Skylark

by Sheila Simonson

  "Aye."

  "And I'll have to fly back to London."

  "True." He cleared his throat. "The department has funds."

  I said, "That is a consideration, but I was wondering whether Jay will have to return as well."

  "For the Worth trial?"

  Jay didn't say anything, and I avoided looking at him.

  "It seems a bit much." I was keeping my tone casual. "I have a fairly open schedule, but Jay's tied to the school calendar. Can't you take a deposition from him before we leave?"

  Thorne thought it over. Then he nodded. "I'll arrange for a deposition." He levered himself up. "I'm sorry I missed seeing Mrs. Veryan."

  "She'll be called, too, won't she?"

  "She will that." The thought did not seem to displease him. "She's a fine woman." He shook my hand and Jay's, and Sergeant Baylor did, too. Thorne said he thought we could leave London in a day or two.

  When they had gone Jay said, "I can fly back here if I have to."

  I gave him a passing kiss. "I know, but I don't see why you should have to." I went into the kitchen and started to tidy it. "You'd better go out and buy something for dinner."

  Jay braved the press circus again and bought baguettes, pasta, garlic, tomato sauce, and mince. My spaghetti is not bad, and it's an infinitely expandable dish. Dad might need a meal when he got in.

  There was still no word from Ann, but the buzzer sounded while I was making the meat sauce. Jay went to investigate, and presently I heard Ann's voice in the foyer. The door reopened. Ann and Jay entered, guiding Milos between them.

  "Now you sit right down, Milos Vlaçek," Ann scolded. "And don't lift a finger. Jay will help me with your things."

  I suppose it was inevitable. I gave Milos, who looked ill and rueful, a welcoming smile. "Would you like a drink, Milos?"

  He sank onto the zebra-striped couch, coughing. "Professor Dailey's whiskey?"

  I went back to the kitchen, found the water of life, poured a healthy slug of it into a wine glass, and brought it to Milos. He sipped, eyes closed. His dark hair stuck to his forehead in sweaty hanks.

  I said, "I suppose you decided to return to your flat."

  "Yes. This morning I hitch a ride to London with my nurse friend's young man, but my landlady has already let my room." He sipped again. "I am standing on the doorstep, wondering what to do with my belongings when Ann appears. A ministering angel."

  That I could imagine. "Well, she should have brought you here right away. You don't look very strong."

  He sighed and opened his eyes. "No, I am like a kitten. Weak and not very intelligent. I insist that we find my young friend Kohut in Bloomsbury, so we spend several hours, and many pounds, on taxis, searching for him. We find him at last, but he is living in student digs--is that the term?"

  "Close enough. He didn't have room for you?"

  "No." He swallowed the rest of the whiskey. "Ah. He is worried, of course, and tries to think of a solution. He telephones his friends. Then Ann says I must come here. I am sorry to intrude, Lark. Really."

  "It's okay." I could hear Jay's low laugh and Ann's expressive drawl from the foyer. "We have room."

  Jay entered, staggering under the weight of a large carton. Books, I supposed. Ann followed with two suitcases. She looked flustered but determined.

  I took one of the suitcases, which weighed a ton, in my serviceable right hand. More books. "Where to?"

  She blushed scarlet. "My bedroom."

  "Right."

  "I'll sleep in the arm chair."

  Dad had dibs on the couch, which was a Hide-A-Bed, but I thought we could come up with a better arrangement for Ann.

  Jay and I followed Ann into her bedroom and deposited Milos's earthly goods.

  "He has a fever." Ann's chin was up. She looked guilty and funny, and I wanted to give her a hug.

  I said, "We have orange juice and aspirin. Better put him to bed. I'm making spaghetti, so there's plenty to eat."

  She expelled a long breath that puffed a strand of blonde hair from her forehead. "Just so you don't misunderstand."

  "We like Milos, Ann." I exchanged a quick look with Jay. "Uh, maybe you'd better sit down a minute. We have some rather startling news."

  "They haven't escaped, have they?"

  "Who? Oh, Smith and Faisel. No, but Trevor Worth has been arrested for murder. What's more, he's guilty. He tried to kill Daphne today in the hospital."

