Stormspell

by Anne Mather

  'So don't.' said Celeste simply. 'At least, not until you sure he intend to marry you."

  Ruth frowned. 'But you—'

  'We ain't talking about me.' Celeste overrode her abruptly, getting to her feet. 'What I am. and what I do—that's my business.'

  Ruth looked up at her. 'Are you cheap. Celeste?' she asked innocently, and then cried out in pain when the woman's calloused hand delivered a blow against her cheek.

  'Don't you ever say that to me again, you hear?' Celeste almost screamed the words, and Ruth pressed her palm to the injured area.

  'I didn't mean—'

  'I don't care what you mean.' retorted Celeste, incensed. 'You too old to act the child. Your daddy going to have a heap of trouble on his hands, if'n he don't teach you what's what!'

  Ruth sniffed, the pain in her cheek making her eyes water, 'I'm sorry if I was rude.' she articulated with difficulty, pushing back her chair. 'I'd better go and see how Daddy is. He may be wondering where I am.'

  'Yes, you do that.' Celeste nodded brusquely, then as Ruth reached the door, she seemed to relent. 'I didn't mean to hit you so hard.' she muttered, with the nearest thing to an apology she was likely to make. 'Don't you go complaining to your daddy how I been beating you.'

  'I won't.' It was too painful to smile, but Ruth managed a tearful grimace before she hurriedly left the room.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  She stopped off in the bathroom before going to see her father, and spent some minutes bathing her face with cool water. Even so. the evidence of the blow was unmistakable, and she studied her reflection anxiously, wishing she had some make-up to disguise the revealing marks. But there had never been enough money for such luxuries, and in any case she didn't know how to use them, so she contented herself with drawing her hair forward, to hide the swelling.

  In the event, her father hardly noticed her appearance. He looked pale and drawn in the light filtering through the shutters, and he confessed to having a pain in his chest that even his tablets would not erase.

  'Francis is coming this afternoon,' he told Ruth weakly, when she expressed concern for his well- being, and she was relieved that Dominic's injury should require such assiduous attention. 'I'll have a word with him after he's examined Howard, and perhaps he'll be able to offer an alternative treatment.'

  Ruth pressed her lips together. She knew she ought to tell him that Dominic's surname was Crown, not Howard, but now hardly seemed the right moment. Besides, was it really that important, in the circumstances? Dominic was improving. He would be gone soon. Then would be time enough to confess that their visitor had been more important than her father had thought. Not now, when such knowledge could well arouse concern and anxiety, conditions he had been advised to avoid.

  She divided the morning between Professor Jason's bedside and the study. She read to her father for a while and then, when he fell into a shallow slumber, she returned to her studies, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. It seemed as though the storm, and her discover)' of Dominic's body on the beach, had been a turning point in her life, and now nothing and no one seemed the same. Even Celeste, who until now had always seemed a refuge in times of trouble, had been affected by Dominic Crown's entry into their lives, and Ruth's bruised face bore witness to a new and slightly frightening isolation. If—when her father died, she would no longer be able to depend on Celeste to cushion her against a hostile world. Those ties had been broken, destroyed by a single act of violence. In their place was a growing maturity, an increasing awareness, that she would be alone and self-dependent, and somehow she had to adapt to that fact.

  She ate a solitary lunch in the dining room, served by a subdued Celeste. She thought perhaps the black woman regretted what had happened as much as she did. perhaps more, for Celeste was always volatile, but Ruth could not forget, though she would try to forgive.

  'Mr Howard, he say he don't want no lunch.' Celeste remarked offhandedly, as she served a chilled fruit cocktail. 'He ain't eaten no breakfast either. What you think I should do?'

  Ruth expelled her breath carefully. 'Doctor Francis is coming this afternoon.' she said, hiding the fact that the information had disturbed her. 'He's the one to ask.'

  Celeste sniffed. 'It don't seem right. He eat okay yesterday. Why he not eat today?'

  Ruth looked up. her hand concealing one side of her face. 'I don't know. Celeste.' she said quietly. 'Why don't you ask him? I can't think of any reason why he should refuse his food.'

