She shrugged. “De rien. Bonne journée, Madame.”
I put Dulcie in the car and returned the lead. The bill was eye-watering, but I didn’t care. We drove home through the summer morning. All was well.
Dulcie and I had a quiet day. I’d been given instructions by the receptionist: what Dulcie should eat, how much she might be allowed to walk, as well as some antibiotics. We were both content to lounge in the shade and recover.
Later that morning Gérard appeared at the gap in the hedge. I called him over, and he climbed the stile awkwardly, landing with a thump. Moments later Marie-Claude followed, and they both made a fuss of the dog, who clearly enjoyed the attention. “Today,” Gérard said solemnly, “I mend my fence.”
I ate my lunch outside, and read my book. Dulcie lay at my feet, her nose resting on her plastered foot. The wind ruffled the tops of the trees and set them swaying hypnotically. I closed my eyes.
The next thing I knew was a high-pitched yip from Dulcie. I came to, my book slithering off my lap to the ground. Dulcie was sitting up, her paw hanging oddly with the weight of the plaster, her ears pricked. I heard the sound of a powerful engine, suddenly stilled, and the clang of a gate shutting, and a familiar voice. Could they be here already? Had I been asleep? What time was it? I had time to answer none of these questions, because with a wild whoop Jasper came racing round the end of the house and bounded towards us. Dulcie gave a loud, joyful bark, and I grabbed her collar just in time to save her from rushing to meet him and damaging her foot. Jasper flung himself to the ground, wrapped his arms round Dulcie’s sun-warmed neck, and submitted to being copiously licked.
“Hi Rachel,” he gasped. “Are you OK?”
“I am now,” I said. “Now we’ve got your daft dog back and patched up.” I looked down at him; he lay sprawled on the warm stones, Dulcie at his side. “Hey. You’ve had a haircut.”
He squinted up at me and grinned. “So have you. I like it. So has Dad. We’re all tidy.”
Michael appeared round the side of the house, carrying a bag in each hand. I struggled out of the chair. As he came towards me, smiling, taking off his sunglasses, I saw how tired his eyes looked. He dropped the bags, squatted down beside Dulcie, and ran his hand over her furry flank. “Hello, fool of a dog,” he muttered. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.” He straightened up, put his hands on my shoulders, and kissed me on both cheeks. He smelled of soap. “We’re in France now,” he said. “Traditional greeting, as I’m sure you’ve found out.” He stood back and looked at me critically. “I like the new look.”
“I went to Nathalie’s salon,” I said. “What about you?”
Michael laughed. “Nothing so sophisticated for us. We went to the barber’s in Archer Street. Six quid.”
“You both look very different,” I said. “Jasper looks like a proper sixth form student – tidy and studious. Michael, you look… kind of tougher. Like a gangster.” They laughed at this. “How did you get here so quickly? I didn’t arrive till six o’clock when I came down.”
“Don’t forget, we didn’t have to stop for the dog, and we know the way,” Jasper said from the ground. “And Dad drove like a demon. Couldn’t wait to get here.”
“What would you know about it?” Michael said. “You were asleep most of the time.”
“We athletes need our rest,” Jasper said.
“Oh! Yes, how did the swimming go?” I asked him.
“Not bad,” Jasper said modestly.
“Actually,” Michael cut in, “he took second place out of fifty and came home with a silver medal.”
“Wow! Well done you.” I poked Jasper gently with my foot and he sat up, his arms round his knees.
“Any chance of a cup of tea?” he said plaintively. “I’m parched.”
“Go and make it yourself,” Michael said. “Rachel isn’t your slave, and I should go into town and settle up with the vet before I do anything else.”
I was prepared. “It’s all taken care of.”
“Then I will reimburse you,” Michael said.
My chin came up, and I stared at him. “Not a chance.”
He folded his arms and scowled. “Dulcie is my dog.”
I drew myself up so that my eyes were level with his nose. “Yes, she is. But these past two weeks she has been my responsibility. This happened on my watch. It’s a done deal.”
