It was extraordinarily frustrating to be able to use only one hand. The toothbrush kept going all over the place and finally, with an eldritch wail of rage, I had to ask Rose to put the toothpaste on for me. Finally clean enough for her liking, she led me to bed and instructed me to get in and stop talking. ‘I’d have been in here ages ago if it hadn’t been for you,’ I grumbled.
She majestically ignored me. The bed might be quaint and very pretty, but it was a damn sight too high for anyone shaky on their pins. I sat on it and tried to swing my legs up, I wriggled and squirmed and got into the bed at last and leant back against the pillows, trying to place my shoulder so it was resting against some support.
‘Here, let me do that,’ she said, leaning over and tweaking one of the pillows out so my arm fell down on the mattress. ‘Oops. Sorry. I didn’t hurt you, did I?’
When I could speak again I said through gritted teeth, ‘Just a bit. Never mind, it’s good practice for when I become a secret agent and have to get used to being tortured on a regular basis.’
‘I didn’t mean to do it,’ she protested, then asked, ‘would you like me to leave you alone?’
I closed my eyes. ‘Yes please.’ I think I was asleep before she’d got as far as the door.
I spent nearly the whole day drifting in and out of sleep, so dopey that I barely noticed the discomfort from my aching shoulder. I was vaguely aware of Rose coming in and out. Once when I opened my eyes a large vase of lilac had appeared on the mantelpiece, the next time there was a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table. She popped her head around the door later that evening and, seeing I was awake, came in with an armful of books and magazines. ‘Here’s something for you to read,’ she said, dumping them on the bed beside me. The thoughtfulness of her gesture was only slightly marred by the magazines that landed on my knee, which though damaged in a strictly small-fry way still didn’t appreciate having several months’ worth of Tatler dumped on it. She stood over me, hands on hips, while she examined me carefully. I’d have been more impressed by the level of scrutiny if I’d thought she had any idea of what she was supposed to be looking for. ‘Well, you look better, at least,’ she said at last. ‘This morning you looked as if you were about to pop your clogs at any moment. Do you want something to eat?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, ‘but thanks.’
She frowned in a terrifying imitation of my mother. ‘I’m sure you should eat. How are you going to get better if you starve yourself?’ she asked in a worried voice. There goes Mum again, I thought, but thought better of saying so. Fond as she is of my mother, I didn’t think that Rose would relish being compared to an ageing ex-hippie who conceals her spreading waistline under brightly coloured gypsy caftans. ‘What about Heinz Cream of Tomato soup and Jacob’s crackers?’ she coaxed. ‘I’m sure you could manage that.’
I had to laugh. An unwise move, as my shoulder didn’t appreciate the vibration. Though it was one of the few things that we’d never compared notes on as far as I knew, it seemed that Rose and I had shared identical nursery comfort food.
‘That would be super,’ I said knowing well that if I refused the next things on offer would be boiled eggs, soldiers and hot Ribena.
Actually, it was just the ticket and made me realise that it was nearly twenty-four hours since I’d had my last meal at the Flying Duck. So much for all my worries about the manner in which the evening was going to end, I thought, as I crumbled a cracker into the soup so that it made a lovely gooey mess. Luke put paid to that. I hoped the rather drastic manner in which he’d done it hadn’t been intentional. No, I was sure it wasn’t. He couldn’t have been that desperate to get out of giving me a goodnight kiss. Besides, what man deliberately damages his own car? It’d be like damaging a certain part of his anatomy and I doubted Luke was that different from other men.
‘What’s happened to Luke?’ I asked, swallowing a mouthful of tepid soup. Rose had taken the instructions to heat it over a gentle flame to extremes. ‘Did he get back home all right?’
‘He got a taxi from the hospital,’ she said, sitting on the end of the bed and multitasking by entertaining the bedridden while painting her nails a new shade of browny red. ‘He was going to see about the car, and then to bed, but he said that he’d probably call in here to see how you are tomorrow.’ She grinned at me. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll help you wash your hair and titivate yourself up into looking like the thoroughly glamorous modern invalid.’
‘I reckon I’ll need all the help I can get,’ I said gloomily. ‘I’m mirror-cracking material at the moment.’
