by Kathy Shuker
‘Hello,’ said Louisa, glancing round. ‘By yourself?’
‘Yes. I’ve been for a walk. Eleanor’s laid up with a bad cold so I decided to stay away and let her rest.’
‘Poor Eleanor. She is in the wars.’ Louisa carried on walking and Jo fell into step.
‘Nice day. Busy now though.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re doing the workshops with Imogen this week, aren’t you? How’s it going? I guess it’s been difficult at times, being the newcomer. All the others seem to have been doing them forever.’
Louisa stopped and turned, meeting Jo’s eyes, her face expressionless.
‘Did you mean something by that?’
‘No. In what way?’
Silence. ‘I don’t find it difficult,’ Louisa said eventually. ‘I couldn’t speak for anyone else. It’s such a well-oiled machine that I just go with the flow and do my bit. Anyway, I like to think I bring something fresh to the table.’
She began walking again and Jo went with her. They reached the bottom of the path that led up to the estate and started the climb in single file. The increased effort made Louisa hot and she lifted a hand to push the hair back off her face, ramming it behind her ears. Jo kept close and, as the path turned, caught the definite glint of earrings. It looked like Louisa wore two pairs.
‘Louisa,’ she said, ‘did you stay around Skymeet the night Eleanor fell? The reason I’m…’
‘I know.’ Louisa interrupted her sharply and stopped again, almost making Jo walk into the back of her. She turned. ‘I heard. You’re fretting over some cryptic note Eleanor wrote. Really Jo, you can’t truly believe there’s been some sort of conspiracy? It’s too horrible. Anyway don’t you think you’ve got enough on your plate without playing super sleuth? Maybe you’ve edited too many murder mysteries.’
She had been waiting for the question, Jo was sure of it, had wanted it to be asked so she could dismiss it.
‘I’m only making some casual enquiries to see whether it’s worth handing the thing over to the police,’ said Jo.
‘The police? Good grief. Not them again.’
Louisa started off again. The path widened and Jo managed to move alongside.
‘Let me see…’ Louisa nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I did stay on the estate. Frank had abandoned me and dashed off to Exeter with Mari and I was tired after the travelling so I had a lazy evening. I went to the den to watch a little television.’ She stopped again, breathless, and pushed some hair that had escaped back behind her ear. ‘Steep isn’t it? Anyway, I think I had a short walk but I didn’t see any strangers hanging around. I generally draw the curtains in the evening in the apartment anyway, especially if I’m alone.’ She paused, her eyes fixed on Jo’s. ‘Do you really think the note is important?’
‘I’ve no idea but probably not. Eleanor’s always scribbling notes to herself. They don’t make much sense to anyone else.’ Jo’s gaze shifted slightly. ‘Pretty earrings.’
Louisa was wearing neat teardrop pale sapphires, set in gold, hanging delicately from the bottom of each ear. On each side, a little higher up, was a small opal set in a gold stud.
‘Thank you.’ Louisa automatically put her free hand up to finger one of them. ‘Frank bought them for me.’ She started walking again.
‘How is Frank?’
‘He’s gone off on one of his “musings”. He says it’s the only way he can compose. Just when you think you’ve got something planned, oh no, an urge overcomes him and he has to go off alone.’ She snorted. ‘It drives me mad. And then there he is, suddenly back again.’ She stopped suddenly and smiled sheepishly. ‘I don’t know. These poets, what’s to be done with them?’
‘Where does he go?’
They had reached the gate and Jo keyed in the week’s code to open it.
‘You tell me,’ said Louisa as she passed through. ‘You’ve known him longer than me. He never says. And I daren’t come between the man and his muse, dare I?’ She was trying to sound flippant but only succeeded in sounding petulant.
‘I suppose not. But at least he has his muse. Eleanor used to say he was like a bear with a sore head when he couldn’t write his poetry.’
Louisa darted her a reproachful look. ‘Did she indeed. Tell me, have you been asking Vincent questions too?’
‘Not yet. You think he was around?’
‘I know he was. We saw him when we arrived.’
