Sue for Mercy Page 2

  I studied him. He was older than I had thought at first, maybe twenty-eight or nine. His eyes flickered open and remained at half mast. I indicated the basket of fruit, still in its red cellophane wrapping.

  “Did your landlady bring that in for you?”

  Vivacity returned to his face and voice for a moment. “Mrs. Burroughs’s nickname is The Adding Machine. She believes in three references, a month’s rent in advance, no smoking, drinking or visitors of the opposite sex, and that Charity Begins at Home. I’ll probably have to clear out and find somewhere else to live after this.”

  “But you’ll need one or two things while you’re in here.” Someone had shaved him, but he wore hospital pyjamas. “What about pyjamas, shaving things... surely she must...?”

  “I doubt it. My boss, Mr. Brenner, would get them for me, but he left today for the Aegean. He couldn’t delay his departure, and he’ll be away a minimum of two weeks, maybe longer.”

  “I’ll get them for you,” I said, and then flushed, realising how I’d risked a snub.

  “Would you?” He wasn’t going to snub me; he was surprised, but delighted. “No — why should you?”

  “I don’t mind. That is — if it’s not too far away, and your landlady wouldn’t mind?”

  “Egerton Gardens, Number 10. Just off the Common. She’s always there in the evenings, but if you were to phone first...”

  “All right, then. I’ll do it!” What a pleasure it was to do something for someone else! He was smiling, too, as his eyelids quivered shut again.

  “You did say your name was Sue, didn’t you? Mine’s Charles — Charles Ashton. Remind me to thank you properly some time for saving my life twice over.”

  “Oh, that!” I don’t think he heard me. His eyelids were fast shut. There was a slight mark at the corner of his mouth, but otherwise his face hadn’t been touched. I wondered why. I shifted in my seat, and at once his eyelids jumped. It was only half past seven, and it would take me just five minutes to get to the Institute for my evening class. I made myself comfortable in my chair.

  A young woman across the ward leaned over and embraced a patient; he held her tightly and returned her kiss. She straightened up, laughing and pushed her hair back into place, glancing around with a half-guilty, half-satisfied expression to see if anyone had noticed. She caught my eye on her. I looked down, thinking how embarrassed I would have felt if I had been caught kissing someone in public like that, and then remembered that two years ago I had thought nothing of greeting Rob in just such a way. Why not? We’d spoken of marriage, we’d made love... and then I’d missed a period and he feared I was pregnant. By the time the trouble had been traced to some pills I’d been taking for slimming purposes, he’d turned his eyes elsewhere. I didn’t particularly want to think about him. I wished I hadn’t come.

  Automatically my hand moved to the box of chocolates on the bed, and in passing touched Charles’ hand. It was almost accidental, but not quite. I think I’d wanted to show the girl across the ward that she was not the only one to be able to lay claim to a man. I took my hand away, and was amazed to see Charles open his own hand, and leave it there, palm uppermost on the coverlet. I stared at it, wondering if he meant some insult by the gesture, and then placed my hand squarely on his, feeling that it served me right if he did. His fingers folded firmly over mine. His hand was too warm; he would be running a temperature, no doubt. Probably didn’t even know what he was doing. Nevertheless, I didn’t attempt to remove my hand.

  My eyes went to the basket of fruit once more, and I wondered if his girlfriend had sent it to him. He was accepting me as a substitute for her, no doubt. I started on a sigh, and then controlled it so as not to disturb him. The odd thing was that now everyone could see that I, plain Sue was holding the hand of an exceedingly good-looking man, I didn’t feel the need to look around and check that they had registered the fact. I was quite content to sit there and look at Charles and at our linked hands, and just occasionally, at my watch.

  “We used to call her Black-eyed Susan,” he said conversationally, without warning. His eyes were still closed, but he was talking to me and not to himself. “And then, when she’d lost most of her paint we used to call her just Sue. She was David’s doll, really, that he bought in a jumble sale, but he didn’t mind us joining in his games. She was the Princess who had to be rescued from the Dragon, and the Lady of Shalott when we played down by the river, and Maid Marian and even Peter Pan when David made a harness for her so that she could fly. Ronald said she was better than a girl to play with, because she didn’t answer back.”

