Crescendo

by Charlotte Lamb

  When she did open her eyes to admit the world with a tearing reluctance the first face she saw was Gideon's, and she screamed and screamed as though he were a murderer. The nurses ran and people exclaimed all round her, but she was cowering like

  a child with her hands over her eyes. 'Take him away, take him away!'

  That was the last thing she remembered, the light through her fingers and her own voice screaming, 'Take him away!'

  She sat on the bed and stared at nothing, shaking. She had no idea how long it was since that day or what had happened. Somehow she had shut Gideon and time out of her head, passed back into the com­fortable safe world of her childhood where nothing could reach or hurt her again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GRANDIE spoke at the door, quietly, persuasively. 'The doctor is here, darling. Please, see him.'

  Marina slowly got off the bed and went to the door. Grandie looked at her with grey anxiety and she gave him a dry little smile. 'I'm all right now.'

  The doctor stood behind him, watching her. She had known him all her life and he had never given her a clue over the last months that there was any­thing hidden in her life. Looking back, she recog­nised the conspiracy of silence which the whole village had entered into and was touched by the thought and affection behind it.

  'Shall we have a look at you, Marina?' the doctor asked, coming forward and smiling at her.

  'I'm fine.'

  'We'll see, shall we?' He was being very careful not to distress her, but his voice was firm. He led her back into the bedroom and closed the door, exclud­ing Grandie.

  She sat down on the bed, glad to sit down because her legs were trembling. Her head felt heavy as though it did not belong to her and was not too well balanced on her neck.

  The doctor took her pulse, his eyes on her face, careful searching eyes that probed her pale features.

  'How do you feel?' he asked.

  'I told you—fine.' She gave him a hard little smile. 'How do you expect me to feel?'

  He did not answer that. 'Could you unbutton your shirt?' he asked her. 'I want to listen to your heart.'

  What heart? she thought, but she silently obeyed him and he bent to listen, the stethoscope moving over her chest.

  'Any headache?' he asked in his casual voice, as though this were an everyday consultation.

  'A little.' Her head was thudding, actually, and from the way he looked at her dilated pupils and grey skin no doubt he guessed that.

  He asked her some more questions and she an­swered in a flat calm voice which betrayed nothing.

  'Can I ask you something?' she said when he was coiling his stethoscope into his bag.

  'Ask away.'

  She sensed that he was oddly relieved by. that; his

  tone had a grateful ring to it. He was a man of sixty, short, broad with a quiet face and observant eyes, and although he had a rather attractive young partner who was a distinctly eligible bachelor, the patients for miles around would always rather have Dr Farmer. He had that authority his young partner lacked. He had seen illness for so many years and could diagnose it in a glance at times.

  She hesitated before asking her question because it was going to hurt to ask and even more to hear the answer although she already knew it. She had to hear it, though. It had to be said aloud.

  'I lost the baby, didn't I?'

  'Yes,' he said gently, and he didn't touch her, but he was watching her closely with sympathy and at­tention.

  She bent her head, her mouth trembling. 'How long is it?'

  'Since it happened?' he interpreted gently.

  She nodded.

  'A year.'

  She looked up, shocked. 'A year? That long?'

  He smiled at her. 'I'm afraid so.'

  'Why?' she asked shakily.

  He understood the question. 'The mind has ways of defending itself. You needed to get away, so you went.'

  She laughed unevenly. 'You make it sound so simple!'

  'It is,' he agreed. 'You hid, Marina. A lot of people want to do it and sometimes they can't find the way, but you did. You just went back in time to a nicer place.'

  She wondered how long she would have stayed there if Gideon hadn't come to force her out of it. She remembered now the arguments between him and Grandie, and Gideon saying: 'I know it's a risk, but it's one I've got to take.'

  She winced and turned her head away as though that would make the memories leave, but they hung there, heavy as clouds of incense, obscuring her mind.

  'There are some tests I want you to take,' the doc­tor told her. 'You'll have to go into a hospital to have them, I'm afraid.'

  She nodded, indifferent to that.

  'You don't need to worry.' He was reassuring her because he thought the shadows in her face were caused by worry. 'You had some pretty extensive testing after it first happened. Your concussion left no brain damage. But just in case anything has de­veloped since, I'd like you to have an encephalo­gram reading. A routine check, nothing more. It would be best to have a thorough check-up at the same time in other departments.'

  She nodded again, her eyes on her twisting hands.

  'I'll leave you some pills for that headache,' he added. 'How bad is it?'

  She sighed. 'Not too bad. Just an ache.'

  'Where?' he asked. 'At the front? The temples?'

  She nodded, and he laid a cool hand on her brow as though he could feel the pain throbbing there and was testing the strength of it.

  'How bad was the accident?' she asked suddenly.

  He took his hand away and looked gravely at her. 'No lasting damage was done.'

  She laughed at that and his face grew more grave, seeing the wildness in her eyes, the anger.

  'You came off quite lightly,' he assured her. 'No­body walks under a car and gets away scot-free.'

