Fog Heart (29 page)

Because Oliver was only pretending that he didn't know what to make of today's session. Because Oliver had not mentioned the obvious references to Marthe and Munich. Because his explanation about India was worse than nothing, it was a lie.

She was certain of that much.

*   *   *

‘Oona's home now,' Roz said, when she called Carrie early the following afternoon. ‘She should be all right.'

‘I'm so glad to hear that. How serious is her injury?'

‘She did get a nasty concussion, but there doesn't appear to be any permanent organic damage.'

‘Thank God for that.'

‘She just needs to rest and heal,' Roz continued. ‘Lots of sleep, no moving about, and time'll do the rest. She's young and healthy. They think she won't even have a scar.'

‘Good. Do you have any idea when I might talk to her? Just for a minute on the phone, to say hello and wish her well.'

‘Perhaps tomorrow. She's on a painkiller right now and kind of drifts in and out of sleep, which is good for her. I'll give you a ring tomorrow if she's up to a brief chat.'

‘Okay, please do.'

‘I hope you don't mind if I cut this short, but I have a lot more calls to make and appointments to cancel. This is terrible. It's going to hurt some people who depend on her.'

‘I can imagine.'

Only too well, Carrie realized, after she hung up. She was one of those people suddenly cut off from Oona. She was on her own for the present.

*   *   *

The rest of the week was uneventful, aside from the demands of her work. In a way, it was a relief to be able to concentrate on her current commissions. They absorbed her and sent her home each evening both physically and mentally tired, so that she had no trouble falling asleep. Carrie soon stopped wondering if the next moment was going to bring another sudden, dreadful invasion. Nothing happened.

By the following weekend she allowed herself to consider it in a new light. Perhaps it was over. Perhaps there had been a breakthrough for her at the last session, and she simply didn't understand the full extent of it yet. She felt good. She would like to discuss it with Oona, but Roz hadn't called her again and Carrie was reluctant to bother them if it wasn't a matter of real urgency. Unless you hear otherwise, assume that Oona is making a steady recovery. Let the days keep going by like this.

They spent a quiet weekend around the apartment. Oliver was not very talkative, but he appeared preoccupied rather than in a bad mood. He carried a thick file of papers around with him everywhere and he would study it and jot down notes, even when he was watching a movie on television.

The doubt – and even anger – that Carrie had felt in the immediate aftermath of the last session remained within her, but there was little she could do about it. She watched her husband and wondered about him, but no answers came to her. Carrie knew she ought to discuss it openly with him and push him to speak more honestly – but she was afraid of what she might hear.

*   *   *

On Sunday evening, Oliver came out of his office with that file in his hand. He went straight to the drinks cabinet and poured a glass of Scotch, to which he added a splash of bottled water. As he headed back to his office he stopped suddenly and made a face, like someone who has just remembered an unpleasant chore. Carrie sat frozen, her pen poised over the
Sunday Times
acrostic puzzle. She knew that something was coming.

‘I have to fly out next Sunday night,' he said, almost as if it were an afterthought. ‘England, then Germany. Just for a few days, I think. A week at most.'

‘But why?' Carrie felt a cramp in her side. ‘The last time you went you said that was it for the summer.'

‘For stamp auctions, yes,' Oliver replied blandly. ‘But the linen project is moving ahead all the time. I've got to see some chemical processors in Manchester, and then a bunch of lawyers in Munich about the licensing and patent arrangements.'

He had a look of weary resignation on his face, almost as if he were inviting Carrie to do him a favour and find a way for him to avoid all this tedious running around.

‘Is it really necessary?'

‘Absolutely unavoidable.'

It was true to form, in a way. When Oliver had a problem or a major decision in his business he usually spent a while mulling it over, as he had the last couple of weeks. Then he would come up with a plan of action, and there would be a burst of frenetic activity.

And yet the news left her queasy and fearful. This time
was
different. Nothing in Carrie's life was the same as it had been, since the ghostly incidents started and she had first consulted Oona. Everything in her life was blurred with uncertainty now.