  “All boys?” I prompted. “No girls?”

  “Three boys — David’s the eldest, then Ronald and me. No girls. Poor Dad — he did so want a girl. But Mother wouldn’t have liked girls, not really.”

  I made a note of that fact that he called his mother “Mother”, and his father “Dad”. Interesting. There was a reddened band of skin round his wrist that was interesting, too. He fell silent, and I thought he’d gone to sleep. The hands of my watch crept round far too fast. At five to eight I stood up with some reluctance, and withdrew my hand. His head had slanted towards me on the pillow. I thought he’d dozed off, but when I moved, he jerked his eyelids open again.

  “I must go,” I said. “But I’ll come back and bring those things for you tomorrow.”

  He nodded fractionally and I left, quite forgetting my box of chocolates. I stopped on the way out to check on the visiting hours for the following day. I was going to be late for my evening class, but who cared?

  *

  Bessie could hardly wait for the lunch hour to receive my report, and was annoyed that I said I had to rush my food.

  “Got to dash to collect my winter coat,” I explained, refusing a pudding. “So that I can go to his landlady’s before I go to see him again.” I told her the story he’d given me, and was amused to see that she accepted his explanation of temporary amnesia.

  “It must have been one helluva party,” she mused. “I expect they all got tight, tried to do something silly, this lad of yours got hurt, they panicked, and were taking him home when the car crashed and they left him for someone else to pick up.”

  “He’s not that young,” I said, scraping my plate. “Late twenties? A bit late for that sort of wild party. And he’s got red marks round his wrists as if he’d been tied up at some point. I didn’t notice them when I found him, but I looked specially last night.”

  “You’re imagining things. I expect there’s a perfectly good explanation for his injuries.”

  “He’s well-educated,” I said thoughtfully, “intelligent, quick-witted... a bit on the thin side, but not dissipated. I don’t think it’s drugs...”

  “What?”

  “Something’s wrong,” I said, pushing my plate away from me. “Maybe I’ll find out more this evening.”

  I found Mrs. Burroughs’s without difficulty, and as I scanned the front of it, a slight, dark-haired young man ran up the steps and began to fidget in his pockets for his keys.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, inquisitive as a squirrel.

  I told him I’d come to collect one or two things for Mr. Ashton, who was in hospital, and he was all over me. He was a nice lad, without a mite of ill-nature in him.

  “Poor Charles, of course! Come on in, and I’ll locate the Terror of Egerton Gardens for you. Mind the lino — polishing day today, and I’ve cracked my ankle twice against that hat-stand on polishing days... that’s it! Like playing Shipwreck in this hall, leaping from mat to mat. I really must get along to see Charles. Do you know how long he’s in for? Could have knocked me down with a feather when old Mrs. B. told us what had happened. I mean... Charles! Who’d have thought it of the old sober-sides? Now me or old John in Number Three — yes! Any day or night, if you get my meaning, but for Charles to go to a wild party and then crash his car... The notion takes some swallowing. And his car in dock, too? I’d never have thought, from the way he looked after it, that he
’d let it stand outside in the rain all night, let alone crash it.”

  He paused to take breath as he knocked on a heavy door at the foot of the stairs.

  “Mrs. Burroughs! Someone to collect Charles’ things to take to the hospital.”

  From inside the room martial music announced Newstime on television. The door opened and a majestic, calm-faced woman appeared.

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she announced. “Mr. Bessiter, take the young lady upstairs and see that she removes all of Mr. Ashton’s belongings; they are all packed up ready for her. I have placed an envelope containing a rebate on Mr. Ashton’s rent inside his suitcase. Naturally he will not be returning here.”

  “But...” I said. The door closed with finality. One did not argue with Mrs. Burroughs. The friendly lad beside me tugged at my arm, and gestured towards the stairs.

