by K. J. Frost
I glance towards the door and my heart flips over in my chest as I see Amelie walk in. She looks across at me, just as Uncle Frank turns and notices her too, getting to his feet.
“What’s going on?” I avert my gaze from Amelie to Thompson, and back again, my eyes fixing on hers.
“That phone call earlier was from Miss Cooper,” Thompson explains, guiding her over towards the bed, where Uncle Frank steps to one side, letting her take his chair, and she sits, still staring at me. “She asked if I’d mind going over to Molesey and bringing her back here.”
“I wanted to see you,” she whispers. She’s sitting on the side of my injured arm, so I reach across with the other one and she takes my hand in hers. It feels wonderful to hold her again, even if it is just her hand, but I remind myself not to read too much into a simple, friendly gesture.
Uncle Frank coughs. “Well, I think we can leave you,” he says and I look up at him. He’s grinning broadly. “I don’t suppose this young lady is the reason you were going to ask for a transfer back to Kingston, is she?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.” Of course, that was before Amelie decided she didn’t trust me, but that doesn’t alter the fact that she’s still the reason I’m here. She’s the reason for everything, as far as I’m concerned.
“Well, I approve,” he says, nodding his head, the smile forged firmly on his face.
Amelie blushes and then turns, looking up at Thompson. “Thank you, Sergeant,” she says softly.
“You’re welcome,” he replies. “And I’ll wait for you downstairs, shall I?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not in the least.” He takes a step forward. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rufus.”
I nod my head. “Thanks, Harry.”
He goes and holds the door open for Uncle Frank, who pauses on the threshold. “Take care of yourself, my boy,” he says, then walks out, followed by Thompson, who closes the door behind him.
The silence settles in the room for a moment, my hand still held in Amelie’s, before she turns again and our eyes lock once more.
“Should you be here? I mean, isn’t it your aunt’s birthday?” I ask, just to break the ice.
“Yes, it is. But I spent some time with her earlier.”
I nod my head. “So… You wanted to see me?” She’s here, we’re holding hands. I need to know what that means, if it means anything at all.
She shifts forward in her seat, moving closer. “Oh, Rufus…” She starts crying and I wish more than anything that I could hold her in my arms.
“Hey,” I say gently. “Can you move that chair?” She looks at me, confused, then nods her head. “Okay. Bring it around the other side of the bed.”
She lets go of my hand, then stands and places her handbag at the end of the bed, before moving the chair around, setting it down on my right.
Just as she’s about to turn and sit down, I reach out to her and pull her closer, putting my arm around her waist. “Don’t cry,” I murmur, looking up at her.
“But look what they did to you,” she says, the tears forming in her eyes again.
“Well, I rather did this to myself. I chose to drive into a lamppost.”
“Yes, instead of driving into other cars and pedestrians, from what I’ve heard.”
“Precisely.”
“Some choice,” she says. “You could have been killed.” As she finishes her sentence, she blinks and two tears fall down her cheeks.
“Come here.” I raise my arm up her back and pull her down to me, holding her against my chest, and stroking her hair while she sobs. I’ve still got no idea what her visit means, but I’m not going to let her just stand at my bedside crying and do nothing about it.
After a few minutes, she sniffles and then slowly stands, before reaching for her handbag and pulling out a handkerchief, using it to wipe her eyes and nose.
“Is that one of mine?” I nod towards the rather masculine looking handkerchief she’s holding.
“Yes,” she murmurs, looking embarrassed.
For some reason, I feel rather gratified that she’s carrying something of mine around with her, even if it isn’t anything more important than a square of cotton material. She still chose it, above one of her own; that’s the point. “Well, I suppose I have given you a couple of them.”
“Only because I keep crying.”
“If memory serves, you’ve had good cause.” She smiles just briefly, then a look of uncertainty flashes across her eyes and she bites at her bottom lip. “Why don’t you sit down, and tell me why you wanted to see me?” I suggest.
She checks behind her, pulling the chair a little closer, before sitting on it. As much as I know we need to talk, I wish she wasn’t so far away, although I’m pleased to say she’s got a firm grip on my hand, which feels promising. “A—After your apology outside the house,” she says softly, “there were so many things I needed to say to you; so many things I wanted to explain – or at least try to. Don’t get me wrong, I know why you made me wait. I know you wanted to give me time to think, to be sure… and maybe you were right about that. But when I heard what had happened to you tonight, all I could think about was that there were too many words left unspoken…” Her voice cracks and I feel a ray of hope flicker in my chest.
“Then say them now. Tell me whatever it is you need to say.”
She lowers her head, looking at the side of the bed. “Sorry,” she replies quietly, then looks up at me, right into my eyes. “The first thing I need to say to you is sorry. I was being such a child.”
I smile. “No, you weren’t.”
“Yes I was.” She clasps my hand a little tighter. “I was upset about Uncle Gordon’s affair, and I took it out on you, when what I should have done was turn to you…”
I can sense there’s more to come, so I lie in silence, watching her as she works through her thoughts.
