by Anne Mather
Because of the taboos concerning these relationships, the conversations Sara had with Jeff usually turned more to outside interests. They talked about music and art and entertainment, and they had some lively discussions concerning the relative merits of rock versus heavy metal. The kind of music Jeff said he preferred made Sara pull a face, but they did agree on some things and agreed to disagree on others.
Then, one morning, about ten days after Sara had begun her regular visits to his suite, she discovered Jeff actually listening to a tape, played on the hi-fi which had hitherto stood idle in a corner. After that, they played music a lot. Jeff had an enviable library of tapes, and when Sara suggested they ought to watch television sometimes too, it received consideration.
A couple of days later, a television was installed, and with it a stereo video recorder. ‘It’s mostly repeats of game shows in the mornings,’ Jeff explained, somewhat sheepishly, revealing how he had spent at least some of his time before the crash. ‘I thought we might get some pre-recorded tapes. Sort of have our own movie premiere!’
Sara didn’t object. Anything that encouraged Jeff to take an interest in what was happening in the outside world was to be applauded, and she was warmed by the thought that she had instigated it.
At least, she was, until the night the whole household was awakened by a series of screams and agonised yells coming from Jeff’s rooms. It was after midnight, and Sara had been reading a book she had borrowed from the library downstairs. It was a dated thriller; not the sort of thing she would have normally chosen to read, but her mind hadn’t really been on it anyway. She had chosen the book at random, just something to put her to sleep, she had thought, and she had been feeling pleasantly sleepy when the unearthly rumpus began at the other side of the house.
There was something eerie about shrieks and cries at that hour of the night, and when Sara dived out of bed, dragging on her cotton wrapper, she had half believed that burglars had invaded the premises. It wasn’t until she emerged into the corridor and located the direction the screams were coming from that she realised it was Jeff who was making them.
Shocked into action, she stumbled in the direction of the noise, only to discover the half the household was there before her. Rosa and Vinnie, their ample forms wrapped in striped bathrobes, Cora, similarly attired, trying to hold a garbled conversation with Grant, and Keating, barring the way to the suite, and endeavouring to reassure everyone that he could manage.
The screams had ceased now. An uneasy silence had fallen in the apartment, and Sara gazed anxiously at the manservant, willing him to tell them what had happened.
‘Crazy kid!’ muttered Grant, as he noticed her arrival. ‘For God’s sake, I thought there must be a fire, at least!’
‘What happened?’ exclaimed Sara, her eyes wide and troubled. ‘Does anyone know? What’s going on?’
‘Oh, Keating said something about Jeff falling out of bed,’ replied Grant irritably. ‘He was probably getting out to change the tapes in that bloody recorder you’ve had installed in his room.’
But she wasn’t listening to him. ‘Falling out of bed?’ she echoed faintly, her eyes turning back to Keating, but he was already closing the door and she dared not intrude right now.
‘It’s all over,’ declared Cora, ushering the two maids back along the corridor. ‘There’s nothing more to be done. Let’s all get back to bed, huh?’
‘But what happened?’ Sara persisted. ‘Do you know, Cora? Those screams—they were—they were——’
‘—too loud! Selfish little bastard!’ grunted Grant Masters peevishly. ‘Waking up the house like that. Just because he doesn’t have to get off his butt from morn till night, it doesn’t mean the rest of us——’
‘Don’t say that!’ Sara was disgusted by his attitude. ‘For heaven’s sake, do you think Jeff wants to—to stay on his butt, as you put it? It’s not his fault he can’t get up.’
‘Just tell me who was at the wheel of the car, then, if it wasn’t him?’ Grant retorted angrily. ‘God, is that what you have to do around here to get some attention? Get yourself half killed?’
