by Anne Mather
‘I doubt it.’ He was unhelpful.
‘But you need something,’ she protested.
‘Why? I have not needed anything for years.’
Ryan sighed and turned defeatedly away. ‘I’m going to bring you some hot lemonade and some aspirins. Will you take them?’
‘If it will keep you out of my room—yes,’ he muttered ungratefully, breaking off as a spasm of coughing convulsed him.
Ryan went determinedly away. She was not going to be put off by his manner. Alain was a sick man, and it was up to her to ensure that he looked after himself.
She was relieved to see that when she looked in on her way to bed, he was sleeping. His breathing was a little ragged, but at least he was resting. She stood for several minutes in the doorway just looking at him, and then with a shrug of her shoulders she closed the door and went along the landing to her own room.
* * *
She was awakened in the early hours of the morning by the sound of him coughing. After only a moment’s hesitation she slid out of bed, and pulling on her dressing-gown padded along the landing to his room. She opened the door tentatively, half afraid that he would shout at her for daring to enter his room at night, but she need not have worried. Alain was barely conscious, tossing and turning in the big bed, clearly suffering the effects of some kind of virus.
She approached the bed and laid a cool hand against his forehead. He was burning up, and yet when she touched him he shivered and gathered the covers more closely about him. She knew he was running a high fever and that somehow she had to stop him shivering.
Without stopping to think of what she was about to do, she went out of Alain’s room and into the one that had been her father’s. Apart from tidying the room regularly, she had not got around to clearing his things out, and she knew there were bound to be clean pyjamas in his drawers. She found a thick winceyette pair without any difficulty and carried them back into Alain’s bedroom. Then, with a determination she had not known she possessed, she began to help him into them.
He protested, but his condition was such that she doubted he was hardly aware of what she was doing. But she was aware, and she had to force herself not to stare at his strong muscular body.
The pyjamas were much too small, of course. The legs barely reached his shins, and the jacket would only fasten at the neck. Nevertheless, they served the purpose of covering his shoulders and back, and for a while he appeared to have stopped shivering.
She gathered the hot water bottles together and went downstairs to refill them. The kitchen clock revealed that it was half past two, and as the fire was dead the whole place felt chilled.
When she carried the bottles back upstairs, she found Alain had started shivering again. He was conscious, too, though there was little sign of recognition in his curious tawny eyes as she tucked the bottles back into position. She didn’t know what else she could do, but it was certain that she could not go back to her room and leave him alone.
She left the room long enough to collect a pillow and a couple of blankets from her bed, and then returned to settle herself on a wicker armchair in the corner of the room for the rest of the night. Alain had closed his eyes again, so she extinguished all but one lamp and curled on to the chair.
It was not comfortable. Not even her candlewick dressing-gown cushioned her against the stiffness of the wickerwork, and it was an unyielding resting place. However, she must eventually have dozed, because she returned to consciousness with a start to hear Alain muttering restlessly in his sleep. He was twisting about again, dislodging the bedclothes, and she heard the words ‘Louise’ and ‘shouldn’t have done it’ repeated several times.
Sliding off her chair, she approached the bed again and looked down at him anxiously. He appeared to be delirious, and although the sweat was rolling off his body his chest felt cold. What could she do? she thought desperately. It was hours until morning when she was determined to call the doctor whatever Alain might say.
Then the solution presented itself. If she got into bed beside him, she could ensure that he kept the covers over him, and perhaps warm him a little with the heat from her body. She had read of people doing this sort of thing to keep warm in freezing temperatures, and although it was hardly that the room was cold.
Without taking off her dressing-gown, she drew back the bedclothes and slid beneath them. It was a wide bed, and he was lying in the middle of it. Trembling a little, she moved closer to him, and then stifled a gasp as feeling her presence he moved closer to her. She waited until he was still again and then drew the covers up round their ears, praying he would not wake up and be furious with her. It was strange. She feared his anger much more than anything else at this moment.
