Ghosts of Winter (35 page)

Anna waited patiently with me through all the examinations and delays. My leg was plastered, my arm put into a sling, and a bed finally found for me on a ward. I told Anna at that point she should go home, but to my secret pleasure, she steadfastly refused. I was given pain medication which made me drowsy, and I managed to talk to her very little that evening, before I fell asleep. I was awoken regularly by a nurse throughout the night—to check for concussion and make me wiggle my toes—and every time, Anna was still in the chair next to the bed. I am sure I slept more soundly, in between the nurse’s visits, and was far less frightened than I would otherwise have been, because I knew Anna was with me. Whatever was going to happen between us, her presence now was comforting.

When morning came and I was up for the day, Anna rose from her chair and came to stand beside the bed, taking hold of my hand once again. Though I still had a vague headache and the pain in my ribs was actually overpowering the ache in both my elbow and leg, the world was clearer in the light of day. I was no longer confused by the events of the night before. And Anna became more than a hazy, reassuring presence. I saw her in all of her striking detail, and felt even luckier she was with me this morning.

“Good morning,” I said to her, smiling and trying to pretend I wasn’t in pain

“Good morning, how are you feeling?”

“Not so bad. Thank you so much, Anna.”

“You don’t need to thank me.” She pressed my fingers more firmly. I gazed sleepily at her, luxuriating in her standing so close, holding my hand, with tenderness in her expression. Though she’d spent the night in a hospital chair, her hair, tied back in its ponytail, was mostly in place. A stray few strands had escaped and fell down the left side of her face, softening her appearance and bringing back some of that girlish quality I’d seen before when she removed her glasses. She was dressed more casually than I’d ever seen her, in a V-necked red pullover over a white T-shirt, with blue jeans. If I’d thought before much of her magnificence came from her immaculately tailored clothes, I’d been wrong. She was just as strikingly beautiful in such casual attire. “I’m just so glad you’re here,” I told her.

“I’m very glad I found you.”

“Me too. I guess I owe you one.”

“Most definitely. I’ll keep you to it.” She smiled and her eyes filled with warmth.

“Anna?” I felt inspired to boldness.

“Yes, Ros?”

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Her eyes registered the compliment and its implications, but all she said was, “Well it’s a good job the feeling’s mutual.” My heart filled with so much happiness I thought it might actually burst out of my chest.

“It is?” I asked, just to be sure.

“It is Ros. And it’s more than just that I find you beautiful. You make me feel...well...” She hesitated. “I’ve never felt this way before Ros.” Anna sounded almost frightened. The words were more of a confession than an endearment. I was moved by her sudden emotion, by the evidence that some change had taken place in her since that cold day in Durham when she’d seemed so cynical about relationships. But what did it mean? Emotions pulsed through me, and I wanted her to go on, to explain her feelings, acknowledge such a change if there was one. But her words faltered as she spoke them. “There are things I need to talk to you about...I mean...I think...I don’t just accost every woman I meet with huge bunches of mistletoe, you know.” Though her concluding words made me smile, what actually passed between us was a kind of frustrated understanding. There was more to say, but now was not the time.

“You don’t?” I let her off the hook, focused on the happiness engendered by her acknowledgement of her feelings for me. I was still in too much physical pain to pursue this now.

“No. Flowers are usually more appropriate, I find.” The corners of her mouth twitched in the way I found so adorable, as she maintained her deadpan expression while trying not to laugh. The humour could eclipse the questions for now. But not for long.

*

Later that day, I was relieved when the doctor, having examined me once more, allowed me to go home, albeit with strict instructions to call my GP if I felt at all sick, or had any other problems. I was given an outpatient appointment for a month’s time and wheeled out of the hospital by a nurse.

Anna took the handles of the wheelchair after we left the foyer of the hospital. I was at once embarrassed by my helplessness and pleased to have her aiding me. She’d taken a taxi to Winter and found me a change of clothes, and returned in her car. I was a little doubtful the crutches and wheelchair would fit into her Audi, but having assisted me into the passenger seat, she folded the chair, fitted it deftly into the back, and managed to find room for the crutches too.

“I have no idea how I’d have managed any of this without you,” I said as she slid behind the steering wheel and turned the key in the ignition, making the engine purr.

“Well, you’d most likely still be on the floor, so I doubt you’d have had to think about it,” she replied. “You know, you frightened me to death when I came in and found you there.”

“Sorry. How did you know to come in?”

“I knocked for ages. I even tried your phone. You’re such a recluse I knew you had to be home, and you’d left the door open. So I just went in. I couldn’t find you anywhere and you didn’t answer when I called. Then I saw this strange dark shadow in the middle of the floor, surrounded by the remains of the ceiling. I checked you were breathing, and I called the ambulance.”

“I might have died without you,” I said, the realisation making me nauseous.

“I doubt it.”

“Thanks anyway.”

“I’ve told you, you don’t need to be grateful. Just owe me one.” Anna put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking space.

“Okay.” I wanted to say more, but decided to spare her the discomfort of any more heartfelt sentiments for now. I could see we were going to have to take things a small step at a time. “Wait, did you just call me a recluse?”

“Is there another term for it?”

“Eccentric?”

“Don’t tell me I’m involved with a true old-fashioned eccentric?”

“Doesn’t it suit your designer image?”

“Hardly. I might have to change my mind about you.”

“What, I’m not good enough for you? Now just because I don’t know Bollinger from lemonade…” I grinned across at her.

“That is something we can definitely work on.” Anna smiled as she checked her rear-view mirror. “When you’re off the painkillers anyway.” We drove out of the hospital grounds, and Anna accelerated in the direction of Winter.

