Fire Mountain

by Rose elver

  capsules from a bottle into a small phial. 'I've given him a shot which will deal with the fever. That should see him through the rest of the night. Sponge him down, plenty of fluids to drink, and keep him covered. -Give him a couple of these capsules if he shows any signs of distress again.' He snapped his case shut. 'If I know Donovan Lyne he'll be sufficiently recovered tomorrow to be restive and difficult, but he'll have to take it easy for three or four days. No nonsense about the book or the Institute or anything else. Be resolute, Miss Leigh, that's an order. I'll look in again at about midday tomorrow.'

  And with that he stalked out, and Amelia followed at a little run to catch up with him at the door. 'Well, Amelia—may I call you Amelia?' he thrust out his hand and shook hers briskly. 'I don't anticipate any more trouble now. Except for you,' a chuckle rumbled through him. 'I've seen him charm and browbeat experienced nurses into getting his own way if he sets his mind to it, so take it steady. Goodbye.'

  A little dazed, but with a much lighter heart, Amelia closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a second. Then, making sure all was well in the bedroom, she went into the kitchen. Her pur-chases were set out on the scarlet formica table top, and it did not take her long to get herself organised. Stacked away in one of the units she found crockery, cutlery and pots and pans, and once she had set up the camping stove in a safe place she put a kettle on to boil.

  There was time now to think rationally. The fright and confusion which she had succeeded in hiding

  from the others had left her feeling rather tired, but there was work yet to be done and the reassurance of the doctor's being willing to leave Donovan in her care put new spirit into her.

  She made some tea and took it into the bedroom. Donovan was lying quiet, but at the sound of the tray he stirred and Amelia lifted him and propped the pillows high about his head and shoulders.

  Stooping over him, she asked gently, 'Like a drink?'

  `Mmm ' His eyelids were heavy and there was no recognition in his glance. She held the cup to his lips and when he had drunk it all thirstily she allowed herself to relax for a while, seated comfortably beside him as she enjoyed her own cup. If he had not been ill she could have revelled in the quietness and intimacy.

  Reluctantly she finished her tea and rose, putting, her lips softly to his brow. It was still hot, but not the burning torment of fever she had felt on his skin before. The gesture had been an unguarded expression of her love and concern, and she was suddenly petrified when his hand came up abruptly and caught one of her wrists in a tight grasp.

  `Don... ! ' She straightened, looking into his face

  as she tried to pull away. The heavy-lidded stare was disconcerting, to say the least, and her heart began thudding as his grip tightened unbearably. Had the fever abated enough for him to know who she was? Had her emotional anxiety betrayed her? She tried to look away, but couldn't break from his gaze or his hold on her. A deep frown creased his brows, then

  gradually cleared as he closed his eyes and slackened his grip.

  Amelia stood back. Still breathing unevenly, she removed the extra pillow and eased him down, tucking the blankets round. Picking up the cups, she moved to the door when his voice came wearily : `Amelia?'

  She stopped, her eyes shut for a second. Half turning, she answered `Yes?' in a soft, level tone.

  `Yes,' he echoed with a deep sigh, `I thought so,' and turned his head into the pillow.

  In the kitchen she rinsed the cups with slightly tremulous hands. The twilight had faded, and she found a couple of thick pottery ashtrays and set up candles. There was no doubt that Donovan Lyne had recognised her, had probably heard and comprehended a lot more than either she or the doctor had realised. That comatose appearance had been deceptive—he must often have had to cope with fever when he was out in the jungles, and the fact that he had returned was proof of his tremendous strength of will which conserved his energy while at the same time holding on to consciousness for long enough periods to survive. Not even a raging fever could entirely blunt his mind. All she could hope was that she had not revealed her feelings too blatantly. From now on she would be composed and circumspect, as impersonal as possible, for if she was to look after him properly there must be no embarrassment between them.

  Amelia had to call on the indefatigable little porter for his assistance again, and he was only too eager to

  help, intrigued by the situation in Flat Two which had broken the monotony of his day.

