The Mission

by Naomi Kryske

  Another item for her list, and one that could be time consuming. When she reached home, she would add it to her journal and then wait for Simon’s call and the reassurance that he had made it through another day safely.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jenny’s work at the coroner’s office continued. She saw Dr. Millar only briefly on Monday, but on Tuesday he visited with her long enough for her to observe his gentle sense of humor. During the inquest he had often been forceful in his questions, but one on one he was patient and unfailingly courteous, leading her to conclude that he must have had a wonderful bedside manner as a doctor. “The results of the survey are overwhelmingly positive,” she reported. “Some of the respondents had to wait years for the inquest and were surprised that they were still so deeply affected by the proceedings. The understanding of the support service volunteers meant a lot to them.”

  “I’m glad your husband’s hearing was held sooner than that. I hope it gave you some closure.”

  He had such sympathetic brown eyes that she hated to disagree. “A psychiatrist told me once that feelings don’t end. I think that means that closure never comes.”

  “Of course,” he conceded. “The end comes for the deceased but not for those who remain behind. I apologise.”

  “No problem. By the way, I’ll have the survey results ready tomorrow.”

  “May I take you to dinner then as a way of thanking you? I realise that I have you at a disadvantage: Because of the way we met, I know far more about you than you do about me. At dinner, however, I’ll subject myself to your interrogation.”

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  Dr. Millar, whom Jenny thought she should now call David, rang for a taxi to take them to an Asian restaurant not far from Paddington Station. She ordered fried rice with beef and shrimp. David selected one of the vegetarian dishes, explaining that he didn’t eat anything with a face, and chose a bottle of wine.

  “No wonder you’re so slim,” she said. “Is your wife a vegetarian, too?”

  He paused briefly before responding. “I haven’t seen my wife in over fifteen years,” he said. “She wasn’t a vegetarian then, but neither was I.”

  “But you still wear a wedding ring,” she stammered. “What happened to her?”

  He didn’t answer until after the waiter had poured the wine. “She disappeared. I don’t believe that she deserted me; we were happy together, and nothing was missing except her purse, keys, and the clothes she was wearing. The police, however, suspected foul play. Because I was a doctor, I could have disposed of her, they thought. I was their main suspect.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I closed my medical practice and studied law. I wanted to know exactly how the system worked in case I ever needed to defend myself. The detective sergeant on the case still checks in with me periodically, but her body has never been found.”

  “What was she like?” Jenny asked and then regretted using the past tense.

  “A free spirit,” he smiled. “Spontaneous, disorganised, somewhat impulsive, generous with her time and affections. I’ve asked myself many times if there were any signs of a mental illness that I missed, if she could have wandered away and forgot herself, but the answer is always no. She was young, that’s all.”

  Jenny’s entree was similar to Chinese food but a little spicier. They both ate quietly for a few minutes. “No wonder you haven’t experienced closure,” she said finally. “For you nothing has ended.”

  He nodded and refilled her wine glass. “She may still be alive. I live in the same house in case one day she finds her way home.”

  “Like Matthew Arnold, you’re ‘still nursing the unconquerable hope,’” she quoted.

  “I prefer Shelley: ‘To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates / From its own wreck the thing it contemplates…’”

  No one except Colin had quoted poetry to her, and now it came from a man who did not even know he was mourning. She felt a sudden stab of sorrow for both their losses.

  “I don’t mean to make you sad,” he smiled. “My life’s not completely empty, you know. I believe in the worth of the work that I do, and if I may make a brief confession to you, I have not been entirely faithful to her.”

  “Don’t you want to move forward? Get off the merry-go-round?”

  The waiter inquired about coffee or dessert, but Jenny declined both, and David provided his credit card.

  “There’s always the chance that one of these days I’ll meet someone who’ll show me how,” David said. “Jenny, it could be you. We enjoy each other’s company, I believe, and it’s possible that a fondness could develop between us.”

  “But – you’re still married,” she objected.

  He smiled gently. “I’ve shocked you, I see. I apologise.”

  Shocked and appalled her. “David, I can’t give you what you want. That has to come from inside you. And besides, if I fall in love again, I want all a man’s love. I certainly don’t want to play second fiddle to a ghost.”

  “Some wi – ” He stopped and corrected himself. “Some women enjoy a physical relationship which doesn’t require them to commit themselves. Both parties can benefit.”

  Anger propelled Jenny to her feet. He had almost said widows. Widows. He was in a unique position, coming into contact on a frequent basis with bereaved women. “Thank you for dinner, but it’s time for me to go home.”

  He stood. “May I escort you to the tube?”

  “No,” she said, grabbing her purse.

  “I’ll ring you in a week or so.”

  “Don’t bother,” she answered, but she was already nearly out the door when she spoke and didn’t know or care if he heard.

