The Moorstone Sickness

by Bernard Taylor

  Hal looked at her in silence for a moment, then he took a last drag from his cigarette and dropped it out of the window. Reaching down, he turned the key in the ignition.

  ‘I think we’d better get going,’ he said. ‘Rowan will be wondering where we are.’

  14

  Soon after Hal and Rowan got back from seeing Paul Cassen on Monday morning Hal left for London. Mrs Palfrey saw him go.

  Standing at the sitting-room window, duster in hand, she’d paused in her task of polishing the small walnut table and watched as he’d put his suitcase onto the back seat of the car and taken Rowan in his arms. After he’d kissed her he’d driven away. He would leave the car in Exeter and take the train from there, Rowan had told Mrs Palfrey. He wouldn’t be returning till Wednesday.

  Now Mrs Palfrey turned away from the window, put down the duster and went into the kitchen. She was filling the kettle at the sink when Rowan came in.

  ‘I thought you might like a cup of coffee,’ Mrs Palfrey said. They drank far too much coffee, the Grahams. It wasn’t good. Still, a few more cups wouldn’t hurt.

  Rowan smiled at her. ‘Lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘How did you get on this morning?’ Mrs Palfrey asked as she switched on the kettle.

  ‘Oh, fine. Dr Cassen certainly seems to know what he’s doing.’

  ‘Yes, no doubt of that.’ Mrs Palfrey paused. ‘And how are you feeling today?’

  ‘You mean that—sick feeling I had? Oh, fine. I don’t know what was in the medicine Dr Cassen gave us but it certainly seems to have worked. For both of us.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘And my wrist is going on very well, too . . .’

  ‘And there’s no chance of any—permanent damage?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. Another week or so, he says, and it’ll be as right as rain. That’ll be a relief, I can tell you. I shall be able to get on with some work again. It’s such a nuisance being hampered in this way.’ Rowan picked up her bag and moved towards the door. ‘Well—I’d better go and change.’

  ‘Your coffee will be ready in a minute or two. I’ll bring it in to you.’

  Rowan smiled from the doorway. ‘You know, I’m going to miss all this once my wrist is better. You’re spoiling me dreadfully.’

  She went away then and Mrs Palfrey got on with the business of making the coffee. When the tray was ready she carried it into the sitting room. Rowan, now wearing a blouse and jeans, was using her left hand to continue the polishing where Mrs Palfrey had left off. She was singing as she worked. Breaking off her song as Mrs Palfrey entered she said over her shoulder, ‘I can’t use my typewriter, but this is something I can do. I must do something. I can’t just sit around.’

  Mrs Palfrey put her head on one side and gave her a little admonishing look. ‘Well, just so long as you don’t overdo it.’

  She set the tray down and poured the coffee. Rowan came and sat on the sofa. Her blouse had short sleeves and Mrs Palfrey noticed at once the small, round sticking-plaster in the crook of her left elbow.

  ‘Have you hurt yourself again?’ she asked.

  ‘What? Oh, that. No, not at all!’ Rowan laughed. ‘My God, you’re making me sound like a walking disaster area! No, that’s just where Dr Cassen took some blood for one of his tests.’ She paused and added with a grin, ‘He didn’t take only blood, either. If nothing else, one has to admit that he’s thorough. God, but I hate those needles and things.’

  ‘You poor thing. And Mr Graham—he had the same tests?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Why should I be the only one to suffer!’

  Mrs Palfrey left her then and returned to the kitchen where she took her handbag from her shopping basket. Opening the bag she took out a worn and crinkled, unsealed envelope. From inside that she pulled out a flimsy twist of tissue paper. Placing it on the table she opened it out and looked at the bits of dried leaves, petals and berries that lay there. After a moment she threw the envelope into the trash-bin, wrapped the bits in the paper again, put it into her pocket and went outside.

  As she walked down the path between the cabbages and the beans she glanced over to her right and saw Tom Freeman emerging from the garden shed with a rake in his hand. Seeing her he gave a short wave and she came to a stop and shot him a brief look, wide-eyed and eyebrows raised. Then, as he stared at her she moved her right hand and touched her fingertips to the inside of her left elbow. It was just the briefest gesture. He smiled slowly and then formed his mouth into a single, silent word:

  ‘Both . . . ?’

