Taken at the Flood

by K. J. Rabane

  “There’s something on your mind?” Henry asked.

  I looked out over the parched lawn to the river, lower now than during the winter months and saw a family of swans gliding by. It all seemed so peaceful that I hesitated to interrupt the tranquillity but he was waiting for my reply, his eyes fixed on me. “I don’t quite know where to begin, Henry.” Running my fingers through my hair, I said, “I think I first noticed a change in Evelyn before the miscarriage. She became excitable, where once she was always calm and relaxed. When we first met, I was the one who was quick to react to situations, quick to anger and respond with words. I envied and respected her self-control. It was one of the characteristics that had first attracted me to her, apart from her looks.”

  Henry nodded.

  “I put the change in her behaviour down to her pregnancy and I suppose, afterwards, I put it down to her distress at losing our baby.”

  When I paused, Henry said, “That seems like a feasible explanation to me but I can see you are having second thoughts.”

  I shrugged, “You see, at the inquest, I was surprised to find out that traces of drugs were found in Evelyn’s body. I wasn’t aware she was still taking the antidepressants. I said nothing at the time because the coroner stated that they were not a contributory factor but it did make me question whether they could have explained the changes in her behaviour. It disturbed me so much I made some enquiries and discovered, it was as I had thought, the tablets she’d been prescribed would have produced the opposite effect. I realise now that any fool would know antidepressants would do as the name implies but I had to make sure she hadn’t experienced some sort of adverse reaction, which would account for the change in her.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “The only thing I did find was, if alcohol was consumed whilst taking the tablets, the effects of the alcohol would become more powerful. For example one drink would act like two and she would become drunk much quicker than normal.”

  Henry looked thoughtfully into his glass, “That could explain the night we came to dinner before…” he left his sentence unfinished.

  “Precisely, I also found that in some cases, judgement and dexterity could be impaired, which also explained some of the odd things that had happened in the weeks before the accident.”

  “Who prescribed them?”

  “Lucas.”

  “Didn’t he monitor her? The little I know about such things leads me to believe drugs of that sort are potentially addictive. I remember watching a television programme on the subject some time ago. The women, who had taken them for prolonged periods, seemed to react like drug addicts when they stopped taking them. It was so horrific it made a lasting impression on me.”

  “Yes, but think about it, Henry. Evelyn was prescribed the tablets after the miscarriage and as far as I knew when she started to feel better, she stopped taking them. I had a chat with Lucas about it after the inquest and he said the only explanation might be that she had kept some in reserve, in case she felt low. He tried to explain to me that it took a week or two for them to take effect, so in actual fact she wouldn’t have felt the benefit, unless she’d renewed her prescription and he assured me he hadn’t done so.”

  Opening another can, Henry slid it across the table to me saying, “Well there’s one sure thing you will never know exactly what was responsible for the change in Evelyn. Torturing yourself with possibilities will get you nowhere and only result in further distress. Try and put it all behind you and remember the happier times.”

  I leaned back in my chair and saw the swallows diving towards the treetops fluttering their wings and dipping their divided tails in the sunshine, whilst in the distance, I heard laughter coming from the deck of a cruiser further up river. “Do you know, Henry, I think you’re right. Time to move on doesn’t mean time to forget but time to remember the things that mattered. Moreover, I think the time has come to open the bottle of Dom Perignon, I bought for the birth of our baby. I’ll give Josie a ring and ask her to join us, as it’s a magnum.”

  Henry joined his laughter to mine and I thought how lucky I’d been to find such a good friend and neighbour.”

  Chapter 17

  It rained throughout most of September that year. Dark, endless days filled with grey, dripping trees, waterlogged lawns and slippery paths. The philosophers in the supermarket now commented that at least the gardens could do with it. By the end of September, their views were not so strident. It made no difference to me; my days were spent closeted in my study trying to find my way through the complicated maze that was the Minotaur project, so the weather was not a consideration.