  Soon he was plodding downstairs laden with linen and coverings. While he festooned the hot water pipes in his quarters with sheets, pillow cases and towels and put an old-fashioned wooden towel-horse in front of an electric heater to air the blankets and duvet, Amelia rang the Manor House at Whimpleford to say that she would not be returning for a few days. Luckily the butler answered the telephone, so her message was brief, without explanations. No point in phoning Apple Tree Cottage, she reasoned, as Mrs Maggs would not be calling in until the following morning. She toyed with the idea of letting Polly Austin know, but decided that that, too, could wait until the next day. Kindly, voluble Polly would probably descend on them in a flurry of agitation, and the doctor had been explicit in ordering complete rest and quiet.

  As she came into the flat again, with the faint glow of the candles from the kitchen throwing wavering shadows into the narrow hallway, Amelia heard sounds of movement and knew an instant's panic. With the blinds still up in the bedroom she could see that the bed was empty, the blankets trailing.

  `Don?' Her voice sharpened as she moved into the passage.

  He was in the bathroom. She waited outside the door in an agony of indecision and was about to go in when he emerged, swaying and pressing his bare shoulder against the wall as he started to find his way back to bed.

  She came out of the shadows. 'Here,' she tucked her own shoulder under his arm, easing his weight. `Did you call out for me?' she asked matter-of-factly. `I'm sorry. I just slipped out for a moment to telephone.'

  `I can make it ... on my own ... too heavy for you.'

  `Save your breath. You're not to do this again—not without my help, Professor. There! You're shivering. You must have something to cover with, even if you insist on getting up,' she said severely, and drew the blankets over him, trying not to show how worried she had been.

  To her consternation he pulled her down beside him on the bed.

  `You smell nice,' he murmured. 'Your perfume ... always know it's you.'

  It was a rather expensive cologne, one she had liked for years and started using again once she had a salary coming in and could afford it. It gave her an absurd little surge of pleasure to know it pleased his senses too, and she rested weakly against him, longing to put her arms around him as she had done when he seemed to be unconscious. Then, just as unceremoniously as he had pulled her over, he pushed her hard from him, as though he could no longer endure her presence.

  `Why the hell ... don't you ... go home, Amelia?' he said raspingly.

  She stood up immediately, biting her lip. 'I shall stay for as long as Dr Hallow considers it necessary.' she replied primly. Now do try and rest for a while. Professor. Please stay put while I get things ready to

  sponge you down and make the bed up for the night.'

  Walking to the window, she released the venetian blind and tugged it down with a snap. No use feeling hurt by his sudden rejection, she told herself as she went to the kitchen and fetched the candles; he was too feverish and drugged to know what he was doing. And yet it had hurt, because she had let herself go for a moment. She mustn't let reaction to the tensions of the day upset her now.

  By the time the kettle had boiled she had extracted her own small face towel from her case and collected enough warm towels from the porter to carry out the job of sponging the professor, as the doctor had instructed, with an impassive efficiency that would have done a trained nurse credit. Donovan submitted, albeit peevishly, and was even more irritable when she had to roll him from one sid
e to the other to get a sheet across the bed under him. But once she had put clean slips on the pillows and made him really comfortable with fresh coverings he became drowsy and amenable.

  He turned his head and looked up at her in the guttering candlelight. The room was very quiet. He sighed and said, almost under his breath: 'Thanks ... for being here ... for everything. I'm an ungrateful brute ...'

  Tears smarted behind her eyes. Quickly she stooped, picked up the bowl and towels and hurried out of the room.

  Amelia sat alone in the kitchen and forced herself to eat the omelette she had made on the stove. Although she had had nothing but a cup of tea since

  lunchtime she was not hungry, and curiously not a bit sleepy either; yet as she gazed at the flame, wavering like a tiny orange-gold flower on the dripping candle-wax, and tried to think constructively, her mind was going round in futile circles getting nowhere.

  Mechanically she cleaned the omelette pan, washed .her plate and polished the stainless steel tops until the candlelight shimmered on them. In the bathroom she stripped and washed as best she could with a small kettle of water, and then slipped on her white brushed nylon nightgown and went in search of a room for herself.