  On her way home she became increasingly angry. He had spied her vulnerability and preyed on her emotions in the most callous and calculating way she could imagine. That speech about his wife – had she really been missing for years? – must have been successful in the past. He had not touched her once, wrapping his proposition in apparent manners and restraint, when in fact all was a lie. When Simon had come on to her, he had been deeply disturbed by an incident. He had acknowledge his inappropriate behavior and wanted to make amends. He was willing to let her set the pace. Was she, however, consigning him to second place?

  CHAPTER 14

  Much had changed in Alcina’s life. She, who had never been interested in any sort of cooking, worked at a bakery, where she had become fascinated with knives. She, who had always loved fancy clothes, now dressed plainly. Clothes she would have discarded before, she now wore, to blend, to look unremarkable, and in her nondescript disguise to provide a layer of protection for herself, a sort of armour.

  The baker and his wife trusted her now; they had given her a key to the bakery. She could come and go as she pleased. She had a hideout if she needed one.

  Yes, much had changed in Alcina’s life. She, who had never liked animals, now had a dog. She had brought food to the alley where she had first seen it and left the food for the dog to find. Once she had seen it emerge from the darkness as she was turning away. Several more feedings had resulted in the dog eating while she was still present although distant. Finally it had come close enough to eat even when she did not move away. She had been patient, waiting until she was sure it would not run away from her. Then she had thrown a towel around its head and taken it home with her.

  There were places in her flat for the animal to hide, but that did not concern her. She had no intention of bonding with it; she simply needed it to come into the kitchen to eat and drink. When it did, she blocked its escape. Cleanup in the kitchen would be less difficult.

  She would grind the meat scraps she had saved from Kosta’s. It would be easy, then, to add the rat poison.

  CHAPTER 15

  Jenny didn’t hear from Simon until after dinner on Friday, when he asked if he could call by for a few minutes.

  “Yes,” she said and felt her stomach skip. Would he kiss her when he saw he
r? On her cheeks or on her mouth?

  When he arrived, he pulled her close and kissed all three places.

  She held him tightly, relieved that he was there. “Are you hungry?” she asked as she released him. “I could make you a quick omelette.”

  He made tea for both of them while she beat the eggs, diced the ham and onion, and shredded the cheese. He told her what he could about the operations his team had undertaken during the week, emphasising the skill and professionalism of his team members and omitting any mention of the unforeseen circumstances they’d had to overcome. He listened as she told him about the chopped up newspapers and agreed with her stopping delivery for a while. He took his plate and cup into the sitting room, remembering to give her the small gift he had brought.

  She joined him on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her. “I don’t think I’ve ever received such a thin present,” she said as she opened it. “A bookmark! With my initial. Simon, thank you, but what is the occasion?”

  “Just glad to see you,” he said between bites.

  “When did you have the time to buy it?”

  “I’ve had it for a while.”

  For how long? she wanted to ask but didn’t. When he finished eating, she cleared his plate. “More tea?” she called from the kitchen. She almost said tè but decided to keep her Italian study a secret for a little longer.

  He didn’t answer; he had fallen asleep on the sofa.

  She sat down across from him, wondering what to do. If she woke him, he would apologize and leave, and she didn’t want that. After watching him breathe for a few minutes, she brought a blanket and covered him. She had often felt cold on the leather couch and thought he might too. Extinguishing the lights, she climbed upstairs to her bedroom, the silver bookmark in her hand. She was unable to concentrate on her reading, however, wondering if she should have told him about Dr. “I’m-a-wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing” Millar.

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  Simon woke, taking stock of his surroundings before he moved. He was at Jenny’s flat, and his watch told him he’d slept over six hours. His internal clock had woken him at three a.m., close to the time he’d been rising for work the last twelve days. He swung his feet to the floor and considered his situation. She had given him a blanket; probably not angry then. She had welcomed him warmly to the flat, but that did not mean she would welcome him to her bed. He paid a visit to the loo. A new toothbrush lay beside the sink. She wanted him to stay, he concluded.

  He cleaned his teeth and thought some more. He had showered before he left the base. She would be warm and soft. He would wake her gently, hold her gently. He wanted to know her every curve, what touches excited her and where. He was still knackered, but he could perform if called upon. More important, he was sober. He would go only as far as she wanted him to do. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and shook his head at the reflection. Exhaustion must have addled his brain. He splashed cold water on his face. Stripping to his pants, he stretched out on the sofa and covered himself with the blanket. Restraint was called for. Better if he didn’t move too fast. Better if he waited for her to come to him.

  CHAPTER 16

  In the morning the smell of fresh coffee woke Simon. He pulled on his shirt and trousers. Jenny was in the kitchen, in jeans and a t-shirt with a trio of hummingbirds flying across her chest. Lovely.