  At the beginning of October, I was starting to see daylight and with it came an unexpected bonus in the shape of a new project. I’d been sitting at my desk in my study almost ready to shelve the concept as a hopeless proposition, when suddenly I unlocked the data, which resulted in stabilising my components. Realising where I’d been repeatedly failing, I made a search of the new files and noticed that hidden away in a minor file were the beginnings of a whole family of offshoot projects just waiting to be knocked into shape. I could hardly contain my excitement. Minotaur would be ready for the Christmas market and I had stimulating new possibilities awaiting future development.

  The downpour of the previous month gave way to drizzle filled days. Tinker wasn’t so keen to join me on our daily walks, as he disliked the damp muddy ground beneath his feet and shook his coat continually, showering me in a spray of fine mist. Mrs Bates spent more time with her sister during the day and with increasing frequency asked if I minded if she stayed the night at Kings Bentham. It was an arrangement that suited us both.

  My excitement at discovering an answer to Minotaur’s problems was hard to contain. I telephoned my office to speak to either Alan or Chip, only to be told by my secretary that they were both out of the office. Pacing the floor, restless at being unable to share my elation, I heard Tinker bark and walked into the kitchen. Looking out into the dismal misty rain, I saw a figure approaching from the river path, her blonde hair hanging limply around her shoulders. It was Leonora. I rushed to open the back door.

  “Good Lord, you’re soaking,” I exclaimed, pulling down a towel from the hook in the back porch. “Quickly, dry your hair or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

  “You’d make someone a lovely wife,” she replied, smiling up at me as she removed her wax jacket.

  “It’s good to see you. How is Lucas?” I asked, as I hadn’t seen either of them for weeks.

  “He’s OK. Got a bit of a cold, which he insists is flu, but he’s dragged himself into the surgery even though I suggested he should stay in bed.” She shrugged. “So I thought I’d look in on you. See what you’re up to.”

  It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I took her into my study and bored her with my success. I don’t think she understood one word of it but she listened and asked all the right questions. “It sounds to me as though your breakthrough will mean your company will be in a secure financial proposition for the foreseeable future,” she said, as I shut down my computer. “I’ll tell Lucas to buy some shares.” She smiled and I felt as if the whole day had been worth the effort.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve bored you,” I said. “It’s just, I had to share my excitement with someone. And yes, you could say Softcell’s future is most definitely secured. This morning has opened up enough avenues for growth and development to be pretty much ‘in the bag’ as they say. How would you and Lucas like to celebrate with me tonight? I’ll book a table at The Holly Tree in Kings Bentham. What do you think?”

  “Sounds great.” She stood up. “I’ll see you later then.”

  “Good, I’ll ring Morton and we’ll pick you up at eight.”

  The drizzle that had heralded Leonora’s arrival earlier continued all day and, when Morton Phillips drew up in his taxi at five to eight, it had turned into a downpour. We drove to the Bennetts’ house and I told Morton to keep his motor running, as
I hurried up the steps to their front door. Leonora, who was buttoning up a black mackintosh over her dress, opened the door. She was alone. “You’ll have to make do with just me, I’m afraid.”

  From somewhere upstairs I could hear Lucas coughing. A barking sound that seemed to catch in his throat.

  “Look, if you’d rather stay with Lucas, I don’t mind. He sounds really rough.”

  She closed the door behind her saying, “No, he insists I join in your celebrations. He’ll be OK. I’ve made sure he has everything he needs.”

  The restaurant was quiet, the rain having kept people indoors. The waiter found us a table overlooking the river. We sat and watched the rain-dappled water spreading reflected lights from the restaurant outwards, into a hundred shimmering circles.

  “I like the rain,” she said, looking at me over the top of her champagne glass.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “It makes me feel secure. It reminds me of a time when I was little and my family were all at home because the rain had kept them indoors.”

