Strange Recompense (8 page)

“Trust a woman to think of something like that!” Dennis chided. “Good heavens, old girl, what makes you even think of such a thing at this stage? Noel is simply interested from a medical point of view, just as I am.”

“I hope so,” Ruth said. “But confess, Dennis, that there’s something about this Anna that turns your heart over, not just with pity, either. Something that makes you want to try and try till you can free her from her bondage—something so essentially Anna that I find it difficult to put a name to!”

“The Greeks may have had a word for it!” he suggested lightly.

“I don’t mean just sex attraction! It goes far deeper than that,” Ruth retorted. “She’s the sort of person one
cares
about, Denny, and you know it!”

“Yes,” he admitted, “I think I do, but you needn’t worry about Noel for all that. He’ll know what to do.”

“I hope so,” Ruth said. “Oh, I hope so!”

CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN ANNA LOOKED back on that first week under Noel Melford’s roof she could only marvel at the rapidity with which it had passed. Day followed day without any change in her condition, yet t
h
ere was a normality about everything which made her almost forget that she herself was not normal. The wealth of friendship and understanding that surrounded her was more than any one person’s due, she told herself, and that it should be offered so unquestionably to a stranger made her more than ever convinced of the Melfords’ worth.

She would have gone to the ends of the earth to serve Ruth, and although her feeling for Noel was not so easily recognizable it was equally genuine.

Dennis Tranby came in for his own share of her gratitude, as he shared everything at the villa, and she was more than thankful that
she had proved useful to him. The pile of statistics on his desk had dwindled as rapidly as that which had distressed Noel, and she had extracted him from a veritable maze of returns which he declared meant nothing to him.

The only person in her small, new world she could not like was Sara Enman, and Sara seemed determined to dog her footsteps everywhere she went. In the guise of a patronizing sort of friendship she took Anna about the town when Ruth was not available, introducing her to various social activities so that she might report to Noel on his patient’s reactions to rural interests.

“Take her to the Women’s Institute,” Noel had advised Ruth. “Take her anywhere and see that she mixes. I think she’s country bred, but one can never be quite sure, and even a casual contact at a women’s meeting might bear fruit.”

Ruth had agreed, but it had been Sara who had taken Anna to her first public function.

“It’s going to be rather awkward introducing her,” Sara had pointed out, “especially now that she’s not wearing that wedding ring of hers any more. I really wonder why she took it off. I wonder what reason she had.”

Noel, who had come in to snatch a hurried cup of tea, looked across the room at her with cold censure in his eyes.

“I removed Anna’s ring,” he said briefly. “I thought it might provide some evidence of her identity, so I sent it to London. Unfortunately it doesn’t seem to be helping much at present.”

Sara had flushed scarlet at his tone, but she rose to come and stand with one slim foot on the raised hearth, her arm resting along the low mantelshelf.

“Just what do you think about all this, Noel?” she asked in her most professional voice. “We’re all interested in this case, you must know that, but do you really think you are doing the right thing by keeping that girl here in an atmosphere which may be entirely false to her?”

He looked back at her steadily.

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand you, Sara,” he said.

“It’s easy enough.” Her temper was only just held in check. “You and Ruth have taken her under your wing, you have been amazingly kind to her, out of pity, an
d
any girl who had never known security before would be a fool to throw that away too quickly, even for the sake of remembering!”

“What makes you think that Anna has never known security?” he asked, willing to test her theory. “What makes you so sure?”

“Her eternal gratitude, I suppose! She is never done singing your praises and telling everyone all that Ruth has done for her.” Sara drew in a quick breath and said what she had meant to say in the beginning.
“
She may be making a complete fool of you, Noel.”

“Not necessarily.” His voice was ice-cold now with the cutting quality in it which she had heard once or twice before when someone had been guilty of a grave indiscretion and had brazened out their justification in his presence. “It could mean a return to security after a period of nervous upheaval. Perhaps you haven’t thought of it in that light, but the fact alone might lull the senses for a time, causing the subconscious to lie dormant and not make any effort at remembering. I’m quite sure you will agree with me, once you’ve thought of it.”

Sara bit her lip, aware of his professional approach to her at that moment as she might have been aware of death itself. She was the nurse, the competent, trained individual who should understand the case they were discussing—nothing more! And Sara was determined to be so very much more.

“If you’ll pardon my saying so,” she persisted, “I think you are
g
oing quite the wrong way about things in this. Matron and I are
b
oth of the opinion that she would be much better in the hospital under complete supervision
all
the time, but of course we have no real right to question your decisions.”

