by Marc Levy
She bundled up against the cold and tiptoed out of her flat. The old house was completely silent. Daldry was probably still asleep. Outside, the street was an immaculate white. It enchanted her to see the city transformed and to think how even the plainest houses had a certain beauty when cloaked in snow.
A bus was coming in her direction, so she ran to the stop and climbed aboard, buying her ticket from the conductor before settling onto the bench seat at the back.
Half an hour later, she walked into Hyde Park through Queen’s Gate, taking the diagonal footpath toward Kensington Palace. She stopped when she came to Round Pond. The ducks glided toward her across the inky-black water, hoping to be fed. On the other side of the pond, a man sitting on a bench waved in her direction. He stood and waved harder. It was Daldry. When he took some bread from his pocket and began tossing pieces of it into the water, the ducks shot off in his direction. Alice walked along the edge of the pond to meet him.
“What a surprise to see you here. Did you follow me?” Alice said.
“I was here first. How on earth could I have followed you?”
“What are you doing here?”
“I went out to get some fresh air and I found the bread in my pockets, so I decided I might as well give the ducks Christmas while I was at it. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, it’s just a place I like.”
Daldry broke a heel of stale bread in half and gave part of it to Alice.
“So our seaside escapade was all for naught.”
Alice crouched to feed the ducks and said nothing.
“I only mention it because I heard you pacing around. You didn’t sleep, did you?”
“I fell asleep, but I had a nightmare in the middle of the night.”
They had given away all of the bread. Daldry helped Alice up.
“Why don’t you tell me what that woman said?”
Alice recounted the fortune-teller’s predictions as they strolled down the deserted, snow-covered footpaths of Hyde Park. She even mentioned the moment when the woman had insisted that she wasn’t a fortune-teller at all.
“What a strange shift in attitude. But why did you stay after she admitted she was a fraud?” “Because it was precisely at that moment that I began to believe her. You may find it hard to credit, but I’m a rational person. I’m sure that if my best friend told me even a quarter of the things that woman said, I would never let her hear the end of it.”
“What bothers you so much about what she said?”
“What doesn’t bother me? Everything she told me is utterly shocking! Try to imagine yourself in my position.”
“And she said you should go to Istanbul?”
“Yes . . . Perhaps you can drive me in your Austin.”
“I’m afraid that Turkey is probably beyond our range of attack.”
They crossed paths with a couple coming from the other direction. Daldry waited for them to pass before he continued.
“I know what bothers you about this whole story. It’s that she promised you that the man of your dreams would be waiting for you at the end of your journey.”
“What bothers me,” Alice corrected him, “is that she seems so certain I was born over there.”
“But your birth certificate affirms the contrary.”
“I distinctly remember walking past the Holborn Hospital when I was ten, and I can still hear my mother telling me it was the place she gave birth to me.”
“So then just forget about all this nonsense. I shouldn’t have taken you to Brighton. I thought I was doing you a favor, but I see I’ve blown the whole thing completely out of proportion.”
“I just need to get back to work. I’ve never been very good at being idle.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Well, I’m afraid I caught a slight cold yesterday. It’s nothing serious, but in my line of work, a stuffy nose is debilitating.”
“You’ll have to bide your time. But if you’ve got a cold, you’d do well to stay warm. My car is parked on Prince’s Gate. I’ll take you home.”
The Austin refused to start. Daldry asked Alice to take the wheel while he pushed. She was to release the clutch once the car had a bit of momentum.
“It’s simple,” he reassured her. “First the left foot, then a little with the right foot when the engine starts, and then both feet on the pedals to the left. And don’t forget to steer.”
“I thought you said this was simple!” said Alice, dismayed.
Daldry pushed and the car rolled forward more easily than he had expected, making him fall flat on his face. Alice couldn’t help but laugh as she watched him disappear from sight in the rearview mirror. In the merriment of the moment, she got the idea to turn the key in the ignition. The engine coughed to life. This made her laugh even harder.
“Are you sure your father wasn’t a mechanic?” asked Daldry, brushing himself off as he got in the car on the passenger side.
“I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny. I can’t help it,” she said, stifling a giggle.
“Well then, go on,” grumbled Daldry. “Since this bloody car seems to have taken a liking to you, let’s see what happens when you accelerate.”
“You do realize I’ve never driven before,” said Alice cheerfully.
“A first time for everything,” said Daldry, straight-faced. “Push the pedal on the left, put her in gear, and gently release the accelerator a bit.”
The tires slid across the icy road, but Alice put them back on course with astonishing dexterity. It was nearly noon on Christmas Day and the streets were deserted. She heeded Daldry’s instructions with care and, apart from braking too hard and stalling twice, she managed to drive them home without major incident.
“What a marvelous sensation,” she said once they had arrived. “I love driving.”
“You can have a second lesson later in the week, if you like.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Alice and Daldry said good afternoon in the corridor. Inside her flat, Alice spread her coat across the foot of the bed and climbed under the covers for a nap.