  There was a large guest room at the end of the corridor with a bow window overlooking the crescent of gardens behind the apartments. She held the candle high and looked around; the shapes muffled under dust sheets were eerie and the cold air made her shiver, but she cleared the cover off the wardrobe and hung up her clothes, and found the dressing table and laid out her meagre possessions. By tilting the glass towards the window and reflecting the candle in it she had enough light to unpin and brush out her hair with long, soothing strokes. In her white gown, with her pale oval face and her hair down to her shoulders, she looked like a slender, vulnerable ghost.

  The guest room was too far from Donovan, and Amelia decided to sleep in an armchair near his bed. There was a large, low lounger in the drawing-room which looked as if it would be too heavy to move, but like everything else in the flat it was a superbly made piece of furniture, gliding easily over the thick pile of the carpets, and she had soon made a place for

  herself with a small table handy for the candle and other oddments.

  Through all this Donovan slept soundly. A brief moment watching the steady rise and fall of his breathing heartened Amelia; then she wrapped herself up in the duvet, snuffed out the candle and curled up in the armchair, feeling strangely at peace for the first time in a long, trying day.

  CHAPTER SIX

  OVER the next two days Amelia improvised a routine for nursing Donovan Lyne that worked well. Apart from the dark stubble on his face and a certain pallor, he improved steadily. The borderline of semi consciousness had gone, and if his manner was vague and lethargic he was perfectly aware of the situation. So was Amelia, dealing with him with firmness and her usual semblance of detachment, never revealing by a word or look, or even the touch of her hands, how she really felt.

  She was up each morning at daylight and in addition to tending Donovan started to clean up the flat, with visible results. Whenever Dr Hallow called he seemed satisfied with the way things were progressing. The rooms were no longer dark and musty, and his patient was always ready for him, comfortably propped round with pillows in a neatly-made bed. Amelia was soon organised enough to be able to offer him coffee, which he accepted with brisk cordiality.

  `Well, old chap,' he told Donovan, 'a few more days should do it. Luckily Amelia was here. Not many young women would have been prepared to take over as capably as she has. Hang on to her,' he rumbled jovially, 'or I'll shanghai her into the nursing profession! '

  Amelia served his coffee in the drawing-room, a long, spacious room with pale olive-green hangings, . thick terracotta carpeting and dark green corduroy upholstery. Modern ceramic plaques and copper moulds shone against the off-white walls. Yet for all its luxury it had a bare, disciplined appearance that cried out for the small feminine touches of cushions, flowers and ornaments to complete it and bring it to life. The doctor sat sipping his coffee, encouraging Amelia to talk about herself. Then he put the cup aside and took out his prescription pad.

  `Is it all right if I leave him for an hour or so now to do some shopping?' Amelia asked diffidently.

  `By all means, a walk and a bit of fresh air will do you good.' His pale, acute blue eyes surveyed her. She felt vaguely uncomfortable and pushed up her spectacles. The doctor tore off the prescription form and handed it to her as he rose. 'By the way, I've pulled a few strings about the gas, electricity and telephone, Amelia. In a day or two I hope things will be easier for you.'

  `How kind of you, when there are so many other calls on your time,' she smiled at him gratefully. 'I was going to try and do something about that myself.'

  `Ah! Well—thank you for the coffee, my dear young lady,' he said as they walked to the door, then he paused with his hand on the knob. He said 'Hmmm' deep in his chest, nodding his head two or three times as if confirming a point. `If I may say so, as an old friend of Donovan Lyne. you're the first woman in his life who makes absolute sense to me. I'll be looking in again, and if you should need advice

  you know the telephone number.'

  He stalked off down the stairs leaving Amelia with a heightened colour at his gruff compliment. She returned slowly to the kitchen to prepare a drink for Donovan.

  `I must go out for a while.' She put the steaming mug and some plain biscuits on his bedside table, within easy reach. 'May I take the key of the flat?'

  He opened his eyes. He was quite lucid, his eyelids narrow and enigmatic. 'Help yourself. Pocket of my car coat ... I think.'