‘Oliver.'

‘Yes?'

‘Is there anything going on between you and Marthe?'

He seemed to find that amusing. ‘Just business, love, nothing else,' he replied, with a lingering smile.

‘Oona mentioned her.'

‘Did she? When?'

‘Last week, when we were there.'

‘Oh, yes, so she did,' Oliver said. ‘Don't make the mistake of thinking that every word she speaks has special significance, because it doesn't. A lot of it is just plain raving. Whatever pops up in her mind, rock lyrics, passages from books she's read, and who knows what else? If you attach importance to every scrap of it, you'll be in thrall to her for the rest of your life.'

‘I suppose that's possible.'

‘Look,' Oliver said, trying to sound reasonable, ‘it's only natural for you to wonder about Marthe, but there's nothing in it at all. If there were, I certainly wouldn't throw away a hundred and fifty dollars a night for a room at the Regina Hotel. If you want to see my receipts, you're welcome to them.'

‘No, no.' Carrie shrugged helplessly. ‘I'm sorry, Oliver. I don't mean to sound like I'm questioning you.'

‘Well, it does a bit.'

He turned away, went down the hall to his office, and closed the door behind him. It was not exactly the kind of warm, loving reassurance you might hope for from a spouse who understands that you're having a difficult time with things at the moment. It was more like a corporate policy statement.

But thank you all the same, Carrie thought. And for leaving when you did. Because if Oliver had stayed longer and continued in the same vein, she would have apologized to him again. However many times it took to end an exchange that probably could not be resolved anyway. And then she would have hated herself for it.

*   *   *

Two days later the telephone rang shortly after Carrie got home from work. Oliver had just gone out to pick up some liquor from the store around the corner.

‘Hello.'

‘Guess who?'

‘Oona?'

‘Hi.'

‘Oh, I'm so glad to hear you,' Carrie said, quickly putting the phone to her other ear. ‘How are you?'

‘Fine, I think. Guess what?'

‘I can come up and visit you.'

‘Ah, well, soon, I hope. But that's not it.'

Carrie's heart sank, but then she tried to sound bright and cheerful for Oona's sake. ‘I don't know, what?'

‘My head's empty.'

‘You mean—?'

‘No voices, no visions, nothing.'

‘My God.'

‘Maybe it worked, eh? What do you think?'

‘I don't know, I mean—' Mild panic was what Carrie felt. What if she continued to experience those dreadful incidents but Oona no longer had the ability to help? ‘It sounds like the best thing that could happen to you…'

‘Could be, but it's too early to tell,' Oona said. She was moderating her enthusiasm, no doubt because she could sense the concern on Carrie's part. ‘Probably won't last, but for the past week it's been great. I feel like I've slept for the first time in ages.'

‘That's wonderful.'

‘You're all right, aren't you?'

‘Yes,' Carrie answered. ‘So far I haven't had any problems. Nothing at all.'

‘Good. I'll have to think about it when I'm in the proper frame of mind again. I haven't been able to give much thought to what happened, and what it meant for you and the others.'

‘Well, don't,' Carrie said. ‘At least not until you really want to. I've been fine since that session and I'm okay now, so there's no need for you to do anything.'

‘Great.'

‘Maybe it's over for me, too. I've been wondering if there was a breakthrough and I just haven't grasped it yet.'

‘Well…' Oona sounded doubtful. ‘Let's hope so. Anyhow, I wanted to say hi, and tell you that I miss you.'

‘Well – I – I miss you too, Oona. I wish I could come and visit you for a little while.'

‘Soon. Next week.'

‘That'd be fine,' Carrie said. ‘Whenever.'

‘We'll both need it by then.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I'll be desperate for company. I already am, in fact, and you're the only person I'd really like to see,' Oona said. ‘And you'll be—' But she didn't finish it.

‘What?'

‘I don't know, it's just a feeling I get. That you'll need some company as well.'

‘Oliver's going away next weekend.'

‘See, that's it. Where's he off to this time?'

‘England and Germany.'