Fine dust floated in the air, stirred up by a warm wind. At the end of a narrow dirt road, a long flight of steps led down to the city below.
Alice walked barefoot and looked around. The brightly colored shopfronts on either side of the street were closed.
A voice called from the distance. At the top of the stairs, a woman signaled for her to hurry. Something dangerous was behind them. Alice ran toward the woman, but as she did so, the woman fled and disappeared.
She could hear the sounds of a mob behind her. There were cries and screams. Alice hurried to the steps. The woman was waiting for her at the bottom, but she forbade Alice to follow. She told Alice she loved her and said goodbye.
As the woman’s figure disappeared into the distance, Alice could sense her image taking root in the depths of her heart.
Alice tried to follow, but the stairs cracked and fell apart beneath her feet. The sound of the crowd behind her became deafening. She lifted her head. A fiery red sun burned her skin. She felt damp; there was salt on her lips, earth in her hair. Clouds of dust filled the air, making it difficult to breathe.
Just a few feet away she could hear insistent wails, moaning, murmured words she couldn’t understand. Her throat felt tight—she was suffocating.
Somebody’s hand suddenly gripped her by the arm and pulled her up just before the earth gave way beneath her feet.
Alice screamed, fought as best she could, but the hand that held her was too strong. She felt as though she might lose consciousness. She knew it was useless to resist. The sky above had grown vast and red.
Alice opened her eyes and was blinded by the bright winter sunlight. She shivered. Her forehead burned with fever. She patted around for the glass of water on the stool beside her bed, but she was overcome by a racking cough on the first sip. She was too weak to move, but she knew she had to get up and find another blanket to
keep the cold from chilling her to her core. In vain, she tried to prop herself up before falling back into her fevered dreams.
She heard somebody whispering her name—a familiar and soothing voice.
She hid in a cupboard, curled up on herself, and buried her head between her knees. A hand covered her mouth, forbidding her to speak. She wanted to cry, but the person holding her begged her to remain silent.
Somebody was pounding at the door. The sound grew louder. Now they were kicking the door. Somebody entered the room. There was a sound of footsteps. In the shelter of the tiny cupboard, Alice stopped breathing.
“Alice! Wake up!”
Daldry leaned over the bed and put his hand on her forehead. She had a fever. He helped her sit up, propping a pillow behind her back, and left to call a doctor. He returned a few moments later.
“I’m afraid you must have something worse than a cold. The doctor will be here soon. Keep resting. I’ll be here if you need anything.”
Daldry sat at the foot of the bed and waited. The doctor arrived in less than an hour. He examined Alice, taking her pulse and carefully listening to her breathing and her heart.
“She’s in a pretty bad state. It’s probably the flu. She should stay warm and try to sweat it out. Make sure she drinks plenty of fluids,” he told Daldry. “A bit of honey in warm water or herbal tea, small sips, but as often as possible.” He gave Daldry a packet of aspirin. “This ought to bring down the fever. If her condition hasn’t improved by tomorrow, bring her to the hospital.”
Daldry thanked the doctor for coming at Christmas. He went to his flat and brought back two heavy blankets, which he spread over Alice. He pushed the armchair next to her worktable into the middle of the room and settled down for the night.
“I wonder now if I didn’t prefer it when you and your noisy friends kept me up at night—at least I was in my own bed,” he grumbled to the slumbering Alice.
The noises coming from the room outside subsided. Alice pushed open the cupboard door. There was a stifling atmosphere of silence and absence. The furniture was knocked over, the bed unmade. A broken picture frame lay on the ground. Alice carefully removed the shards of broken glass and put the picture back in its place on the bedside table. It was an Indian-ink drawing of two faces smiling up at her. The window was open, and a breeze blew in from outside, rustling the curtains. Alice went to look out of the window, but the sill was too high. She had to climb onto a stool to see down into the street. She hoisted herself up and parted the curtains—the light was so bright she had to squint.
A man on the pavement looked up and smiled at her. His face was kind and gentle. Her love for the man was boundless. She had always loved him, had always known him. She wanted to jump down to him, for him to take her in his arms. She wanted to call his name and keep him from going, but she couldn’t speak. She waved. The man waved his cap in return, and smiled again before disappearing.
Alice opened her eyes. Daldry had propped her up and was holding a glass of water to her lips, telling her to drink slowly.
“I saw him,” she murmured. “He was there.”
“The doctor already came,” said Daldry. “On Christmas Day, no less. A very dedicated man.”
“No, not a doctor.”
“Well, he certainly seemed like one to me.”
“I saw the man that’s waiting for me.”
“We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better. Get some rest now. I think the fever might be starting to break.”
“He’s much more handsome than I imagined.”
“I don’t doubt it for a second. Maybe if I catch the flu, I’ll have a vision of Esther Williams. She was positively ravishing in Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
“Yes,” whispered Alice from her delirium. “He’ll take me to the ball.”
