“What is it Henri?” Rachel asked, after rising late and finding the bed empty except for herself and the stray cat, which seemed to have attached itself to the restaurant but especially Henri’s new guest.
She’d found Henri downstairs, sat in one of the two armchairs reading the letter, which had just been delivered. The Estonia stamp and postmark had confused him sufficiently to stop him preparing breakfast, rip open the envelope and read the contents.
“It’s a letter from Ricardo. He’s ended up in Estonia… well Tallinn actually. He’s got a job in an Irish bar called Murphy’s. He says the police, if they have any further questions, can reach him there or call his mobile.” He screwed up the letter and threw it on the cold embers of last night’s fire.
“Shouldn’t you keep it… you know to give to the police. I mean they may have more questions and anyway don’t you want to keep in contact with him?” She ran her hands over his shoulders and felt the muscles tense under her touch, whilst at the same time the black stray pushed itself against her legs and complained about the lack of food.
“I tried to call his mobile… the message just says the number is no longer active. So I called the Tallinn tourist office and told them I was looking for an Irish bar in the city called Murphy’s… guess what? There isn’t one, never has been. Christ it must be the only city in the world that doesn’t have one.”
They never heard from Ricardo again but neither had the police pursued any line of enquiry that might have involved speaking to him, so it didn’t really matter. In fact the only significant result of Ricardo’s disappearing act was to make Henri think that the boy must know more about Tom’s disappearance than he was willing to tell anyone. A thought that resonated even louder when Henri had cleaned out his locker at the restaurant and found the used day return ticket to Truro, stamped for the day after Tom had vanished and the day his credit card had been used in the city.
~~~~~
The booking had been made in the name of a Sarah Tanner… a table for two at eight o’clock. The two people who’d turned up at five minutes past eight though were a Mr and Mrs Patrick Fitzgerald.
“Sorry Henri, Sarah’s our new pa.” Patrick had explained when Henri came out from the kitchens to see his friend.
“And this must be Mrs Fitzgerald?” Henri had replied, ignoring Patrick’s outstretched hand. “Must have been one hell of a break Patrick?” He added, raising an eyebrow.
“It was Henri.” Patrick Fitzgerald replied, as he looked around the restaurant as if searching for an old friend. “I’m told you’ve also been busy. I gather there’s a new lady in your life. Sarah tells me her husband mysteriously disappeared… that’s rather handy isn’t it?” Patrick’s sarcastic smirk had been well aimed and caught Henri off-guard.
“What’s that supposed to mean Patrick?” Henri snapped back. Important person or not he wasn’t about to take that sort of snide insinuation from anyone. “If you have something to say… just say it to my face.” He added angrily. Whilst no one had said anything directly to him about Rachel moving in with him, he’d seen the looks and the odd glances when he’d walked through the town or had gone down to the fish market to select his daily catch for the restaurant. He’d even caught some of his staff whispering in the odd quiet moment… but he’d ignored it all, as whatever anyone else thought, he knew the truth and that was that Tom’s disappearance had absolutely nothing to do with either Rachel or himself. Their alibi might have been morally suspect but he knew it was solid.
“Sorry Henri… I was just pulling your leg. Look I don’t care who you shack up with so long as it doesn’t affect your restaurant. Your food is the best there is for miles around. You can keep all your celebrity chefs and Michelin stars, your food is by far the best I’ve ever tasted. I’ve told Helen all about this place and I know she’s been dying to try the venison, haven’t you darling?” Patrick held out his hand and gently squeezed his doting wife’s hand.
“It’s true Henri… sorry may I call you Henri? After all Patrick has told me, I feel as if I know you almost as well as he does and we will be neighbours… well sort of, you see Patrick has bought the old deserted Tregowan Estate. We’re going to build our new house out there as Patrick thinks the original house and farm buildings are past redemption and anyway, you can’t put all the conveniences of modern living into some seventeenth century pile of rubble can you?” She finished her brief introduction with such a charming winning sort of smile that Henri understood immediately why Patrick had rushed into the marriage after such a brief, whirlwind Caribbean romance.
“Of course and you must meet Rachel, she would love the chance of some female company, especially after…” Henri’s mouth stopped and allowed his brain to catch up.
“Yes we heard. Her husband wasn’t it? And they were staying at the hotel at the time.”
“That’s right. They were dining here and he got drunk and went back to the hotel… he’s not been seen since, just vanished. The only clue to his possible whereabouts has been his credit card, which was used a couple of times the following day in Truro.”
“And after that Henri?” Patrick asked, feeling the story was too incredible to be actually true.
“Nothing. The police have hit a dead end. If he is alive… they’ve no idea where he is.”
~~~~~
Martha stared into the mirror at the foot of the bed. It had been the consultant’s idea and one which was designed to help the patient remember who he was. It had been a proven fact, he’d told her father, that some patients with trauma induced amnesia sometimes started to regain their memories if the first face they saw each day was their own. But the neurologists had been disappointed. On her last visit to the hospital they’d told Martha that there hadn’t been a hint of self-recognition or even one synaptic iota of a memory restored from the time before the patient had walked into the hotel’s reception. Martha had of course told the consultant about the man’s fascination with the fire, but he’d been unimpressed by the girl’s unwanted interference and had dismissed it as a possible past memory.