  Ann plopped onto the foot of the bed. "As I live and breathe."

  "I was surprised," I admitted. I outlined what had happened, and Ann exclaimed and tut-tutted. She sounded less surprised than I had been, but she may just have been distracted by Milos's plight. She congratulated Jay on his role in the arrest.

  The story of Trevor's thwarted attempt on Daphne took Ann past her embarrassment. I wondered why in the world she should feel embarrassment, then reminded myself she was only recently divorced and probably uncomfortable about her single status. And she was about to install a man in her bed. Yank Bird in Lovenest with Poet.

  We went out into the living room to tell Milos what had happened, and I dashed back to the stove to rescue my sauce. Fortunately it hadn't scorched, though orange blobs spattered the counter top. I turned the burner down low and came back as Ann, embroidering freely, was retelling the saga of Trevor's arrest. Milos looked bewildered. It occurred to me that he had been in the hospital and unconscious when Miss Beale was killed. He probably had no idea who Trevor was.

  I interrupted, "You can tell Milos the whole story later, Ann. Right now I think he should go to bed. Do you have medication, Milos?"

  "Um, pills? The antibiotics, yes. I am supposed to take them with water four times a day, but today I forget."

  Jay went to the kitchen and came back with a tall glass of spring water. "Better get back on schedule, buddy. You'll wind up with pneumonia."

  Milos took the glass. "That I don't need. I am grateful to all of you..."

  "Drink," Jay said. "And I'll help you to bed. You can toss bouquets at us later."

  Milos gave a shaky laugh and obeyed.

  I went back to the kitchen to put water on for the pasta and whip up a salad.

  Ann followed me. "You're sure it's all right?"

  "More than all right. It's a good idea. Milos needs looking after. Jay will poke the pills down him in fine style. He was a medic in the army."

  "What a talented couple you two are."

  "All that and spaghetti, too." I crisped lettuce and patted it dry. "The only person who could reasonably object to Milos's presence in this flat is in jail on a murder charge."

  Ann shook her head. "I'm still trying to take it in. Poor Daphne, what a terrible thing to find out about your own brother. Did he hurt her?"

  "Thorne says he didn't have time."

  "He's a stupid man. Trevor, I mean."

  "No genius certainly."

  "I don't quite know what to do next, Lark. I meant to go to York and tour the countryside, but I can't very well leave Milos in this state."

  "Why don't you hire a car at Heathrow and take Milos north with you?"

  Ann's eyes widened behind the pink lenses. "But..." I watched her consider the idea. "Maybe I will. He could rest for a few days here and build up his strength. Then we could explore England together."

  "Go for it," I measured out the pasta. The water was stirring as if it meant to boil. "Will you set the table?"

  "Sure." She took down four plates and wandered to the table, her eyes vague. "We could go to Haworth. And Haye-on-Wye."

  "Or Scotland. Macbeth was king of Scotland."

  "Macbeth? My land, I'd half forgotten the production at the Barbican. It seems years ago." She reached for salad bowls. "Milos will have to find a job eventually."

  I hesitated. "Do you need money?"

  Ann gave a small laugh. "Who doesn't, sugar? I'll just dip into my divorce settlement." Her smile widened to a grin. "Wait till Buford Veryan hears what I've gone and done with his money. He'll be
beside himself."

  I smiled, too. "With jealousy, probably. Besides, it's not his money. It's yours, and there's nothing wrong with your judgment, Ann."

  Ann clasped a stack of salad bowls to her bosom. "Lordy, I wish I could see Buford's face."

  The door buzzer sounded again.

  "I'll get it," Jay called from the living room.

  It was my father, back from Glasgow earlier than we had expected him. He had forgotten his house key. I measured out more spaghetti.

  Milos slept through dinner. It was a verbal meal, what with Ann explaining Milos's presence and arguing with herself over the propriety of a middle-aged woman driving all over England with a poet, with Jay summarizing our eventful morning, and with Dad telling us about his trip. The Scots police had been polite, uncommunicative, and efficient.

  My father saved Ann's honor, or perhaps just her sacroiliac, by booking a room at the Norfolk Hotel. Ann protested, Dad insisted. Jay said he would walk over to the Norfolk with Dad and help carry his luggage.

