She opened her mouth to spout one more tedious narrative then stopped herself, sure that something was different about George’s face. The skin looked less slack and his colour was better. She looked over her shoulder for a nurse, and a short brisk Irish woman came to find out what she needed.
‘Something’s happening.’
The nurse took a few moments to check, then said kindly but without excitement: ‘Facial muscles often twitch, in a kind of mini-spasm. I expect that’s what you saw. But we’ll keep an eye on him. You’re doing a great job. Ah, here’s your son again. He’s brought you a drink.’
Trish loathed the wishy-washy hospital coffee David offered her, but she took it with murmured thanks to cover his tacit apology as much as the tall cardboard cup. He went back to his seat.
‘I’ve been thinking Sicily might be tricky for your convalescence and wondered about the States, the west coast, maybe. Brilliant doctors, fantastic weather, glorious beaches. What about it?’
There was a definite movement in George’s face and his right hand clenched suddenly. Trish and David looked at each other across the white cotton bedclothes. She put the tall cardboard cup on the bedside locker and stood by the bed, stroking his forehead.
‘George! George!’ She let her voice rise from the level at which it couldn’t disturb any of the other patients. The veiled woman looked round. Understanding what was happening, she bowed her head in a graceful gesture of encouragement. ‘George? It’s Trish. And David’s here too. George!’
At last his heavy eyelids opened, then closed again. Something squeezed in her chest, almost stopping her own breathing. Then his eyes opened once more. His head moved very slightly towards her.
‘Trish?’
‘Yes, George, it’s me.’ She fitted one of her hands into his, thumb against thumb.
‘Accident,’ he said. His voice was hoarse, and using it seemed to hurt him.
‘Not exactly,’ she said gently, still holding on to his hand. ‘But you’re on the mend now. You’re in hospital and everything’s going to be all right.’
‘No.’ The painful voice croaked again. He licked his lips, tasting them, almost like someone experimenting with a new prosthesis. ‘Accident. The boy didn’t mean to do it.’
Trish and David looked at each other.
‘Messing about with David’s stuff. Had the old knife open. Said his name. Cross. Like you said, arrogant. Probably shouted. Gave him a shock. Grabbed his shoulder too. Must have thought I was going to hit him. Whirled round. Slit my arm. Then it went in here. So easy.’ He was patting his front now, as though he expected to find the knife still sticking out. ‘Didn’t mean it. Not his fault.’
David buried his head in the blankets and howled out his relief. George’s free hand fumbled for his head. Trish watched him stroke the untidy rough black hair. Then he looked back at her and his lips moved. No sound emerged. Her lip-reading wasn’t good enough to guess what he wanted.
‘What, George? What is it?’
‘Don’t go away.’
She felt like following David’s example. Instead she tightened her grip on George’s hand.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’
ALSO BY NATASHA COOPER
Evil Is Done
Gagged & Bound
Keep Me Alive
A Place of Safety
Out of the Dark
Prey to All
Fault Lines
Creeping Ivy
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A POISONED MIND. Copyright © 2008 by Natasha Cooper. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.minotaurbooks.com
eISBN 9781429940870
First eBook Edition : June 2011
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Cooper, Natasha, 1951-A poisoned mind : a Trish Maguire mystery / Natasha Cooper.—1st U.S. ed. p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-38366-4 ISBN-10: 0-312-38366-5
1. Maguire, Trish (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women lawyers—Fiction. 3. Refuse disposal industry—Fiction. 4. London (England)—Fiction.
PR6073.R47 P66 2008 823’.914—dc22
2008013400
First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster
A Poisoned Mind Page 32