  “I’m not much of a breakfast person, but I have orange juice, the kind with juicy bits, as you Brits say. And bread and marmalade. I’ve never gotten used to your custom of eating beans for breakfast,” she said, accepting a quick kiss on each cheek. Colin had always chosen to kiss her scarred cheek first to let her know he still thought her pretty, but Simon never differentiated, as if the scar weren’t there.

  “Just coffee. Sorry about last night. I didn’t intend to fade out on you like that.”

  “No problem,” she answered. “Can we spend some time together today?” She told him about her plan to begin to make changes to the flat. “When Colin and I were first together, I thought the flat was a little stark. I wanted to soften it, so I put some pastel pillows on the sofa, flowers on the dining room table, and fruit in a bowl on the kitchen counter, but it was still Colin’s flat. Now I want to make it reflect a little more of me. Bear’s paws have scratched the leather on the sofa, so I should probably replace that, but I thought I’d start with new pictures. Do you hate shopping, or would you like to come with me?”

  “Yes to both,” he smiled. “But I’d like to make a run by my flat for a change of clothes first.”

  “While you do that, I’ll put something in the slow cooker for dinner,” she said. “After we’re through shopping, we’ll have most of our meal waiting for us.”

  “Do you have what you need? No incident of vandalism doesn’t mean no danger. I’d not like you to go out.”

  “I won’t,” she said and locked the door after him. While he was gone, she diced carrots, onions, and a bell pepper, and placed them in the pot with beef tips, seasonings, and broth. Had she locked the door? She had. She made a tossed salad to accompany the stew.

  Still with time to fill, she realized she could do a little research on her grief book before he returned. She sat down at Colin’s computer. No, hers, she reminded herself. He had bought a newer and faster one after their marriage, and she had been the primary user. Now she was the only user.

  The internet had a wealth of information about grief, she discovered. All the sites agreed that it was okay to cry. A quote from Washington Irving touched her: “There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power…They are the messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love.”

  She read further. Depending on the source, grief could have four, five, seven, or even ten stages. She decided to combine them into three, because she hadn’t been aware of the finer points of grief when she was experiencing it. And ten stages? That was discouraging.

  The first stage she called, Disbelief. It had felt like shock, when she had understood intellectually that Colin was gone but had felt numb inside. Then periods of numbness had alternated with periods of intense sorrow.

  That had led to her second stage, Despair. With the numbness gone, her grief had been raw. That phase had been complicated by loss of appetite, trouble sleeping, and exhaustion even when she had slept. She had been an island besieged with waves of anxiety, anger, and guilt. She had withdrawn.

  In her final phase, Determination, hurt had still been present but it was hurt tempered by hope. She had begun to believe that a productive life might be possible for her, however unclear it seemed. Then Simon had reentered her life in a dramatic way and changed everything. He would be back soon. She logged off the computer and set her notes aside.

  They started their excursion by walking down to the charity shop on Finchley Road and then on to the Oxfam on West End Lane. Neither had any pictures that appealed to either of them, so they worked their way back, stopping in small art galleries to peruse the paintings and the prices. Jenny was surprised to discover how well Simon could describe each painting they saw.

  “In the Royal Marines we were taught to observe. Lack of attention to detail could cost a life.”

  “Do you still watch people like that?”

  “Yes, it’s useful in the work I do.” He paused. “When you’re afraid and don’t want others to know, you press your hands into your lap. If you’re about to cry, the right side of your mouth turns down before your left. When you find something funny, your eyes laugh first.”

  “That makes me feel like a specimen.”

  He laughed. “It’s not like that. When I’ve a bit of down time, I like to think on you, that’s all, and it helps to recall you clearly.”

  Was that love? she wondered.

  “I also know that you study me when you think I’m not looking.”

  She blushed, because she had. She had examined his strong face and felt reassured. She had concluded that the parts of
him she couldn’t see were strong too. She knew what the tightness between his brows meant and how his smile softened his usual stern expression. His left eye squinted more than his right. She took his hand and found the callus he had on his thumb. “If something happened to you, I’d want to remember everything about you,” she said softly.

  That called for an embrace and a kiss, but he limited himself to slipping his arm about her waist and drawing her close.

  She smiled up at him before turning back to the paintings on display. “I have to confess – I know more about what I don’t want than what I do. No paintings of fox hunts or sailing vessels. No still lifes. No photographs. Nothing too abstract; I want some color but not only color. The next shop will be our last.”

  “Fancy this one, Jenny?” Simon asked after they’d browsed for a few minutes.

  She joined him and smiled. He had called her attention to a watercolor painting of a white bird rising effortlessly through the night sky, the tips of its outstretched wings tinted silver. Occasional small flecks of orange and blue represented the stars, but one’s eyes were drawn to the bird and the ease of its ascent.

  “Reminds me of a phoenix. Of you, actually.”

  “Why me?”

  “That was our code name for you when you were in witness protection. Because phoenix is the name of a constellation.”

  “Who came up with that?”

  He didn’t respond right away.