“And while you’re doing that, I’ll just take a little nap.”
“I have to find him. I have to go there.” Her eyelids drooped.
“You might want to wait a few days. I’m not sure you’d make a good impression in your current state.”
Alice was asleep. Daldry sighed and returned to the armchair. It was four in the morning. His back was aching from having slept in the chair, and there was a crick in his neck, but the aspirin seemed to be working, and Alice’s fever was beginning to subside. He turned out the light and tried to sleep.
A deafening snore woke Alice from her sleep. Her arms and legs ached, but the chills were gone, and she felt relaxed and warm. She turned her head to see Daldry sprawled across the armchair, an afghan at his feet. Alice watched his right eyebrow rise and fall with each breath. Suddenly, she realized he had spent the night watching over her, and she felt terribly guilty. She wrapped herself up in a blanket and did her best to prepare herself some tea without waking Daldry. His snoring grew so loud that it finally woke him. He shifted position and slid out of the armchair and onto the floor.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked with a yawn.
“Making tea,” said Alice, pouring two cups.
Daldry sat up and rubbed the small of his back.
“Get back in bed this instant.”
“I’m feeling much better. Really.”
“You remind me of my sister, and that’s not a compliment. Don’t be stubborn and careless. You’ve barely got your strength back and you’re already traipsing about barefoot in a drafty flat. Get back into bed. I’ll take care of the tea. That is, if I can make my arms work. I think my whole right side has fallen asleep.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble,” said Alice, finally obeying. She sat in bed and gladly received the tray Daldry placed on her lap.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“No. I don’t feel like eating.”
“Well, you should eat something anyway. Feed a fever, they say.”
He went across the corridor to his flat and came back with a biscuit tin.
“Is that real shortbread?” she asked, peering at its contents. “I haven’t had shortbread in ages.”
“As real as can be. Homemade,” he said, proudly dipping one in his cup of tea.
“Well, they look delicious.”
“Did I mention I made them myself?”
“Amazing. Really.”
“There I have to draw the line. What could possibly be amazing about shortbread?”
“Certain flavors can take you back to your childhood. My mother used to make shortbread on Sunday, and during the week I’d eat it with hot chocolate when I was done with my schoolwork. I didn’t think much of it then; I just let it form a sludge in the bottom of my cup. Mother pretended not to notice. During the war, when we were waiting in the air-raid shelters for the sirens to stop, I remember thinking about that shortbread. Dreaming of childhood treats with the bombs going off all around us . . .”
“I don’t think I ever shared something that intimate with my mother,” said Daldry. “And I doubt my biscuits can live up to such fond memories, but I hope you like them anyway.”
“May I have another?”
“Speaking of dreams, you had quite a series of nightmares last night.”
“I know. I still remember some of them. I was walking barefoot down a dirt road. It felt like something from another age, but also strangely familiar.”
“There’s no logic to the impression of time in dreams.”
“No. It was a place I felt I knew.”
“Probably just old memories. Everything gets mixed up in nightmares.”
“Well, it was terrifying. I was more at ease during the Blitz.”
“Was the war in part of the dream?”
“No. I was far away from London. I was being hunted; something wanted to harm me. Then a man appeared, and my fear vanished. I felt like nothing could hurt me.”
“Who was it?”
“A man standing in the street. He smiled at me and waved goodbye, and then he was gone.”
“You speak of it as if it really happened.”
“You should get some rest, Daldry. You look exhausted.”
“You’re the invalid, not me. But I will admit, your armchair is not a particularly comfortable place to sleep.”
There was a knock at the door. Daldry opened it to find Carol in the hallway holding a large wicker basket.
“What are you doing here? Don’t tell me that Alice disturbs you when she’s all alone.” Carol came into the room and was surprised to find Alice lying in bed.
“Your friend has a bad case of the flu,” explained Daldry, smoothing the wrinkles out of his coat, visibly ill at ease under Carol’s inquisitive gaze.
“Well, I arrived just in the nick of time, then. I’m a nurse. Alice is in good hands now.” She showed Daldry to the door. “There now, Alice needs to get her rest. I’ll take good care of her.”
“Ethan?” called Alice from her bed. Daldry craned his neck, trying to see around the insistent Carol. “Thank you for everything.”
Daldry forced a smile and retired to his flat.
The door closed, and Carol went over to the bed, put her hand on Alice’s forehead, felt her neck, and told her to stick out her tongue.
“You’ve still got a bit of a fever. I brought you all sorts of wonderful things from the country. Fresh eggs, milk, jam, and even some fruitcake that Mother made yesterday. How do you feel?”
“A bit overwhelmed ever since you came through the door.”
“Thank you for everything, Ethan darling,” simpered Carol teasingly as she filled the hot-water bottle. “Your relationship has certainly taken a turn for the better since my last visit. Is there something you want to tell me?”
“That you’re nosy and your insinuations are completely off the mark.”
“I wasn’t insinuating, I was observing.”