away and wondered if after all it was a good thing that Mrs. Liskeard knew the truth, or if she should have kept this secret, and so have made it easier for all of them. She had got to snap out of this mood. The mood which believed that something was about to happen, a sense of anticipation, which made her stupidly afraid. Perhaps the main trouble was that she was still passionately in love with Michael, and the emotion intensified, when she wanted it to abate. She was worried about Roger, about his moods and behaviour, and the things that he did. Worried even more by a ghost who walked beside her, nudging her elbow, the man whom Lionel Strong had seen with her, and Lionel would surely have recognised him had he been Roger.
He was not Roger, but he was still here in her life. He haunted her and distressed her, he was for ever in her mind, and she hated the thought that somewhere he abided; that one day she would meet him again ‒ privately she was sure of it ‒ and that ahead of her lay danger.
Don’t think about it, common sense warned her.
That afternoon Lionel Strong brought Enid over to tea. Mrs. Liskeard admitted that Enid always seemed to be out of place at Wiseways. Roger agreed.
‘She’s rather a gawk. It’s working with all that stone,’ he said laughing over breakfast, and he had been glad that Lionel was bringing her round when he was up in London. He had to go there to see his tailor, to have a row with his solicitor, and to get through several business duties.
‘You’ll have a more exciting time than we shall have here.’
‘Never mind, you’ll have Enid with you, and that will be fun!’ he said when he left Wiseways. He had about him an almost boyish exuberance, and Lorna watched the car go out of sight and wondered why he seemed so changed.
She herself liked Enid Strong. When they arrived, quite early in the afternoon, Lionel went up to sit with Mrs. Liskeard, who adored him (they shared a keen interest in crossword puzzles), and Enid asked to see the new roses. Last year Roger and his aunt had entirely re-designed the rose garden, and had transferred it to the plot behind the yew walk, so that one came on to it through a mighty yew archway, and suddenly saw the full beauty of it. Lorna took Enid to see it. The water lilies were out on the centre pool in soft pink velvet, and there was about the garden a charm which appealed to both of them. They sat down on the white half circle of a seat, in the shadow of the pergola. ‘Where’s Roger?’ Enid asked.
‘He’s gone to London for a couple of nights, to see his tailor and his solicitor, and to settle a lot of business which seems to have been mounting up.’
Enid stared before her, her face gaunt, her eyes quite expressionless. ‘How do you get on with him? Don’t you find him a little odd?’
‘No, why should I?’ At all costs Lorna knew that she must not reveal her real feelings about him.
‘I always feel he is a Jekyll and Hyde. I wanted to do a statue of him once. I can’t think why, now. I played with the idea for ages, and started it, but he was the most difficult person to do. Terribly difficult.’
‘Why do you think he is two people?’
‘Maybe because he has the look of a two-character personality, maybe because I am particularly sensitive to others, or just his eyes. Have you ever noticed his eyes? At times he has white rings round them.’
Before she could stop herself, Lorna, on edge at the thought, had said quite sharply, ‘Please don’t say that! Don’t mention it!’
Enid looked at her, startled. For a moment or so she said nothing at all, and there was only the sound of a blackbird singing by the fo
untain. Enid sat there much like a statue herself, a big woman, with the softly beautiful background of the rose garden behind her, and in her eyes a strange impression of confused emotions. Then she spoke. ‘So something happened? You found out that he could behave differently?’
‘No, no, of course not. Nothing happened,’ for nobody must know.
‘But he was odd once?’ Enid was insistent, if she made up her mind, she abided by it. ‘You have noticed him? He had a nervous breakdown, you know, personally I never think people, particularly his type of person, recover from that.’
‘But I’ve known people who have recovered entirely. I’ve nursed them.’
‘Yes, but they weren’t people like Roger. Roger is different, you must see it.’ She paused, and then said in a very gentle voice, ‘What happened? I should never tell on you, not even to Lionel, I am not that sort of person. I might be able to help you, you know.’
