Barnaby nodded numbly.
‘Look, Lou, I’m sorry,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I didn’t realize …’
‘Just go,’ said Louise wearily. Barnaby nodded bleakly. He turned slowly away, then looked back, but Louise was staring blankly down at the floor.
‘Bye,’ he whispered dolefully.
‘Bye, Barnaby,’ said Cassian. Louise said nothing.
‘Bye,’ whispered Barnaby again. And with a heavy heart, he tiptoed out of the cottage and made his way back to his lonely empty home.
Much later on Cassian came and sat beside Louise on the sofa, where she was blankly watching the television, turned down low so that it wouldn’t wake Amelia. He began to massage her shoulders with a deft expertise.
‘I know it’s difficult,’ he murmured softly into her neck, ‘but it’ll all be worth it in the end.’
Louise didn’t move.
‘The important thing is to secure Katie’s future,’ he added. There was a little pause. ‘And our future,’ he whispered seductively. ‘Together.’
Slowly he pushed aside her hair and kissed her on the back of her neck.
Louise’s shoulders froze in uncertain anticipation. There had been so many moments like this since she’d known Cassian; so many times when she’d expected him to make a move, to turn a light kiss into something more intense, to take a casual caress forward into the beginnings of love-making. And, so far, it had never happened. At first she’d felt slightly relieved; let off the hook. After some time, relief had turned into frustrated disappointment. And then, when she heard the rumours going round of her steamy affair, she had begun to feel an ironic amusement. She’d felt a private self-vindication at the knowledge that, whatever everyone thought, she hadn’t been unfaithful to Barnaby.
She still hadn’t. At least, not yet.
Cassian was still nuzzling the back of her neck. Louise could scarcely breathe. Was it finally going to happen? Now? When she was feeling so tired and groggy?
‘I really hate to see you upset,’ Cassian said, huskily, against her skin. ‘I just want to make you feel better. Darling,’ he added.
He felt Louise beginning to unbend slightly, and quickly moved a hand up inside her T-shirt, cupping a breast. With the other hand, he adeptly undid her bra. As it loosened, his fingers slipped underneath it, and he began to caress her soft flesh.
‘Cassian,’ said Louise weakly. She felt bruised by the evening’s arguments, vulnerable and unsure of herself; unsure of Cassian, even … But as she turned to face him, she felt her heart give a little leap. His eyes were gleaming; his expression intense, as though full of ardent fervour.
‘Darling,’ said Cassian. He looked straight at her with his dark-brown eyes. ‘The reason I’m taking this case so seriously’, he said huskily, ‘is that … I love you.’
Louise’s battered heart gave a little flutter.
‘You must have known how I felt,’ said Cassian. ‘All this time.’ He gave a small self-deprecating smile.
‘Well,’ said Louise falteringly.
‘I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you,’ said Cassian. He looked at her, his face suddenly serious. ‘Is this the right moment, Louise?’
For a few moments Louise silently stared at him, her lips trembling and her face pale. Then, still silent, she nodded.
Cassian traced a finger down her face, then gently pulled her towards him. As their lips met, a fleeting image of Barnaby’s face went through Louise’s mind, accompanied by a hazy resentful guilt. But as Cassian’s hands began to move with skilful care over her body, the image of Barnaby grew dim and vanished, and her mind and body surrendered, in sudden weary relief, to a blank unthinking pleasure.
Chapter Thirteen
Ten days later the weather broke. Sitting in the children’s play-room at the hospital, Louise heard a clap of thunder and saw the first huge splashy drops of rain fall on the window-pane.
She shivered, even though the room itself was warm and bright, and looked at Katie, who was sitting on a play-mat, dispiritedly holding a shoe-lace threaded with wooden beads in primary colours. The play leader had started Katie off, threading the beads onto the shoe-lace herself, and had then surrounded her with more beads to carry on with and make a necklace. But although that was twenty minutes ago, Katie had not managed to add a single bead. She stared dully at the shoe-lace as though she couldn’t understand what it was for, and resisted Louise’s attempts to encourage her.
Louise sighed and looked at her watch. Still only eleven-forty. At twelve o’clock Barnaby was due to arrive at the hospital to collect them both and take them to Forest Lodge. Katie was now at the rehabilitation stage, it had been explained to them. She was physically independent, although her reactions were still slow; she was able to speak and eat and wash herself, and her memory had, to some degree, returned.