She examined me closely, head cocked to one side. ‘Not precisely,’ she said carefully, ‘though you do look a bit battered.'
‘Like a chicken? Thanks a lot!’ I retorted.
‘You know that isn’t what I meant,’ she said, unruffled, as she held out her hand to admire the effect. ‘Mm, it’s a good colour, isn’t it? Sets off what’s left of my tan perfectly. Did I hear Luke right? Did you really go into a sheep?’
‘It was a ram called Houdini and, Houdini-like, it escaped,’ I confirmed.
She giggled. ‘It’s not the coolest cause of an accident, is it? And Luke’s fond of his image too,’ she said indulgently. ‘Do you think he’ll ever live it down?’
‘At least he didn’t go into a pig,’ I said. ‘There’d be something about telling people your car was wrecked by a Gloucester Old Spot that would make even the most miserable git giggle!’
‘If I were you I wouldn’t offer that as comfort. He didn’t seem to me to be in the mood for flippant comments,’ she said with unwonted severity. ‘He’s going to have enough of a problem explaining everything to the insurance company. But when they’ve stopped laughing they’ll have to pay up, won’t they? Or the farmer’s insurance will. It’s not as if it’s Luke’s fault, is it? He’s awfully worried you’re going to blame him for the accident though,’ she added casually, examining her index finger carefully and rubbing off the tiniest smudge with a cotton bud.
Rose and Luke seemed to have made time for a extended chat, I thought. I shrugged which was a mistake. ‘If he hadn’t been in a filthy mood about missing the turning, driving too fast and apologising to me all at the same time it wouldn’t have happened.’ She looked up at me reproachfully. ‘OK, OK, if Houdini had been properly in his field it wouldn’t have happened either. It’s just one of those things. I’m not badly hurt and let’s look on the bright side,’ I added, as she still seemed to be worried on Luke’s behalf, ‘with luck, by the time I get back Stephen’ll be so glad to see me he’ll have forgotten he tried to sack me twice yesterday.’
‘Twice? What did you do this time, Susie?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘His girlfriend was giving him a hard time so he took it out on the nearest target.’
She looked at me through narrowed eyes. ‘I’m sure you’re telling the truth, but it’s funny how you’re the one who always seems to get it in the neck and yet it’s never your fault.’ Had she ever heard that you aren’t supposed to bully invalids? ‘I can’t think what you’ve done to put his back up,’ she said severely. ‘He sounded so nice on the phone. And was so worried about you when I rang to say what had happened. He wanted to know if there was anything you needed and if he should come round.’
‘Probably needs to know where something is,’ I said, and earned myself a shocked look for my cynicism. I yawned, hoping Rose would take the hint.
Five minutes later she looked at her large brightly coloured Swatch. ‘I suppose I should be going down to get something ready for Jeremy’s supper,’ she said without urgency.
My eyelids were growing heavy. Heinz Cream of Tomato beats Mogadon as a soporific any day. ‘Well, don’t let me keep you,’ I said hopefully.
‘It won’t do him any harm to wait for a bit. I bet he’s round in Flavia’s wing anyway. She summoned him to discuss this property thing, we had another letter this morning…’
I yawned again, this time a real stretche
r with loads of sound effects and in-drawing of breath and little groans in the back of the throat. Even Rose couldn’t ignore that. ‘You look sleepy,’ she announced as if she was making a discovery, ‘I’d better leave you to get some rest,’ and got up, sending a pile of magazines hurtling to the floor. ‘I’ll look in later and see if you’re awake,’ she promised.
I grunted and slid further down into my pillows.
It was daylight before I was woken again by the noise of my bedroom door closing. I turned my head slowly to see a loaded breakfast tray on the table next to the bed, a delicious scent of coffee permeating the air. I realised I was feeling much better. Not get up and run a marathon sort of better, or even a brisk stroll around the grounds sort of better, but no longer feeling as if I’d been put through the hot wash on the extended spin-cycle. I pushed myself up, a sharp twinge from my shoulder reminding me I might feel better, but not that good, and downed a couple of my pills with a much appreciated coffee chaser.