She did know. She knew absolutely. ‘Nothing happened, and that is the truth. It was an unhappy likeness, that’s all. When he met my train I had a fit because I thought … I just thought that I had met him before.’
‘You probably had.’
‘I don’t know. I think not. In fact I’m sure.’
‘Then why are you worrying?’
‘Because the circumstances were utterly horrible, and I don’t want to think of it again, or ever discuss it.’
Enid was not looking at her. ‘At heart you are possibly sure that he is no stranger, and that something awful did happen. People don’t think about that sort of thing for nothing. Nobody who is grown-up and sensible runs away with a lot of silly conclusions for no reason. I expect what you feel inside you is true, and you did meet him before.’
The theory was fast taking root in Lorna. It was the horror that she did not want to believe, not for a single moment. If she did believe it, then she could not continue to stay here, yet her conscience warned her that in no circumstances could she leave Mrs. Liskeard who wanted her so much.
Lightly she said, ‘No, this was just one of those unfortunate coincidences. I have made up my mind that I never did meet him before.’
Enid opened a cigarette case, took out a cigarette and lit it. She smoked like a man, letting the cigarette lie on her lower lip and drip ash down her frock. She was always extraordinarily casual about her clothes. ‘Well, if you don’t agree, it’s no good, but it would help you if you saw sense.’
‘Please, let’s forget it.’
Enid sat silent for a while; when she spoke again, this time it was of the new roses that had been planted, the fountain in the centre of the pool, and the pink velvet water lilies. They talked of them quite happily. It was one of those beautifully laid out gardens which, although new to Wiseways, gave the impression of being matured.
‘It was having the old yew hedge to work from,’ she said, ‘one can build up something new and gloriously beautiful against the old background; that is important.’
When she got up again, they walked round the garden and went back to tea in Mrs. Liskeard’s bedroom. She was rapidly improving, and was delighted that Michael Bland would be down. He would be bringing Roger down in his car with him; he had arranged to pick him up at his club, and they would arrive together.
It was a happy tea, a restful one, and everyone seemed to be in the right mood for it. Lorna went downstairs with the Strongs to see them off.
‘She is so much better,’ said Lionel, ‘it’s good to see her like that. This doctor you suggested must be a grand chap, and what a mercy that you were here to suggest him!’
‘He is a very great man,’ she admitted, but carefully, for she did not want Enid to guess more.
Lionel said, ‘I never have much faith in old Maudie. He’s been here too long, he’s lost interest. Then he has his private likes and dislikes. Not good in a doctor. She must not go on having these attacks, is there not some simple way by which you could guard her for the future?’
‘I think Mr. Bland may see after that.’
‘I hope he will.’
They got into the car together, and in the back was the great bunch of flowers that one of the gardeners had laid there for them. In Lorna’s absence apparently Mrs. Liskeard had sent Henderson down to see about it. Enid looked at them and a smile broke over her face. (‘She’s quite pretty when she smiles’, thought Lorna, and knew that she was attracted to the woman.) The car went off towards the avenue, and she waved them away.
‘I hope the heat stays on, it would be so nice if Mr. Bland had good weather whilst he was here,’ said Mrs. Liskeard.
The heat did stay. It stayed for both days and they spent most of the time in the garden. On the second morning there was the same amethyst haze over the garden and the hills. The moorland was completely blotted out of sight. It lifted slowly, spiked through with the golden spears of abundant sunshine, and the real heat began.
When Lorna went to see her patient she was still asleep and could not be disturbed, so she went downstairs to get her own breakfast. Michael would enjoy his holiday, she knew that, and he had earned it, for he worked hard in St. Botolph’s and in his practice. This week was going to be a difficult one, she had no doubts about that, and the thing to do was to see as little of him as she could and most definitely avoid the tête-à-tête. It is always harder when one loves the other person. So easy to avoid an enemy, so difficult not to go out to meet a lover!