“It was a distraction… a fascination with the flickering and dancing flames, nothing more Miss Monroe. I’ve seen children react in exactly the same way on bonfire night… they’re hypnotic.”
As Martha’s eyes continued to be drawn towards her own reflection, she tried to imagine what it must be like to have no memory but found it an impossible task. She had too many memories to consciously block them all out and just as she’d blocked out one part of her life, others seeped out into her conscious, followed by others, until in the end, like some great dam bursting, every memory suddenly burst back into her mind.
In some respects, she thought that the man was fortunate to have had such a total loss, for it meant that he didn’t know what he’d forgotten and if he didn’t know what he’d forgotten, he couldn’t rue its passing or be hurt by some distance painful memory.
~~~~~
Her father had only paid fleeting attention to the identity of the stranger lying in the hospital bed but after watching his daughter religiously leave the house for the past week to catch the bus into Inverness, he’d decided that he ought to see for himself why she was spending so much time at the bedside of a complete stranger, but especially why she seemed fixated by the man and the mystery surrounding his appearance at the hotel. At first he’d understood that she might feel some degree of responsibility for his wellbeing after he’d stumbled into her life, but the incessant discussions at every mealtime about who he might be or where he might have come from, had become both tiresome but more importantly to the doctor, very worrying.
“But there’s no need for you to be here Martha.” He’d said upon finding his daughter sat by the man’s bedside staring vacantly into space. “I’ve spoken to his consultant and according to the chart he’s physically in good shape. His blood pressure and pulse are completely normal, his blood tests have all fallen within the acceptable limits and his EEG trace shows no lasting dam
age to his brain.” Dr Monroe had considered his next few words carefully… in fact he’d thought of nothing else all the while he’d been driving into Inverness.
“Whatever happened to the man is none of your concern. We should let the police do their job and leave the man’s recovery to the doctors.” He’d implored with little conviction. It wasn’t what he’d intended to say but seeing his daughter sat by the man’s bedside had erased all the well-chosen words he’d had practiced on the drive to the hospital.
Martha hadn’t immediately reacted to her father but had merely continued to watch the man sleep, as his chest rose and fell in rhythm to the monitors that were still attached to his body.
“But father…” She’d replied with a heavy heart and a grieving sad voice. “The authorities never found the driver who drove into mother… what makes you think they’ll be any more successful this time?” Martha had asked, turning her attention from the stranger to her father. Her eyes, which were so reminiscent of her mother’s, tore into his soul and brought all his guilt brimming to the fore of his consciousness.
“Anyway, the doctor says his injuries could have been the result of some form of blunt force trauma, such as a vicious beating or a heavy fall… in truth nobody is sure what happened to him.”
Martha had found it difficult to forget her mother’s accident and the fact that her father hadn’t be there, but instead had attended a premature birth at one of the outlying farms that dotted the countryside around Cromarty, rather than go for the walk and picnic that her parents had planned and so looked forward to. But worse was her own deep felt guilt at not being there when her mother had died… she’d never said goodbye, never told her how much she loved her and never let her rest in peace in the knowledge that she’d look after her father when her mother was gone.
“But the police have been adamant, there have been no serious assaults or missing persons reported within a hundred miles of Inverness.”
“So?” Martha hadn’t been sure that made any difference to the man’s situation.
“So… the man’s injuries couldn’t have happened much before three or four hours before he turned up at the hotel… which is the reason the police think that he must have been a victim of a hit and run accident.”
“But father, he was dressed for a night out not a hike across the countryside and surely if it had happened after a night out, somebody would have reported him missing by now? What about Glasgow or Edinburgh?” She’d asked desperately.
“That’s for the police to consider… they’re the experts. I wouldn’t expect them to offer me advice on any of my patients… and anyway how do you explain how he got here with those injuries, in the time allowed? Please be reasonable, it’s just not possible.”
Dr Monroe hadn’t been oblivious to the look of disappointment that crossed his daughter’s face, it had been one of the reasons that he’d not wanted her to get too closely attached to the man or his mysterious past.
“Now let’s go home.” He’d said more out of hope than any expectation that his daughter would accede to his request.
“I’ll make you a deal.” Martha had replied, ushering her father from the small private ward. “Why don’t you go see Mrs Davies… she’s on ward 31 and I’ll wait here, and then when you’ve finished with her, we’ll go home together. Mrs Henderson told me that she was doing your favourite sausages with neeps and tatties tonight.” Martha had said gently, as she’d lovingly kissed her father on his cheek. She knew that whatever guilt she felt over her mother’s death, it was nothing compared to the cataclysmic grief her father had suffered.
