Dancing with Mermaids
Page 19
Mrs Clancy moaned softly and opened to the phantom’s embrace, her dreams made suddenly flesh. She heard the Captain whisper her name. She felt the Captain reach out and touch her in all the agony of his desire. Then she turned and pushed blindly against him, crushing his arm and forcing him flat. He struggled but she pressed down upon him, smothering his face in her falling breasts. And so it was the doctor who surrendered to the darkness, drugged by passion and overwhelmed by the power of the somnambulist’s embrace.
Chapter Forty
Mrs Clancy woke up and frowned. The room was warm and flushed with sunlight. The walls shone. The mirrors flashed in their gilded frames. She lay for a long time, staring at the open wardrobe. Something was wrong. She had dreamt the Captain had come to her bed. And now, when she glanced towards the bedroom door, she saw the doctor standing with a breakfast tray in his hands. She blushed and pulled the sheet against her breasts, although she suspected it was a little late for modesty.
‘Good morning,’ he said as he carefully placed the tray on the bed. There was coffee and toasted fingers of bread, curls of butter and a little bowl of marmalade. He stepped back proudly to admire the effect and wiped his hands on his shirt.
Mrs Clancy opened her mouth to speak when, to her relief, the doorbell rang and the doctor hurried away. When he returned he was escorted by Mrs Reynolds and a large bunch of wilting carnations.
‘You gave us a dreadful fright!’ cried the visitor, throwing her arms around the clairvoyant.
‘I don’t remember anything,’ gasped Mrs Clancy as she glanced anxiously at the doctor.
‘We thought you were dead,’ confessed Mrs Reynolds. ‘The doctor brought you back to life.’
‘Yes,’ crooned the mystified widow. ‘He’s quite a remarkable man.’
The doctor, embarrassed, buried his face in the flowers. ‘Has Polly recovered?’ he inquired politely.
‘Oh, yes, she’s as fit as a flea,’ snorted Mrs Reynolds, stealing a finger of toast. ‘So I gave her a black eye.’ She threw herself into a chair and snapped viciously at the toast. And then, with a puzzled frown, she turned and looked about the room. She peered at the ceiling. She glanced at the floor between her feet.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Mrs Clancy nervously.
‘Haven’t you noticed anything?’ demanded Mrs Reynolds.
‘Nothing,’ said the doctor. He sniffed the air and frowned.
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Reynolds.
Mrs Clancy stared around the room in amazement. The furniture sat solid on the carpet. Her clothes lay lifeless in a chair. Nothing hung suspended in the air but dust. It was a miracle. The doctor had saved her body and retrieved her soul. He had brought her back to the land of the living and returned her ghosts to the grave. She looked at Mrs Reynolds and blushed.
‘Have you been here all night?’ inquired Mrs Reynolds, scowling darkly at the doctor.
‘The doctor has been a great comfort,’ said Mrs Clancy quickly.
‘Well, there’s a big crowd in Storks Yard. I think you should attend to them,’ said Mrs Reynolds, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
‘What do they want?’ asked the doctor suspiciously.
‘After what happened last night, most of them are just curious to have a look at you,’ she said. She stole a second finger of toast and dipped it thoughtfully into her coffee. ‘But I’ve heard that the herbalist sent a few of them along …’
‘Why?’
Mrs Reynolds shrugged. ‘She said you could treat them.’
‘I’m staying here,’ announced the doctor, shaking his head. ‘Mrs Clancy needs me.’
‘You must do what you think best,’ said Mrs Reynolds with a smile. ‘But Oswald Murdoch left a pig’s head on your doorstep – it’s a sort of peace offering – and it won’t stay sweet in this heat.’
‘Let the seagulls eat it,’ growled the doctor. ‘I’m not going back to the surgery.’
‘I am feeling weak,’ said Mrs Clancy as she sank back into the pillows. ‘I thought he might sleep here until I recover.’ She gave a little flutter of her fingers and gently closed her eyes.
And so it was settled. The doctor pushed his hands into his pockets and strolled to the window. He would live with Mrs Clancy. At her word of command he would throw his voice into the mouths of cats and dogs, lift furniture, rattle windows and forecast the future. Whatever she wanted plucking from the ether he would retrieve it. He would make himself a ferryman between the living and the dead. He would be as obedient as her shadow and as devilish as her dreams. Below on the esplanade three small boys were throwing stones at the shrieking gulls. A dog barked and chased its tail. The doctor pressed his face to the glass, stared at the sea and smiled.
Copyright
This ebook edition first published in 2013
by Faber and Faber Ltd
Bloomsbury House
74–77 Great Russell Street
London WC1B 3DA
All rights reserved
© Miles Gibson, 1984
New preface © Miles Gibson, 2013
The right of Miles Gibson to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly
ISBN 978–0–571–29989–8