by R. S. Sutton
The physical wounds had quickly ceased to bother him. The mental ones were deep and still seeped crimson pain. Now he only thought of the one person that had the power to heal, the only person that could haul him from the edge. But not too quickly. If she would be the one, then she must be given time to breathe, to come back down among the living. So, letting the dust settle, he had given it a few weeks before making the short journey.
With flowers and a box of Belgian chocolates gripped between arm and chest, he knocked on the houseboat door with a free hand.
‘Oh, hello, come to see Valerie.’ He looked quizzically at the tall, immaculately dressed West Indian, who made him feel like his own expensive suit had come from Oxfam.
‘Janie,’ Winston turned and shouted down the corridor, ‘someone to see Miss Stone.’ Giving a wide smile, he moved to one side. ‘Come in man, come in.’
Jane, the bruises now diminished, was sitting in a worn, brown leather chair next to a wood-burner. ‘It must be Mr Preston.’ As if warming her hands, she cupped the mug of coffee.
Preston motioned her to stay seated as she started to rise. ‘Come to see Valerie,’ he said, slightly puzzled.
‘Coffee?’ Winston appeared with another mug. ‘We’re house-, er, boat-sitting.’ He sat protectively on the arm next to Jane.
‘Miss Stone’s away for a while,’ said Jane as Preston raised his eyebrows. ‘Think we both probably know where.’ Jane took a sip of her coffee and looked up. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ She waited until he took the chair opposite, then carried on. ‘I think we both know she doesn’t want to be disturbed.’ Looking for reassurance, she took hold of Winston’s hand. ‘You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?’
‘It shows, does it?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Tell me about her, Jane,’ he said, leaning back. Jane looked into the fire, saying nothing. ‘Think I’m owed.’
Winston nodded.
Finishing her coffee, Jane put the mug on the table and once more looked at Winston for reassurance.
‘It’s okay, Janie, tell him. He could find out with a little digging. Might as well get the King James version.’
‘It’s not Miss Stone,’ she began. ‘It’s Mrs Stone.’
Preston was about to speak but Jane quickly carried on. ‘Where to start? Oh, Jesus.’
Winston made an attempt to lighten the situation. ‘Start at the beginning, sweetie,’ he said, squeezing her hand.
‘Right,’ said Jane, not sure of where the beginning was exactly. ‘In-laws. You know the Queen owns half of Scotland?’ Preston raised an eyebrow but smiled. ‘Well, Valerie’s in-laws own the other half. Or, to be exact, two hundred and thirty-four thousand, six hundred and three acres… give or take a yard. Plus West End property, and plus and plus and plus. I know you’re not short of a penny, Mr Preston, but they carry your kind of money around like loose change. You get the picture?’
Preston’s lips tightened into a wry smile.
‘Valerie married the only son, Simon. Everyone was incredibly happy. The fairy queen had stepped down from the Christmas tree sprinkling gold dust everywhere. And after not too long she fell pregnant. Great jubilation, parties, celebrations, you name it. All was well with the world… offspring to keep the name and estates going, and of course, the child would be beautiful etcetera, etcetera.
‘Anyway, when she was about six months, Simon and Valerie had been to his parents’ place for lunch, some whopping estate in Surrey. Valerie was driving but has no recollection of what happened. She can remember waving goodbye as they drove off, but then nothing until she was in the ambulance. Some bloody lunatic came around a corner on the wrong side, according to Simon. Head on. Valerie lost the baby within a few hours.’
‘They blamed her?’ said Preston. ‘For Christ’s sake, why?’
‘Apparently there were comments made over lunch that Valerie shouldn’t be driving. You know, being pregnant. Simon jumped to her defence and nothing more was said.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Preston.
‘Oh, there’s worse. Simon spent most of the time with her after the accident, wouldn’t leave her side. One morning he was rearranging her pillows and just collapsed. Aneurism from the accident. Brain damage. Severe brain damage. He was put on life support… still there now, after four years. Valerie won’t give permission to turn him off. She visits him every week. Listens to the radio, reads him books, keeps him up to date with what she’s been doing.’
Preston raised a hand to his forehead and pushed back his hair. ‘Oh, Jesus Christ.’ He paused for a moment, gazing unfocused out of the window. ‘So why the life she leads? She can’t be short of money.’
Jane shook her head. ‘It’s all family business, her in-laws’ business, that is. When they were one big, happy family it didn’t matter. But after the accident the family never forgave her and took the lot. House, everything. Now she rents this houseboat. She has the car, that was a twenty-first birthday present from Simon, and two wedding rings. They tried for the car but it’s in her name.’
‘And the watch?’ said Preston. ‘With the way she guards it, I imagine there’s a story there too.’
‘Yes,’ said Jane, ‘the other thing she treasures above everything else, the watch. One Christmas she asked him what he wanted. He joked that he wanted the same as James Bond wore. So, she went out and paid over ten grand for a nineteen sixties Submariner. She pays for his nursing; it takes most of her income every month.’
Preston rose to his feet. ‘A small village just outside Worcester. Shouldn’t be hard—’
‘Won’t be hard at all. Probably walking the family spaniel down a country lane right now. And if you come up behind her with your roses and Belgian Truffles, you might make her stop and think. But you have to make up your mind… how much of her would make you happy? Or more important, make her happy?’
‘There were times.’
‘I’m sure there were. I’m also sure they were total magic. But would you be happy with three quarters of her for the rest of the time? Could you bear to look at her and see she was somewhere else? I would have said you were the kind of man that wanted one hundred per cent of her, for one hundred per cent of the time. And another thing, of course… how long would it last?’
‘Thanks.’ Preston got to his feet and handed Jane the flowers and chocolates. ‘Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.’
‘Where are you going?’
Turning to the door, Preston shrugged his shoulders.