After her father had gone about his other business, Martha had returned to the quietness of the sideward and stared at the man who she thought was quite attractive, in an older sort of way. The nurses, who had been more vocal in their admiration of the patient than Martha, had run a sweepstake since his admission and had placed him anywhere between twenty five and forty five. Personally, Martha thought he looked around thirty four but the streaks of grey hair that had begun to show at his temples might tempt some to think him older but she was working on the man’s overall complexion. He’d not been wearing a wedding ring and hadn’t got a watch… either of which might have given them a stronger lead to his actual age and unlike a horse, his teeth weren’t any great indicator, excepting for the fact that he’d obviously brushed and flossed regularly. But that avenue of investigation had been ruled out by the intransigence of the police officers.
“Do you know miss just how many dentists there are in the country?” They’d said in the most condescending tone possible.
Martha had ignored the comment, except for the stinging glare that she’d shot back at the inspector. As with her mother’s case, it seemed to her that once they had a fixed line of investigation, nothing… not even the blindingly obvious could change their minds.
~~~~~
Looking away from her own reflection and down at the sleeping stranger, Martha felt uncomfortable with the emotions that had begun to well up inside her every time she stood close to the man. Flushed and hot, she was embarrassed at such surges in her feelings and emotions for someone that she didn’t know the first thing about.
Her embarrassment caused her to avert her eyes from the man and whilst looking round the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and like any young girl who had just started to discover themselves for the first time, Martha played with her short boyish hair.
She was a brunette with dark chocolate eyes that had never benefited from much makeup… just a little now and then when she was working at the hotel but nothing like some of the girls and the women she’d seen in the town. Her mother had always told her that less was best… she should let her undoubted natural beauty flow outwards from her unblemished skin. Anyway, she’d never been taught how to apply any makeup, never had a real chance to watch her mother and copy what she did. Then after her mother’s death, she’d left school just at the time when her friends were all starting to swap magazines, tell each other stories about their exploits with boys… what worked, what didn’t, what they liked, what they hated in a girl, but especially fashion and makeup.
Entranced by her own inexperience, she stood and turned her head from side to side, as she tried to imagine herself with longer hair and wondered if the man in the mirror had a preference and if so what would it have been… perhaps it might have changed with his accident. What he liked now might be completely different from what he had once thought attractive. What if before his preference was for women with dark hair, but now it had changed and he liked blonds better, maybe his preferences had moved onto long curls away from short and straight hair?
Anyway, she thought modestly, she wasn’t particularly attractive, a fact admirably demonstrated by her complete lack of boyfriends.
She’d been an only child, who’d stayed at home to look after her father, following the death of her mother, and had only been given the job at the hotel because Mr Fitzgerald felt beholden to her father for attending to him out of surgery hours like he had. What would someone like the stranger see in her… a twenty three year old virgin, who’d never even kissed a boy before, let alone had a fumble and a grope in the shelter on the beach like most of the other girls her age?
But there was something about the man that was different from all the other men and boys of the town or even the visitors who stayed at the hotel… he was the only one she’d found attractive enough to call handsome in a rugged sort of way.
Using the mirror, as if it were hung on her bedroom wall and with the man still at the forefront of her thoughts, she scrunched her hair about a little more and tried to make it look different… but nothing seemed to work. Instead, like a horse about to be sold at auction, she curled up her lips and barred her teeth for inspection…
“I thought they put the mirror there for my benefit.” The man’s voice made her flush and turn round quickly to face him. Her hands dropped down, away from her mouth and grabbed hold of the
bed for support. She felt guilty enough at being caught like a naughty schoolgirl playing with her mother’s lipstick, without a fainting spell adding to her already ruddy complexion.
“So you’ve decided to wake up then.” She chastised in a playful sort of way, as she quickly recovered some of her composure. Working at the hotel had been good for her confidence… even her father had noticed the difference in her demeanour since taking the job. The change though had been a painful transition for the doctor to watch, as Martha had appeared to get more like her mother as each day passed.
“You know when I’ve come all this way to see you on my day off, the least a gentleman could do is be awake.” She added with a slight curtsey.
“Who said I was asleep and who told you I was a gentleman?” The man bounced the ball back and pulled himself upright.
“Here, let me help. I’m very good at fluffing pillows, making beds and looking after sick people.” She said with a sadness that made the man think for a moment.
“I would imagine…” He started to say, as she stretched across him to adjust the bedding but her perfume drew both his attention and his senses. He stopped talking and took a deep breath. The scent was divine… and far better than the starched uniforms of the nurses and the antiseptic gels that were used every time one of them touched him.
“… I would imagine that you are good at a great many things Martha. Someone must be very lucky?” He didn’t really mean it as a question and certainly didn’t want to embarrass her but both happened.
The use of her name made Martha realise that he must have been listening and probably watching her all the time and that made her feel strangely violated, as if she’d caught a peeping tom looking at her through her bedroom window… he had no business doing that, there could be no excuse for spying on someone, for invading their privacy… then the realisation of the truth hit her and washed away her anger. She’d invaded his privacy… this was his room and she’d not even noticed that he’d been conscious… what sort of useless friend and nurse did that make her. Her smile, which went unnoticed, was involuntary, as was the warm feeling that hearing him use her name gave her.
Stranger at the Wedding Page 10