‘Some people have all the luck.'

‘It's work, not pleasure.' At least Carrie hoped that. ‘In the last session you mentioned Munich and Germany, as well as the person Oliver's doing business with there. Marthe.'

‘Is that right?'

‘Do you have any idea why they came up?'

‘I don't remember anything from that session.'

‘Oh.'

‘But don't worry, it'll probably start to come back to me in a few days. That's the way it goes. Do you see how I've already had a few inklings just since we've been talking now? That shows it's on the way back.'

‘It's because of me,' Carrie said. ‘Oona, maybe I shouldn't come up to New Haven. I should stay away.'

‘No, don't say that. If it's going to happen, it'll happen. It's not you, love. It's me, it's always been me.'

‘Oona…'

‘I hear the Warden coming. Talk to you later.'

21

‘Charley.'

‘Yes, my dear?'

‘You have funny knees.'

‘What's so funny about them?'

‘They're bumpy.'

Nuala Browne dashed off, no doubt to tell her brother Gerry how bold she'd been. Nuala was three. Or four. Something like that. In addition to the younger pair, the Brownes had a couple of almost-teens who were out at present on an errand of mischief with the girls from the cottage down the road. Good kids.

Charley leaned forward to check his knees; they didn't look very funny to him. But he did feel a bit odd in Bermuda shorts. He didn't own much in the way of beachwear, but you can't lounge about on the Cape in cords and a sweater in the middle of July. So there he was, a self-regarded calamity in technicolour shorts, a faded Pogues T-shirt and silly flip-flops that flew off his feet every time he took a step.

Still, Wellfleet was lovely, the cottage great, the beer and food fantastic and the company simply the best. He felt pretty good, all things considered, and even Jan seemed to be responding favourably to the change of scene. Charley had been pleased when, the night before, Malcolm and Maggie had asked them to stay on for an extra couple of days. Oh, aye.

Some cottage. The house had more square feet of floor space than any place in which Charley had ever lived along the dusty academic trail. The Brownes rented it out for most of the summer – a smart idea, the place paid for itself. Quite nice, too. Some people caught all the breaks. Still, not to complain.

‘Here we go.'

Malcolm came back out onto the deck with a fresh pitcher of draught ale. He refilled Charley's pint glass and then topped up his own. Before taking his seat again, Malcolm tapped on the CD in the portable stereo on the picnic table, replaying
If I Should Fall From Grace With The Lord.
The boys from County Hell singing songs about the drinkitations.

‘You do Bacchus proud, Mal, I must say.'

‘It's great to have some time off with you. And I think Jan's enjoying herself. Do you?'

Charley nodded. ‘She seems a bit more at ease. It helps to get away for a while. I was afraid she might find it tough to be around your kids, but she's as fond of them as I am.'

‘Yes, she really is,' Malcolm agreed. ‘I wondered about that as well, but she seems fine.'

‘She's coming along, I think.'

‘Have you seen any more of the famous Oona?'

Malcolm had waited a couple of days before asking, considerately enough, not wanting to stir up the waters and perhaps spoil their weekend. Maggie hadn't enquired either, though Charley could see that she was anxious to know if there had been any developments. He appreciated their patience and tact. He glanced back towards the cottage for a second, and then to Malcolm.

‘Is Jan still in the kitchen with Maggie?'

‘She was, but as I was getting the beer just now she went to your bedroom to have a lie-down before dinner.'

‘Ah, good. Yes, well, we did visit the famous Oona the week before last,' Charley said. ‘It was a joint session, with some other couple. I didn't much care for them, but it sounded as if they also had a mysterious violent death somewhere in their past, so I suppose that's why Oona brought us all together.'

Malcolm sipped his beer. ‘How did it go?'

‘Quite a performance, really. Oona ranted and raved, tossed and twitched and squirmed. It went on for some time. Our friend Sir Walt put in another cameo appearance, but the highlight came when Oona smashed her head down on a stone basin. She really did a number on herself. There was blood all over the place, and she knocked herself out. They took her to the emergency room.'