She refused to answer him. She knew he was getting at her for spending so much time with Jeff. Apart from a couple of hours in the afternoon, which she generally spent soaking up the sun, and the short period between dinner and bed, he saw little of her; and she couldn’t deny she often used Jeff as an excuse to avoid any prolonged period with him. It wasn’t that she disliked him exactly, although closer acquaintance had not increased her desire for his company, but it was more to avoid his derision of her optimism that she evaded any intimate discussions.
Now, she made an impatient gesture and walked away, too disturbed over what had happened and its repercussions to pay any real attention to him. She didn’t believe that Jeff had fallen out of bed. The bed he slept in was huge, and no way could he have tumbled over the edge. But something had incited those terrible cries, and she couldn’t wait until the morning to find out what it was.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOWEVER, Keating barred her way when she arrived at the suite the next morning. ‘Mr Korda is still sleeping,’ he said, not allowing her to slip past him as she had done before. ‘And, quite honestly, I think it would be safer if you didn’t see him today.’
‘Safer?’ Sara stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I just think it would be unwise to upset Mr Korda any more than he’s been upset already.’
‘Will you stop calling him Mr Korda!’ Sara snapped impatiently. ‘And why do you think I might upset him? We’re friends. He likes to see me.’
Keating drew himself up to his full height. ‘I didn’t want to say this, Miss Fielding, but it seems I’m going to have to.’ He paused significantly. ‘If you must know, I think you’re to blame for what happened last night. If you hadn’t come here interfering, Jeff would never have attempted what he did.’
She blinked. ‘I’m to blame!’ she echoed. ‘Why? What happened?’
Keating sniffed. ‘Jeff had a fall—a serious fall. I’m waiting for Doctor Haswell now. It may be that he’s suffered some further injury.’
She gasped. ‘Jeff fell!’ she exclaimed, remembering what Grant had said the night before. ‘But how could he? It doesn’t seem possible.’
‘Well, it happened,’ declared Keating firmly. ‘And I think you should seriously consider the consequences of what you’re doing in future. Jeff’s paralysed, Miss Fielding. That’s a fact. He tires easily; that’s a fact too. And encouraging him to watch moving pictures, that simply highlight his own limitations, is both reckless and cruel!’
Sara flushed. ‘At least he’s aware of what’s going on around him now,’ she said, aware of the defensive note in her voice and despising herself for it. ‘And I don’t see how watching—moving pictures, as you put it, could cause him to fall out of bed.’
Now Keating frowned. ‘Did I say he fell out of bed? I don’t believe so.’
She hunched her shoulders. No, it was Grant who had said that. ‘I assumed that was what you meant,’ she mumbled, feeling like a schoolgirl. ‘What did happen, then? Shouldn’t he have been asleep at that time?’
‘I settled him for the night at eight o’clock as usual,’ reported Keating indignantly. ‘You don’t imagine I knew anything about what he was doing, do you? If I had—’
‘But what was he doing?’ Sara interrupted him wearily. ‘How did he come to be out of bed? I assumed he was out of bed when he fell.’
He hesitated. Then, apparently deciding that no stigma could attach to him for being honest, he said: ‘He was trying to get to the bathroom, with the use of a pair of crutches.’
‘What?’ She knew a surge of excitement. ‘You mean he was actually trying to do something for himself!’
‘Oh, he did something for himself all right,’ said Keating, not responding to her look of enthusiasm. ‘He lost his balance as soon as he tried to stand upright, and he tumbled into that television set you had put at the f
oot of the bed.’
Sara swallowed. ‘Is it broken?’
‘What? The boy’s leg or the set?’
Her colour deepened. ‘I meant the set, but of course, Jeff’s leg is more important. It’s not broken, is it?’
‘You heard him yelling, didn’t you?’
She nodded.
‘Then decide for yourself.’
She put a hand against the wall beside the door and rested her forehead against her upraised arm. ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’ she asked miserably, all her earlier sense of achievement dissipating. ‘Have you contacted—er—his father?’