*

When we arrived at Winter, Anna helped me—with remarkable ease—to my chair in the Blue Drawing Room, and made sure I had everything I could want within reach.

“You’ll spoil me,” I told her.

“You’re an invalid, make the most of it. If I ever fall through a ceiling, I’ll expect the same.” Her tone was withering but her eyes danced.

“I don’t recommend falling through ceilings.” I adjusted my position awkwardly. “Especially if it involves broken ribs. They hurt every time I breathe.”

“Do they hurt too much to eat?”

“I think I could manage something. But I haven’t got all that much in.”

“I noticed. That’s why I went shopping too.” She pointed at a cluster of shopping bags I hadn’t spotted before.

“Oh. Were you born this capable, or is it something you’ve developed?”

“I think it’s a natural talent I have. Maybe it’s genetic. My brother’s pretty organised too. My parents used to joke they’d never known two tidier teenagers.”

“So neither of you is actually quite normal then?”

“Exactly. And proud of it.” Anna reached into one of the shopping bags and brought out a packet of mushrooms. “I’ve got gnocchi. How does that and a mushroom sauce with fresh grated parmesan sound? Good comfort food, I thought.”

“Your idea of comfort food sounds more sophisticated than most people’s fine dining, I hope you realise. But it also sounds delicious. I suppose you’re a wonderful cook too?”

“No. Those genes definitely went to my brother. I’m average really.”

“There had to be a weakness somewhere!” I exclaimed triumphantly. “What’s your brother’s name?”

“Richard. He’s two years younger than me.”

“You said he lives in Cambridge?”

“Studies and teaches there actually. He’s reading for his PhD in philosophy.”

“So you’re the family underachiever?”

“That’s me,” she replied, gathering her ingredients and regarding my camping cooker with curiosity. “I have no idea how this contraption works, you better tell me.” I smiled and pointed out how she should turn on the gas. Anna was fun to talk with, her quick wits igniting all kinds of sparks in my mind. I wanted to keep chatting and joking—flirting—with her all night. But as she focused on the cooker in front of her, I knew she was still holding something back. Part of her was uncertain still. About me, or herself and what she wanted, it was hard to tell. She wasn’t at all cold, in fact this was the most casual our interaction had been, but there was still a barrier between us, the remains of the one I had erected so solidly that fateful morning. I knew it wouldn’t collapse all at once, but I hoped it would at least begin to erode now, little by little.

“Anna?” I hoped to begin on that process now.

“Yes?” She adjusted the flame on the cooker as the water began to boil and did not turn to look at me.

“Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me, Ros. I’ve said it’s unnecessary.” She glanced at me and smiled slightly.

“You don’t know what I’m thanking you for. I don’t mean for being my knight in shining armour and rescuing me. Or for cooking dinner for me.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I mean for not ignoring my calls in the end. For wanting to see me again.”

Anna turned back to the pan of water, although it didn’t need her attention. She appeared to consider before she spoke. When she did, her words sounded like an effort. “Like I said, we couldn’t just leave it like that, Ros. Or I couldn’t anyway. You...you...make me feel...different. I couldn’t let it go.”

“Different?” I picked up on the word eagerly. “Is that good or bad?”

“If it was bad I wouldn’t have come to Winter to talk.”

“No. So I make you feel good-different?”

“Yes, you do.” Finally she looked me in the eye, and I felt the strength of the emotion she was having such difficulty explaining.

“Different from what?” It was all very well having caused a change in her feelings, but I was hazy as to how she’d felt before anyway. Apart from that brief revelation in Durham, her fear of losing her freedom, I knew so little of her.

I saw the tension come into her expression and worried I’d pushed too hard, too soon. But she didn’t look as though she resented it. Just as though she wasn’t sure what to say.

“I’m sorry, Ros. I know it’s hypocritical after everything you’ve explained to me. But I don’t know how to tell you what I mean right now.” Her features softened and I saw her real affection for me there. My heart beat with yet more hope. “Just please know that you make me feel in a way I didn’t know I could. And that it frightens me.”

The tone of her last words forbade further questioning. Besides, what questions could I ask? She’d already told me she didn’t know how to explain it. “I don’t want you to be frightened, Anna,” I said.

“I know. It’s my problem, Ros, not yours. We will talk about it. But not now. Now I want to concentrate on our dinner.”

I let her take that route out of the conversation. We’d made some progress and both of us were tired after the night in the hospital. I was elated to hear I made her feel “different” since it seemed to be a change she welcomed. She’d changed me too, already. I looked forward to the coming days, the chance to explore the way we felt further.

Anna’s food was as delicious as it sounded and she made the process of cooking it look remarkably easy for someone who claimed to be only an average cook. Soon after we had eaten, I began to feel drowsy, but fought the heaviness in my eyelids, not wanting to lose one moment of my time with Anna.

“Why don’t you sleep now?” she asked, when she noticed me trying to blink the sleep away.

“I want to stay awake and talk to you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She laughed gently. “I’m going to help you into bed.”

“If you must.”

“I must.” She got to her feet, offered me her hand to help me rise onto my one good foot, and wrapped her arm around my shoulders to assist me in hopping the few feet to the bed. Once I was perched on the edge she helped me remove the flowing skirt she’d selected from my small collection of clothes because it fitted easily over the plaster cast on my leg.

“I kind of thought the next time you undressed me it would be different to this,” I said.

“Oh, but think how much better it will be because you’ve had to wait.”

“Is that a promise?” I was delighted she’d not just passed over my suggestive comment. Her words were the strongest confirmation I’d had so far of the direction she wanted our relationship to progress in. I felt a rush of relief, quickly followed by a nagging trepidation. This was a path I’d been terrified of taking just a few months ago. I couldn’t help a flutter of nervous tension I did my best to mask.