A noise made Louise look up. Katie had scattered the spare beads angrily on the floor.
‘I don’t like them,’ she said, in her new thick heavy voice. Louise smiled encouragingly at Katie.
‘Don’t you like the pretty beads?’ she said. Katie scowled and looked away. Louise smiled again. Sometimes it was only by smiling that she could stop herself from screaming.
Mrs Innes from Forest Lodge had been very encouraging when she had assessed Katie. She had explained the rehabilitation centre to Louise, outlined the individually planned intensive programmes, spoken of multi-disciplinary teams, of reintegration into the education system, of parental involvement.
She had then said, somewhat to Louise’s surprise, that she thought Katie should begin at Forest Lodge as a residential patient, to benefit from the twenty-four-hour care. Louise, who for some time had been imagining Katie back at home and everything back to normal, had felt tears come to her eyes and an inexplicable rage, directed primarily against the blameless Mrs Innes.
But now, watching Katie’s uncertain progress across the room towards the Wendy house, she could see that everything was not back to normal. Katie was not the little girl she had been. Her speech was blurred; she often seemed to be at a loss for the right word; she grew angry easily, and tired even more easily; and her attention span, which had never been great at the best of times, now seemed non-existent.
They all found it difficult to relate to this new Katie; they all reacted to her in different ways. Barnaby had recently adopted a determined optimism. Every time he visited he relentlessly pointed out improvements in Katie’s behaviour, until Louise, who spent more time with Katie than any of them, found herself snapping back – countering each of his optimistic observations with her own pessimistic ones.
She herself found it difficult to gain any perspective. For every achievement there seemed to be a set-back; Katie’s progress appeared unbearably slow to her. Buried deep inside her was a foolish wish – belief, almost – that one day she was going to arrive at the hospital to find Katie running down the corridor, cracking the silly jokes she’d loved before the accident, talking in the same voice, back to her old self. The leaden truth – that any progress Katie made would be, at best, gradual – hit her with a depressing thud every day, as she arrived to find Katie only minimally improved from the day before, or not improved at all, or even slightly worse.
Meanwhile poor Amelia, who had pestered and pestered to be allowed to come to the hospital and play with Katie, now often stayed at home instead. Katie wasn’t much good at playing with Amelia any more, Louise had soberly come to realize.
A week or so ago, Amelia had insisted on bringing the Noah’s ark set to the hospital. She had set out the animals in their twos, then, in a conciliatory voice, said, ‘You can have the elephants this time, Katie, because you’re ill.’ She looked at Katie for some recognition of this generous gesture, but Katie simply grabbed for the elephants. Amelia glanced uncertainly at Louise, then turned back to Katie and said, in a challenging voice that usually presaged an argument, ‘Well, I’ll have the monkeys then.’ The monkeys had always been Katie’s favourites, but today
there was no shrill reaction from Katie, no cry of ‘Am–ee–lia, that’s so unfair.’ Katie didn’t seem to care about the monkeys any more. She didn’t seem to care about anything any more.
The door opened and Barnaby appeared. He gave Louise a quick smile, then looked around for Katie.
‘She’s in the Wendy house,’ said Louise.
‘Kat-kin!’ called Barnaby. ‘I’m coming to find you!’ He glanced down and suddenly spotted the wooden bead necklace, abandoned on the play-mat. ‘Did Katie do this?’ he asked, his voice suddenly full of pleasure. ‘Look at that!’
‘Actually,’ said Louise gently, ‘the play leader did it. Katie was supposed to carry on, but she wasn’t very keen.’
Barnaby’s face fell. He turned away from Louise and began to approach the Wendy house, overshadowing it with his hulking frame. Suddenly Katie’s head poked out of the window. She was grinning.
‘Katie! You clever joker!’ cried Barnaby joyfully. He looked over to Louise, as though to say You see … Louise smiled tightly back.
Had she always felt as irritated as this by Barnaby? she wondered. Or was it just since Cassian had given her a new yardstick to measure him by? Cassian, who was astute and professional, who cared about her and her children. Cassian, who understood that Katie’s recovery would take time, who didn’t grin at her with that stupid pointless optimism, but talked soberly about Katie and made helpful serious suggestions. Cassian, who came to her tenderly in bed, making her shiver and shudder with delight. Cassian, who …
Katie’s new raucous laugh rang through the air, breaking her thoughts, and she looked up. Barnaby was standing in front of her, with Katie in his arms and an eager expression on his face. Louise sighed.