  “No use arguing, my dear. Newstime is sacrosanct. Poor old Charles! He does like his nosh and she serves up a decent-sized plateful. Wonder where he’ll go? I’ll suppose he’ll go back home, but he always swore he’d sooner starve, and of course he could afford to get a proper flat, but... Maybe there’d be room for him at my married sister’s till he gets something permanent. Or did his boss... yes, I expect he’ll go to Whitestones — lucky dog! No, wait a minute, he can’t do that, if Mr. Brenner’s away. Or could he? Maybe I’d better see if I can turn up somewhere for him, so when you see him tonight, you’d better ask him what he wants to do.”

  He showed me into a big room, overlooking the front. It was pleasantly furnished. A big desk in the bay window lay open, divested of papers. Wardrobe doors hung slightly ajar, and the bed had already been stripped. A large suitcase lay near the door, together with a cardboard box of shoes and a canvas grip bulging with books and sweaters.

  “Look,” I said, “I only wanted his toilet things. Could you help me find them?”

  “But he’s got them with him!” said Mr. Bessiter. “He came back for his leather holdall on Friday night — about eight o’clock it would be, because Mrs. B. was furious that he hadn’t told her he wouldn’t be in for supper. He said he’d to go away for the night, unexpectedly. He often did, you know, with his boss. Here, there and everywhere at a moment’s notice. Nothing unusual in that. Or he might have been going home for the weekend — I went with him once — fine place, they did have a lot of money you know, and they still keep it up even though... but he wouldn’t want me to talk about that! I always wondered why he didn’t commute from his home, for it’s only about five miles, but he said he liked to be independent. I think his mother gets up his wick, myself, but I’m not sure I wouldn’t have put up with it...”

  “Let’s get this straight. He collected things for an overnight stay on Friday evening, and just didn’t come back? But if he went home, why haven’t his family missed him, or been in touch with the hospital? Did he have an overcoat with him? Was he wearing a jacket?”

  “In this weather? My dear girl — are you mad? And he feeling the cold as he does! Of course he was wearing a jacket with his suit, and as for an overcoat... well, his sheepskin-lined one isn’t here, so I suppose he had that with him.” He started for the suitcase.

  I stopped him. “Can’t we leave these things here until he gets out of hospital?”

  “Not with Mrs. B in her present mood. Knowing her, she’s already re-let the room, and if she hasn’t I’ll ask if I can have it, because it’s much bigger than mine, and I wouldn’t mind paying the extra...”

  “But I can’t take them.”

  “All you’ve got to do is dump them at the hospital,” said Mr. Bessiter reasonably. “They’ll hold them for him till he gets out and... maybe I’ll ring my sister tomorrow, eh? That is your Mini outside?” Still talking, he started off down the stairs. I followed with the canvas grip. “Shame I can’t come tonight with you,” he was saying. “But it’s nosh time at seven and I’ve got a date afterwards, but if Charles is to be in for long I could get round and see him either tomorrow or the next day. Mrs. B. said it was just a hairline fracture he’d got and they didn’t need to operate, is that right?”

  As we descended the stairs, Mrs. Burroughs opened the door of her room and stood there, watching us to make sure we didn’t take anything except Charles’ luggage. I gave her a weak smile, which she didn’t return. It was a tight squeeze, getting everything in the back of the Mini, but Mr. Bessiter helped me, jamming the box of shoes in the passenger seat, still talking. “Hey, what’s old man Brenner saying about this? Hopping mad he must be without Charles to fetch and carry for him. I wouldn’t have that job for all the tea in China — told Charles so, too, but I gather there’s some kind of family connection, so maybe it’s all right. Say, I haven’t heard him speak of you, have I? I mean, he’s pretty closemouthed when it comes to talk of the fair sex, but...”

  “I don’t really know him at all,” I said hastily. “I just picked him up off the pavement and took him to hospital. That’s all.”

  That shut him up for a moment. He gave me a thoughtful stare. I told myself that I was not going to blush, and did just that very thing. I pulled the coat of my collar up to help hide my reaction; it was the one I had just collected from the cleaners and it suited my fair skin and brown hair well enough. It was more becoming than my tatty old raincoat, anyway.