‘Not yet. I’ll wait and see what Doctor Haswell says,’ replied Keating smoothly. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me …’
‘Of course,’ Sara half turned. ‘You will—you will let me know what the doctor says, won’t you? And if Jeff wants to see me—’
‘I suspect that may not be likely,’ returned Keating, with evident satisfaction. ‘Jeff was fairly voluble last night, and I got the impression that you were the last person he wanted to see,’
‘Even so …’ Sara was insistent.
‘Oh, very well.’ He gave her his word. ‘But I should seriously consider my position, if I were you, Miss Fielding. After what happened last night, your services may no longer be necessary.
Of course, Grant sympathised with her. ‘I did warn you,’ he remarked smugly, coming across her curled up on one of the loungers by the pool, her face drawn with concentration. ‘I mean let’s face it—the fuss he made …’
‘Well, if he’s broken his leg,’ said Sara worriedly. ‘Is Doctor Haswell here yet? Have you seen him?’
‘He’s up there now,’ Grant told her carelessly, taking the chair beside her. ‘Why don’t you go and put on your bikini?’ He touched her jean-clad thigh. ‘I might join you.’
She flinched away from his probing hand, and he scowled. ‘For goodness’ sake!’ he muttered. ‘Lighten up, will you? You’re acting like there’s been some kind of tragedy! The kid tried to get out of bed and he fell. So what? It happens to us all.’
Sara glared at him. ‘You’re so insensitive!’
‘Practical,’ he amended shortly. ‘No matter how long you sit here brooding over past mistakes, you won’t make a scrap of difference to Jeff’s condition. Personally, I think you ought to be glad it happened. It saves you wasting any more time on the awkward little creep!’
She turned away from him, but as she did so, a shirt sleeved man in his fifties emerged from the house and walked towards them. Doctor Haswell? she wondered anxiously, and springing to her feet, she went to meet him.
‘You must be Miss Fielding,’ he said as she approached. ‘I’m Jeff’s doctor. And you’re the young woman, I hear, who’s responsible for Jeff’s cuts and bruises.’ He smiled, but Sara was too tense to notice.
‘Is that all?’ she exclaimed, pressing her hands together. ‘There are no broken bones, or anything like that?’
‘No.’ Doctor Haswell smoothed the thinning hair on his pate. ‘Apart from a few minor contusions, there’s no damage done.’
‘Oh, thank goodness!’
Sara was fervent, but the doctor wasn’t finished yet.
‘In any case, I wanted to see you, to speak to you myself,’ he added. ‘I wanted to congratulate you for achieving the impossible. Six weeks ago, I’d never have believed that anyone could pull Jeff out of his apathy.’
She coloured. ‘To what end?’ she muttered self-consciously. ‘I don’t suppose Jeff would agree with you. Like you said, I’m to blame for what happened.’
I wouldn’t exactly use those words,’ retorted Doctor Haswell drily. ‘I’d say you should take the credit for what happened. Don’t take any notice of Alan Keating—he always fusses like a mother hen. Jeff is okay. He’s making progress.’
Sara shook her head. ‘You didn’t hear the noise he was making last night——’
‘That’s right,’ Grant intervened from his seat beside the pool. ‘Howling like a banshee, he was, Doc. I bet old Cora thought the zombie was out to get her!’
Doctor Haswell listened tolerantly, then turned back to Sara. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about what you heard,’ he said gently. ‘Most of it was probably frustration at his own inadequacy. And at being found out.’
She stared at him. ‘You think he’s done something like this before?’
‘I’d say it’s probable. He was a little distance from the bed when he fell, and I doubt he could have achieved so much at a first attempt.’
She caught her breath. ‘Do you think it’s possible he has some feeling in his legs?’ she exclaimed.
‘Hey, come on!’ The doctor gave her a rueful smile now. ‘I’m not talking miracles here. Somehow—we don’t know how—Jeff dragged himself out of bed, and tried to make his legs support him. They wouldn’t—that much is obvious. What is exciting is that he actually made the effort.’
Sara sighed. ‘I see.’