I was delighted to see Rose come in mid-morning with a bag of my things which she’d fetched from the cottage. My own nightie was going to be a great relief. Hers, though absolutely gorgeous and trimmed with lace that had probably been made by a whole convent of nuns, was the sort of thing to be seen in and perhaps have taken off you if you’re lucky, but not so hot for actually sleeping in. All that lace was scratchy and it was floor-length and quite narrow, which made climbing up into that high bed about as easy as if I’d been wearing hobbles. I went off to my enormous en-suite bathroom, ignoring Rose’s suggestions that she should hang around in case I got into difficulties getting out of the bath. ‘I’m not eighty, you know. And if I get into trouble I promise I’ll let you know by letting the water out in three short bursts at a time - all you have to do is watch the drainpipe.’
‘But I wouldn’t know what drainpipe to watch,’ she began. ‘Maybe I should leave my mobile with you . . .’
‘I don’t think mobiles and bathrooms are a good combination,’ I interrupted. ‘I’ll end up by electrocuting myself. Go on, I’ll be fine.’ I shooed her out, wondering when her enthusiasm for playing Florence Nightingale was going to come to an end. I was finding it quite exhausting, but at least since even Rose wouldn’t smoke in a sickroom I got a respite from all that care every so often while she rushed out for a nicotine fix.
I’d been thinking vaguely about getting dressed after my bath, but the bed looked so inviting that I climbed back into it for another kip. I’d be going for the world sleep record at this rate, I thought drowsily as I nodded off. I woke to a familiar sound that I couldn’t place for a moment. A car backfiring? A pop gun? Then I realised it had been a champagne cork coming out of the bottle. There was the clink of glasses and then I heard Rose’s distinctive low throaty laugh, followed by the murmur of another voice. Curious, then as Rose laughed again, suspicious, I climbed out of bed and went over to the sash window, and looked down at the terrace below.
‘The cow!’ I breathed furiously as I saw Rose, dressed in jeans and a shirt tied at the waist, sitting on the terrace wall, half-empty champagne glass in one hand, laughing as she gestured towards Luke, who was lounging back comfortably in a white iron chair. Why hadn’t she told me he was coming over? She’d promised to help me wash my hair. I needed make-up, a complete makeover, you name it, before he could be allowed to see me. I dashed into the bathroom, where I’d brushed my teeth and washed my face earlier in near-darkness, with the light over the basin mirror turned off. I hadn’t dared check to see if my face matched the spectacular yellow and purple bruising down my left side. And I’d thought pink was a bad colour to go with my shade of hair.
Now, taking a deep breath, I stood in front of the mirror, flipped the light switch and braced myself for the worst. It wasn’t quite as bad as I’d feared. I won’t say I looked great, but I didn’t think that passing dogs in the street would start barking at me. I got to work, concealing, highlighting, lining, shading, mascaraing, brushing, combing, until I looked a reasonable semblance of my normal self. I contemplated the merits of glamour over comfort in the matter of nightwear. Glamour won hands down. I dived into the laundry basket to retrieve Rose’s nightie, only to find someone must have emptied it while I was asleep. Luke was going to feast his eyes on me clad in my present from Granny last Christmas. Unfortunately, a present from respectable Granny, not wicked Granny, so it was high-necked, voluminous and definitely from the serviceable rather than the enticing end of the nightie range.
I knew Rose well enough to be sure she’d come up after the bottle was finished and not before. I wandered over to the window to judge where the tidemark was and guess when I should expect them. A bottle and two abandoned glasses lay on the table. They must be on their way up, I thought and then hearing a distant sound craned my head to look along the length of the terrace. They were walking off across the gardens towards the ha-ha and the old folly, Rose’s hand tucked companionably in Luke’s arm as they chatted.
It was a good hour and a half before Rose’s flushed face peeped around the door. ‘Oh, you’re awake,’ she said. ‘We looked in before but you were asleep…’
‘We?’ I asked frostily.