  “’Bye!” he said, waving me off. “Cross your fingers that Mrs. B will let me have his room, won’t you? And tell Charles I was asking after him.”

  I wondered if he’d ever get round to visiting the hospital; I didn’t think he would.

  The hospital wouldn’t accept Charles’ luggage. They said that they had no facilities for storing patients’ belongings and that I must take them away again with me. A patient could bring in a certain number of items of personal property — and they handed me the appropriate list — but up till the day of his departure he was not supposed to have anything else with him.

  I was waiting outside the doors of the ward as the hands of the clock ticked up to seven, and was one of the first through. I could see Charles’ head turned towards the doors in anticipation of my coming, and it gave me a thrill to realise that he was waiting for me and no one else.

  “Hello!” I said, and plumped myself down in the chair at his bedside. He was looking less heavy-eyed than on the previous evening, and he was a better colour. His eyes were properly open, and he managed a smile, if a constrained one. I picked up his air of constraint at once, and being me I put it down to dislike of my presence. At once I felt drab and fat; I started to fidget in my pockets for the odd half bar of chocolate, until I realised that my coat was fresh from the cleaners, and there wasn’t likely to be any store of food in it. I thought I’d better make some excuse to get away early; I’d tell him about the luggage, and then disappear. If I were quick, I might get to the ABC in time for a snack before the main film.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, thinking that it was only polite to ask.

  “Do you want the official hospital version, or my own impressions?”

  “Your own impressions, please!” I nearly laughed. Whatever the reason for his constraint, it could not be me, for he had set himself to entertain.

  “Well, I’ve got a cracking headache on and off, I still can’t remember anything after last Friday night, I’m so strung up with bandages and harnesses that I feel like a badly-wrapped Christmas parcel, and I shan’t have the full use of my left hand for some time to come. Satisfied?”

  “You’re much better. Much. I’m so glad.”

  To my amazement he half closed his eyes and began to redden. His right hand clenched and fidgeted on the bed near me. “I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “Hanging on to you like a two-year-old! What you must have thought...”

  “Oh,” I said, as red in the face as he. “That! Well — I didn’t mind that at all.”

  “A complete stranger to you... a fully-grown man...!”

  “You just needed someone to hang on to,” I said hastily. “A sort of mother
substitute. Probably my being called Susan had something to do with it. A transference of childhood memories...?”

  “A mother substitute!” He gave a crack of laughter and then winced. “Remind me not to laugh, will you? They say I’ve only got two cracked ribs, but it feels more like the lot gone at times.”

  “Who did you get across to come by such a beating-up?”

  He stared at me without a smile. His nose looked pinched, and the bosses of his cheekbones stood out. He was a big-boned man, but far too thin.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I forgot you said you couldn’t remember.”

  “All hysteria,” he said, speaking lightly, as if used to giving this particular alibi. His eyes were watchful. “The doctor says I’m deliberately suppressing the memory of what happened because of the nature of my injuries. The police are in two minds about what happened. Either I was flagged down by hitchhikers, beaten up and robbed, or I was so drunk I got into a fight with someone, drove away still drunk and then crashed the car to complete the picture.”

  “You weren’t driving.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  I told him why. I told him what I’d seen on the night I’d found him, and of the odd behaviour of the second car, as well.

  “Would you recognise either the man or the woman whom you say were driving my car, if you saw them again?”

  “I don’t know. I shouldn’t think so. I only saw them for a second or two, either time.”

  He relaxed. I guessed he’d been worried that I could have identified them to the police.

  “But you know who they were,” I said. “Your friend Mr. Bessiter told me you left work, got back to the boarding-house, properly dressed, about eight. You collected some things for an unexpected overnight stay, put them into your leather holdall, apologised to Mrs. Burroughs for missing supper and took off again. He thinks you went back to work, or that you went home.”

  “Neither. J.B. and I had had words that day. Nothing unusual, but I wouldn’t have gone crawling back so quickly.”