“I know it’s his life,” she whispers eventually, “but I feel so… so…”
“Disappointed?” I suggest and she nods her head.
“And then there was the letter.” She pauses for a long moment. “The things you said, when I came to see you about that, made me so afraid.” The things I said? I would have thought she’d be focusing on the letter’s content, or the fact that I neglected to tell her about it.
“What did I say to make you afraid?” I ask her.
“Y—You said that it didn’t matter that you’d intended to tell me about the letter, because we weren’t together anymore.”
“Well, we weren’t. Let’s face it, you had made it pretty clear you didn’t want to see me again, so there was little point in discussing something relating to our future, when we didn’t have one.”
She sucks in a sharp breath and blinks rapidly to try and stop herself crying again, I think. “I know, but standing in your aunt’s hallway, looking at you and hearing you say all of that, it brought it home to me.”
“Brought what home to you?”
“The bleak, awful prospect of a life without you.” Her voice is the merest whisper, but it’s enough to fan that flicker of hope into a flame.
“Why did you run away from me the other night? Why didn’t you stay with me and talk things through properly?”
“Because I was angry, and I was confused. But I was angry with the wrong person. I was blaming you for something that wasn’t your fault. I know that now. And I know I should have stayed and listened, not run away, like a schoolgirl. But even then, despite my being childish and disagreeable, you were still so kind to me. Your apology when you walked me home last night was…” She pauses, searching for the right word.
“Necessary.” I fill the gap. “And you weren’t childish, or disagreeable. You were upset.”
“Maybe. But you were kindness itself.” She leans down and kisses my hand, just very gently.
“I’ll always be kind to you, Amelie, no matter what happens. Surely you know that?”
She looks up, then hesitates and shifts
in her seat. “Did you mean what you said?” she asks, staring at me.
“Which part?” She blushes and bites her bottom lip again, evidently embarrassed. “Oh… do you mean the part where I said I was in love with you?” She nods her head. “Yes, I meant it. I still mean it. I’m in love with you, Amelie. I always will be.” There’s never been any doubt in my mind about that.
“I—I’m in love with you too,” she says, a perfect smile spreading across her lips.
I grip her hand in mine, feeling a glow of happiness spreading through my body, the like of which I never thought possible. “Really? You’re not just saying that because I’m lying in hospital with a broken arm and concussion?”
“I mean it,” she says, still smiling. “I’ve been in love with you since the first time I met you, when you walked into the house and you were so kind to me over Beth’s death. I just wasn’t brave enough to tell you… until now.”
“Am I that scary?” I ask her, teasing just slightly, because I can. Because she loves me.
“No, but until you told me that you loved me, the night we broke up, I wasn’t sure you felt the same.”
“I feel the same. I’ve been trying to tell you for ages.” I sigh, smiling at the same time. “The number of times the words have been on the tip of my tongue…”
“What’s stopped you?” she asks.
“Usually Aunt Dotty,” I reply and she giggles.
“Our chaperone, you mean?”
“Yes. I assume she’s the reason you’re here?” It’s the only thing that makes sense.
“No, Rufus. You’re the reason I’m here.” Amelie’s voice is gratifyingly clear, as is her smile, and the look in her eyes, and I wish to God I was more able-bodied and could get out of bed and show her how I feel.
“What I meant was, did she tell you about the accident?” I ask.
“Yes. She telephoned and explained what had happened. She also suggested that I should contact your sergeant about coming to see you tonight.”
I can’t help chuckling. “Good old Aunt Dotty,” I murmur. Amelie, on the other hand, shakes her head, her smile fading.
“I wonder if she’d have been so helpful if she’d known about our argument,” she says thoughtfully.
“She did know.” Amelie’s mouth drops open slightly. “I told her all about it, just before you called round to speak to me about the letter. It wasn’t information I gave voluntarily, but she knew something was wrong and just wanted to help. And you don’t have to worry; she’s not about to take sides. She only wants what’s best – for both of us.” She smiles and looks down at her lap. “She is alright, isn’t she? I mean, there’s nothing wrong with her?” I know Thompson told me she is, but I’d rather hear it from Amelie. She knows Dotty better.
“She’s shocked and a bit shaken, but she’s okay.” She looks up again and leans closer. “She’s worried about you, that’s all.”
“Well, she’s got no need to worry about me.”
“Oh, really?”
“No. I’m absolutely fine.” I raise her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers very gently. “Well, I am now.”
Chapter Twelve
It’s Saturday today, and I get up a little later than usual, mainly because I didn’t sleep very well – again. I spent a lot of the night tossing and turning, remembering that woman’s expression as she winked at me. Over the years, I’ve become rather an expert on women and I think I can usually read their intentions, but in her case, I was completely flummoxed. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d waited for her young man to go to the lavatory, and had come over and made a lewd suggestion, or if she’d just continued to look at me from afar, flirting with her eyes. I know she was interested. I just couldn’t do anything about it. And, as I said, I don’t like women who tease, and she seemed to be particularly good at that, from what I could gather.