‘Then I’ll speak to him.’
They were back walking in single file and the conversation died. As the path spilled them out into the open ground near the house, Louisa stopped and turned.
‘When you go to see Vincent, ask him what he was doing heading for the house on that Friday night. I didn’t see any strangers but I did see him and he looked angry. He was drunk too; I could tell from the way he was walking. He’s a pig when he’s drunk. Everyone says so.’
‘Did you tell the police this?’
Louisa laughed sardonically.
‘He’d deny it. Or say he saw me going there for spite. No, Jo dear, I’ve learnt to keep my head down around here. I find it doesn’t do to make waves. Like you said: I’m the newcomer. Some people resent that. But I don’t like being accused of things.’
‘Who’s accusing you of anything?’
‘Really? How disingenuous.’ Louisa smiled sweetly. ‘But of course, you’re just asking questions. Personally, I think you’re very brave.’
She raised her eyebrows and left.
Jo stood and watched her walk away. There was nothing fragile about Louisa. She was a very bitter woman and interestingly keen to implicate Vincent. She would definitely bear further investigation.
*
It was nearly eight o’clock when Frank finally returned to the apartment. Louisa was writing, sitting at the small utilitarian table against the further wall, a table lamp throwing a circle of light over her laptop and notes in stark contrast to the gloom in the rest of the room. She barely looked up as he entered.
‘Hi,’ he said, throwing his rucksack on the floor. ‘Sorry I’m late. I got involved in something and couldn’t leave it alone.’
She nodded but said nothing, her attention apparently fixed on the screen of her computer though her fingers weren’t moving. She was freezing him out, making him suffer for leaving her. For all that she was a writer, Louisa didn’t understand the particular energies he needed to feed off in order to write his poetry. Frank knew himself well. He couldn’t write in a confined space, with other people around. He had to wander, find isolated places to sit, away from any bustle. He couldn’t settle either; when he was on a writing binge, he was nomadic.
He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, massaging them.
‘Had a hard day?’ he asked. Her muscles were tense and hard.
‘You could say that.’
‘Tell me about it.’
She saved what she had been doing and snapped the lid of the laptop down, turning in her seat, shrugging his hands away.
‘Shouldn’t we go and eat? It’s getting late.’
‘You haven’t eaten?’ He stepped back, surprised.
‘You mean you have? I was waiting for you.’
‘Darling, I’m sorry. I never thought. I grabbed something while I was out because the time was going on. I just assumed you’d do the same.’
‘You assumed. It didn’t cross your mind to phone me?’
‘I’m sorry, no. I was wrapped up in the words. I can’t risk stopping the flow, you see. Anyway, we can go out. We can have a drink and you can get something to eat. Hell, I’ll have something to keep you company. How’s that?’
She stood up, mollified, he thought. He wondered where to take her. Everywhere was so busy in August.
‘Perhaps we should try The Watchmaker?’ he suggested. ‘It’s one of your favourites isn’t it?’
‘Were you really writing or have you been to see Eleanor again?’
/>
That hurt. ‘No. Of course not. Why do you ask?’
‘Going off like that. All day. I know she still holds some fascination for you. I know she does, Frank.’
‘Well you’re wrong. I’ve told you before.’ Now she was irritating him.
Louisa hadn’t moved; she was standing square on to him, her expression stony and unflinching. ‘I thought you said Jo was harmless.’
He laughed at the absurdity of the remark, then regretted it. Louisa wasn’t joking. Her mouth was pursed up in a tight button, her eyes hard with something he couldn’t identify. Fear perhaps.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked. ‘When did you see Jo?’
‘I went to the shop. She walked back with me from the village.’
He nodded slowly. ‘What did you talk about?’
‘All sorts. As you do.’
‘And she was asking questions again?’
‘She went too far, Frank. She was virtually accusing me.’
‘Of what?’
‘She was playing games. Very clever games.’ Louisa raised a finger and waved it at him. ‘You see, this is what you expose me to when you leave me here alone. Why do you keep going off like that? And today of all days when I had something I particularly wanted to tell you.’