‘Don’t sound so down-hearted! It’s a great breakthrough.’
‘For you, perhaps. Not for Jeff,’ said Sara sadly. ‘Is there no possible chance of him regaining the use of his legs?’
Doctor Haswell hesitated. ‘Six weeks ago, I’d have said no chance at all.’
‘And now?’
‘Now? Now, I’d say it was highly unlikely.’
‘His injuries were that bad, hmm?’
‘Well, his spinal cord wasn’t severed, if that’s what you mean. But his back was broken, and the nerves were irreparably impaired.’
‘I see,’ said Sara again. ‘And no one’s ever recovered from that kind of paralysis.’
‘I didn’t say that.’ The doctor sighed now. ‘Let me explain: when Jeff first had the accident, which was about nine months ago, the prognosis was not unfavourable. Oh, I’m not attempting to minimise his injuries. They were—and are—quite formidable. But had Jeff been prepared to co-operate, had he had some faith in the powers of rehabilitation, we might be some way now towards handling his condition.’
‘But Jeff wasn’t so co-operative.’
‘That’s an understatement!’ exclaimed Grant scornfully, but this time Doctor Haswell was not diverted.
‘No,’ he said, ‘Jeff was not co-operative. In fact, he showed no interest at all in living.’ He paused. ‘Were it not for the fact that Link was able to afford to employ a team of medics to work on him day and night, I really think he might not have survived those first crucial days.’
‘But why?’ Sara was confused.
‘Who knows?’ Doctor Haswell spread his hands. ‘It would seem Jeff had everything to live for. But that’s the way it is sometimes.’
‘Poor little rich kid!’ taunted Grant from his chair. ‘Don’t I get sick of hearing that?’
‘Then don’t listen,’ retorted Sara, turning on him. She resumed her questioning. ‘Are you saying Jeff’s paralysis could be psychosomatic?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘Oh, no. The nerves were damaged all right, we have evidence of that; he’s never likely to stagger out of bed one day and confound us all. But, given time, and therapy, he could have learned to do things for himself—and used his crutches with rather more success.’
‘You’re speaking in the past tense. Isn’t it possible now?’
‘Anything’s possible—if Jeff is willing to let us help him. Naturally, these months of inactivity have made the job that much more difficult, and it may be he’ll never regain lost ground. But we could try.’
‘If Jeff was willing.’
‘If he was willing,’ he agreed.
Sara’s shoulders sagged. ‘Then why isn’t he?’
‘Well,’ Doctor Haswell was reassuring, ‘you have set the wheels in motion, at least. That’s something. When I speak to Link, I’ll be sure and tell him what you’ve done.’
Sara’s smile was forced. ‘I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she’s afraid he might come down here to s
ee for himself,’ remarked Grant laconically. ‘I think Link scares her.’
‘He does not!’
She was instinctively defensive, but Grant was not convinced. ‘Well, you looked pretty scared to me the last time he’d been talking to you,’ he observed carelessly, and she realised he had mistaken panic for intimidation.
‘I don’t think Miss Fielding has any reason to be afraid of Link,’ put in the doctor now. ‘I’m sure he’ll be as delighted as we all are that Jeff has shown some initiative at last.’ He paused. ‘I hope you’re going to keep up the good work.’
Sara shrugged. ‘According to Mr Keating, Jeff blames me for what happened to him. He said he didn’t think he’d want to see me again.’
The doctor nodded. ‘That sounds like Keating.’
She moistened her lips. ‘Don’t you think it’s true, then?’
‘Oh I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Jeff had said something of the sort,’ responded Doctor Haswell, and Sara’s spirits plummeted. ‘But that’s not to say you should pay much attention to it. After all, I doubt if he was enthusiastic about seeing you in the first place.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘You really think I should see him whether he agrees or not?’
‘I think you may have to,’ confirmed the doctor ruefully. ‘Jeff’s his own worst enemy, and that’s who you’ve got to fight.’