“No,” he agreed frostily. “I’m rather surprised at such an attitude from Matron, as a matter of fact, when she knows the circumstances, but it really doesn’t make me ready to change my mind in this instance. Anna will continue to stay here in the meantime, unless the police interfere.”

A small, inarticulate sound from the door drew their attention to Anna standing there ready to go out, her pale face giving no indication that she had heard what they were saying, and Noel rose abruptly to pour himself another cup of tea, drinking it as it came, as if the physical sensation of the scalding liquid in his throat would alleviate some inner strain which could not be so easily dealt with.

“Ready?” Sara inquired, surveying Anna from head to foot and adding as they went out together: “I suppose this will be another false trail leading us nowhere. Noel insists that we explore every avenue in order to help you,” she added, venting some of her pent-up anger on the object of the controversy. “It must be a great strain on him, your case lingering on like this when he expected to clear it up in an hour or two.”

“I wish there was something I could do about it,” Anna said unhappily. “But he refuses to let me go to the hospital as a patient, and I really believe he feels that I will react best if given my freedom.”

“You know, of course, that you are not free now, Sara returned cruelly. “You can’t be allowed out alone, you have to be watched everywhere you go in case of the necessary reaction. We’re all forced to act jailer in our turn.”

Anna flushed sensitively.

“I don’t think Miss Melford and Doctor Tranby think of it that way,” she said, disliking Sara more than ever.

“And what do you think Doctor Melford feels?” Sara demanded. “Since Ruth picked you up and brought you here he’s never been able to take a moment’s free time, never been able to give himself a respite from work. You are his constant problem, his personal problem, since Ruth made the initial mistake of bringing you here instead of taking you to the hospital for treatment. And—forgive me for pointing this out so bluntly—but you have been trading on that, you know. You know you have their pity.”

“Oh, no!” Anna looked horrified at the very thought, and then the spirit which had carried her through the ordeal of those first dreadful hours lifted its head again. “That isn’t true!” she flashed, angr
y
at last. “I don’t want anybody’s pity, least of all Doctor Melford’s. It’s not because he is sorry for me that he has taken an interest in this case, and I know I’m just a case to him, nothing more!”

“So long as you understand that,” Sara said with a thin-lipped smile. “Noel will perhaps be able to do something for you.”

Anna spent a miserable evening, commiserated with by well-meaning, motherly women whom Sara let into her ‘secret’ and pressed on all sides to remember this or that form of procedure when nothing was even remotely familiar to her. Even the demonstrator who stood behind her rows of excellently preserved fruits began to appear like an ogre, smug and self-satisfied, in the sudden tension of suppressed nerves which was the inevitable aftermath of her scene with Sara, and at last she could not stand the strain.

“Do you mind if I don’t wait for supper?” she asked. “I feel suffocated in here. It’s so warm—”

“Leaving just before supper is hardly the sort of gesture that will make us popular with the catering committee,” Sara observed angrily, “but I shall have to chance that.”

“I don’t want you to come—please!” Anna said in an undertone. “You must stay, Sara. It isn’t fair of me to drag you away from your supper. Everything looks so nice.” She felt as if she were speaking against time. “I can quite easily find my own way home.” She was scarcely aware of what she had said, hardly conscious of having used a word which had once meant much to her and could even now tug at her heartstrings in spite of the fact that she had no real home. People were sorry for her, of course, and had offered her
a temporary refuge—Ruth and Noel Melford had done that, but she had no longer the right to accept it—not when Noel considered her a burden.

She became aware of Sara hesitating, not rising immediately to her feet when she got to hers, and suddenly she knew that she was going to be allowed to go out alone.

“Please don’t come,’ she repeated. “You must want to stay with your friends.”

“It isn’t really very far to the villa.” Sara was watching her closely. “And it isn’t so very dark yet.”

Anna left her without a backward glance, feeling like some wounded animal making its escape from the killer—desperately trying to put distance between itself and a relentless enemy at all costs.

Subconsciously she quickened her pace, breathless, almost in her desire to get away. It was not only the thought of Sara that goaded her, but some inner voice urging her to free Noel Melford from the responsibility of caring for her, and she felt that it must be obeyed. To delay her escape seemed fatal, with all sorts of complications besetting her path once Noel and Ruth discovered her intention, and so she turned off the main highway through the town and made her way towards the moors.