  'He say he not hungry.' persisted Celeste, hovering by the table. 'Maybe if n you spoke to him—'

  'Doctor Francis will deal with it.' replied Ruth firmly, concentrating on spooning an orange segment into her mouth. 'Don't worry, no one's going to blame you for his loss of appetite.'

  Celeste still lingered. 'You sound as if you don't care.' she accused. 'You mad at me?'

  'Oh. Celeste, please . . .' Ruth didn't think she could take much more today. 'I'm not mad. and I do care. But there's nothing I can do.' She drew a deep breath. 'Now. can I get on with my lunch?'

  It was easy enough to sound indignant, but after Celeste had flounced out. Ruth's shoulders sagged and she put down her spoon. Truth to tell, her own appetite was practically non-existent, but she was determined Celeste should have no reason to complain about her. Picking up her spoon again, she tackled the rest of the fruit in her glass with grim resolution, and by the time she put it down again the glass was empty.

  Doctor Francis arrived soon after three o'clock. Ruth kept out of the way when she heard his Gaelic brogue, and Celeste welcomed him into the house and accompanied him to Dominic's room.

  There was silence for a while after that, and Ruth hovered in the study, feeling like an intruder in her own home. But she knew that nothing would prevent Doctor Francis's sharp eyes from observing the swelling over her cheekbone, and she was afraid of the explanations he would demand. She doubted whether the doctor would believe the story she had concocted, of hitting her face on the handle of a door, and she dreaded Celeste's careless tongue if her father ever foraged and found the truth.

  Fortunately for her, the doctor did not come looking for her until after he had examined Professor Jason. Celeste had returned to the kitchen. Ruth could hear the clatter of cups and saucers as she prepared tea. and she positioned herself in a shadowy corner of the living room, so that when Doctor Francis came to find her. her puffy cheek was not immediately visible.

  'So there you are.' he said, rather abstractedly, coming into the room, a thoughtful expression bringing a furrow to his forehead. 'I thought you must be out. when you didn't come to meet me. What are you doing, hiding away in here?'

  'I'm not hiding away.' Ruth kept the tremor out of her voice with difficulty. 'How's Daddy? He's worse, isn't he?'

  Francis came to sit near her, studying her anxious face with gentle concern. 'Now. Ruth, you know the situation as well as I do. Surely you're not trying to" pretend it doesn't exist?'

  Ruth shook her head. 'I remember what you told me.' she said. 'So what's the verdict? Can you help him?'

  Francis sighed. 'There's only so much one can do, my dear.' he admitted regretfully. 'Your father's been in pain for a long time. Up till now the drugs he has had have succeeded in making it bearable. But I'm afraid, as his condition worsens—'

  '—you won't be able to stop it?' Ruth's lips trembled.

  'Not without his losing consciousness,' Francis replied heavily. 'My dear, you're going to have to accept that your father's time with us is limited.'

  Ruth forgot her reasons for sitting in the shadow, leaning forward to bury her face in her hands. It was what she had expected, of course, but somehow today it was so much harder to bear. She felt the doctor's hand on her shoulder, accepted the handkerchief he stuffed into her hand, and gave in briefly to the intense feeling of loneliness his words presaged.

  'Come along.' said Doctor Francis, after a few minutes, smoothing back her hair with a kindly finger. 'Things could be worse. I've managed to give y
our father something to ease the pain temporarily, and he's sleeping now. It may not be there when he awakens. Let's hope not.' He paused. 'Don't you want to know how my other patient is faring?'

  Ruth drew away from him. and as she did so, a slanting ray of sunlight highlighted the bruised area around her cheekbone. In the shaft of brilliance, every swollen contour was visible, and the doctor sucked in his breath.

  'Good lord!' he exclaimed, putting out a hand to touch the contusion, but instinctively she pulled back. 'How on earth did this happen? Who did it? Not—Curtis!'

  'Daddy?' Ruth almost laughed, but it would hurt too much. 'Good heavens, no! Daddy wouldn't strike me.'

  'I hope not.' Francis frowned. 'So how did it happen?'

  Ruth licked her dry lips, it—it was carelessness. I was—kneeling, on the floor, and I turned, you know how you do? I'm afraid I hit my face on the handle of the door. Silly of me, wasn't it?'