Eventually hunger gets the better of me and I get up and go through to the kitchen. The bread’s growing a furry green mould along one edge, so I put the kettle on and go back into the bedroom, pulling on some trousers and a jumper. My shoes are by the door where I kicked them off last night when I came back from the pub, feeling disgruntled, and frustrated. I put them on and quickly go downstairs to get some bread from the general store, where they stock a small supply of just about everything from tea to tins of toffees. There’s not much variety, but it saves walking all the way down Walton Road to the main shops, especially as I’ve left the kettle on.
Outside the newsagents, there’s a sign, showing the headline for the local paper and I stop in my tracks, reading it.
‘LOCAL POLICEMAN NEARLY KILLED’
What’s this? I had nothing to do with this? Has someone else had the same plan as me? For some odd reason, I feel affronted that somebody has stolen my idea. Okay, so they haven’t made such a good job, being as their victim was only ‘nearly killed’, but even so…
I forget about the bread and go into the newsagents, picking up a local paper and dropping the correct change onto the counter.
I walk out, glancing through the article, in a daze.
How dare they?
Not only have they stolen my idea, but they’ve targeted Inspector Stone.
Why didn’t I think of that?
*****
By three o’clock, my arm has been set in plaster, the doctor has been round to check on me, declaring me fit and as healthy as can be expected, I’ve had my lunch, and am on my fourth cup of tea of the day. While I’m still desperate to get out of hospital and get back to work – and to be with Amelie – there is a part of me that could get used to this. It’s only a very small part though. The doctor told me this morning that I’ll be able to go home later this afternoon. To be honest, I think they need the bed for more deserving cases.
Amelie didn’t stay too late last night. She was aware that Thompson was waiting to take her home and it didn’t take long before I started to feel tired again. I think the main reason for that was relief, although even now I wonder whether I should pinch myself, just to make certain our conversation really happened.
I’ve just finished my tea when the door opens, but my initial hope that it will be Amelie facing me is shattered when Thompson walks in, beaming.
“Still with us then?” he says.
“Yes. And they’re letting me go home later, so you’d better behave yourself.”
“Why would I start doing that now, after so many years of doing precisely the opposite?” he jokes.
“You have a point.”
He comes over to the bed. “You look a lot better than you did last night,” he says.
“Thanks… And thanks for taking Amelie home – well, and for bringing her here in the first place.”
“She seemed much happier on the return journey.” He smirks.
“Good.”
“And would there be a reason for that?”
“No comment.” I smile up at him and he grins back. “Are you here for a purpose? Other than mocking me, and enquiring into my personal life?” I ask, if only to change the subject. As much as I appreciate his friendship, and his help, I want to spend a little more time with Amelie, to find out exactly where we stand, before I make any pronouncements on what’s going on between us. I’m fairly sure I didn’t misunderstand what happened last night; I know she said she’s in love with me – I’m not likely to forget that – but we didn’t actually settle anything properly. Not really. Exhaustion took over before we had the chance.
“Yes,” he replies. “I thought I’d better let you know that I’ve been to see our friend Cole this morning.”
“And?” I’m paying a lot more attention now.
“Well, he wouldn’t let me in, so we had a little chat on his doorstep, but he wasn’t even remotely upset to hear about what happened to you,” he says. “He claimed to have been at home from four-fifteen yesterday evening, having cycled there straight from work, and said he didn’t know anything about any damage to your car.”
&
nbsp; “And we believe that, don’t we?”
“Not in the slightest, but he said his wife would back him up.”
“And don’t tell me, she did?”
“She wasn’t there. He said she’d gone shopping.” He goes across to the wall and pulls the chair over. One of the nurses must have moved it during the night, because I know it was still beside my bed when Amelie left. “We’re going to have to break her,” he says as he sits down.
“The wife?” He nods. “I know. The question is, how?”
“Well, for a start, we need to see her when he’s not around.”
“Obviously. She’s terrified of him.” I use my right arm and prop myself up a little. I’m getting a little more used to managing by myself now, especially as my head no longer feels so fragile. “The problem is, how do we protect her afterwards? If he finds out she’s spoken to us, her life won’t be worth living…”
“And she’ll know that,” he says thoughtfully, finishing my sentence for me.
“Exactly. It’ll make her reluctant to talk.”
“We’ll just have to appeal to her better nature,” he suggests.
I shake my head, wondering if she has one, or whether marriage to a man like Cole has ground it out of her. I’m just about to voice my musings when the door opens.
“Can I come in?”
Thompson and I both look over and I smile at the sight of Amelie, standing on the threshold of the room.
“Of course,” I reply.
She closes the door and comes across to the bed, carrying a small suitcase and a shopping bag.
Thompson stands, moving to one side and offering her his chair, which she accepts with a shy nod of her head.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks her. “I’d have brought you over.”
She smiles up at him, but I notice that it’s not the same kind of smile she gives me, and that makes me feel rather pleased with myself. “I had to come into Kingston to run some errands,” she replies. “And I didn’t mind catching the bus.”