Gradually, warmed by her nearness and unable to dislodge the covers, Alain stopped his restless tossing and turning and slept more peaceably, only the laboured breathing bearing witness to the congestion in his lungs. Ryan lay awake long after he was still, but eventually she too must have slept because when she opened her eyes daylight was streaming through the cracks in the curtain.
For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The room was unfamiliar and she couldn’t understand what the unaccustomed weight across her legs might be. Someone’s breathing was fanning her cheek, and she turned her head slightly on the pillow and saw Alain. He was still asleep, the dark lashes shadowing his cheeks, but the hectic colour had gone and he looked a little better. She lay motionless for a moment, wondering how she was to dislodge her legs from under one of his, and realized with a sense of shock that she had no desire to move at all. She was warm and comfortable, and for a few minutes she indulged herself in a fantasy of imagining that theirs was a normal marriage, and when he woke up and found her there he would reach for her, and pull her close against him, so close that she could feel the hard strength of him, and then he would cover her mouth with his own, and caress her, and then… and then…
But her imaginings went no further. Apart from anything else, she had no experience of what happened next, and besides, if he did wake up and find her here he was more likely to throw her out of bed!
Inching her legs out from under his, she managed to edge her way to the side of the bed and slide out. She straightened her dressing gown, tugged impatient fingers through her hair, and looked down at him. She had the sense to realize that he was by no means fully recovered, and what he needed was antibiotics to fight the infection. And only a doctor could supply them.
She tiptoed out of the room and closed the door silently behind her before going to her own bedroom. Her watch told her it was after nine and she gasped in surprise. Marie would be here soon. And she wasn’t even dressed.
As though to underline that point, there was a sudden knocking at the kitchen door downstairs. Without waiting to dress, Ryan flew down the stairs and opened the door cautiously, opening it wider when she found it was the village girl.
‘Did you oversleep, madame?’ she exclaimed in surprise, looking at Ryan’s dressing-gown as she took off her coat. Then she saw the empty firegrate. ‘And the monsieur?’ Her eyes widened. ‘He oversleeps, too?’
The mischievous twinkle which had now appeared in her eyes revealed all too clearly what she was thinking, but Ryan had to disillusion her. ‘I did oversleep, yes,’ she agreed, ‘but Monsieur Alain is ill. I think it’s the ‘flu. Is there a doctor in the village?’
‘Not in Bellaise, no, madame.’ Marie was concerned. ‘But in the next village—Lauviens. Would you like me to get him for you?’
‘Could you?’ Ryan stared at her hopefully. ‘Oh, Marie, I wish you could. I can’t drive, and I can’t leave my—my husband.’
Marie began to put her coat on again. ‘I will get my brother, Armand, to go to Lauviens, madame. He is not at work today either, but he will go. He has a thick head, you understand? Too much wine yesterday evening. Armand takes care of his health.’ She made a face.
‘That would be marvellous!’ Ryan was so relieved she could have hugged he
r. ‘Thank you, Marie.’
‘It is nothing, madame.’ Marie made a gesture of dismissal that was wholly continental in origin. ‘I will be back very soon.’
After Marie had gone, Ryan quickly washed and dressed and tackled the fire while the kettle was boiling on the stove. She had just set a match to it when the kitchen door opened and Alain stood swaying on the threshold. He was dressed in the shirt and pants he had worn the day before, but he looked ghastly, and she got quickly to her feet.
‘You shouldn’t be out of bed—’
‘You should have woken me,’ he retorted thickly, brushing aside her concern. ‘I have to be in Anciens at eleven o’clock, and I had intended seeing Gilbert before then.’
Ryan stared at him angrily. ‘You know perfectly well that you won’t be going anywhere!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re not fit to be on your feet, let alone behind the wheel of a car. You’re running a raging temperature, you’ve been sick and shivery, and you’re going back to bed.’
‘Oh, am I?’ He glared at her grimly. ‘And who’s going to make me?’
‘I am.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘Oh, Alain, please! Don’t take my word for it, feel your forehead, look at yourself! You’re ill. Can’t you see that?’