Blindly she walked on until the last of the houses had disappeared in the valley behind her, and the world before her seemed curiously empty and cold. The sun had set in a turquoise band along the western skyline, throwing the dark shadows of the northern mountain ranges into gaunt relief, and all life seemed to be drawn down into the shelter of the valleys. The remoteness of her chosen road became suddenly frightening until a car flashed past, and then another, and she realized that she was not really far from civilization, after all. She had no idea of her ultimate destination, however, but her fingers closed over something hard in her pocket and she felt her purse stuffed with the little wad of notes which Noel had made her accept in payment for her services during that first week in his employment. It amounted to about six pounds, with what had been in her purse when Ruth had found her, and it should have spelt a certain amount of security, but she felt none. She stood quite still, feeling suddenly that she had betrayed Noel Melford after all his kindness. He had trusted her and she had gone off as soon as he had given her enough money to pay her way!

That was how it must look to the casual observer, and no amount of argument could alter the fact that she had gone off into the blue without a word of explanation or even as much as a “thank you” to Ruth. There was Noel, too, and patient tolerant Dennis Tranby whose kindly eyes had been so penetrating on occasion!

Torn between her desire to return to the warmth of their friendship and the impulse within her to go which almost amounted to the desire for self-preservation, she leaned against the stout fire fencing bordering the road, gazing across the expanse of open moor to the faintly colored clouds gathering in the western sky. It must be well after nine o’clock, she thought
,
yet it was not cold. She could go on walking for another hour. And then—what? Where had she thought to spend the night in her mad flight from Noel Melford’s home, without possessions? She could hardly be expected to be taken in at a wayside hotel without name or reason for her journeying, a girl from nowhere!

She was forced to confess that she had not given any thought to these essential things, that blind impu
l
se alone had motivated her actions, and a deep wave of shame swept over her at the thought. She could not go back to the villa to face Ruth and Noel and Dennis Tranby with such a story, and yet she was suddenly without the desire to go on. She felt weak and shaken and without the power to reason further when a car drew level with her and stopped, and even when Noel Melford jumped out of it she scarcely realized that he had come for her.

“Anna,” he demanded fiercely, “what manner of foolishness is this?”

He took her by both shoulders, shaking her out of her apathy, turning her to face him,
h
is mouth grim and unrelaxed and his eyes accusing.

“What made you do such a thing?” he demanded. “What in God’s name, made you run away?”

“I—we weren’t getting anywhere,” she said weakly. “And you have other work to do.”

“None of that matters any more than this,” he told her harshly. “Running away isn’t going to help, Anna. It only puts an unnecessary strain on all of us.”

“Why should you do this for me?” she cried in the utmost shame. “Why should you burden yourself with my affairs when it is all so hopeless!”

“I am a doctor,” he reminded her grimly. “And until tonight you have never believed it hopeless.” He was still holding her, his strong hands compelling on her arms. “What has changed you so suddenly? Why did you decide to go like that?”

“I felt that I must.” What else could she tell him? What was there to say about Sara, whom Noel seemed to trust so fully? “You have all been so kind, but I have no right to stay at Glynmareth, no right to trade on your generosity like this.”

“Stop talking nonsense!” He shook her gently. “There’s no question of right or wrong about this, Anna,” he went on. “You are my patient and I must see that you obey me, otherwise I can’t go on with your case.”

The hard line of his jaw made further argument seem useless, and she relaxed suddenly against him. Tears threatened to blind her, and he picked her up as he had done once before, and carried her
towards the car.

Noel held her against him for a moment before he set her down in the car; then he closed the door with a snap of finality. It seemed to break a spell, and the journey back to the hospital was made in silence. Before they reached the villa, however, Anna asked nervously:

“Does Ruth know?”

“No. I met Sara on the drive coming home alone.”

The news did not surprise her. She had expected Sara to return to the villa, and even though Noel had intercepted Sara on the way she was probably there now reporting the scene at the Institute to her friend.

“Do you mind if I don’t—see anyone tonight?” she asked unsteadily when Noel drew up before the front door. “Perhaps you could explain to Ruth—”

He sat quite still before the wheel for a moment. She could see his chiselled profile outlined against the light from the porch, and it looked suddenly hard and unrelenting.

“I want you to go in,” he said briefly. “Even if she is not alone, you must not be afraid of Ruth. She will know immediately that you are trying to avoid her if you don’t.”

“I feel so ashamed!” She could speak freely to him at last, confessing all that was in her heart, the bewilderment and the pain, and perhaps it was at this moment that she first realized the extent of her dependence upon him. Without him she could do nothing. Without
h
im she was lost indeed!

