Page 76 - WTP Vol. V #1

The Vigil (continued from page 60) striking off. A final stroke.
can’t possess another person. Not even God is permitted to be jealous these days.” She smiled and placed her cheek next to mine. How pleas- ing a sensation! How soft her skin! I could feel
it tautening with her smile. “He was adept at finding faults in any young man who approached me. Not that many did.” She looked down at
Jane took the house-key from her pocket and thoughtfully studied its ancient wards. “I sup- pose we just have to wait. Do you have more patients to see?”
“No. I was on my way home. I have nothing apart from a little correspondence until evening sur- gery at 6:30.”
him. “And now I’m no longer in the first flush
of youth. I can’t blame him, I suppose. After he lost Mother he had nothing else apart from me.” She indicated a black-and-white photograph in a thin silver frame; a slim woman in white sat in a nursing-chair, a baby in her arms. “He always sleeps on this side of the bed.”
We fell silent.
“I don’t mind being alone here if you wish to leave,” she said. “I can read The Telegraph to occupy myself until he dies. I can usually do the crossword within twenty minutes. My record
“They were very much in love, then,” I said.
is eight, and the Monday crossword is usually slightly easier than other days.” She looked out of the window at a line of small, intricate clouds. “So I have found,” she added.
“Love? You think? No. Not much love. Possession, certainly. Habit. They never spoke to each other except out of necessity. She was a kind woman, my mother. She deserved better. She was led
“I”ll stay with you,” I said, troubled by her equa- nimity.
a miserable life. In the end she was practically reduced to silence. He thought only of himself.” Jane paused. “When he went out to his club he would lock us in, mother and I. There was only one key to the front-door mortice-lock and the area gate was always kept chained.” She paused. “You’re a doctor: who better than you to advise me. Which undertaker do you recommend?”
She sought out my hand. I looked into her eyes, large, grey and intelligent. Her oval face was completely and evenly symmetrical, which is quite rare. “Well, I enjoy your company,” she said. “Very much. As you may have guessed. Though I have never been given the chance to express it.”
“That seems a little premature, Jane,” I said. “Do you have any relatives?”
We stood, side by side, holding hands, looking down at the figure on the bed. The sun shifted in the sky.
“No. I am the last of them.” She increased her grip on my hand, and rubbed my palm with her thumb. A strange sensation as though she had never touched a male hand before, boy or man. “Tell me. Which undertaker?”
“A pleasant day,” said Jane. “A bright spring day. I think we shall be in for a spell of fine weather.”
The regular, automaton-like breathing did not alter. It was as though the dying man had indeed become a driven creature. The sound had a rasp- ing, hungry quality.
“Grendon and Timms. They are courteous and reasonable, so relatives tell me. They are Quak- ers and their services are unusually plain; I expect that you’d prefer a simple funeral.”
“He’d be very angry if he could see us holding hands,” said Jane. “In fact he would be completely enraged. He was a jealous man. He was very possessive as a father. Not that that works. You
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“I know them. At the junction of Lime Walk and Jewkes Road. I went to school with Gillian Timms.”