"In the General, dear. Now do you fancy a little drink of something?"
"A drink of water would be nice," Petra said.
The nurse helped her drink the water and then said, "Now have another good sleep and if you're better this evening we can let your visitors in."
Petra wanted to ask how long she had been there and who her visitors were, but suddenly it all seemed too much effort and so she simply closed her eyes and slept again.
To her surprise, her parents were her first visitors. "How did you know where I was?" she asked.
"The college phoned us, of course," said her mother. "How do you feel now, darling?"
"My head aches a bit, otherwise I'm fine."
Her mother nodded. "Concussion, the doctor said, and a nasty cut on your forehead."
Petra had seen the doctor herself just before visiting time and been assured she would be up and about again in a couple of days. Her cut had been stitched and he had promised the scar it left would be very small.
Tom came to visit her, too. He came into the side ward with an armful of flowers and a look of concern came into his grey eyes when he saw the bandage on her head.
"You're something of a heroine," he said when he had kissed her gently and handed the flowers to a nurse.
Petra was puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Saving that old lady," said Tom. "You got her out of the basement just in time by the look of it. When the water went down and they investigated the damage down there, they found that the high water mark came almost to the ceiling. She'd undoubtedly have been drowned if she hadn't got out and there would have been little chance of that if she'd been left on her own."
"Is she all right?" asked Petra anxiously. "Where have they taken her?"
Tom shrugged. "I don't know. The professor was dealing with all that. She came into the hospital at first, of course, but I don't know if she's moved on yet."
"What about the flat?" Petra asked. "My flat, I mean. Is everything ruined?"
Tom looked uneasy and said cautiously, "Well, it is a bit of a mess, but nothing we can't put to rights. In fact," he added, "several of your students have already offered to form a working party, so it shouldn't be too long before you can move back in."
"I'm coming out of here in a couple of days," said Petra. "I suppose I'll have to find somewhere to stay." She sighed, feeling suddenly tired and depressed again.
"No problem," said Tom more cheerfully as he felt the conversation move to safer ground. "The Principal says you're to move into the college guest-room for the time being, just till you get straight." Tom didn't want to say how long that might be. The state of Petra's flat had appalled him, and he could see she was still nothing like her resilient self.
Petra managed a weak smile. "That's kind. Say thank you for me, will you, Tom?"
He got to his feet. "You just have a good rest and get yourself better," he said, and kissing her once more he turned and left the room.
Petra lay with her eyes closed, trying not to cry. Tears won't help, she told herself angrily. But the thought of her flat, the home she had made for herself, being ruined by the sea made it impossible not to weep. Her parents hadn't mentioned the condition of her flat, but recalling their suggestion that she come home for a few days to recover, made Petra realise that they must have been working up to tell her about it when they considered her well enough.
The side-ward door opened softly and thinking it might be Tom come back or the nurse, and not wanting to see either, Petra kept her eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. But whoever it was didn't creep out again when he saw her apparently asleep, he drew up a chair, sat down quietly at the bedside and reaching over drew Petra's hand into his own warm grasp.
At this she did open her eyes and found herself looking up into the dark eyes of Nicholas Romilly. He smiled at her and said softly, "Hello."
"Nicholas!"
"I'm glad you're awake. Last time I came you were out for the count."
"You came before? I didn't know."
"Well, I wanted to see you were all right before I went home; I wanted to thank you for rescuing—my mother. She owes her life to you, you know. She'd never have got out on her own. The home help must have left the bedroom window open on Friday and the water simply poured in. All the other windows were tight shut as usual and the place simply filled up like a goldfish bowl."
"Where is she now? Is she all right?"
"Yes, she's fine. They kept her in here for a couple of days and then yesterday I moved her into a nursing-home. When she's quite recovered from the shock she can go to the old people's home as I'd originally arranged."
"What'll you do with her flat?" asked Petra, without admitting even to herself the importance of his answer.
"I'm not sure yet. It'll have to be cleaned and decorated from top to bottom before I can do anything with it. Everything is saturated and discoloured by the sea water and there is an overlay of mud almost everywhere."
Petra's eyes closed for a moment and then she asked, "Is mine as bad?"
Nicholas had retained her hand in his all the while they talked, but now he carried it to his cheek and, pressing it hard against him, said, "Where the sea was, yes, I'm afraid it is. But the water didn't rise all that high. You'd opened your balcony door, hadn't you?"
Petra nodded wearily.
"Well, because you thought of doing that, you should be able to salvage a fair amount."
He sat with her hand to his face for a moment or two, and then turning it over, placed a kiss in its palm. "I'm going now," he said. "I was told not to tire you, and you look worn out." He got up and gently tucked her hand back under the covers.
"I shan't be down on Saturday after all. Mrs. Arden'll stay in the nursing-home for a week or so, but I hope to move her the next Saturday. Shall we make our dinner date for then? You should feel more like it yourself then, too, I expect."
Petra smiled. "That'll be lovely," she said, feeling happier than she had since the night of the flood. "I'll be staying at the college until the flat is habitable again."