  Ann and I did the dishes while the men went off to the hotel. When the kitchen was clean, Ann dragged out her maps and began planning a new itinerary. She decided to save Scotland for her next transatlantic adventure. When I first met her she had talked about her visit to England as a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Her perceptions--and perhaps her plans--had changed.

  She rummaged through her travel guides. "If I have to fly over here for the trials I could go on up to Edinburgh afterwards."

  "It's cold and dark in winter."

  "Winter?"

  "Thorne said the trials will be scheduled in the autumn session. The docket is full for this term."

  "Good. I can go back to work at the bookstore and pay off my Visa by then." She picked up the AA Atlas again. "My word, Lark, the trouble I had getting a credit rating in my own name. I hope you've established a separate rating. Not that you and Jay are going to split up, but you never know."

  I assured her that I had my own credit cards.

  Her face went dreamy. "Scotland in winter. That sounds romantic."

  "And Haworth and Haye-on-Wye now." I got up and peered over her shoulder at the atlas. "You might as well show Milos Chester and Shrewsbury, too, and come back through the Cotswolds."

  "I could see about getting tickets for a play in Stratford."

  "More Shakespeare?" I laughed and went back to the couch.

  "Something cheerful like A Midsummer Night's Dream."

  "Milos would enjoy that."

  She let the atlas fall to her lap. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be crazy."

  "You deserve a good time after all the stress you've been under."

  She brightened. "Maybe you're right, honey."

  I heard Jay fumbling at the lock and went to open the door for him. "Did you settle Dad in?"

  He gave me a hug. "Yes. Nice hotel. He wants us to join him for breakfast. I told him I thought you'd be up to the walk."

  "Heavens, yes. What time?"

  "Nine. I'd better wake Milos and stuff another pill down his throat." He went on into the bedroom.

  I helped Ann pull out the Hide-A-Bed. Milos roused long enough to swallow an antibiotic and a couple of aspirin. Jay thought the fever was easing and that sleep was the best medicine. A good generalization. We all decided to call it a day, though Ann swore she was too excited to sleep.

  Jay had plenty of time to check on Milos the next morning--his temperature was normal, and he was hungry as a horse. Ann was feeding him eggs and bacon and her magical tour of England when Jay and I set off for the Norfolk Hotel.

  There was a one-day Tube strike scheduled, which explained the dearth of reporters on the doorstep. The traffic had clotted in irritable gridlock in the Old Brompton Road. The hotel was only a few blocks from the flat, however, and we had time to admire the ornate lobby before my father came down.

  We sat at a small table in one corner of the large dining room and ordered the full breakfast. Dad had to assure the waiter that he was a guest of the hotel and would pay for all three meals before the man would take the order. Juice, coffee in a silver pot, and three racks of unbuttered, cooling toast appeared by the time we had exchanged pleasantries. Dad had called my mother from the hotel before he went to bed.

  "She wants you to call her today, Lark."

  "All right." I poured him a cup of coffee. "Jay?"

  "I'll pass." He took a sip of orange juice.

  I poured my own coffee and looked at the toast. I hoped Ma was not in a reproachful frame of mind.

  Dad was rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I understand you have a birthday this month, Jay."

  Jay grimaced. "Too true."

  Dad reached inside his suit jacket and drew out one of those slim folders travel agents give their clients for tickets and itineraries. "I hope you won't think me high-handed. I had some time to spare yesterday in Glasgow, and I decided to book these." He handed Jay the folder.

  A long silence followed while Jay looked at the contents. He handed the open folder to me. "Did you tell him, Lark?"

  I looked. Dad had booked two one-way passages from Southampton to New York, one week from the next Wednesday, on the Queen Elizabeth II. For Mr. and Mrs. James Dodge.

  I met Jay's eyes. "Not one word."

  "Tell me what?" my father asked.

  I opened my mouth to answer him, and then I thought, No. Jay could explain or not, his choice. I had already intervened with Thorne.

