Alone Beneath The Heaven (25 page)
Read Alone Beneath The Heaven Online
Authors: Rita Bradshaw
It was quite dark when they reached Lea Road, and already the snow had begun to settle in a white mantle over the street, turning it into something beautiful, and dusting the rooftops with mother of pearl.
It was Florrie who answered the door, and even before she spoke, Sarah had heard Rodney’s voice from within the house, followed by Maggie’s deep laugh.
‘The doctor’s here?’ She glanced from Florrie back into the street as she ushered a now silent Rebecca into the hall in front of her. ‘Where’s his car?’
‘At his friends’. He wanted a walk apparently.’ Florrie answered Sarah but her eyes were on Rebecca, and in answer to the question in them Sarah said, ‘She’s left him.’
‘
She’s left him?
’
She’s left him?
’
The words brought Maggie into the hall like a cork out of a bottle, and now her eyes skimmed over them all, moving to the carpet bag at Sarah’s feet, and she said, ‘Thanks be to God, thanks be to God. He’s answered me prayers the night.’
‘Sarah had a hand in it too.’ It was facetious, but Rebecca knew if she didn’t diffuse the charged atmosphere she was going to cry again, and she didn’t want to do that with Dr Mallard in the sitting room.
‘Come on, lass; you too, Sarah, you both look done in.’ Maggie was fussing, something she always did to cover emotion, and as they preceded her into the sitting room, Sarah saw Rodney rising from one of the armchairs which had been pulled close to the fire.
She wasn’t sure how much he had heard, but he was going to have to know about it within the next few minutes anyway - Maggie was not renowned for her patience or her tact - and so she said, ‘Hallo again. I’m sorry, you seem to have caught us in the middle of a domestic crisis. Rebecca is going to stay with Maggie and Florrie for a bit.’
‘I can’t think of anyone nicer to stay with.’ His voice was soft, and he smiled at them both before saying, ‘Hallo, Rebecca. It’s nice to see you again after all this time.’
‘Hallo, Dr Mallard.’ Rebecca’s voice was strained, but then she smiled back as she said, ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘Really? I’d like to believe that but I think you’re being kind. Now, I really must be making tracks—’
‘Oh no, please don’t go.’ It was Rebecca who responded to Rodney’s tactful withdrawal. ‘I mean it, really. I’m sure you come across this sort of thing all the time in your work.’
‘That’s very true.’ Rodney nodded easily, but he had noticed the massive bruise covering one side of Rebecca’s face, and it was an effort to keep his voice in neutral. The swine had been hitting her?
‘Florrie’s gettin’ us all a cup of tea, lad. Stay an’ have a sup to keep you warm on the walk back.’ Maggie added weight to her words by flopping down on the sofa as she spoke, drawing Rebecca down with her and continuing, ‘I couldn’t sleep a wink last night, hinny, for worryin’ about you.’
Rodney stood uncertainly for a moment more before he said, ‘Come and sit here by the fire, Sarah. You look frozen.’
‘It’s starting to snow.’ She smiled at him by way of thanks as she took the seat he offered, and then, to cover what had become an embarrassing situation, made small talk until Florrie reappeared with the tray of tea.
Rodney drank his tea quickly, standing with his back to the fire, and immediately he had finished, he said, ‘Well, I really must be off.’
‘I’ll see you to the door.’ Sarah waited until he had made his goodbyes and then followed him into the hall, shutting the sitting-room door behind her.
‘I’m sorry about all that.’ She waved her hand towards the closed door, her voice soft. ‘But there was really nothing else to be done.’
‘He’s been hitting her?’ Rodney asked grimly.
Sarah nodded. ‘He’s a brute, he always has been - coarse and horrible.’
There was coarse and there was coarse, Rodney thought to himself. He’d known plenty of men in his time who could turn the air blue when they chose to, but were as gentle as lambs with their wives.
‘I’m glad you got her out of there. Once they start that business it’s downhill all the way. Her husband wasn’t around then?’
‘Oh yes, Willie was there.’ She gave him a bare outline of what had transpired, and his face was dark with anger by the time she had finished.
‘But he didn’t touch you?’
‘No, no. He’s a coward at heart, like all bullies.’
She’d got some guts, he’d say that for her. She might look as fragile as Meissen porcelain, but there was pure steel running through that slender backbone. It brought back memories of the child Sarah with such poignancy that it stirred him to say, his voice soft, ‘You don’t change, do you?’
‘Don’t I?’ She knew it was a compliment and blushed furiously.
‘Not inside, where it counts.’ He could just imagine her facing that thug of a man like a lioness protecting her young, and then, his voice becoming brisk, he said, ‘Any more trouble from the fellow and you get the police involved double quick.’
‘Oh, I would, and I shall tell Florrie to take Rebecca along to a solicitor next week, to start the ball rolling. At least she’s safe here with Maggie now.’
He nodded, even as his mind asked: But for how long? He didn’t want to discourage Sarah by voicing his doubts, but he had seen too many Rebecca and Willie scenarios in his time not to feel uneasy. It was the mental control these men commanded that was the worst thing and the hardest for the women to break away from. He’d built up a sixth sense after a time about who would make it, and who wouldn’t - most doctors did, he supposed - and he’d found there were some women who were born to be victims. Rebecca was a classic case with all the right background history for a disaster. But he could be wrong; he hoped he was wrong.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot the reason for my coming in the first place.’ He paused in the act of opening the front door and turned to look at her again. ‘Heavy snow is forecast late tomorrow and over the next few days, so I called by to see if you were agreeable to leaving tomorrow morning instead of Monday. But don’t worry now; with all that’s happened, we’ll keep to the original plan.’