"I'll ring you there." And with a featherlight touch of his hand he was gone.
Chapter Five
Tom collected Petra from the hospital and drove her to the college. Although the doctor had agreed she could be discharged, he had warned her to take things easy for several more days. But once clear of the hospital, Petra felt her spirits lift, and felt ready to return to her normal life.
As they drove through the town, she stared in fascinated horror at the damage caused by the floods. The promenade was cordoned off in places where the sea wall had completely collapsed, and work was already in train to rebuild the breaches now only hastily repaired with sandbags. There were uprooted trees and shrubs in the ornamental gardens, so popular with summer visitors, and there were still layers of stinking black mud on the grass in the park where the street cleaners were unable to clean. The sea had flooded one end of the town leaving behind it chaos and destruction. There was debris everywhere.
Petra wanted to visit her flat at once, but Tom refused to take her there yet.
"Tomorrow is soon enough for that," he said firmly. "Let's get you settled into your room in college first."
"But I need clothes and some of my personal things," Petra protested.
"I've brought some over already," said Tom. "There were plenty of clothes the sea hadn't touched. Now remember what the doctor said, 'Take it steady and you'll be fine.' "
Petra found her room had been made ready for her and, having reached it, sank gratefully into a chair. Tom was right really, she'd be far better facing the mess in her flat tomorrow. She looked round the room, the room Nicholas had occupied the night after the lecture, the night of the flood. Today is Thursday, she thought, only five days since the conference. It feels like a million years.
She dragged her attention back to Tom, who was telling her what had been prepared.
"Sally Harmer made up the bed and unpacked for you,"
he was saying. "It's Sally, actually, who's organising the group of students who've volunteered to help get your flat straight."
"That's kind of her, Tom. And kind of you, too, to organise it all for me. I don't know how I'd have managed on my own."
Tom's gaze rested on her for a moment before he said, "Well, we're all proud of you. But I will admit you gave us all a fright."
"I'm fine now, though," protested Petra, forcing a lighter note into her voice. Tom's intense stare made her uncomfortable. It was only recently he had begun to look at her in that way, and it was very much a departure from the casual, comfortable relationship they had had at first. And as this thought clung in her mind, so she withdrew from him and when he knelt beside her chair and took her in his arms she tried to pull away.
"Come on, Petra," he coaxed. "Just a little cuddle. I've been so worried about you."
She let him kiss her and wished he would go away.
Feeling her unresponsive to his kisses, Tom let her go. "I'm sorry," he said. "I should have realised you wouldn't be feeling like anything much." He gave her a grin. "You'll be fine if you take things easy."
Petra grasped at the excuse he'd handed her and managing a smile, said, "I'm sorry, too, Tom. It's sort of delayed shock, I expect, but I do feel a bit feeble still."
Having made certain she had everything she wanted, he left her sitting in front of the electric fire. "Have a good night's sleep," he said, "and I'll take you to the flat tomorrow. I've no lectures in the afternoon, so we can go then."
Petra had another visitor later that evening. The Principal came in to see if she was settled and to have a chat.
"You can have the room as long as you need it," he told her, "so don't run yourself into the ground trying to move back into your flat. And no college work till Monday at the earliest. We don't want any relapses because you rushed back straight away."
Petra thanked him, grateful for his concern. She was relieved too that she need not resume work at once. She had wanted to, but even the short journey from the hospital had tired her, and she realised the doctor had been right after all.
Next day, after lunch, Tom drove her to her flat. The narrow street where she lived had been cleaned down but there were still plenty of reminders of the violence of the sea. Seaweed still hung forlornly from bushes, gates hung crooked on their hinges and the bollard at the end of the road lay smashed where a parked car had been swept into it.
They drew up outside the house and Petra looked down at the basement window through which the sea had poured unhindered into Mrs. Arden's flat. There was mud and seaweed still lying in the little area below.
She walked up the shallow steps to the front door. These had been hosed down and looking at them Petra realised that the damage would have been far worse on the ground floor if in fact the door had been at road level.
They went inside and as Petra fumbled with the key Tom said, "It really isn't as bad as it looks at first."
Petra thought she had been prepared for the worst, but even so she was very shaken by what she found. It was the smell that hit her first, the foul and unrelenting smell of the mud that the sea had left behind. The windows were open and yet the pungent odour had dispersed little. The dank air hung heavy about them, chilling and penetrating so that Petra found herself shivering.
Slowly and deliberately, she walked from room to room surveying the damage, trying to take in what needed to be done. The rugs on the floors and the fitted carpet she had put in the bedroom were utterly beyond redemption. The furniture was in varying states, depending on how much had stood immersed in salt water. The soft furnishings were saturated. The water had swirled round the hems of her long curtains and been soaked up so that the damp still hung at the windows and the material was stained and spoilt.
"The electricity is still off, I'm afraid," said Tom, "but the gas fire should work if you're cold."
"Not that sort of cold really," said Petra miserably. "Oh, Tom, it's not fair."
He put his arm round her and this time, glad of his warmth and support, Petra didn't draw away.