“I knew, deep down, how wrong it was,” she went on after a pause, “but it seemed that I was encroaching where I had no right, butting in on your privacy and on Ruth’s. I can’t really hope to explain it, and I can
’
t go on accepting your kindness without giving something in return!”

Her words dropped into a silence that could almost be felt while Noel sat rigidly beside her, staring into the gathering dusk, his hands clenched over the steering wheel. The pulse-beat of a deep and powerful emotion throbbed between them for a second, but neither stirred, caught up, it seemed, in an experience beyond words and shaken by it to the very foundations of their beings yet fighting it valiantly with all the strength at their command.

It was Anna who finally broke the spell with a small, indrawn breath like a sigh, opening the door on
h
er side While Noel got out and came round to help her. He stood aside to let her pass into the lighted porch with a remote look in his eyes, feeling in his pocket for what she believed must be his key.

“This came today,” he said, holding something out in the palm of his hand. “You will want to wear it again.”

She saw her wedding ring, the pale, shining circle of eternal faith gleaming in the darkness, and took it from him with trembling fingers.

“There was nothing to report?” she asked.

“Nothing.” His voice sounded flat and entirely unemotional, but he would not look at her as he turned away. “I’m sorry, Anna,” he apologized, “but it’s just another blank. We must expect these things.”

She stood looking down at the ring, knowing it precious to her in spite of the surging ache which was welling up in her, but she did not put it on to her finger immediately. Noel had given it back to her, recognizing it as the symbol of her bondage, but it had not produced the clue he wanted. It remained only the mute evidence of the marital state, and suddenly she wanted to refute it, to know herself free as she wanted desperately to be free from the forgetfulness which imprisoned the past.

Burningly ashamed of such primitive emotion in the next instant, she turned blindly into the hall, going on into the sitting-room to find Ruth and Dennis Tranby seated on either side of the fireplace with Sara haranguing them from her perch on the corner of the mahogany centre table. She had not removed her hat or coat and looked as if she had just come in.

“After that, of course, it was no use arguing,” she was saying in her clear, metallic tones. “I never have thought it wise to persuade people against their will, and the girl wanted to go.”

She swung round as Anna reached the door, obviously expecting to see Noel, and Dennis Tranby got quietly to his feet as she said: “Oh—it’s you? Really, if you must wander off like this don’t repeat the performance at this time of night! We need our rest, you know. We are busy people.”

The patronising tone saved Anna. When she had first opened the door she had felt as if she might faint, but something about Sara’s manner goaded her to stand her ground. Sara had included Noel and Ruth and even Dennis Tranby in her sweeping condemnation of her actions, but she was not going to listen to Sara now. She felt that she must be sure of Ruth’s understanding, at least.

“It was wrong of me to go off like that,” she admitted, facing Ruth across the room. “I can hardly expect you to forgive me for causing so much unnecessary trouble, but I think I must have done it on some mad impu
l
se. I knew I was doing it, though. I thought it was the right thing to do when—when a week had passed and I still didn’t remember who I was.”

“Good heavens, a week!” Dennis exclaimed, shattering the sudden tension in the atmosphere. “What are seven days out of a lifetime? You’re being far too optimistic, my girl, if you think these things are sorted out in a matter of days. Besides,” he added with his easy laugh, “we want to keep you at least till the filing season is over! Didn’t Noel mention that?”

Anna was forced to smile in return, although her eyes were still wide and questioning on Ruth’s face.

“He may not have done,” Ruth said slowly, at last, “but I certainly know I’ve been grateful for all your help, Anna. I’ve got through most of the household chores that have been mounting up because of Noel’s wretched paper work and all those dreadful statistics, and I have no wish to go back to form-filling for some time to come!” She glanced at the clock in a perfectly normal way, suggesting that this was no different from other evenings which they had spent together at the villa. “Which reminds me that it’s well after supper time! You’ll stay, Dennis, of course? I’m holding out the bait of home-grown mushrooms—the first of our new crop!”

She scarcely seemed to notice Sara standing between her and the door, but when she went towards it she added lightly: “Stay, too, Sara, if you can.”

The casual invitation pierced through Sara like a knife thrust and she said angrily:

“I’m on night-duty. I go on at eleven. In any case, I had my supper at the Institute.”

Ruth waited politely for Sara to precede her from the room, following her out to the porch to say a brief, unlingering good night.

Anna unbuttoned her coat and went to hang it up in the hall. The light was still on in the porch and Ruth had used it to guide her to the kitchen, so that a man’s figure could be seen silhouetted against the glass door as he stood hesitating outside in the small vestibule.