“I can’t accept –”
“Excuse me,” came a small voice from beneath us. “Instead of arguing, shouldn’t we just be thankful that Dulcie is OK? And that we’re all here safely? Even with Dad’s demon driving?”
Michael and I both laughed. “You win, JB. Now go and make yourself useful and put the kettle on.”
Jasper groaned but went, calling out as he vanished into the house by the scullery door, “Come and get it in five, OK? Coffee for you, Rachel?”
“Perfect, thanks.”
Michael got another chair from the lean-to, unfolded it, and set it down next to mine. Dulcie, without putting any weight on her injured foot, shuffled closer so that he could lean down and stroke her. “The garden looks amazing,” he said, looking around at the lawn, the shrubs, the borders. “Are those real vegetables I see in my so-called kitchen garden?”
“No, they’re plastic ones from the market, bought for effect,” I said.
He looked at me and shook his head. “You’ve had too much sun, apparently. But you certainly look well: fresh air agrees with you. I think you might even have put on a little weight.”
I raised an eyebrow. “First you say I am crazy. Now you think I am fat. But actually I am well, thank you.”
“Let me see your hands.”
I held them out, palm up. He took them in his own hands – brown from the sun, and warm – and inspected them silently, gently pulling and turning each finger, spreading them out, palpating the palms. “You’ve healed remarkably well,” he murmured. He looked up at me, his face serious and doctor-like. “No discomfort at all?”
I shook my head. “Your handiwork, no doubt.”
“Partly that, partly your own robust immune system. I have only one reservation.”
“What’s that?”
“They’re filthy.”
I threw back my head and laughed, in a rare moment of uninhibited joy.
“No, I have washed them, many times. That’s ingrained from grubbing up your magnificent weeds.”
“Garden gloves might have been a good idea,” he said sternly.
“Do you really think there’s much chance of infection now?”
“Hm, probably not. But…” He dropped my hands and traced the scar on my face with one finger. “Just a thin white line now,” he said. “Do you mind?”
“Not in the least.” I was suddenly aware how much things had changed. In the hospital, newly maimed and mended, his hands were simply those of a surgeon. Now it was different. I had a moment of discomfort that wasn’t at all unpleasant – just a little alarming.
The moment was broken by Jasper’s tetchy voice from the kitchen window. “Hey! This is a very long five minutes!”
After a pleasant few hours spent enjoying the garden and each other’s company, Michael drove into town to pick up some pizzas for dinner.
Greasy cardboard boxes littering the table, Michael and I sat opposite one another, finishing a bottle of red wine he’d taken from a well-stocked rack. Jasper had gone off to his room with his laptop, taking Dulcie with him. Michael leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He flexed his shoulders. “I can’t tell you how good it is to be here.”
“You look tired.”
“Mm. The last few weeks have been hectic in the department. I’ve had to reorganize things – one of my staff is ill. And then I had a one-day conference in London, the day before Jasper’s swimming thing, so it was all a bit stressful trying to get ready to come here. Plus the drive on top of that. But I will unwind – to the point of becoming a jelly.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, looking at me w
ith those watchful eyes. “Have you been all right? Really?”
I nodded. “Yes. What you said about this place is true – it’s calm and somehow healing. I’ve had time to think – in between all the chores, of course.” I flashed him a little grin, then said more soberly, “It’s not something I’ve allowed myself much – thinking time, that is, except work-related stuff. It’s been a bit unsettling. I told you about my visit to St Nicolas’ in the town, didn’t I? Well, admittedly it had its humorous side, but that wasn’t all there was to it.”
His dark brows contracted. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
“Yes… but not tonight. Tomorrow maybe, when you’re rested.”
Michael gave a weary nod. “OK; I will be much more use after I’ve had a good night’s sleep.”
“Look, why don’t you get off to bed? I’ll tidy up here, what there is of it. If you can find Dulcie I’ll let her out. I’m not at all sure the vet would approve of her tackling the stairs anyway.”
“I’ll have a word with that errant son of mine,” Michael said with a smile. “Strictly speaking Dulcie isn’t allowed upstairs, but Jasper indulges her.”