Alain grasped the door jamb for support. ‘I’ll be all right. Just give me a couple of aspirins as you did last night. I’ll have a drop of cognac, too. That might warm me up.’
‘No.’ Ryan stood squarely before him, her hands on her hips. ‘You’re going back to bed, Alain. Do you want to collapse at the wheel, is that it? Do you need to prove what a hero you are?’
‘Why, you—’ He bit off an epithet and stared at her coldly. But she did not flinch, and he clenched his fists. ‘You’re not going to make me into some damned hypochondriac!’ he muttered. ‘I’ve not spent a day in bed since I came to Bellaise.’
‘Perhaps you’ve never been so ill before,’ she cried. ‘Oh, Alain, I’m only thinking of you. Won’t you do as I ask?’
He looked beyond her into the kitchen. ‘Where’s Marie? I heard her arrive some time ago.’
Ryan sighed. ‘She—she’s gone to do something for me. To—to get—something for me.’
‘What?’ His eyes narrowed.
‘Does it matter?’
‘It might. I—oh, God!’ He broke off to cough rackingly, and the sound tore her nerves to shreds. ‘For pity’s sake, get me something to drink,’ he gasped.
Ryan hesitated a moment and then with a helpless shrug went to pour him a glass of water. He grimaced as he tasted it, but it helped. By the time he had finished he was looking distinctly drawn and Ryan regarded him frustratedly.
‘Well?’ she said. ‘Will you go back to bed now?’
Alain drew the back of his hand across his forehead, staring impatiently at the sweat he had removed. He sighed then and shook his head. ‘Oh, God, I do not know. To go to bed is to give in to weakness.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Ryan spread her hands. ‘If you don’t go back to bed, you’ll be hospitalized within a week.’
Alain looked disbelievingly at her, but he did not contradict her. ‘All right. All right,’ he muttered flatly. ‘I’ll go back to bed. But I’m getting up this afternoon, do you understand?’
Ryan nodded, but she had the distinct feeling that Alain was being much too optimistic in his estimate. However, she knew better than to argue right then. She followed him up the stairs, and then halted in the doorway to his room when he said sardonically: ‘Have you come to put my pyjamas on for me?’
Her cheeks burned. ‘You were shivering last night,’ she replied defensively.
‘Was I?’ He sank down on to the side of the bed and began taking off his boots and socks. ‘So you put them on for me, did you?’ He indicated the pyjamas strewn at the end of the bed.
‘Yes.’ Ryan twisted her hands together. ‘So?’
He gave her a wry stare. ‘I am not embarrassed. I have nothing to hide.’
‘And—and will you put them on again?’
‘If I must.’ He nodded towards the wicker chair in the corner of the room and she saw the pillow and blankets she had forgotten to remove earlier. ‘Did you sleep there?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes.’ Ryan shrugged. ‘I was worried about you.’ She turned away. ‘I’ll make some tea.’
Doctor Gervaise arrived about an hour later. Alain had had some tea but had refused anything to eat, and as he had asked for some aspirin she had given him some. She had not dared to tell him that she had sent for the doctor, and her fears were justified by his expression when she eventually ushered the doctor into his bedroom. His face mirrored his anger and frustration, but Doctor Gervaise ignored his mood and concentrated on his condition.
‘Mmm,’ he said at last, folding his stethoscope back into his bag. ‘You’ve got influenza, monsieur. Your wife was right to send for me. Nowadays antibiotics can relieve the more painful symptoms somewhat. He produced a small bottle of tablets. ‘I brought these with me just in case. I suggest you remain in bed until your temperature is normal, and take one of these every four hours.’
Alain made no protest, but his expression boded ill for after the doctor had left. Doctor Gervaise crossed the room to where Ryan was hovering near the doorway. ‘I know I can rely on you to see that he takes these tablets, madame,’ he said, with a slight smile. ‘I will call back in two or three days. Your husband should be much improved by then.’
