He walked with me to the lobby without taking my arm this time; he simply walked beside me with his hands in his pockets. He had a slow, leisurely gait and I guessed he was gearing his pace to match mine. My foot was throbbing badly, now that I was walking, but I didn’t say anything. I felt less tense once we were out of that small room. Now we could speak without actually looking at each other.
Expecting him to leave me at the entrance to the gardens, I turned to thank him, but he touched my elbow through the open windows saying he would see me safely ‘home’. Again, that faintly amused tone – yet with an authority that I obviously needed, although I couldn’t have expressed it or consciously realised it then. But it was there and it had some kind of effect on me. Like a father, perhaps.
The heat outside really hit me after the coolness of the house and in the bright light the cedar tree stood exceptionally dark and solid above the sunlit lawn. The rabbit was nowhere to be seen, although there were still scraps of carrot and potato peelings dotted near the tree.
‘Why has the rabbit got to sleep in the chicken run now?’ The question was out before I knew I was speaking, but it diluted the tension of our togetherness.
‘Ah! Brother Joseph.’ He hesitated. ‘That’s a difficult one.’ He was being diplomatic and cagey and it annoyed me.
‘He’s obviously upset about it.’ I think I snapped a bit, as if it was his fault. ‘He might pretend otherwise, but you can see that he’s not all that thrilled about it.’
I did look at him then, and realised that I didn’t know his name. In any case, he was ignoring the rabbit business, obviously didn’t want to be drawn over it. And I felt even more annoyed. ‘Why isn’t it OK in his room? Apparently, it always has been. I know—’
‘It’s the smell.’ And then, ‘I don’t really think a bedroom is the best place for a rabbit to be, do you?’
The tone was patronising. He was clever, throwing the question back at me.
‘I feel sorry for him, that’s all. What can he do against all you big, strong, clever people? Not a lot. What’s your name, by the way?’
He laughed and told me Guy Harwood, but they called him Dr Guy.
‘You are a doctor, then? Just wondered.’
He laughed again. I don’t know why he kept laughing.
‘Yes, I’m a doctor.’
‘Why are you here?’
He said something like, ‘Long story. Not for now, for another time, perhaps,’ and I wished I hadn’t asked, because his manner changed, became not so relaxed and his voice wary. He didn’t like the question and I felt awkward. I told myself that I couldn’t care less if he didn’t want to say. Yet, really, I was struck by his flirtatious protectiveness, as if, somehow, we had a shared past. I knew he was staring down at me and so I glared ahead as if deep in thought, hiding my feelings, denying him my eyes, which might give things away.
‘And what about you?’ he asked suddenly.
‘That’s a long story too.’
‘So, it looks as if we’re going to have to have a long session some time!’
His presumption and laughing voice were hard to bear.
We had nearly reached my room, which was now in shadow, and it was cooler walking along the shady path.
‘How’s the foot?’
‘Swelling nicely, thank you.’
We stopped for him to examine the puffy flesh, which bulged up either side of the bandage. It was a sight, and his laughter was both reassuring and sympathetic.
‘The bandage will help that a bit, but I think I’ll take a look at it after lunch. I would lie down for a little.’
He was serious for the first time and I knew that I must have looked pale. I was very tired.
He opened the door of my room and stood in the doorway watching as I sat on the bed.
‘Have a rest,’he said, ‘And I’ll have something sent over for your lunch.’
‘Look, please don’t trouble. I’m not hungry. And don’t worry any more. I’ll be fine. Try to keep out of the way,’ I joked.
‘We’ll see.’ He studied me closely and then smiled. He pulled off the top covers. ‘Come on, lie down.’