‘All right,’ she said, ‘let’s go.’
It was some time before they had said goodbye to all the nurses and medical staff on the ward and distributed the presents labelled, ‘Thank you, love from Katie.’ As she walked with Barnaby, out of the main entrance of the hospital, dodging the rain and watching Katie getting into the car just like any other child, Louise suddenly felt a sense of lifting; a relief. Perhaps things were almost getting back to normal.
Her spirits lifted still further as they entered the gates of Forest Lodge. The centre had been established in a large beautiful country house, surrounded by gardens. Louise turned and smiled at Katie.
‘Look, Katie,’ she said, ‘look at the trees.’ She raised her voice over the sound of rain drumming on the roof of the car. ‘Look at the lovely house you’re going to stay in.’ As she spoke, she looked hard at Katie’s face for signs of distress. Mrs Innes had emphasized that if, at any time, Katie became upset at the idea of staying full time at Forest Lodge, they would think again, but to Louise’s secret hurt and surprise, Katie had taken the news calmly. Or perhaps, thought Louise, she didn’t really understand what was happening.
The entrance hall was large and wood panelled; Mrs Innes was waiting for them as they entered.
‘Lovely!’ she exclaimed, beaming as though genuinely pleased to see them. ‘Well, Katie, you do look better already. I’m sure you’re going to make wonderful progress here.’ She turned to Louise and Barnaby. ‘It’s getting on for lunchtime,’ she said, ‘if you’d like to stay and meet some of the other residents here, and then you can meet the team which will be working with Katie.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Barnaby regretfully, ‘but Louise, you’ll stay, won’t you?’
‘Of course I’ll stay,’ said Louise. ‘Come on, Katie,’ she said cheerfully, ‘let’s meet your new friends.’
The news that Katie Kember was now at Forest Lodge spread swiftly through the village. Mrs Potter, who ran the village shop, heard it from Mary Tracey, and the two of them were discussing it when Sylvia Seddon-Wilson popped in out of the rain for some cigarettes.
‘Forest Lodge?’ she said, raising her eyebrows. ‘The place for disabled children? I didn’t realize she was that bad.’
‘She’s not,’ said Mary robustly. ‘Not really. She’s getting much better. She’s talking, and reading a bit, and …’
‘Well, anyway,’ said Sylvia, interrupting her. ‘I’ve got some news! I’ve been asked to be a witness in the case for the Kembers!’ She looked around triumphantly. ‘I got a letter yesterday, asking for a statement. Isn’t it exciting? I’m going to be a witness! I’ll have to buy a new outfit!’
‘Actually,’ said Mary, ‘lots of people have got letters. They wrote to me, too.’
‘Oh,’ said Sylvia disappointedly.
‘They’ve drawn up a big list of people who were there,’ explained Mary, adopting an air of nonchalant self-importance. Rarely had she been in the position of explaining things to Sylvia Seddon-Wilson. ‘Cassian says …’
‘Gorgeous Cass!’ broke in Sylvia. ‘Isn’t he a honey? Perhaps he could come over some time and help me with my statement!’ She grinned lasciviously at Mary, who stared sternly back. ‘Sorry, Mary, I interrupted you. What does Cassian say?’ Mary cleared her throat awkwardly.
‘He says, in a case like this, you need as much evidence as possible, as quickly as possible.’ Her voice unconsciously imitated Cassian’s smooth tones. ‘He says they want to know as much as they can before they put together the writ.’ She hefted Luke up on her chest. ‘But that doesn’t mean everybody who gets a letter will be called as a witness in court. They’ll only appear if they’ve got something of crucial importance to say.’
‘Something of crucial importance!’ exclaimed Sylvia. ‘My God, I don’t think I’ve ever said anything of crucial importance in my life.’ She gave a sudden guffaw of laughter, and ripped open the packet of cigarettes on the counter in front of her.
‘You haven’t paid for those yet,’ reminded Mrs Potter.
‘I know,’ said Sylvia impatiently, ‘you can put them on James’s account if you like. Are you going to be a witness?’ she added airily, as Mrs Potter reached down behind the counter for the account book.