Ryan escorted the dapper little man downstairs and then returned with some reluctance to Alain’s bedroom. He regarded her dourly from the pillows, and she said defensively: ‘You were delirious last night. I—I had to send for him.’
Alain breathed heavily. ‘Delirious?’ He shook his head. ‘I doubt you know what being delirious is like.’
‘Well, anyway, you were very—restless.’ She paused. ‘Alain, you know I’m right. You’re not fit to be up. A few days in bed will help you to get better that much quicker.’
‘I do not intend to spend a few days in bed!’ he retorted irritably. ‘I admit—I was not fit to drive into Anciens this morning, but by tomorrow I shall be.’
Ryan made no demur. She gave him a drink to take the tablet that Doctor Gervaise had prescribed, and then went away. There was no point in arguing with him. Only time would prove which of them was right. At least he was warm and comfortable, and not running the risk of catching pneumonia as she had been so afraid he might.
Afraid?
The word stuck in her throat. Had she been so concerned about him? The state of his health was his concern, not hers. If he chose to run risks with it, it was not up to her to defy him. Why then did she have this intense capacity of anxiety for him, this feeling that motivated her protective instincts? It was foolish, and totally unwarranted. And he would not thank her for it.
Downstairs Marie was dusting in the hall. ‘And how is Monsieur Alain?’ she asked eagerly.
Ryan sighed. ‘He will be all right, Marie. He’s full of cold, and I think his head is probably throbbing, although he would never admit it. He has ‘flu, as I suspected, but I’m afraid he does not make a good patient.’
Marie chuckled. ‘What man does?’
Ryan was not sufficiently experienced to answer that, and leaving the girl she went into the kitchen.
At lunch time she produced a fluffy omelette to try and tempt him to eat something. At breakfast time he had not wanted any food, and even now she could see it was an effort to swallow the eggs. But he obviously wanted to recover his strength and didn’t give up until more than half of the omelette had gone. Then he pushed the plate aside, and said: ‘Lying here one does not get hungry,’ in brusque tones.
Ryan let this go and picking up the tray, said: ‘Would you like some fruit? Or cheese?’
She saw his instinctive shudder, which he tried to disguise, but he just said: ‘No, thank you. Perhaps some coffee?’
‘Of course.’ Ryan carried the tray to the door. ‘And another tablet, hmm?’
She wondered who Louise could be. It was a common enough name, but it was not his wife’s name, and she couldn’t help the feeling of distaste it aroused within her. Was there some other woman in the village he went to see? Someone whose name was Louise? That aunt of her father’s who had written to her had been called Louise, too, but as she was an old woman, and in any case Alain hardly knew her, he could not have been speaking of her.
Thinking of Louise Ferrier reminded her that she had still written no reply to her invitation. No doubt the old lady would consider her extremely rude not even answering her letter, but Alain’s attitude had been such that she had postponed making any decision. Now she realized that she would have to write, if only to thank her for her letter, and offer some possibility of meeting her some time in the future.
She heaved a sigh and rolled on to her stomach. A trip to Paris sounded an exciting possibility, but not alone. Besides, how could she go and stay with someone she did not even know?
Thrusting all thoughts of Louise Ferrier aside, she tried to sleep, but it was not easy. What else was it Alain had said? Something about not having done something? That was it. He had said ‘shouldn’t have done it’ several times. But what did it mean? And what had this to do with the unknown Louise? It was all a puzzle and one which she could hardly ask Alain to solve without sounding as though she was prying.
The next morning Marie did not turn up for work, and midway through the morning a young man, whom Ryan took to be one of her brothers, arrived to say that she was not feeling well and wouldn’t be coming at all that day. Ryan was disappointed. She had several things she wanted from the store in the village, and she had hoped to leave Marie in charge while she went down. Alain had obviously tried to get up that morning without her knowledge; his shaving tackle had been left strewn across the shelf in the bathroom, but weakness must have driven him back to bed, because his attitude towards Ryan was rather aggrieved, as though he blamed her for his condition. She didn’t like leaving him alone, anyway, and Marie’s absence posed a problem.