  She tried to smile and make a light comment on the doctor's visit, but the constraint she had deliberately fostered between them became worse under that narrowed stare. All she could find to say was : 'I'll see you get them back safely.'

  She found his keys in his pocket and, tangled up with them, a slip of paper with a brief scrawl—`Flowers for Marguerite '. To remind himself ... flowers for Marguerite ! She pushed the paper back into his pocket with unnecessary force.

  Before going out to the shops she remembered to ring Mrs Maggs at the cottage to tell her that the professor was staying on at his flat, but steered clear of village gossip by omitting to mention that she was staying there too. She was in the process of dialling Polly Austin's number when she stopped. Polly would be sure to ring Marguerite Anderson, and then what? The two of them would be supplanting her soon enough; Polly with her affectionate fussing, and Marguerite with—with other kinds of consolation.

  Amelia's mouth set. She had so little time to keep

  him to herself, to love and watch over him. A mere handful of days now, for it was unlikely that the professor would return to Whimpleford except to pack up. She put the phone down firmly and went shopping.

  Sunday passed very quietly. Donovan was in a state of languor, as if the fever had drained his vitality to a low ebb. He hardly spoke and she had to be infinitely patient in persuading him to eat the dishes she made so carefully to tempt him. In between times Amelia scrubbed and polished and tidied the flat to make it habitable, frequently suppressing unsettling thoughts of what she would have liked to do, the little alterations she might have suggested if this had been her home—their home. The home they might have made together.

  Early on Monday morning she was suddenly wide awake, almost as though a sixth sense had told her things had changed. Pencils of silvery light filtered in through the venetian blinds and she lay very still, listening to the sparrows on the balconette and the distant clink of the milk float down in the street. After a while she threw back the duvet and uncurled from her cramped position in the armchair, sticking out her long, slim legs and wriggling her toes. Lifting her arms, she pushed her hair up from her neck and shook it free into waves, then stretched luxuriously, the graceful swell of her breasts rising as she arched her back.

  As she relaxed and turned her head to see if the professor was all
right she met his keen grey glance head on. It went through her like a shock wave. Somehow she knew that he had been watching her

  for some time, and the sheer intimate intensity of his gaze immobilised her. She became conscious of her flimsy nightdress and tumbled hair, and of a warm flood of secret desire that took her breath away.

  Grabbing the edges of the duvet, she pulled it round her and got to her feet in a clumsy way. 'Oh, heavens! I m-must have overslept,' she stammered, feeling along the top of the small table for her spectacles. 'Have you—have you been up long?'

  'Long enough,' he said tautly.

  `You should've called out to me,' she said more confidently as she slipped on her spectacles and thrust her feet into her slippers. 'Is there anything I can do for you before I dress?'

  'You know what I want,' he flung himself over on to his back with a stifled exclamation, 'you know damn well what I want.'

  'Tea,' she countered equably, clutching the duvet close as she tried to hide her trembling hands. 'I'll put the kettle on to boil, it shouldn't take long.'

  'Tea!' he groaned. 'Oh, my God!'

  `Would you prefer coffee?'

  'Don't be obtuse,' he snapped.

  Amelia retreated to the door, almost stumbling over a corner of the duvet draped tightly around her, breathlessly conscious of her racing pulse.

  'Amelia?' Her heart lurched at the soft, persuasive undertone. 'Why do you conceal your beautiful hair rolled up in a knot?'

  Self-consciously she gathered it together in a bunch and tucked it well down across one shoulder. 'Because it's more manageable, and anyway, I'm hardly

  of an age to wear floating young hairstyles.' And without risking any further personal questions she left him.

  She washed in the cold, black-and-white tiled bathroom, deep in thought. She knew now what had awakened her this morning. Donovan Lyne's need of her had reached her across the shadowy silence of the room, and her instant uncanny response to it had frightened her. In the guest room she dressed hurriedly and pinned her hair up fiercely and more tightly than usual. She left her face devoid of makeup. It was a kind of defence, not only against him but to reinforce her own moments of weakness.