  Francis studied her anxious expression for several seconds, seconds that stretched into minutes in Ruth's imagination. Then, when she felt sure she couldn't sustain her composure any longer, he said harshly:

  'Do you know something. Ruth? I originally heard that excuse when I was in my first year as a general practitioner.' He frowned, 'I heard it from a young woman, a young mother, actually, three months home from the hospital with a new baby.' He sighed reminiscently. 'The baby. I think it was a little boy, was fractious; you know how babies can be. He used to cry a lot. and the young woman's husband couldn't get any sleep.'

  'Why are you telling me this?' Ruth was uneasy. 'What does it matter if someone else has done the same thing? I'm sorry, of course, but I don't see—'

  'She didn't hit her face on a door handle.' Francis interposed roughly, 'I only said that was her excuse.' He considered his words carefully. 'As a matter of fact, her husband had hit her—struck her. because she couldn't keep the baby quiet. Now do you see what I'm getting at?'

  'You don't think I hit my face on the door either.' Ruth endeavoured to appear calm. 'But that's ridiculous. Why should I lie?'

  'Why indeed?' Francis sounded aggravated. 'To think I defended that young man—'

  'What young man?' Ruth stared at him. 'You mean—Dominic?'

  'Dominic? Is that what you call him?' Francis snorted. 'Since when have you been on such confidential terms?'

  Ruth felt the colour pouring into her face. 'We're not—I mean—we've talked together, that's all.'

  'And did he do this?' Francis flicked a finger at her face.

  'No!' Ruth was horrified. 'I've told you. I did it myself.'

  Francis expelled his breath heavily. 'That's your last word?'

  'Yes. Yes!'

  Ruth was stubborn, and the arrival of Celeste with the tea tray was a welcome distraction. She wondered whether the black woman had overheard any of their conversation, but whatever happened, Ruth was determined her father should not be drawn into it as he surely would be if she told the truth.

  'So,' after the tea was poured and Celeste had left them, she endeavoured to retrieve the situation, 'how—how is Dominic? You were going to tell me.'

  Francis shrugged, helping himself to a second cucumber sandwich. 'He's improving—slowly.' he conceded. 'Not as quickly, as I'd like, perhaps, but steadily.' He paused. 'Did you encourage him to take that walk along the beach this morning? Because I have to tell you. he's overdone it.'

  Ruth bent her head. 'I—I met him,' she admitted. 'But I didn't know he was down there.'

  'No?'

  'No.'

  'And he didn't touch you?'

  Ruth got to her feet then, pacing jerkily across to the windows. 'No,' she said, closing her eyes for a moment in a silent prayer for forgiveness. 'No. he didn't touch me. and—and I'd be grateful if you wouldn't—worry Daddy over any of this.'

  There was silence for a moment, and then the doctor's large, square-fingered hands descended on her shoulders, startling her. 'Very well,' he said, and there was reluctant compliance in his voice. 'I won't tell Curtis, so long as you promise to tell me if—if it happens again.'

  Ruth turned, her lips parting in protest, but the doctor had already left her, going across the room to collect his bag, and then making for the door.

  'Take care,' he admonished her gently. 'I'll see you again tomorrow.' And before she could make any response, he was gone.

  It wasn't until later, when she was sitting nursing a cold cup of tea. that she heard him leaving the house, and realised he must have gone back to check up on her father. Perhaps she ought to have accompanied him. if only to assure herself that he did not mention their conversation, she reflected, but it was too late now. In any case, she doubted he would do anything to upset her father, and telling him that he suspected Dominic had struck her would be nothing short of criminal.

  Deciding that no good would come from sitting here moping,, she carried their dirty dishes back to the kitchen, and then went to see her father. As Doctor Francis had said, he was sleeping, and she left him to rest, going out on to the verandah to enjoy the last of the day. The sun was sinking slowly behind the bungalow, spreading orange fingers over the garden. turning the sky to flame, and she leaned restlessly on the wooden rail, watching the seabirds swooping down towards the harbour. It was the time of day when the fishing boats came in. and they were never short of a feathered escort, their shrill cries plaintive on the evening air.

  She became aware that she was no longer alone, almost by instinct. She hadn't heard anything. Dominic's bare feet had made no sound on the wooden slats below them. But she sensed his presence. and when she turned she was hardly surprised to find him leaning against the open door. Immediately one hand went protectively to her face, and she shook her hair forward about her shoulders as she met his hostile gaze.