  He opened a screwtop jar and took out two pills, shook them into her palm and gave her some water to drink with them. 'I'll leave the pills with your grandfather,' he told her. 'Take two every six hours while you're awake for as long as the headache per­sists, and if it gets any worse, call me at once. Or if any other symptoms appear—dizziness, sickness, a loss of balance. 'You don't have any of those?'

  All of them, she thought, but not in the sense you mean. Aloud, she said, 'No, I'm fine. Just this head­ache.'

  'Good.' He patted her shoulder. 'You're going to be all right, Marina. Don't fret now.'

  He took care of the physical symptoms with the utmost attention, but it was the mental symptoms which could kill.

  'I knew it would go away when the time was ripe,' he said with a bland satisfaction as he went.

  She lay down on the bed and watched the drain­ing light. It was only a short time since she walked into that room and heard Gideon play, but she had been falling forwards through time and it had been a tiring journey.

  She needed to sleep. She wanted to cut everything from her memory. When Grandie came in she sighed, biting her lip. She did not want to talk about it.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and his gnarled stiff fingers took hold of one of her hands and stroked it. She felt the love and anxiety in him and couldn't turn away.

  'How do you feel?' he asked her softly.

  'Fine,' she said, as she had said to the doctor, and she had lied to both of them, but Grandie looked at her with the suffering face of one who is not de­ceived and she saw him shrink as though she had hit him.

  'I wish to God I'd never let him cross the thresh­old !' he burst out. 'I knew the moment I set eyes on him with you that this would happen. I warned him, but he's the most...'

  'Don't talk about him,' Marina said harshly, and his bowed fingers squeezed her hand and he groaned under his breath.

  'I'd like to sleep now.'

  He looked at her and brushed her hair back from her face with a careful hand. 'Of course,' he said, half eager, half concerned. 'You are all right? Would you like me to stay with you? I can sit in the chair and keep as still as a mouse.'


  She laughed briefly. 'No, thank you, Grandie. There's no need.'

  He did not want to leave her alone, she realised, by the way he looked at her. He was afraid. She sighed and touched his face.

  'I am fine, really. I shall just sleep. The doctor gave me some pills.'

  'Yes, he told me.' Grandie hesitated. 'A headache, he said. Is it bad?'

  'Not any more. I'm just sleepy.'

  There was a lot to say, of course. She had been away for a long time and the woman to whom she had come back was a stranger to her. For the past year she had inhabited the mind and body of a girl, half child, and during those months nobody had even hinted at the truth.

  Even Mrs Robinson, she thought, and laughed in a wild way, looking at Grandie and seeing him flinch. 'Poor Mrs Robinson, how she must have longed to talk about it! She was brave all those months.'

  Grandie frowned. 'She's been very good—they all have. Everyone has been so kind, Marina.'

  They had and she shivered. 'I know. I'm grateful, really. It seems so funny to imagine Mrs Robinson with such an exciting story and not to be able to talk about it.' She paused. 'Not to my face, anyway.' Be­hind her back, of course, the story must have been the topic of gossip for months. What did they think? Did they all know about Gideon and ... She wouldn't think of that. She felt sick now. Her stomach was heaving and she closed her eyes because the room was going round.

  'Are you all right?' Grandie asked anxiously, lean­ing over her.

  'Go away,' she said, thinly. 'Please, just go away and let me sleep.'

  She loved Grandie, but right now she wanted to be alone, because only when she was alone could she shut out all the memories and just sink into ob­livion.

  During the night she woke up and the room was pitch dark and the sea sounded like a hoarse animal out in the mist, moaning in wild complaint. She lay, shivering, and heard a movement somewhere in the darkness. She lifted her head, sighing, and asked, 'Grandie?'

  There was someone in the chair not too close to the bed. She heard a stir, breathing.

  'Grandie?' she asked again.

  She knew, of course, before he rose and the long- body uncoiled to a height far beyond that of Grandie.

  'Get out of my room!' she whispered shakily.

  He stood there, not speaking, but she felt him watching her and she hated him. She did not want him anywhere near her. She said again, 'Get out!' but now she said it louder, her voice shrill, and he came towards the bed., his black shadow looming over her like a threat.

  'Get out!' she screamed, and the door burst open and Grandie hobbled in panting, exhausted by his race to get there. He looked at Gideon with a hatred little short of hers.

  'I told you to stay away from her!'

  Gideon didn't speak. He went out, and Grandie came to the bed to look down at her shadowed features on the pillow.

  'What did he do?' He sounded so angry that Marina almost smiled.

  'Nothing. I woke up and he was sitting there.'

  'Damn him!' snarled Grandie, and then he said some other things in a low hoarse mumble, swear­ing viciously and clenching his hands as though he could kill Gideon.

  Gideon had been one of his pupils; Grandie had been very proud of that. He had wanted Gideon to learn to probe beneath the dazzling gloss of his sur- face technique and when he did Grandie had been delighted. Gideon had developed beyond the master of bravura that he had once been and Grandie had been glowing with pride as he listened to him. Now he hated him for Marina's sake and all his pride in Gideon had gone.