She opened the morning paper casually enough, skipping through the headlines without real interest. More trouble at the Berlin wall; oh well, didn’t one expect it these days? More space tests, which scared her, and which she could not read about but went on to another item. Terrorism in Algiers. This was the ostrich sticking its head in the sand, of course, but better be in the sand than out of it, she felt. There was nothing that she, or any other single person, could do to stop the world turning that way, and although deep down within her there always lurked the faith in humanity which believed that no one would start the end, she hated to think about it.
Something caught her eye. It was a small paragraph on the home news page. Last night there had been an incident on the Portsmouth road, just beyond Esher, in the shadowy loveliness of Claremont. A girl had picked up a strange man who had thumbed a lift from her at Ripley, and who had then brought out a gun and laid it against her ribs. He forced her to drive the car into a lay-by, then had become scared by a pedestrian who had come to ask the way, and had got out of the far side of the car and had bolted. The police had been called in. The girl was not hurt but considerably frightened, and was now in a state of collapse.
Lorna did not know why she read it so closely and with such attention, save that she knew the story too well. It was only natural that at this moment she thought of Roger in London. Roger who had got tickets for the latest big American musical and would never have forfeited them. No, it was not Roger, and she kept on telling herself this.
Roger would be coming home today, travelling down in Michael Bland’s car, and with Michael. She knew that her fingers had gone shaky as she poured herself out more coffee. It was no good if just reading about this happening to another girl had such a dreadful effect upon her. She must pull herself together. She was a trained nurse, well accustomed to tragedies and horrors, they had always been happening in hospital, why did she allow herself to be so swept away by this news item that she had read?
Perhaps it was that suspense was something of a rasp within her, and the faint likeness which she had fastened on Roger, something which urged her on. She could not drink the coffee that she had poured out, and finally gave up the thought of breakfast, and went upstairs to Mrs. Liskeard.
Today the patient was not so well.
Perhaps the pleasant tea-party of yesterday afternoon which had seemed to be so peaceful at the time, had been too much for her. She must have a quiet morning, and it was a good thing that Michael and Roger would not be arriving until the evening. It was curious that suddenly she had the longing to tell Enid everyth
ing that had happened to her, whereas yesterday, when she had had the opportunity, she had done nothing about it. Life is contradictory, she told herself.
In love with Michael, scared of Roger, devoted to Mrs. Liskeard, but always with the feeling that her feet stood on a quicksand and all the time she was slipping, Lorna did not know what to do. It was idiotic to allow a silly little notice in a newspaper to upset her so much. This sort of thing happened frequently enough. There were a lot of young men who amused themselves this way, it was perhaps an adventure of the modern age, something of a new world which adored violence, and since yesterday nothing had really happened to make her doubt Roger more.
She went back to her patient.
She busied herself all the morning with her, and when Dr. Morde came pottering in to see how she was, she greeted him. He wanted to explain that he would be here tomorrow morning for consultation with the specialist, and if the London man wanted to see him tonight, that would be just too bad, because he was going to a get-together dinner at Tintagel, with some dear old pals of a sporting persuasion.
He meandered a little, and did not seem able to make his adieu, possibly because Roger was not there to give him the drink that he wanted, and he must have felt desperate in the end, for he actually came to the point with Lorna.
‘Mind if I go down and get my usual, Nurse? Not feeling too hot this morning, and need it.’
‘Of course,’ she said, but her eyes were hardly encouraging. She had an idea that he saw her look and was annoyed about it. He mumbled a little.
‘We all get older, nobody can put time back. One day you’ll be getting older, too. Life is easy when you’re young, it’s not so much fun when the bottom begins to fall out of things. Another one for you to discover.’
He went off.
She heard him staying some time in Roger’s study, and wondered privately how many he had put away in that half hour. More than he should without a doubt. Then she spent the rest of the day with Mrs. Liskeard.