She put the back of her hand up to brush her cheek and turned away.
‘Something you wanted to tell me? What was it?’
She walked to the wardrobe and pulled a light jacket off a hanger, shrugging it round her shoulders.
‘It doesn’t matter. I need to get something to eat. Shall we go?’
He walked across to her and put his arms around her. After a moment the anger fell away from her and she relaxed into his embrace, resting her head against his chest.
‘Oh Frank, I’m sorry. I’m being…well, I’m not sure what I am. I guess I’m just feeling kind of vulnerable right now. My silly old hormones are playing up. But I do love you so. And I was excited and then disappointed because you weren’t here.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ he murmured, stroking her hair. ‘Going off by myself like that, it’s just the way I am. It’s the only way I can work. I don’t mean to hurt you.’
‘I know. I suppose I’ll get used to it.’
‘I hope so. I think I’m too old to change my ways now.’
‘I hope you can change them a little.’ She laughed softly into his rugby shirt. ‘Darling you’re going to have to.’
‘What do you mean?’
She pulled away from him and looked up coyly. ‘I’m late coming on, Frank.’
He frowned. ‘You’re late?’
‘Oh come on, don’t be obtuse. Don’t you see what I’m trying to tell you?’ She smiled. ‘My period’s late. And I did one of those tests earlier and it showed it. I’m pregnant, darling. Isn’t that amazing? I didn’t think I’d have this chance now at my age. I thought it had passed me by.’
Frank said nothing, staring at her.
‘Well, aren’t you pleased?’ she said.
‘But I thought you’d been taking precautions.’
‘Darling, mistakes happen. But it feels like a thing to be. We’d better not tell anyone else just yet though. It’s still so early, it might be tempting providence.’ She stopped, looking concerned. ‘Frank darling, I thought you’d be pleased.’
He pulled her close again, staring sightlessly over the top of her head. ‘Yes…yes, of course I am. That’s wonderful news. I’m just a little shocked. I’m… I mean, we didn’t plan it, did we? I’ll need time to get used to the idea.’
*
Jo rang ahead and visited The Moorhill Centre on the Saturday afternoon. It was an old granite building which stood in rolling countryside on the northern slopes of the moor. No doubt it had been a grand house in its time but it had been altered and extended over the years. It now offered twenty en suite rooms, some recreational space and a range of rehabilitation facilities - including a pool - mostly in modern single storey satellite buildings. The buildings were pleasingly light and airy and the staff were professional but friendly, giving her an extended tour. The current ‘residents’ seen in the sitting room and manoeuvring around the passageways and grounds appeared happy and at ease. There was no doubt Eleanor would be safe here for a while, cared for and helped to get stronger. It solved several problems at once and Jo embraced the idea gratefully. It did mean getting Eleanor’s agreement however. More problematically, it also meant persuading Lawrence to sort out the financial implications.
Arriving back at Skymeet around five o’clock, Sidney again failed to meet her. He was becoming very independent. She was both pleased and perversely disappointed. Sidney had become a comforting companion and she missed having him round the house. He didn’t appear all that evening and by the time she was ready to go to bed, there was still no sign of him. She went out into the garden and walked round, calling his name, pausing, waiting, but there was no answering yowl of recognition, no sudden movement from the trees or warmth at her ankles. In the end she had to go to bed without him in the house. It felt very empty and she struggled to get to sleep. It was the first time he had ever stayed out all night.
It was out of character and that bothered her.
Chapter 14
Jo was talking, very intense and animated, but Eleanor wasn’t listening. She was remembering playing a duet on the piano with her niece when the girl hadn’t long come to live with her. Jo would have been maybe sixteen or seventeen. No, sixteen. But what stuck in Eleanor’s mind was that Jo had laughed. They had started playing an arrangement of a Scott Joplin rag for two people - which one she couldn’t remember - and had both speeded up inexorably until they were racing through it. They had got out of time, then back in again, and had somehow managed to finish together. While the final chord was still vibrating round the room, they had both burst out laughing.
It was the first time Jo had laughed since she’d arrived at Skymeet, the first time Eleanor had heard her laugh since Candida had died.