  She watched him and wondered for the first time how much Grandie knew. His hatred for Gideon had to have some reason. She looked at him searchingly and asked point-blank, 'How much has he told you?'

  Grandie sat down slowly and took both her hands. 'Everything,' he said. 'He didn't hide anything.' He sounded as though he could even hate Gideon for being honest. 'I wanted to kill him at the time. I told him to stay away from you from then on, but of course he didn't. When did Gideon ever do what he was asked? He's self-willed, oblivious to the needs and wishes of everyone else in the world.'

  Marina nodded. Closing her eyes, she gave a weary little yawn. 'I'll go back to sleep.'

  'Let me stay,' Grandie whispered as though he pleaded, and she smiled at him tenderly.

  'For a little while, then, until I'm asleep.'

  He patted her hands before he went and sat where Gideon had sat, watching her, and she fell asleep again before long, sinking into a blank world.

  She woke up to hear the angry voices down below and to know that Gideon had not gone. Grandie was shouting, but then he lowered his voice to a furious whisper. She could guess what he was saying. Gideon was refusing to go and Grandie was trying to throw him out.

  Marina sat up and looked at the two neat dolls. Emma's green ballet shoes stuck up as though she had danced all night. For the past year they had been there, watching her, but now she had grown out of them and she recognised it with regret.

  They had been her childhood substitutes for friends and she had left them behind when she met Gideon, although she had kept up the game during the early years. The woman who lay in the bed looked at the bland empty little faces and sighed.

  They were lucky, even though they didn't know it. They didn't have to come out of their calm placid little world and face reality.

  There were still a lot of things she had to face, lying there in the bed and shivering as though she were cold. She looked back over the few days Gideon had spent at the cottage and realised a lot of things which had passed over her head at the time.

  She realised for a start why he had looked so white and shocked when they met, why he had stopped his car and run like a madman as he saw her at the cliff edge. He had thought she might be going to jump off.

  That was why he had stared at her, hardly daring to come any closer as she looked back at him. When he realised she just didn't know him he had dared to come closer, but he had been shattered when she smiled at him. She could see his face now, the shocked disbelief in it. It was funny, she thought. Wasn't it funny? She had recognised that he was shocked and had generalised it, wondering if people didn't often smile at him and being surprised by that. Of course he had been taken aback. The last

  thing he had expected from her was a broad smile.

  Gideon was a swine, she thought, realising how he had been moving closer to her every day—touching her, kissing her, charming her all over again, safe behind his anonymous cloak, aware that she had no memory of him to protect her from him.

  Grandie had tried to protect her, to stop him, and she herself had come between them, making it clear to Grandie that she wanted Gideon there and that she liked him. Gideon had used her to get himself inside the house. He had played coldly, cunningly, on her lack of awareness, and Grandie had been helpless.

  Suddenly she began to shake as another memory invaded her and her whole body began to burn.

  'That dream, she thought, staring at the dolls with fixed stricken eyes.

  Dream? Had it been a dream? Or had she gone to him in a sleepwalker's trance and had Gideon taken what she was unknowingly offering him?

  She didn't know. The girl she had believed her­self to be would never have done such a thing, but the woman she was in reality might have been so awoken by Gideon's kisses and caressing hands that evening that she might have gone in search of the fulfilment her body craved.

  She put her hands over her eyes as sickness crawled inside her. She hadn't, had she?

  The door opened and Grandie asked anxiously: What is it? Are the headaches worse? Shall I ring the doctor?'

  She brushed her eyes and lowered her hands slowly. 'No, I'm quite all right.' She took a deep breath. 'Has he gone?'

  Grandie looked hesitantly at her and she saw that he was about to lie to her.

  'He hasn't, has he?' she asked harshly.

  'I wish I could throw him out,' Grandie muttered, enraged by his own bodily weakness. 'I wish I wasn't so old, my hands so us
eless.' They flexed weakly on his knees as if he would like to get them round Gideon's strong throat. 'He just refuses to go, and I can't make him.'

  'I'll see him,' said Marina, making up her mind.

  'What?' Grandie looked horrified, staring at her as if she were insane. 'No! Marina ...'

  'I'll see him,' she said in a cold, firm voice. 'And then he will go.'

  Grandie tried to argue with her, but she just looked at him and in the end he went out, then she sat and waited, staring at the window and seeing the morning light as though it were a darkness without end.

  She was going to send Gideon away for ever and although she had no doubts about the wisdom of that it was going to mean a lot of pain for her, now and in the future. But pain was something she had lived with before and she would live with again. Losing Gideon was going to cripple her the way Grandie had been crippled by his hands, the hands which had once given him all the happiness and meaning life had held for him. It was an ironic joke which life played on one—to use the things that meant most in order to wound one in the end.

  She heard his steps and listened to them intently because she was never going to hear them again. He ran up the stairs, two at a time, and she felt the eagerness with which he came into the room. He stood at the door and stared at her for a few seconds before he walked over to the bed in that graceful, predatory lope of his and knelt down beside it to take her hands into his own and lift them to his mouth.