  'You know why I'm here, of course.' he remarked coldly, although his eyes had narrowed somewhat. 'I want to know what you mean by telling Francis I punched you in the face! God. I might have felt like it. but you know as well as I do that I didn't.'

  'Oh. no!' Ruth stared at him apologetically. 'You don't mean Doctor Francis came back to speak to you?' She shook her head. 'I didn't know, honestly. I thought he went to see Daddy.'

  'Well, he didn't,' said Dominic harshly, straightening from the door jamb and coming towards her. 'But as I'm here. I might as well see what it is I'm supposed to have done—'

  'No! Oh. please—' Ruth backed away from him. 'I didn't—that is—Doctor Francis got the wrong impression.'

  'Like hell he did.' Dominic agreed, approaching her with all the persistence of a stalking cat. 'Dammit. Ruth, stand still, can't you? Don't I have a right to see the damage?'

  Ruth came up against the corner of the verandah, and bent her head, putting her hand to her neck over the heavy curtain of her hair. 'It's nothing, really,' she whispered, begging his indulgence, but Dominic was determined to have his way.

  Brushing her fingers aside, he lifted her chin, stroking back the hair from her face as he did so. Her eyes faltered as they met his. evading their tawny invasion, concentrating instead on the pallor of his cheeks, and the sheen of perspiration this persistent exertion was evoking. She did not observe his expression as he examined the purpling marks, or witness the tightening of his lips as he released her trembling chin.

  Who did do this?' he asked, his tone as mild and uninterested as if he was asking the time, and Ruth drew an uneven breath.

  'I—I did it myself—'

  'You walked into a door. I suppose?' His mouth curled.

  'How did you know?'

  'I didn't.' He made a sound of impatience. 'Ruth, that's the oldest excuse in the book.' He flicked his fingers at the swollen contusions. 'Come on. the truth, now. I mean to know. Was it your Father?'

  'Daddy?' Ruth's eyes flashed. 'Daddy doesn't hit me. He never has.'

  'Perhaps he should have,' remarked Dominic obscurely, but his eyes had darkened. 'Who hit you. Ruth? I'll make you tell me. if I have to.'

  Ruth sniffed. 'How wi
ll you do that?'

  'I can be ruthless, when it's necessary.' He paused, allowing his words to sink in. 'I could threaten to tell your father what happened on the beach this morning. Something tells me. he knows nothing about that either.'

  Ruth's chin quivered. 'You wouldn't.'

  'Wouldn't I?' Dominic brushed his thumb along her jawline. 'Do you want to put it to the test?'

  Ruth held up her head. 'Why should you think I'd care?'

  Dominic hesitated a moment longer, and then, as if his own exhaustion had achieved what her words could not, he shrugged. 'All right, I guess I know the culprit anyway. It has to be Celeste. I just wonder why.'

  Ruth sighed, disturbed by the defeated note in his voice. 'If you must know, it was something I said, something that—offended her.' She made a helpless gesture. 'Now, don't you think you ought to go back to bed—'

  'I'll decide when I go back to bed,' he retorted harshly. 'I'm not your father. I'm no invalid!'

  'Then at least sit down.' begged Ruth uneasily, wishing he would move away from her. Celeste might appear at any moment, and the black woman's perception in these matters was too acute.

  Dominic remained where he was. 'And how often does this happen?' he demanded, pursuing his theme. 'How often does Celeste administer corporal punishment?'

  Ruth's tongue circled her lips. 'She doesn't. At least. I've told you—it was all my fault. Please—you won't mention this to Daddy, will you? I mean, she didn't intend to—to hurt me. She was angry, that's all. And Daddy gets so upset—'

  Dominic's mouth compressed. 'If you say so.'

  'I do say so.' Ruth's relief was almost palpable, but she shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.

  And now. won't you do as Doctor Francis advised you and rest? He—he didn't approve of your outing this morning, and I know he's only thinking—'

  'Stop worrying about me.' Dominic was impatient. 'I'll be all right. It's you I'm concerned about. Do you realise how sick your father is?'

  Ruth swallowed convulsively. 'I—I think so.'

  'Do you know he's going to die?' he demanded brutally.