  Mrs Palfrey nodded, turned away and moved on along the path.

  As she drew closer to the orchard she looked around and saw that the old man was following her. She stopped when she came to the patch where all the plants grew wild in their rich, strange-scented profusion. Freeman came to her side and watched as she took the twist of paper from her apron pocket.

  ‘When?’ he said.

  ‘This morning.’

  His slow nod was all satisfaction. He watched as she opened the paper. ‘So there’s no more need for that stuff anymore.’

  ‘Let’s hope not.’

  ‘And they’re all right, are they?’

  ‘All right?’

  ‘They’re feeling all right . . .’ He paused, then added awkwardly: ‘You didn’t overdo it . . .’

  ‘Of course not,’ she snapped. ‘It needed hardly anything. Just enough to put them off colour for a few days—and get them to the doctor.’ She looked at him scornfully. ‘How on earth would you manage on your own? You’d be useless.’

  ‘I’ve managed in the past,’ he said defensively.

  She shrugged. ‘I suppose you must have.’ She smiled then, and went on: ‘You should see her in there. Happy as a lark. I’ve never seen her like it before.’ She laughed. ‘And extolling the virtues of Dr Cassen’s medicine. So much enthusiasm for a bit of coloured water.’ Opening the twist of paper she leaned forward and shook it so that the bits of dry plant fell scattered amongst the fresh green. Turning back to the old man and seeing the satisfaction in his eyes she said, with a malicious little note of assumed sadness:

  ‘But now he’s gone . . .’

  ‘—What?’

  ‘He’s gone. He’s not happy here. He’s left. Gone back to London . . .’

  His mouth fell open in dismay and he stared at her in wide-eyed panic. ‘Gone—?’

  ‘As soon as they got back from seeing Cassen.’ He shook his head. His expression now was all horror. ‘No,’ he groaned. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  She continued to look at him for a moment or two, then she relented.

  ‘No,’ she smiled. She’d enjoyed his agony. ‘He’s coming back—in two or three days.’

  His eyes closed momentarily in relief, and he said, ‘Oh . . .’ on a long, deep sigh. Then, giving her a reproving shake of his head he said, ‘Don’t do that to me, Sylvia.’

  She chuckled. ‘You believed me, didn’t you?—for a second there? I really had you on the run.’ Still chuckling, she screwed up the bit of tissue paper and thrust it into her pocket. Then, her expression serious again, she added: ‘But it’s true: he’s not happy here. I can tell. And if it’s left up to him I don’t think they’d be likely to stay that much longer.’

  She and the man looked silently at one another for a few moments, then she turned and made her way back towards the house.

  15

  Miss Carroll was bent over her desk, writing. After a few moments she looked up and smiled. ‘You’re off now, are you?’ she said.

  Alison nodded. ‘If that’s all right with you?’

  ‘Of course, my dear. What time is your appointment?’

  ‘Eleven forty-five.’

  ‘Fine, then you run along. Did you phone your friend Mrs Graham?’

  ‘Yes. We’re going to meet for lunch when I come out. You’re sure you’re not going to need me . . .’

  ‘Quite sure. And don’t bother about hurrying back; there’ll be nothing for you to do
today.’ She sighed, turned in her chair and looked at the pile of manuscript pages on her desk. ‘This should be the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s a shame that that husband of yours has to go and upset my plans. Still, it can’t be helped.’ Looking back at Alison she smiled briskly. ‘Well, off you go. Go and get yourself looking pretty for when he gets here.’

  In the kitchen Alison told Miss Allardice that she wouldn’t be in for lunch. Then she went up to her room, where she picked up her bag and made a quick check in the mirror. She had just got down to the hall again when the front doorbell rang. Opening the door she saw Ralph Collins standing on the porch, his burly frame cutting out the light. Anyone looking less like a librarian was, to her mind, hard to imagine.

  ‘Miss Carroll’s expecting me,’ he said. The smile he gave her was too warm, too ingratiating. She made no attempt to return it but simply opened the door wider. He stepped through into the hall and stood there, blocking her exit. ‘Off out, are you?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Shall you be joining us for lunch?’