‘No, I’m certainly not,’ said Mrs Potter, emerging red-faced and flustered-looking, ‘and I wouldn’t, even if I was asked.’ She scribbled in the account book and closed it. ‘I think it’s shocking, the whole thing,’ she said with stern emphasis. ‘Taking those poor Delaneys to court! What did they ever do wrong? They was only doing their bit for charity and look where it’s got ’em.’
‘Yes, well, look where it’s got Katie,’ retorted Mary, feeling a need to defend Louise. ‘In hospital.’
‘I know that,’ said Mrs Potter, folding her arms and leaning against the counter. ‘And I’m very sorry. But if you ask me, those parents have got their priorities all wrong. The child’s not injured for two minutes, and her parents are already working out how much money they can make out of her! And from friends, too!’
‘That’s not fair!’ said Mary hotly. ‘They had to act quickly, otherwise all the witnesses would have forgotten what happened. And she deserves the money! She needs it! If you could see her … She could have been killed in that accident.’
‘Hmm, yes,’ said Sylvia thoughtfully, taking a puff on her cigarette, ‘but Mrs Potter’s got a point. If it really was just an accident, why should anyone have to pay compensation? Why should Hugh and Ursula be ruined?’ Mary looked at her, discomfited.
‘Exactly,’ said Mrs Potter. That’s just it. Why …’
‘On the other hand,’ interrupted Sylvia carelessly, ‘why shouldn’t the Kembers do everything they can for their daughter?’ She picked up a glossy magazine and began to flip through it. ‘I mean, if the diving-board really was dangerous – that’s what they’re saying, isn’t it? And Hugh and Ursula may well have enough money to cover it …’ Mrs Potter looked at Sylvia, puzzled.
‘But you just said …’ she began.
‘Oh, don’t listen to me,’ said Sylvia cheerfully, ‘I never know what I’m talking about.’ She brandished the magazine at Mrs Potter. ‘Can you add this to the account? I must run. Cheerio.’
She put the magazine ov
er her head and darted out into the rain. Mary and Mrs Potter watched her getting into her car, a large Jaguar, with a sticker in the back window saying, ‘Go First Class – Your Heirs Will.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Mrs Potter, sighing. ‘It seems all wrong to me.’
‘Well, I think they’re doing the right thing, suing,’ said Mary stoutly. ‘I really do. I mean,’ she said, searching for a comparison, ‘if you ate one of my … my homemade fish cakes, and it made you ill, you’d want some compensation, wouldn’t you? You’d take me to court.’ Mrs Potter looked at her in surprise.
‘Well, now,’ she said consideringly. ‘Would I? I’m not sure I would. I think I’d just say, “Oh, that was bad luck,” and leave it at that. Or, no, you’re right, maybe I would like a little something.’ She paused, and appeared to be thinking. ‘A Marks & Spencer token, perhaps,’ she suggested, ‘that would be a nice gesture. But I wouldn’t take you to court, not for a fish cake.’
‘Well, what if it killed you,’ said Mary, unwilling to concede her point. ‘Then you’d want something, wouldn’t you? You’d want some compensation? Some money?’
Mrs Potter began to laugh; a hoarse bubbling chuckle.
‘I’d be dead, Mary, love,’ she said. ‘If your fish cake killed me, I’d be dead! Money wouldn’t be much use to me in my coffin, would it? Nor a Marks & Spencer token, come to that.’ Her chuckles increased, and after a while, Mary couldn’t help giggling, too.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Mrs Potter at last, wiping her eyes. ‘It seems wrong to be laughing. Poor little girl; she didn’t deserve this to happen. And I do feel sorry for those Delaneys, too. I’d say they’ve had enough trouble these past few years, without all of this to-do.’ Mary’s face fell.
‘Yes, I suppose they have,’ she said eventually. She looked out into the teeming rain. ‘It’s a shame. It’s a shame for all of them.’
* * *
Meredith had risen early and spent the morning peering at law books – some newly bought, some borrowed from the library at Linningford. Half a foolscap pad was filled with dense notes before she stopped, stretched and looked out of the window. The rain was still pouring down unremittingly, and her sitting-room was filled with a soft grey light. She reached over, switched on a lamp, then winced as a harsh pool of yellow fell on the sheet in front of her. Better to be in the dark. She switched off the light, leaned back, and tried to make some sense of the facts whirling around in her mind.
Swimming Pool Sunday Page 17