Sarah glanced towards the sitting-room door before she said, ‘I think I need to stay and have a good talk with her tomorrow, but I can easily go back on the train. Please, you go tomorrow if you’re worried, I understand perfectly.’
‘No, we’ll go Monday.’ It was definite.
The snow was already an inch or two thick when Rodney opened the front door, although the snowflakes had diminished to a desultory flutter, and as Rodney stood on the doorstep he pulled up the collar of his thick black overcoat which emphasized the height and breadth of his tall lean frame. Sarah caught a whiff of the smell of him - a mixture of aftershave and antiseptic and something which was wholly his and very pleasing - and it caused a funny little quiver in her stomach before she could control herself.
He was so handsome. She caught the thought, stuffing it back into her subconscious before she had time to dwell on it, and answering his goodbye with a smile before he turned from her and stepped down onto the white pavement.
She stood on the doorstep watching him as he walked down the street, his footsteps making large indentations in the unspoilt frosted pearl of the new snow, and his big dark figure turning the scene into a monochrome of black and white.
He turned once as he reached the corner, raising his hand and waving, before he disappeared out of sight, but Sarah continued to stand there in the quiet of the deserted night. It was freezing hard. The thought came from nowhere and was a surface comment to the million and one thoughts below. But then it always froze hard in these parts. Raw winds, snow, ice, gales. Perhaps that was why the people who lived here were so tough and resilient? Her people . . .
Sarah found her gaze lifting, swinging out above the white rooftops as it searched the night, and she allowed free rein to the thoughts that had been with her all evening since Willie’s attack. Her mother was out there somewhere, living, breathing, possibly even looking at the same northern sky this very minute. Sarah was sure she was still alive, she had to be, but the war had taken so many lives in these parts . . . She pushed the thought from her. No, her mother was alive, she knew it,
felt
it, she wouldn’t believe anything else.
felt
it, she wouldn’t believe anything else.
‘The doctor gone then?’
Sarah nearly jumped out of her skin as Maggie’s voice sounded right behind her, but she turned with a smile as she said, ‘No, he’s in my pocket.’
‘Less of your cheek.’ Maggie grinned at her, her fat face all wrinkles and lines, but her eyes were thoughtful as they took in Sarah’s flushed cheeks and bright eyes. ‘You’ve took your time out here,’ she said easily, but still with her gaze tight on Sarah’s face. ‘Bin talkin’, have you?’
‘A bit.’
‘Oh aye? He told you he come round ’cos he was worried about the forecast then?’
‘Yes, but we’ve decided to go back Monday as arranged because of Rebecca. I said I’d go back on the train if he wanted to go earlier, but he said he could wait.’
There could be trouble brewing here. Maggie’s mind was racing under her bland exterior. At her age she recognized the signs even if her lass didn’t. Sarah liked him, she liked him a darn sight too much, and the lad wasn’t interested, not from what she’d seen of him with her anyway. Oh, he was pleasant enough, solicitous about her welfare and all, but he treated the lass in the same way a dutch uncle would, kindly, considerately.
As Sarah brushed past her into the house, Maggie said, ‘Well, you do as you think best, lass, but he’s a busy man, perhaps he needs to get back, eh? With his own practice an’ all, an’ all his social engagements . . .’
She doubted if Sarah even heard her.
Rodney found he was whistling to himself as he walked along in a world that seemed reborn and transparently beautiful. The sound surprised him, he couldn’t remember whistling for a long long time. Perhaps it was the snow? He stopped, breathing in deep lungfuls of the icy cold air before walking on again. The snow was usually an enemy, ten to one he would be battling through it at the dead of night in answer to some urgent call, but tonight the silent silvery vista was enchanting, transforming the grim northern landscape.
He smiled deprecatingly at himself. This evening made him think of times past, when he and Richard had been young and had prayed earnestly for weeks beforehand for a white Christmas. They had always dressed the tree together as a surprise for their father when he came home from the surgery, although no doubt the box of shiny coloured balls and tinsel, and the packets of white sugar mice that their mother bought a day or so in advance, had provided something of a clue.
He had had a good childhood, he thought now, solid, secure. Richard’s four years’ seniority had manifested itself in a protective, rather than authoritarian attitude, and he couldn’t remember them ever arguing, although of course they must have done. The thought of Richard brought Vanessa into his mind, and the tranquillity of the night was spoilt causing him to click his tongue irritably at himself. But tonight there was no rush of adrenalin or stirring in his loins, rather a vague feeling of dissatisfaction.
What a difference there was between Vanessa and the bright, freshfaced girl he had just left. He filled his lungs again, noticing the sky was clearing fast and there was the odd twinkling star between the snow clouds. One was cool sophistication and brittle elegance, with an edge that was scalpel sharp, and the other? The other was warm and generous and quite breathtakingly lovely . . .
The way his thoughts had gone shocked him and he stopped abruptly, drawing the breath in through his teeth in a low hiss. Enough of that, what the hell was he thinking of anyway? The girl was young enough to be his daughter, and if she thought of him at all it was in that context.
But she was beautiful, and with a spirit to match. He would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when she gave that excuse for a man such a dressing down - that was before he took the opportunity to hit Willie Dalton square on the nose, of course. How had Rebecca ever got mixed up with such a type anyway? And then he shook his head at himself. How could he, of all people, ask that? If anyone knew about the sticky threads of fate, it was him.
He had been walking steadily, the road inclining upwards slightly, and now he stopped, turning and glancing back over the streets and houses wrapped snugly in their blanket of white, the odd uncurtained window here and there providing squares of warmth in the wintery scene.
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