“And you indulge him.”
“Guilty. It’s one of the common pitfalls of being a part-time parent.”
“And Jasper is an easy son to be kind to.”
“Yes. He’s a good lad, on the whole. Well. Goodnight, Rachel.” He glanced around. “You’ve cleaned the old place as well, I see. It’s never looked this gleaming.”
“Just once; that’s my limit!” I said. “Night, Michael. I’m glad you and Jasper are here.” I was about to admit to feeling lonely, but thought better of it. “It’s a shame, though, that Dulcie is out of action. She was doing really well with her training.”
“That too! You’ve been busy. But now maybe it’s time for you to relax as well.”
I smiled wryly. “When you arrived I was dozing in the garden, pretending to read one of your books. No need to worry about me.”
“I’d like you to tell me about Eve Rawlins,” I said. “What you know; anything Father Vincent told you.” We’d finished washing up the breakfast dishes; a second pot of coffee was brewing. Jasper was still asleep.
Michael’s eyebrows shot up, perhaps at my lack of preamble. “How come the change of heart?”
I took a deep breath. “Before I went to the service at St Nicolas’ that Sunday,” I said slowly, gathering my thoughts, “I visited the church on Wednesday – market day. I put the lettuce plants and Dulcie into the car, and went inside. I was curious. No, maybe more than that; whatever impelled me to go inside is still a bit mysterious, even to me.”
“Especially to you,” Michael murmured.
I shrugged. “I’d seen a woman go in, carrying an armful of flowers, which is how I knew the church was open. It felt like an impulse, but maybe it wasn’t.” I looked at him but he stayed silent. “I found myself looking at the paintings. Horrible things, really; at least, definitely not to my taste. The Bleeding Heart, for instance. From my point of view, it’s completely over the top, not to mention anatomically impossible.” I smiled slightly. “But it was odd – not so long ago I’d have scoffed at all that, but then I understood it was probably someone’s idea of expressing devotion, even in a highly conventional way, and maybe it inspired devotion in the onlookers as well. I was on my way out when I saw a statue, a stylized Madonna and Child, not at all realistic, serene and improbably beautiful – a baby young enough to sit on his mother’s lap and yet old enough to have a full head of unlikely golden hair and be raising chubby fingers in blessing. So that made me start thinking about mothers and children, and as you know my own experience isn’t without its shadows. Then on the other side was a crucifixion scene, and there’s Mary at the foot of the cross, pale and fainting. So I couldn’t not think about what it must be like to lose a child. I don’t know that many people with children, but I thought what it would be like for you to lose Jasper, and I felt… well, it was awful, unbearable. It wasn’t such a big leap to go from there to thinking about Eve Rawlins losing her son. I know I wasn’t responsible. I know I did my best. But she had a child she loved, and he’s dead.” I took a deep breath. “Until then I hadn’t allowed myself to think about it in that way. It was too hard. I was afraid – I was right to be, I think, because, as you said, empathy can be distressing. I just feel somehow, now, it’s time to gather up my courage. To think of her not as a mad woman who wounded me but as a parent who will always be bereaved. And I thought, You know what, Rachel, you should know something about her. I wouldn’t let you tell me before, but now I would like to hear.”
I fell silent, and he said nothing for a long moment, just looking at me with that dark stare of his, unconsciously tapping the table with one forefinger. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“OK.” He took a deep breath. “I only know what Father Vincent told me, of course,” he cautioned, “and I may not remember every detail, but I have to say her story made quite an impression on me.” He frowned slightly, obviously thinking. “It sounds like Eve had a tough childhood. Between being bullied about her birthmark and having to look after her ailing parents, life wasn’t easy for her. After her parents died she sold her family home and bought a place in Porton. She found work in a library, and for the first time in her life, even made a couple of friends. They persuaded her to come out with them on occasion, even giving her tips about clothes and makeup which would to some degree camouflage what she saw as a hideous deformity. By this time they’d all been friends for some time and she trusted them. Father Vincent believed them to be nice enough girls, certainly not wishing any harm to come to Eve.”