  Knowing that tragedy had struck her family, I tactfully changed the subject. We talked of books, hobbies, past experiences and holidays. We did not talk of Evelyn. In fact it occurred to me that, since her death, neither of us had mentioned her name. Maybe it was too painful, an unspoken bond drawing us together.

  The evening passed in a flash. We toasted my success repeatedly and were both a little tipsy when the taxi drew up to take us home.

  Neither of us spoke much on the homeward journey. But when we stopped outside her house, I felt her cool breath against my cheek and her lips brushing against mine for a fraction of a second, so I was hardly aware that she had kissed me. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she said, leaving the taxi and walking slowly up the steps to her front door. She turned around and waved as she reached the top step.

  The next day, I telephoned to find out how Lucas was. Leonora answered, “Not good, I’m afraid, he coughed continually throughout the night. He thinks he has a chest infection. I’m going to get him some more antibiotics, later.”

  “Would you like me to pick them up for you?” I offered

  “No, it’s no trouble, thank you. But if you could come and sit with him for a while I’m sure he’d like it. I think he’s bored.

  The bedroom was warm but not overly so. Lucas was propped up against a mound of pillows and looked older than his years. His face was ashen and his eyes, bloodshot from coughing, were set in dark rimmed hollows. On his bedside table stood a glass of water and a variety of pill bottles. As I entered the room, he pointed to a seat near his bed.

  “Leonora was on her way out when I arrived, she told me to come on up,” I explained, as I slipped out of my coat.

  “She’s gone to the chemist’s. I can’t seem to get rid of this damned infection,” he said, tapping his chest with the tips of his fingers. “The first course of antibiotics hasn’t worked so Leo’s gone to fetch some more.”

  He started to cough and I could see how he struggled to draw breath into his lungs.

  “Don’t try to talk, Lucas. I’ll tell you all the news. You already know of my latest breakthrough with the Minotaur project.”

  He nodded and seemed to take an interest.

  “Right, well, as I have a captive audience, I’ll bore you with the rest of my news.”

  He looked pale but he managed a weak smile, so I tried to make my conversation light and engrossing. It seemed I didn’t succeed because, after a while, I could see his eyelids drooping. I stood up, put my overcoat on, and quietly left the room.

  Leonora arrived as I closed the front door behind me. “He’s asleep.” I said, “I’ll call again. Let me know how he is. Don’t forget, if you are at all worried, you know where I am.”

  “Thanks. He should pick up when these take effect.” She held up a white paper bag with the local chemist’s name printed in blue letters above a green bottle. “It’s unusual for Lucas not to recover quickly. He has remarkable stamina. Would you like me to run you home?” She was holding her car keys in her hand, hovering uncertainly over the lock.

  “No thanks, I’ll take the river path. At least it’s stopped raining.”

  The river lapped gently against its bank and, as I followed the path to River House, I kept seeing Lucas’s face. The change in him had been a shock. He’d aged almost overnight. I failed to share Leonora’s optimism that he would soon pick up; to me he looked very ill indeed. But I hoped I was mistaken, after all his wife knew him better than I did and she didn’t appear to be unduly worried.

  My anxiety increased, as over the next few weeks Lucas made little progress. His GP wanted to admit him to hospital for tests but he refused. He kept insisting it was just a stubborn bug that was taking a while to respond to treatment.

  Almost exactly a year to the day after Evelyn’s death, Lucas Bennett passed away in his sleep. I received a phone call from Leonora the next day. She’d called the doctor but Lucas was beyond his help. I sympathised and offered my support but she politely refused my offer. “Everything is in hand,” she said.

  The morning of Lucas’s funeral dawned with a heavy fall of snow. I stood with Henry and Josie in the snow covered churchyard with the rest of Lucas’s friends and colleagues and watched the fey young woman with the pale blonde hair bury her husband, her face as white as the flakes, which covered his coffin, as it slid into the grave at her feet.

  The day after the funeral, I walked over to their house. A light dusting of snow covered the river path, which had frozen hard, so I walked through the woods, ice-covered branches snapping like gunshot under my feet.