‘Eleanor, did you hear me?’ Jo was saying now, frowning, her lovely face all puckered and serious.
‘Mm? No, no. Sorry. I wasn’t listening.’ She fixed the girl with a look. ‘You don’t laugh enough, Jo.’
‘Sorry?’
‘You don’t laugh enough. We used to laugh, didn’t we?’
Jo smiled. What a relief. Every time she came to visit she looked so severe, so concerned.
‘Yes we used to laugh,’ said Jo. ‘What were you thinking about exactly?’
‘Playing duets,’ said Eleanor. She still felt a thrill of pleasure at being able to speak so clearly. Duets wasn’t something she could have said not long ago.
‘Yes,’ agreed Jo, ‘we had fun playing the piano together, didn’t we? We’ll do that again soon.’
‘Good.’
‘But you need to get all your movements back first. That’s why I was just telling you about the rehabilitation centre that the doctor mentioned. You’ll get a lot of physiotherapy there and it’ll get you back on your feet more quickly.’
‘Re-hab-il-it…it-at-ion centre,’ Eleanor repeated slowly.
‘It’s not far from Exeter, on the edge of Dartmoor.’
‘I don’t like hospitals. I want to go home.’
‘I know. And I want you home. But I want you better, and going to the rehab centre will help you get better more quickly. It’s not like this.’ Jo waved a hand to roughly indicate the ward. ‘It’s not a hospital. I checked it out. It’s more like a big hotel but with facilities to help you get stronger and independent again. You’ll have physio and speech therapy like you do here but much more intensively. Other activities too. It’s private so it has to be paid for but it’s much quieter than here. Nice rooms. It’d be worth it. Gets great reviews.’
‘Independent,’ repeated Eleanor. Odd words or sentences tended to catch her attention and stick, making all the other words drift away from her. ‘I hate asking for h
elp.’
Jo smiled again. ‘I know.’
‘Is there something wrong?’
The smile faded. ‘Wrong. What do you mean, wrong?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘No, there’s nothing wrong. I just want you to understand what the plan is. We need to make some arrangements and then you’ll be out of here and away to the edges of Dartmoor.’
‘Dartmoor.’ Eleanor nodded. ‘Cold then. I’ll need jumpers. And gloves.’
Jo grinned this time. Eleanor didn’t know why.
‘It’s August, Eleanor. I don’t think it’ll be that cold. So you’re happy to go? It’s important for you.’
Eleanor frowned. There was something her niece wasn’t telling her but Eleanor felt like this a lot. She was cut out of the loop; people kept making decisions for her without consulting her. Doctors would talk about her - either with each other or with a nurse - standing at the end of her bed, as if Eleanor were deaf or perhaps not there at all, just a lump of flesh in the chair. Often she was sure they talked about her at the nurses’ station, just out of her earshot. She could hear them laughing sometimes. Her impotence frustrated her.
‘I’m not happy,’ said Eleanor, still frowning. She leaned forward in the chair - a luxury now that she had regained some balance and didn’t need to be fastened in. ‘I know my brain is…isn’t working right yet but I’m not stupid, Jo.’ She paused, making an effort to enunciate and emphasise her next words. ‘Everyone treats me as if I’m stupid. I’m just…mu-muddled. I know things but when I want to say them…it sometimes comes out wrong. Bloody annoying. That…’ Eleanor pointed with a wagging finger. ‘…that doctor with the beard. Doesn’t talk to me. Keeps patting me on the hand and smiling, nodding his head…’ She nodded her own head to emphasise the point. ‘…like…like...those…those dogs in cars. I want to slap him.’
‘Don’t do that, Eleanor. You’ll be leaving soon. But I do understand. It’s frustrating for you. You’re the cleverest person I know. Not stupid at all. And it’s wonderful to see you getting better, day on day. But you have to trust me on this. Going to this rehab centre just for a short time is the best thing for you.’ Jo hesitated, fixing her striking eyes on Eleanor’s. ‘I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t think it was the right thing. You know I wouldn’t.’