The Stranger Came (81 page)

He
put
his
hand
under
her
chin
pushing
her
head
back.
'I
can't
tell
you
why
I'm
here,
I
don't
know
why!'

Squinting
against
the
dazzle
of
light,
she
saw
him
nod
as
if
understanding
something.
'For
Christ's
sake!
He
fixes
you
up,
isn't
that
right?
When
you're
poorly.’
He
let
her
go.
'It
has
to
be
him.’

Hearing
her
come
out,
he
turned.
He
was
already
at
the outside
door
ready
to
leave.

'You
were
one
of
them,'
she
whispered.

'What?'

'Only
they
punished
you.’
He
came
at
her
in
a
rush.
'That's
what
happened
to
your
face.’
In
her
terror
he
seemed
to
fill
the
corridor.
'They
ruined
me,
you
said.’

And
he
had
her
by
the
shoulders.
'He
tell
you
that?'
She shook
her
head.
'Or
Georgie
Clarke –
did
he
tell
you?'
She
struggled
but
he
was
too
strong,
forcing
her
back
easily
into
the
room.
No
one
had
told
her.
A
final
shove
sent
her
staggering
back,
and
he
had
her
down
on
her
back
across
the
bed.
He
forced
his
knee
between
her
legs.

She
had
heard
it
on
a
tape,
and
hearing
it
had
thought it
something
invented
out
of
her
own
mind's
darkness.

Perhaps
it
was
the
look
on
her
face
then
that
made
him
stand
back.
He
touched
his
tie
and
then
made
the
gesture
of
a
man
checking
his
flies.

'Tell
you
all
about
it,
did
he?
Don't
laugh,
I
still
fucking dream
about
it.
It
was
the
best
time
I
ever
had.
Not
an
old
piece
of
meat,
a
piece
of
garbage
–
in
a
nothing
drum
like
this.
He
must
be
desperate
for
it,
darling.’

She
closed
her
eyes.
Would
not
open
them
to
let
him exist,
until
the
voice
of
the
young
Irishman
told
her
he was
gone.

'Don't
touch
me,'
she
said.

'There
wasn't
anything
I
could
do,
honest
to
God.
Sorry...
Do
you
want
tea?'

It
was
no
wonder
Doctor
Cadell
had
felt
disgust
for
what
he
had
found
in
her
mind.
He
couldn't
admit
how
he
felt,
of
course,
any
more
than
a
surgeon
could
acknowledge
the
part
of
him
sickened
by
the
soft
corruptions
scooped
out
under
his
hand.
He
hadn't
been
able
to
hide
what
he
truly
felt,
not
from
her,
no
matter
how
he
deceived
himself.
It
would
be
no
wonder
he
felt
disgust
for
her,
for
the
dirty
thing
pieced
together
out
of
the
scraps
in
her
mind.
Only
now
the
scarred
man
had
laid
his
hands
on
her
and
pretended
they
were
real.
Doctor
Cadell,
like
Daddy
had
sent
her
into
the
dark.

Yet
when
she
got
outside
she
stood
waiting
at
the entrance
to
the
close,
as
if
something
prevented
her
from
going
away,
and
that
was
where
Anne
Macleod
found
her.

Chapter 27

With
a
shudder
she
brought
up
a
last
slick
of
vomit
at
the
side
of
the
road.

When
she
got
back
in,
Maitland
put
the
car
into
gear,
twisting
round
to
check
there
was
a
gap
in
the
traffic
as
they
moved
off
the
hard
shoulder
on
to
the
motorway.
At
once
he
was
driving
very
fast,
pulling
out
to
overtake,
braking
as
they
closed
on
a
car
in
front.
Perhaps
it
had
been
that
which
made
her
sick.
She
found
a
tissue
and
wiped
her
lips;
it
made
no
difference
to
the
taste
in
her
mouth.
After
they
had
been
married
for
some
years
one
thing
or
another
she
had
said
started
him
quarrelling
with
her
so
badly
he
had
raised
his
fist.
He
hadn't
struck
her,
instead
appalled
by
his
own
gesture
had
become
subdued
as
if
wanting
her
sympathy,
so
that
she
would
see
how
much
she
was
to
blame
for
reducing
him
to
such
a
state.
‘You
have
more
strength
than
me,’
she
had
said,
‘it's
a
temptation
to
use
it,
I
can
see
that.’
And
that
reply
had
driven
him
into
a
second
rage:
she
'didn't
understand.’
She
had
been
sick
then
too.