She knew that it was Noel standing there, and suddenly the thin glass barrier between them seemed to shatter into fragments and they were standing close, his strong arms holding her as they had done out there on the moors.

She stood without moving, shaken by an experience so tremendous that she could do nothing but stand and wait in complete acceptance until it passed, knowing it greater and more compelling than anything she had ever felt before. All things fell away before it—fear and hope and even identity, and they emerged a man and a woman in love.

How long she stood there she did not know, but not until the shadowy figure on the far side of the door melted away and she heard Noel’s heavy tread crunching over the gravel as he moved out into the night again did any sense of time or place compel her, and then she turned blindly in the direction of the stairs, running swiftly up to her room to sit, cold and shaken, on the edge of her bed and ask herself. “What now?”

Ruth’s voice, calling for her from the foot of the stairs, roused her.

“Supper in five minutes, Anna!”

Something in the quiet, purposeful voice steadied her, although she was far from taking Ruth’s understanding for granted. That sudden revelation down in the darkened hall had explained so much. It explained her wild flight and the dull aching in her heart as she had taken the road away from Glynmareth, and it explained, too, the reluctance with which she had taken her wedding ring back from Noel.

Shame burned fiercely in her now and she pulled the ring out of her pocket and thrust it back on to the third finger of her left hand. She permitted herself a moment longer in absolute solitude before she bathed her face in the basin between the two windows and went slowly down to the others.

Noel had come in. He was standing by the fire leaning on the low mantelpiece with his pipe between his teeth, and he did not turn as she came in, but somehow Anna knew that he was conscious of her standing there behind him.

Dennis Tranby had gone through to the kitchen to help Ruth with the supper tray and for a moment they were alone.

“You know that this must never happen again,” Noel said without looking up. “You must never try to go away from us for any reason but the fact that you have regained your memory, Anna. Nothing is ever gained by running away,” he added, “turning one’s back on a problem. We’ve got to fight this together.” He straightened then, half turning towards her, his face ashen, his eyes harshly defiant. “I mean to fight it with every means in my power,” he told her grimly, “but you’ve got to help. I need your help, Anna, more than anything else.”

“You must tell me what to do,” she said. “I am entirely in your hands.”

“That’s better!” Relief tinged his smile, though the bitterness of gall was already in his heart. “It’s the only way we will ever get results. Tomorrow,” he continued, “I propose to try an entirely new line of approach, a sort of second offensive. It will be an even more strenuous effort than this last week’s, but I’m sure you can stand up to it. There’s nothing wrong physically, and your co-operation will do the rest.”

Before they had finished the meal the telephone shrilled through the hall and he rose immediately to answer it.

“It’s for you, old man,” he told Tranby when he came back into the room, “but I’ll come with you, I think. It’s t
h
at Stillwell case. I’d like to take a look at the fellow, if you don’t mind? I’m still not satisfied about that tracheotomy.”

“This is what being a doctor’s wife can mean!” Ruth smiled as the men went out together. “A good deal of it is sacrifice, Anna, sacrifice to one’s husband’s profession.”

“I don’t think I would regard it as sacrifice,” Anna said. “Noel doesn’t, does he? He seems to live for his work, and I think he is content.”

“Noel has seemed content enough—yes,” Ruth agreed after a pause, “and I’ve always thought his work was enough to satisfy him in life, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Has he—never thought of marrying?” Anna asked.

“There has never been anyone he cared for in that way,” Ruth said quickly. “At one time I thought that Sara and he might marry, but nothing came of it. I don’t think anything ever will now.”

“They have their work in common,” Anna pointed out with a pounding heart, wondering why she should torture herself like this by continuing to link Sara’s name with Noel’s.

“That doesn’t add up to perfect married bliss, especially when their personalities are so divergent,” Ruth answered and Anna knew a sort of crushed relief at the assurance. “I can’t see happiness resulting from a marriage like that,” Ruth went on, “in spite of all Sara’s efforts. We have been very friendly in the past, but lately she has become very aggressive where Noel is concerned, swallowing him up, almost—a professional trait that is all too common, I regret to say. It quite often succeeds in shutting the layman out, but it also hedges in the professionals in a little tight world of their own with no other interest under the sun, which is where we began! Don’t think this is possessive jealousy or anything like that,” she begged. “Nothing would please me better than to see my brother happily married to someone he loved.” She hesitated, looking across at Anna’s flushed cheeks as if she had just seen her for the first time. “Nothing would please me better,” she repeated in a slightly dazed tone, “but who are we to plan such things, to accept or reject God’s pattern for our futures?”