34

Sally’s surge of love and passion for Ewan had strangely seduced her to a full night’s sleep, entertained by crazy, sensuous dreams. They’d soared high over rural Suffolk in an air balloon, made aggressive love up against a tree and crawled naked through wet, sulphurous potholes into a fur-filled womb of safety. She’d awoken with a sense of soft-bodied joy, the feel of his lips on hers and a desperation to fall back into the magic, but the scenes disappeared amorphously into the inexplicable world of night madness.

It was now nine o’clock on Monday morning and she was once again sitting opposite him; he in his American rocker, she in the armchair. Today he was dressed in his priest’s cassock, and yet another atmosphere prevailed. Something was missing that she sensed as keenly as a hound. The fire was lying in a collapsed heap of cold ash, and there’d been no bobbing and weaving of social ritual. Perhaps, being the first day of the working week, a different set of rules and expectations had destroyed the rapport of the weekend; the ‘Monday morning’ syndrome of being thrown awake at dawn by a bleating alarm, a full diary, a pressurised clock-watching day and all semblance of leisure denied.

‘Good morning, Sally,’ he said, but his face was solemn and pale, and he looked even more exhausted.

Sally was momentarily self-conscious. Were her eyes shining too brightly? Was she projecting her craving for him as boldly as a searchlight? Please God, her expression wasn’t one of dopey adoration. She took charge of herself to present a detached but attentive persona, and laid her hands primly in her lap. She rapidly scanned him, and as he lit his first predictable cigarette she immediately saw he was no longer wearing the gold ring on his left hand. Now why was that?

‘You still don’t look very well,’ she said.

‘I feel fine.’

‘I’m a nurse. I know you’re not well.’

‘I know myself. It’s nothing. In any case, I’ve no time to be ill. I had a phone call early this morning from your medical colleague, Dr Gibson. It seems Tim’s in a very bad way emotionally, and he’s asked to see me. It sounds like a real emergency so I’ve arranged to go down this evening.’

‘Poor Tim,’ she said, with genuine sympathy, ‘but it’s only to be expected. I hope you didn’t tell Andrew I was here.’

‘Absolutely not.’

‘Thanks. I really don’t want to be found and have to explain myself. After our talk yesterday I decided I would definitely go back to see Roger, but the thing mostly on my mind is Marina’s cremation. It must be soon, and I should be there, but I’m not really ready yet. I need to get psyched up.’

‘Then you’re rather forced into making a snap decision. Dr Gibson told me it’s been slotted in for tomorrow morning at ten-thirty. I promised Marina I’d attend, so I’ll be there to try and get Tim through it all as well.’

She sighed. ‘Tomorrow’s really far too soon for me.’

‘I agree that a few more days would have been better but… actually, Sally, something’s happened.’ Ewan leaned forward in his chair, clasped his hands and looked her very firmly in the eye. ‘Sally, the doctor said that Roger’s been trying very hard to support Tim, but he’s had very bad news himself. I wish I wasn’t the one to have to tell you this, but I have to. Your dog’s been run over and killed. A petrol tanker on Saturday afternoon.’

After two seconds of open-mouthed shock, Sally’s careful composure collapsed. She began to cry with a sudden spontaneous whoosh of tears and noise that one would usually associate with an abandoned child. Indeed, she felt exactly like a small child, seeking the comfort of laps and arms and the shushing noises of understanding. Ewan got up, walked over to her, knelt down and took her hand.

‘I’m so sorry. It’s a bitter blow, isn’t it? I’ve counselled a great many patients who’ve lost pets and I’ve never treated their loss in any way different from the human kind. Do cry. You know it’s good for you.’

She felt his warmth hanging before her like a blanket and saw the blurred outline of his domed head. Holding her fingers within his palm, he gently began to stroke her knuckles with his thumb, but she felt no jolt of desire or yearning to prolong the intimacy. The news had destroyed any other feeling than that of deep shock.

After Ewan returned to his chair she wept openly for a little longer, shook her head, sniffed loudly and straightened up. ‘At least I’ve been forced into a decision. No matter what I think of Roger, be it love or anger, Finnegan’s death is a tragedy for both of us. There’s no choice now. I must go home straight away. Can I drive you down?’

‘It would be practical, but I’ve got patients all morning and an important meeting in London this afternoon.’

‘So will you stay at The Manor tonight?’

‘I’ve only spoken to the housekeeper and she didn’t mention anything. I suppose they might be expecting me to stay, but it’s better if I don’t. I’m not really a family friend in the true sense, and I’m sure Roger won’t want me muscling in. Is there a local hotel you can recommend?’

‘I’m not sure if this is appropriate, but would you consider staying at my house? I’ve got four spare bedrooms. They’re all en-suite so I can offer you complete silence and seclusion.’

‘Thank you, Sally. It’s most kind and considerate of you. I accept with pleasure.’

‘So what will your role be at Marina’s cremation?’

‘She asked me to bless some personal affects and to make sure they accompany her, but otherwise I promised her faithfully that God would be left at the door. I’ll take it upon myself to give a short address, as an old friend who knew her well, but apart from that, I’ll be just another mourner.’ He suddenly lowered his head. He said nothing. He swallowed profusely, and his breaths were short and sharp. The silence lasted far too long to be a respectful pause and was only broken by Lucifer’s loud mewing. The sleek black cat snaked and twisted his supple body through Ewan’s feet, seeming to impose the sixth sense of knowledge and sympathy only conferred upon cats.

Sally was thrust into a dilemma that had to be resolved with a split-second decision. Talk of Marina’s cremation was clearly affecting him deeply, and her mind tried to focus on this peculiar new shift. Should she try to develop the situation with words of comfort, or should she quietly leave? Inquiring words, no matter how sympathetic or brief, would have compelled some sort of explanation from him; something she was too nervous for, in case it led to a cold request to leave him alone. But hadn’t he leapt to his feet only minutes before to soothe her ? Ignoring him would have been callous, and not the actions of an experienced counsellor, especially one who was besotted with him. She moved to stand in front of him and slowly lay her hands on the top of his bare crown. Her fingers were ice cold against his warm skin, but he didn’t flinch. She left them there until both head and hands were of the same heat.

‘Until tonight, then,’ she said, taking one of her professional cards from her bag, and laying it on his table. ‘Ring me on my mobile when you’re through with Tim. Goodbye, Ewan.’

He didn’t answer. As she left, Lucifer jumped up onto his master’s lap, but got no response.