"Right," said Tom briskly after a moment. "Let's get sorted out. We must make lists of everything damaged for your insurance and decide what you are going to try and save."
They toured the flat again, taking notes this time, opening drawers and cupboards to discover more evil-smelling mud inside and, in some cases, trapped water which cascaded on to the floor.
At last they had done all they could for the first visit and Petra had had enough.
"Come on, let's find a cup of tea somewhere," said Tom taking her arm and propelling her to the door.
"Tom, wait, I just want to look downstairs."
Tom stared at her. "Downstairs? Whatever for?"
"I—I don't know, really, I just do. Morbid curiosity, I suppose." She still had the key and opening the door of the basement flat, they both went down the stairs.
It gave her a shock when she saw it, for it was quite empty, not a stick of furniture remained. The curtains and pieces of carpet had gone and the windows, smeared with filth, looked forlornly across the ruined garden beyond.
The air was dank and musty, and the walls were streaked with mud almost to the ceiling. The place had been cleared but not cleaned. Petra wondered yet again what Nicholas would do with the flat now.
"Seen enough?" asked Tom impatiently as she stood staring, realising how easily Mrs. Arden might have died in the disaster.
She turned and gave him a bleak smile. "Yes," she sighed, "let's go."
Led by Sally Harmer, a large group of students set to work on Petra's flat that weekend, and when she next went to see it she found that all the irreparably damaged things had gone, the walls and paintwork had been scrubbed down and the gas fires burned full blast in both bedroom and living-room to help dry out the place. Furniture they hoped to be able to repair or restore stood forlornly awaiting attention when it had dried out.
Petra joined them in their work and by the end of Sunday the contents of the cupboards had either been discarded or washed and stored in boxes until the cupboards themselves were once more in a fit state to be used.
Petra's parents phoned her often to hear how things were progressing, but although they asked her to come home yet again, she refused. She planned to start work again on Monday.
"I'm feeling fine," she assured her mother, "and I can't rely on other members of staff covering for me any longer."
"Well, your father says you're to go ahead and order your replacement carpet and curtains and things. If the insurance hasn't come through in time, he'll advance you the money and you can pay him back when it does."
Petra was very touched by this offer and thanked them with tears in her eyes. It meant she would be able to return to her home that much sooner.
She had been back at work several days when she found a message in her pigeon-hole. Professor Romilly had rung and would collect her at eight p.m. on Saturday. She read the note several times and found her heart beating with sudden excitement.
"Pull yourself together," she admonished. "You're behaving like a schoolgirl," but even so she was still smiling broadly when she went into the staff-room for a cup of coffee.
Tom saw her and came over. "You're looking more cheerful," he said. "Good news?" His eyes flickered to the piece of paper Petra still clutched in her hand.
Hastily, she stuffed it into her jacket pocket and said, "Oh, just a phone message. Have you had coffee yet?"
Petra spent most of Saturday at her flat; she and her willing students had begun decorating and they spent a convivial day slapping paint on the walls and ceilings. With so many helpers the whole place looked completely different by five o'clock, clean new paint everywhere and the last traces of damp and staleness vanquished by fresh air and continuous warmth.
Petra stood in the middle of the living-room and announced, "I shall be in the 'Admiral' tomorrow at lunch time and look forward to standing you all a drink." This was greeted with cheers a
nd then the students disappeared to their normal Saturday evening pursuits.
Petra waited until the last of them had called goodbye and then wandered slowly from room to room. Thanks to their efforts and energy she might well be able to move back in next weekend. A glance at her watch told her it was time to go and she closed up the flat and hurried back to college.
In the front hall she met Tom.
"There you are," he cried. "I've been looking for you."
"Sorry," said Petra, "I've been at the flat, painting."
"So I see." Tom laughed. "You've got a smudge on your nose." He raised a finger and wiped the paint away. "After all that work you could do with a drink," he said. "Pick you up about eight?"
"I'm sorry, Tom. I'm afraid I can't tonight." Petra felt awkward. Her dinner with Nicholas was not a secret and yet she didn't want to have to tell Tom about it.
"You're already going out, you mean."
Petra nodded.
"See you on Monday, then," and turning on his heel, Tom stalked away.
Petra stared after him for a moment and then ran lightly upstairs to prepare for her evening with Nicholas.
Petra waited in the staff-room where she could see Nicholas drive up to the front door. This time she didn't miss his arrival and went out to meet him. She paused on the top of the marble steps which led up to the front door, standing in the pool of light cast by the outside lamps. Unconsciously beautiful, her fair hair falling free to her shoulders, she waited for him to come up the steps to greet her, and when he did, mounting the stairs two at a time, she held out her hands in spontaneous greeting.
He grasped them in his and looking down into her face said simply, "Hello, angel."
She laughed at that and Nicholas said, "Well, it's all that fair hair, all you need is a halo and a white dress and you'd be perfect."
"The white dress is underneath," she told him, still laughing. "The halo I haven't earned yet." Then feeling they were in far too public a spot with so many students' windows overlooking them, she said, "Let's go. I'm aware of being the cabaret!"
A Chance of Happiness Page 6