  When I reached the bottom of their garden, I saw the windows were shuttered on the upper storey and on the ground floor the curtains were drawn. Was it an observance of a mourning ritual perhaps? I knocked on the front door and waited. There was no answer. I walked around to the back of the house but every window was covered and no sound came from inside. It was ten-thirty in the morning. Reluctantly, I retraced my steps through the frozen woodland back to River House but an uneasy feeling kept gnawing away at me.

  The next day I called again but the telephone remained unanswered, until finally cutting in to Lucas’s voice asking the caller to leave a name and number and he would return the call. As I replaced the receiver for the third time that day, I thought ironically that Lucas Bennett would never be able to ‘get back’ to his callers again - his clear voice a reminder of the transient nature of life.

  Henry and Josie had no idea what had happened to Leonora but I could see they thought it rather odd she hadn’t mentioned her departure to me, as I had been a frequent caller at the house prior to Lucas’s death. At the end of the following week, I was becoming concerned in case something had happened to her. Then on Saturday morning, I heard the clatter of the letterbox followed by Tinker’s usual cacophony.

  “Quiet boy, it’s just the postman,” I reassured him as I picked up the mail. Bills, circulars, a note in Mrs Bates’s handwriting to tell me she would be returning from her sister’s on the four- forty train, and a postcard.

  The picture on the front of the postcard showed the towers of San Gimignano, a small town in Tuscany, surrounded by fields of large headed sunflowers nodding in the sunshine. I turned it over and in small neat handwriting were the words. I will be away for some time. Will contact you when I return. Thank you for your help. L

  A feeling of relief swept over me dispelling my unease. I slid the postcard into the bottom drawer of my desk, where it lay forgotten until it was to play a major part in the events, which were to come.

  The weather worsened and now the talk in the supermarket was that we were likely to have a white Christmas.

  Returning home one afternoon during the week before Christmas, I found Henry and Josie sitting in the conservatory talking to Mrs Bates. Apparently, in my absence, they’d been discussing my welfare during the forthcoming Christmas period.

  “You will come and stay with us won’t you?�
� Josie pleaded.

  “Of course he will,” Henry confirmed.

  “My sister has asked me to stay but of course I told her my first consideration was to Mr Hope.” Mrs Bates looked up expectantly. What could I say - that I wanted to be alone - that I didn’t want to impose on anyone? Three faces searched mine for an answer.

  “I would be delighted to spend Christmas with you both but on the understanding that I’ll supply the drinks. I won’t allow you to feed me without making some contribution to the festivities,” I insisted.

  Mrs Bates’s audible sigh of relief joined Josie’s pleasurable response to my acceptance of their invitation. “It will be lovely to have company, someone else to cook for. I’m so glad you’ll be staying with us.”

  Her pleasure was genuine and disarming. I walked across the room to where she stood and kissed her cheek. “You’re a paragon of virtue, Josie. I hope Henry appreciates you.”

  She smiled fondly at her husband and took his hand in hers. “Oh he does, he does,” she said emphatically.

  Christmas that year confirmed the pundits’ predictions, leaving the bookmaker’s gutted as drizzle turned to ice and the countryside awoke to a dreamscape. Josie cooked a turkey lunch with a flaming plum pudding for dessert. It reminded me of meals I’d shared with my parents when I was young. Afterwards, Henry and I filled the dishwasher whilst she relaxed, even though she insisted she couldn’t let her guest work on such a day. It took all my powers of persuasion to assure her that she could.

  Snow fell heavily covering their lawn. Inside, Josie, Henry and I sat in front of a roaring log fire drinking brandy from crystal glasses that splayed a golden light over our mottled hands.

  “That was a splendid lunch, Josie, my compliments to the chef.”

  She inclined her head in my direction in acknowledgement and refilled my glass as Henry raised his. “To good friends,” he said.