“I think I saw them,” I said. “There were two women at Craig’s funeral, more or less holding Eve upright, and they were crying.”
“Yes, could be. From what Father Vincent said, they were her only real friends, apart from Father Vincent himself. And she was a regular at St Joseph’s, so perhaps there were friends there too.” He sighed. “Anyway, one night everything went wrong. The three of them were at some club or other, and the two friends were drunk and foolish and rather oblivious. Eve didn’t drink much, but the friends thought someone must have spiked her drink because they saw her with some unknown man, at first talking and laughing, and then they lost sight of her. It was some time before they started getting worried and began searching for her. They didn’t really know where to look; in the end they went home, but they were secretly worried, knowing that she was rather naïve.
“She turned up the next day, bedraggled and in a state of shock, with barely any memory of what had happened. She said she’d met someone, a man from one of the ships that was in port, and he seemed very nice and interested in her, but then everything went blank until she came to and found herself in some seedy bedsit she didn’t recognize, with no clothes on and covered in just a grubby sheet. When she didn’t leave straight away the man got rough and practically threw her out. She felt the whole horrible episode was her own fault for being a fool. Her friends of course were mortified, especially later when Eve found she was pregnant.”
I shook my head, appalled. “And that was Craig.”
“Yes. At first her friends tried to persuade Eve to terminate, but her faith meant she wouldn’t hear of it. She resigned her job at the library and supported herself by renting out rooms. Later, when Craig was at nursery, she took a number of low-paid jobs, but only ones that allowed her to be there when he came home. From everything I have heard it sounds as if she was a most devoted mother – rather possessive, perhaps, but well intentioned. But it all got more intense, maybe even obsessive, after he became ill.”
“Kawasaki’s disease at age four,” I said, remembering what Malcolm Harries had told me. “Originally misdiagnosed by some half-awake GP. By the time they’d got it right it was too late; the poor boy’s heart was damaged.” I could hear the bitterness in my own voice.
“Well, Kawasaki’s is an unusual disease,”
Michael said gently. “Not many GPs would have instantly recognized it.”
“The symptoms are clear.”
“Mm, I suppose so. Anyway, for some while Craig seemed to be all right, but then he started to show unmistakable symptoms of heart disease, and the rest you know, more or less.
“For Eve, though, it meant that her son became her only focus, his treatment an obsession. Maybe she was a little crazy. Maybe that escalated when she became fixated on you after Craig’s death. But according to Father Vincent she is as sane now as you and me.” He fell silent for a moment, and then he said thoughtfully, “Like the man in the Bible with the demons.”
“What?”
“Oh, there was a man, chained up among the burial caves because everyone was afraid of him. Afflicted by a whole bunch of demons, calling themselves ‘Mob’ – do you know the story?”
“It rings a bell.”
“When the villagers came they saw him sitting at Jesus’ feet, ‘clothed and in his right mind’. I don’t know why exactly, but it reminds me of Eve Rawlins. From what Father Vincent said, it seems that the shock of what she did to you, seeing you frightened and bleeding, brought her back to her senses.”
“In her right mind,” I echoed. “I only knew her as a madwoman, of course. One who’d daubed my car with blood and sent me a pig’s stinking heart in a box, etcetera.”
“Perhaps,” Michael said thoughtfully, “it’s only now, now that you are healing, that you can afford to think of her with any compassion. Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Think of her with compassion. No need to pretend to be obtuse.”
“Hm, maybe. Well, yes. Who wouldn’t? It’s a horrible story – a sad and difficult life, and the only thing that brought her any happiness taken away too. Of course I’m sorry for her. I just wish she’d found some other way to express her grief.”
We were silent for a moment, thinking our own thoughts. Then I said, “I’ve been thinking about the trial, whether they’ll call me as a witness.”
Michael shook his head. “I’m not sure, but I’d imagine they would. The police took a statement from you at the time of the attack, didn’t they?” I nodded. “Well, from the little I know, the wheels of the law grind slowly. The trial probably won’t happen for months yet.”
The Healing Knife Page 23