  ‘No.’ She kept her distance and didn’t look at him.

  ‘Couldn’t you be persuaded to join us?’

  ‘Not by you.’ She glared at him and then looked away again. She hated his florid, freckled complexion, his wiry, red hair. Taking a small step forward she said, ‘Would you excuse me. I’m going to be late.’

  He didn’t move. ‘Please,’ he said, his voice low, ‘—we just got off to a rather bad start, that’s all.’

  ‘We haven’t got off to any start. And that’s the way I intend to keep it.’

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m really not such a bad fellow. Couldn’t we get together for a friendly little chat sometime? Get to know one another?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re not sorry at all.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘Mr Collins, why don’t you give up? You know there’s no point in all this. I’ve made it quite clear to you how I feel, and I’m damned certain that with my husband arriving in just a few days I’m hardly likely to change my attitude now. Not that I ever would.’ She took another step forward. Still he didn’t move.

  Giving her a slow smile, he said, ‘I’ll bet you’ve got a fantastic body.’

  Turning abruptly, she stepped away along the hall, knocked on Miss Carroll’s study door and opened it. ‘Mr Collins is here,’ she announced. On hearing the old lady’s reply she looked back to the man. ‘Miss Carroll’s waiting for you now.’

  ‘What time will you be back?’ he asked as he came towards her.

  ‘With any luck, after you’ve gone.’

  Without looking at him again she stepped past him to the front door. As she closed it behind her she breathed a sigh of relief. And with more luck, that would be the last she’d see of him. After Sunday there wouldn’t even be the risk of her setting eyes on him again.

  They were in the restaurant of The Swan, sitting at one of the tables overlooking the High Street. Alison was eating steak. Rowan, still one-handed, had opted for an easy-to-manage beef stroganoff. Beyond the net-curtained window they could see the villagers going by on the pavement. Alison hadn’t told Rowan her news over the phone; now, though, she did.

  ‘But you said he wasn’t due for almost another three weeks,’ Rowan said.

  ‘No, he wasn’t. But now his plans have changed.’ With a sudden wide smile Alison added excitedly, ‘Just five days! Five days and Geoff’ll be back in England! I can hardly believe it!’

  ‘When did you hear?’

  ‘Just this morning.’

  ‘And Miss Carroll knows?’

  ‘Oh, yes. She’s taking it surprisingly well, all things considered. She was quite thrown at first, I could tell, but—she’s being very nice about it all. Very understanding.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve had your hair done—because of Geoff?’

  Alison shrugged. ‘I don’t really want to look a mess when he gets here.’ She reached up and touched at her hair. It was a little shorter now. The ends curved up just below her ears. ‘It does look better, doesn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes, it does.’ Rowan nodded. ‘Did you get it done here in the village?’

  ‘Yes, just along the High Street. I was a bit anxious at first but Miss Carroll assured me they were perfectly professional and, as she put it, “up to date.” It was her idea that I had it done. Well, it had got a bit—straggly; she was right.’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose I haven’t bothered that much while I’ve been here. Now, though, I have an incentive again.’ Her hand went once more up to her hair. ‘I think they did a good job, too. And they were very attentive. I think Miss Carroll must have told them to give me the royal treatment. She was the one who made the appointment for me.’

  ‘She seems to be taking your departure very well.’

  ‘Oh, yes, she is. She’s even suggested that Miss Allardice drive me into Exeter so that I can do some shopping; get some new clothes. I might go. I don’t know yet.’ She grinned. ‘Not much time, is there?’

  ‘No, there isn’t. Have you got everything planned?’

  ‘Sort of. Geoff should get here sometime Sunday afternoon. I thought I’d book a room for us here for that night and then—we leave for London on the Monday. We’ll stay in London till we fly out. He’s got business meetings to attend and there’s also my visa and things like that to be sorted out.’

  ‘It’s all happening so quickly.’

