‘‘So I have.’’ He looked down at his hand as though it were something miraculous. ‘‘That’s the first thing I’ve done for myself since… it happened.’’
For the next half hour, Roger read to himself. Eleanor sat at his side, patiently moving his hand when he signalled that he was ready, helping to slide the next page into his grasp. She found the monotonous task strangely agreeable. For the first time in her life, she was being of use to somebody else. When Marble brought in the patient’s lunch and Nurse Wilkes came forward to feed it to him, she waved the woman away.
‘‘He’ll feed himself today, thank you, Nurse.’’
And he did, with Eleanor setting a spoon between his thumb and forefinger and guiding his hand to his mouth. When he dropped a morsel, they laughed and tried again. At last Lady Patterly left Nurse Wilkes clucking happily over a perfectly clean plate and went to get her own lunch. Gerald was waiting for her.
‘‘I’ve got it all figured out, darling,’’ he whispered as soon as they were alone. ‘‘I’ve been reading up on digitalis. The doctor’s been leaving it, I know, on account of that heart of his. All we have to do is slip him an extra dose and out he goes. Heart failure. Only to be expected in a helpless paralytic.’’
To her own surprise, Eleanor protested. ‘‘He is not helpless. He’s handicapped.’’
‘‘Rather a nice distinction in Roger’s case, don’t you think, sweet? Anyway, there we are. You’ve only to notice which is the digitalis bottle, watch your chance, and slip a tablespoonful into his hot milk, or whatever they give the poor bloke.’’
‘‘And what happens when Nurse Wilkes notices the level of the medicine’s gone down in the bottle? Not clever, Gerald.’’
‘‘Dash it, you can put in some water, can’t you?’’
‘‘I suppose so.’’ Eleanor pushed back her chair. ‘‘I’ll have to think about it.’’
‘‘Think fast, my love. I miss you.’’
Gerald gave her his best smile, but for some reason her heart failed to turn over as usual. She got up. ‘‘I’m going for a walk.’’
She started off aimlessly, then found herself heading toward the village. It was pleasant swinging along the grassy lane, feeling her legs respond to the spring of the turf under her feet. Roger had loved to walk. For the first time since the accident, Eleanor felt an overwhelming surge of genuine pity for her husband.
She turned in at the bookshop. It was mostly paper-backs and greeting cards these days, but she might find something Roger would enjoy now that she’d found a way for him to manage a book.
That was rather clever of me, she thought with satisfaction. She liked recalling the look on Roger’s face, the beaming approval of Nurse Wilkes, the unbelief in old Marble’s eyes as he watched His Lordship feeding himself. ‘‘There must be any number of things I could help him do,’’ she mused. ‘‘I wonder how one goes about them?’’
She went up to the elderly woman in charge. ‘‘Have you any books on working with handicapped people? Exercises, that sort of thing.’’
‘‘Physical therapy.’’ Miss Jenkins nodded wisely. ‘‘I do believe there was something in that last lot of paperbacks. Ah yes, here we are.’’
Eleanor rifled through the pages. ‘‘This seems to be the general idea. But don’t you have any that go into greater detail?’’
‘‘I could always order one for you, Lady Patterly.’’
‘‘Please do, then, as quickly as possible.’’
‘‘Of course. But-excuse me, Lady Patterly-we all understood His Lordship was quite helpless.’’
‘‘He is not!’’ Again Eleanor was startled by her own reaction. ‘‘He was sitting up in bed reading by himself this morning, and he ate his own lunch. You can’t call that helpless, can you?’’
‘‘Why… why no, indeed. Good gracious, I can hardly believe it. Nurse Wilkes said-’’
‘‘Nurse Wilkes says entirely too much,’’ snapped Eleanor. She would have a word with Nurse Wilkes.
She walked back slowly, studying the book page by page. It seemed simple enough. Manipulating the patient’s limbs, massage, no problem there. If only they had a heated swimming pool. But of course Roger wouldn’t be ready for that for ages yet. And by then she and Gerald… Gerald was getting a bit puffy about the jawline, she’d noticed it at lunch. Those big, beefy men were apt to go to flesh early. He ought to start exercising, too. No earthly good suggesting it to him. Gerald made rather a point of being the dominant male. Roger was much more reasonable to deal with.
He was positively boyish about the exercises. When the doctor dropped around for his daily visit, he found them hard at it, Roger pinching on to Eleanor’s finger while she swung his arm up and down.
‘‘See, Doctor, he’s holding on beautifully.’’
‘‘She’s going to have me up out of this in a matter of weeks.’’
The doctor looked from one to the other. There was color in Lord Patterly’s face for the first time since the accident. He had never seen Her Ladyship so radiant. Why should he tell them it was hopeless? Life had been hard enough on that young pair. Anyway, who knew? There was always the off chance the long bed rest had allowed some of the damaged nerve endings to mend themselves.
‘‘By all means go on as you’re doing,’’ he said. ‘‘Just take it a bit slowly at first. Remember that little heart condition.’’
Eleanor suddenly thought of Gerald and the digitalis. Her face became a mask. ‘‘I’ll remember,’’ she said tonelessly.
Her husband laughed. ‘‘Oh, nonsense. Everybody’s got these idiotic heart murmurs. My father had and he lived to seventy-nine. Gerald has, and look at him. Shoots, swims, rides, all that.’’
‘‘Gerald had better watch himself,’’ said the doctor. He picked up his bag. ‘‘Well, the patient appears to be in good hands. You’re doing splendidly, Lady Patterly, splendidly. Don’t be discouraged if progress is a little slow. These things take time, you know.’’
‘‘Time,’’ said Lord Patterly, ‘‘is something of which we have plenty. Haven’t we, darling?’’
His wife smoothed his pillow. ‘‘Yes, Roger. All the time in the world.’’
‘‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’’ The doctor moved toward the door. ‘‘Watch his pulse, Nurse. Give the prescribed injection of digitalis if it seems advisable after the exercises. You keep the hypodermic ready, of course?’’
‘‘All in order, Doctor. Right here on the medicine tray if need arises.’’
Gerald was right, Eleanor thought as she gently kneaded the wasted muscles of her husband’s arms. It would be easy. Too easy. She drew the covers up over him. ‘‘There, that’s enough for now. I don’t want to wear you out the first day. Shall I put on some music?’’
‘‘Please.’’
She had taken to playing the classical records he liked. It whiled away the time for her, too, sitting beside the bed, letting the long waves of melody sweep over her, daydreaming of all the things she would do when she was free. Today, however, she found her mind dwelling on more homely pictures. Miss Jenkins’s face when she’d dropped her little bombshell at the bookshop. The doctor’s, when he’d found her giving her husband therapy. Her husband’s now, as he lay with his eyes closed, the long afternoon shadows etching his features in sharp relief. He was as good-looking as ever, in spite of everything. That jaw would never be blurred by fat. What would it be like, living in this house without Roger? She tried to imagine it and could not.