‘Mm.’ She nodded. ‘Me and Luke. He didn’t want to risk disturbing you, so he sent you his love and said he was delighted you seemed to be so much better.’ She giggled. ‘I told him you were getting bossy again so it must be a good sign.’ Belatedly she took in my made-up, primped and scented appearance and her hand flew up to her mouth. ‘Oh God, Susie, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise you’d woken up.’
‘It didn’t occur to you that all that carousing on the terrace might have woken me?’ I asked, unmollified.
‘You call that carousing? We only had one bottle,’ retorted Rose indignantly, coming in and perching on the side of the bed. She smiled at me contritely. ‘Honestly, I thought he was coming this evening not this afternoon and I did think you were asleep.’ I eyed her severely for signs of insincerity. She looked back at me with wide, clear, untroubled blue eyes. It almost certainly meant that she hadn’t been too particular in checking to see if I was really asleep, probably stood at the other end of the corridor and hissed, ‘Susie, are you awake?’ not surprisingly getting the non-reply she wanted. She could then go off with only a slightly spotted conscience and indulge in a pleasant hour or so of wistful remembrance of what might have been.
‘We spent longer than we intended on our walk and when we got back here he said he had to go. He was running late, as usual. He’s borrowing his grandmother’s car while his is being sorted out and he had to have it back by three so the carer could take Grandma to the clinic, otherwise he’d have come up to see you, I promise.’
‘So where did you and Luke go?’ I asked, leaning back against the pillows, hoping that my casual tone wasn’t revealing the sudden spasm of sickening jealousy that had made my hands curl for a moment into little claws. Why had they spent longer than they intended? Had what I’d presumed was simply going to be a bit of mild flirtation on Rose’s part - par for the course really, as she can’t resist flirting with most males out of nappies - developed into something altogether more steamy and passionate? Had she been unable to resist the temptation to see what she’d missed out on five years ago? She was married, for heaven’s sake, and she had no right to move in on my territory, I thought venomously, ignoring the horridly commonsensical and disgustingly honest voice pointing out that in fact Luke wasn’t my territory. Not yet. I scanned her quickly for tell-tale leaves and grass stains on her white shirt, but all I could see were damp lines around the bottom of her jeans, a legacy from walking in long grass.
‘Just around,’ she said vaguely, which did absolutely nothing to reduce my general suspicion level. Then perhaps even she felt a little amplification was necessary, for she went on, ‘There are one or two nice walks through the woods, you’ll have to come with us one day. We went along the back drive and skirted the farm, and ended up having a look at the infamous toad pond. We didn’t see
any though, but Luke was interested in it because he says he was quite a naturist in his younger days.’
‘He was?’ I asked, my mind filling with some interesting visions. What exactly did Luke mean by his younger days? I hoped he meant at least sixteen and not six, that would be too disappointing.
‘Yes,’ said Rose, puzzled, then caught on and began to laugh. ‘I think I probably mean a naturalist, don’t I? Oh dear, what a shame. And here was I hoping we could persuade Luke to demonstrate his latest toad-watching techniques.’
The last remnants of my jealous fit were washed away in a prolonged session of giggling as she made several unrepeatable suggestions about what naturists might have to wear by means of protective gear when out wearing their naturalist hats.
‘You know, I’d never been down there before,’ she said thoughtfully after a few minutes. ‘I knew it, of course, but I hadn’t actually walked around it. I’m beginning to wonder if a development there would be such a bad thing after all. It’s not that close to the house and it’d be completely screened by a belt of trees. We’d hardly know it was there. And I bet lots of the locals would find jobs on the building site too.’
‘What about it being the wrong sort of development, with the wrong sort of houses?’ I asked.
‘Maybe I was too prejudiced,’ she said. ‘It’s reverse snobbery, isn’t it, refusing to allow townies the benefits of the countryside? It’s not as if they could overwhelm the village, it’s already got seven hundred inhabitants so it can easily cope with another seventy or so. And they’d bring wealth into the area too.’ She sat gazing out into space, tapping one fingernail against her tooth. ‘There’d be more children to go to the village school, that’s always a good thing.’
‘Wouldn’t they be sending their children to the private school in Frampton?’ I asked. ‘The one where all the children walk in crocodiles and wear hats?’
Seven Week Itch Page 15