  Alison laughed. ‘Yes, that’s what Miss Carroll said.’ She took a sip from her wine glass; shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea whether she’s done anything about finding anyone to replace me, but—oh, well, I’m sure she’s got it all taken care of. I don’t like leaving her in the lurch but—I’m afraid I’m just being very selfish. All I can think about is the fact that Geoff’s coming back. Not even that persistent bastard Collins could put me off my stroke today.’

  ‘Is he still acting up?’

  ‘He tries. Ah, but why talk about him on such a lovely day. How’s your stroganoff?’

  ‘Very good, thanks.’

  ‘You seem to be coping very well. How is the wrist?’

  ‘Coming on. Few more days and I’ll be able to use it properly again. It hasn’t been too bad, though. And thank God for Mrs Palfrey. She’s been a great help. A little too much sometimes—the way she fusses over me; but her heart’s in the right place.’

  There was something different about Rowan today, Alison thought. There was an effervescence about her; a carefree quality that she hadn’t noticed before.

  ‘You know, you’re looking so much better,’ Alison said.

  ‘Oh, I feel better. I feel great. Paul Cassen’s good, isn’t he?—and you were right about his being thorough.’ Rowan then went on to tell of the checkup she and Hal had been given the day before. ‘I thought Paul would just take our blood pressure,’ she said. ‘Not a bit of it; he took our blood.’ Lowering her voice she added, ‘Not to mention urine specimens.’

  Alison nodded. ‘Same with me when I went to see him.’

  ‘I know Hal regarded the whole thing as a damned nuisance,’ Rowan went on, ‘—but it’s good to know that you’re healthy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Have you heard from Hal?’

  ‘He phoned last night.’ Rowan frowned. ‘He was so pleased to be there—in London. You could tell.’

  ‘Why, what did he say?’

  ‘It wasn’t so much what he said. You could just hear it in his voice.’

  ‘Well . . .’ Alison shrugged, ‘—he’s still settling in.’

  ‘Fine, but how much time does he need?’

  But then Rowan’s smile was back again; this time a little wistful, though, as she said, ‘So, on Monday you’ll be leaving Moorstone, and two weeks later you’ll be in Saudi Arabia—making friends with all those other ex-patriate wives and going to all those illegal drinking parties. I’ve heard what it’s like.’

  ‘Oh, no, that’s
not my scene at all. Nor Geoff’s.’

  There was a little silence. Rowan said:

  ‘I know we haven’t known one another long, but—I shall miss you.’

  ‘I shall miss you too. But look, let’s keep in touch. Then when Geoff and I come back on leave or whatever we can meet. Let’s not lose contact.’

  ‘No, let’s not.’

  Later, after dessert, the waitress brought coffee. Alison added cream and sugar to hers and lit a cigarette. Glancing from the window she said with a nod:

  ‘Oh, there’s your friend. Two of your friends.’

  Rowan leaned forward and looked out. David Lockyer was standing at his front gate talking to Mrs Palfrey, who held a shopping basket in her hands.

  Alison grinned. ‘Oh, she’s getting her kicks, all right.’

  ‘Mrs Palfrey? What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m sure she’s got the hots for him.’

  Rowan laughed. ‘You’re making that up.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘But—she’s so much older than he is.’

  ‘So? Since when have people been too old to make idiots of themselves?’

  ‘But what makes you say that—about them?’

  ‘I’ve watched them. On the few occasions I’ve accompanied Miss Carroll to church I’ve watched them—those two. Mrs Palfrey stands next to him in the choir. And she’s so attentive. You can tell just by looking at her that she thinks the sun shines out of his eyes. And after all, they do have a common interest—their music.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but—you don’t think he’s attracted to her, do you?’

  ‘I’d hardly think so. No, he probably regards her as some nice, motherly old duck.’

  Rowan nodded. ‘Mm. I suppose Mrs Palfrey must get lonely at times—and it must be nice when some kind, handsome young man shares your own interests.’

  ‘He is handsome, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And kind.’ Rowan paused. ‘He phoned yesterday—to ask how I was.’

  ‘There’s considerate for you.’

  ‘Don’t read anything into it. He’s just a very nice man.’

  Alison looked back to the window. Mrs Palfrey was moving away now, turning, beaming over her shoulder at Lockyer. ‘Yes, and quite obviously Mrs Palfrey thinks so too.’