  Jay was tracing slow circles on the tablecloth with his juice glass. Finally he raised his head. "I have a phobia, George. When Lark called to tell me about the stabbing I knew I ought to come on the first available flight. It took me three days and a murder to work up the guts to get on an airplane."

  He paused, and I thought he would let it go at that. To my relief and surprise he went on to explain how the phobia had come about and something of the nightmares. It was a terse, halting account, and my father listened with frowning attention. Our coffee cooled.

  Jay and my mother had hit it off from the first, but there had always been distance between Jay and Dad. They spoke well of each other and had never had a serious disagreement, but there was no friendship, either. That had bothered me. I am closer to my father than to my mother, with whom my relations are fond but edgy. For Jay to confide in Dad about the nightmares was a remarkable gesture of trust.

  Jay fell silent. After a moment he added, "I'm grateful for the tickets, George. I could probably get through the flight, but I wasn't sure I could deal with the nightmares much longer."

  Dad heaved a sigh. "I am sorry you have a problem with flying, Jay, believe me, but I'm glad you told me. What you said makes sense of something I've wondered about."

  Jay frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You've been married to Lark for five years now. We've visited the two of you in California every year and enjoyed our time with you. Lark flies home regularly, but you haven't come to see us in Childers since your wedding. Mary and I wondered if we'd done something to offend you." Dad took a sip of cold coffee and made a face. "Mary said I probably bored you with my fishing stories."

  "I'm sorry." Jay sounded miserable. "It wasn't anything like that."

  "Least said soonest mended." Dad smiled at him. "If you've no great objection, my boy, I'll come out this fall and you can take me up on the Rogue for steelhead."

  Jay cleared his throat. "I'd like that."

  "Excellent." Dad beckoned to the waiter. "Our coffee is completely cold. We'll need a fresh pot and cups."

  "Yes, sir."

  Dad looked at us with a lurking twinkle in his eye. "I'll have to make a clean breast of things, too, I can see. I thought up the birthday business last night after I talked to Mary. I am to convey her felicitations, by the way."

  "Thanks." Jay's mouth had eased, but he was still a little flushed. He smoothed his mustache.

  The waiter appeared with our coffee and replaced the cups.

  I poured and this time Dad laced his
with a healthy dollop of cream.

  "I bought the tickets because I was having nightmares. All this talk of Lockerbie..." He shook his head. "I didn't want to worry about the two of you flying all that way." He took a judicious sip of coffee and set the cup down. "Ah, that's better. If I hadn't stumbled across the travel agency directly after my talk with the Scottish investigators, I probably wouldn't have caved in to my fears."

  I had taken a warm, satisfying swallow of coffee, too. "That's all very well, Dad, and we appreciate your concern, but what about you? You're still flying back."

  My father reached inside his jacket again and drew out another folder. It was identical to the one he had given Jay but slimmer. "No, I'm not."

  Epilogue.

  July 1990.

  I had a letter from Ann today.

  Jay and my father and I sailed from Southampton after a pleasant week and a half taking day trips out of London. We stayed on in the flat so I could see my doctor. He said the wounds were healing fast. I was sure of it.

  Although Milos agreed to join Ann's impromptu tour, he insisted on looking for a job first. Fortunately, his notoriety in the media made the task easier than it might have been. A Bloomsbury bookstore hired him as a salesclerk. The proprietor gave him two weeks to recuperate first and seemed genuinely interested in Milos's welfare though the salary was small.

  Ann put the brief delay to good use. She hired a car with an automatic transmission, and bought tickets to the RSC production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in Stratford-upon-Avon. She intended to take Milos to Hay-on-Wye so they could both stock up on used books. Then she was driving north to Yorkshire. She had reserved rooms at Mrs. Chisholm's bed and breakfast house for a full week. I thought they would have a wonderful time.

  Jay and I cashed in our plane tickets. The voyage across the Atlantic was delightful. Neither of us got very sea-sick. We had dinner at my father's table every night, and danced and swam and did connubial things in our tiny stateroom. Jay only had one nightmare. I told anyone rude enough to ask about my scars that I'd been in a car wreck.

  My mother met the ship in New York and drove us home, and we spent a week in Childers. Jay and Dad fished and talked history. Mother took me to consult a plastic surgeon.