It
was
a
long
time
since
they
had
quarrelled
about anything.

It
had
been
all
right
while
Anne
Macleod
was
still
there.
He
had
settled
her
into
a
chair,
given
her
a
drink
to
sip,
told
her
to
close
her
eyes.
To
the
things
Anne
Macleod
said,
he
had
listened
quietly.
He
was
calm,
so
that
he
was
the
one
who
seemed
to
be
in
control.
Listening
without
interruption,
while
she
told
the
story
of
a
man
calling
himself
Rintoul
who
had
used
a
brothel
in
London
to satisfy
appetites
he
was
ashamed
of.
‘Suppose,’
Anne
Macleod
said,
‘someone
who
knew
about
Rintoul
needed
to
find
a
place
to
hide.
Wouldn't
Rintoul
have
been
forced,
for
example,
to
find
that
person
a
place
to
live
or,
assuming
he
had
one
in
his
gift,
even
some
kind
of
job?’

Lucy,
closing
her
eyes
as
if
to
deny
her
own
presence,
had
waited
for
him
to
say,
‘What
is
this
to
do
with
me?’
After
a
silence,
not
any
longer
than
you
gave
someone
out
of
courtesy
to
make
sure
they
were
finished,
Maitland
thanked
her
for
bringing
his
wife
home;
‘I
was
beginning
to
worry,’
he
said.

‘
Would
it
worry
you
that
she
was
with
Monty
Norman?’
Anne
Macleod
had
asked.

If
she
spoke
at
all,
Lucy
knew
she
would
hear
herself tell
them
about
the
scarred
man.
She
must
have
made
some
kind
of
noise
for
Anne
Macleod
had
bent
over
her,
touching
her
on
the
shoulder
to
comfort
her,
saying,
‘Come
with
me,
you
can
come
away
with
me
now,
this
moment
if
you
want
to.’
With
eyes
closed
Lucy
heard
Maitland
tell
her
it
was
time
to
go;
‘my
wife
is
unwell,’
he
had
said,
not
sounding
angry
at
all,
‘she
needs
to
sleep.’

She
wakened
some
time
just
after
first
light.
Leaning
up
on
one
elbow,
he
continued
to
look
at
her
for
a
while
in
silence,
then
he
said,
‘I
was
trying
to
remember
one
time
when
you
offered
the
first
move
before
we
made
love.
Or
you
ever
touching
me
down
there.
Unless
I
asked
you
to.’
He
lay
down
and
she
couldn't
see
his
face
when
he
said,
‘I
know
it
has
as
much
to
do
with
me
as
you.
Maybe
if
we'd
had
children.’

After
that
since
he
didn't
say
any
more
he
had
probably
gone
back
to
sleep,
but
now
as
she
thought
about
what
he
had
said
during
the
night
she
knew
that
somewhere
in
her
there
was
anger.
It
was
very
strange
to
know
it
was
there
and
not
be
able
to
feel
it.

'I
was
on
the
phone,'
Maitland
said.

She
couldn't
make
sense
of
that,
and
then
she
wasn't
sure
if
she
had
heard
him
properly.
She
had
been
looking
at
how
the
white
of
a
cloud
of
mist
linked
the
snow-covered
tops
of
two
hills.
Behind
them
low
in
the
winter
sky
the
sun
was
small
and
moon-coloured.