She pushed me away quite gently and bent over Ben. Her hand hovered over his head as she murmured, “My boy, my only child. He’s so dreadfully flushed.”
“Are you sure? This is that sort of room-maroon tends to give a warm look…”
“Shouldn’t you be phoning the doctor, Giselle?” Magdalene’s face looked like mine felt. “Don’t think I’m taking over, but at a time like this, a child, however old, wants his mother. Better phone Eli, too.”
Dr. Melrose answered at the second ring; there was no answer from the flat in Tottenham.
The verdict was blood poisoning. And the blame which I saw in Dr. Melrose’s eyes was only a reflection of what I was feeling. As he stashed away his medical equipment, he said, “I realise, Ellie, that Ben may have put up resistance to seeing me, but you could have employed the tactics he used when getting me out to see you. If that finger had been lanced promptly and antibiotics administered, he would be on the mend now. As it is, you must understand his condition is quite serious.”
“Oh, I do.”
“The cottage hospital is full to overflowing, otherwise I would have him admitted tonight. However”-his lips tightened-“you should manage, Ellie, if you and Mrs. Haskell divide the nursing.”
“And Ben will… live?”
“Certainly, bar complications.” Dr. Melrose clapped on his hat, thumped me on the shoulder, and trod briskly down the stairs, black bag swinging at his side. I kept close behind him. I didn’t want him to leave. Magdalene’s voice drifted down from the upper bannister rail.
“Don’t worry, doctor. I shall be with my boy, reading to him, singing to him.”
For the first time I saw a softening of Dr. Melrose’s eyes as he paused in the hall. “Don’t either of you ladies go overdoing things. Get out for a walk round the garden two or three times a day.”
“Not me, doctor.” Magdalene’s voice quivered above our heads. “Fresh air doesn’t agree with me.”
It was as well Ben was too ill to realise that his mother had closed not only the bedroom window, but also the curtains. With only one small lamp lit, the character of the room changed. The furniture acquired a hulking look. The pheasants on the wallpaper seemed to fly into each other. Magdalene kept saying the air wasn’t stuffy-we had plenty of ventilation from the chimney.
During most of what was left of that awful night, Ben remained sunk in restless sleep, kicking off the blankets and twisting his reddened face upon the pillows; but every half hour or so, he would jerk upright, calling for the painters or ranting at the underchef. We had to keep assuring him that Abigail’s premiere would go on as planned.
Each time his eyes opened and he looked at me, the knives of misery and guilt twisted deeper. Every so often I would creep behind Magdalene and open a pane, so Ben wouldn’t feel claustrophobic in his sleep. I didn’t fight her for pride of place at his pillow. I was consumed with remorse over the row. It helped me emotionally when she would send me downstairs for lemon barley water for Ben or tea for us. What did bother me was that each time I got back she had locked the bedroom door. For fear of Tobias coming in, she’d explain. I was tempted to tell her that closing it was sufficient-Tobias isn’t good with handles. And waiting-sometimes for five minutes-for her to hear my knock was becoming a strain. But the rest of that night and the next day were long enough for both of us without our bickering.
By early Wednesday evening, Ben’s temperature was close to normal. The antibiotics had taken hold. Dr. Melrose, making his third visit of the day, patted everyone, including himself, on the back. And Magdalene announced it was now clearly a blessing that we hadn’t been able to reach Eli. Not wishing to bring her share of the good mood crashing down, I decided not to mention that I had spoken to him that morning to invite him to visit his lost wife and ailing son. He would have come at once but I asked him to wait until the following afternoon so as not to panic Ben that this was a deathbed visit.
Thursday morning saw Ben propped up on his pillows. So far he hadn’t said a word to me about our troubles and it was Chinese torture for me not knowing if this was because a) they now seemed trivial in the vaster scope of things; b) he wasn’t up to discussing his feelings on divorce; c) his mother was always between us, straightening the bedclothes or tenderly inserting a straw between his lips so he could drink his lemon barley water without lifting his head.
And of course Ben was desperately worried about Abigail’s opening night-only thirty-six hours away.
“I know you won’t listen to me, son.” Magdalene bent the straw for easier swallowing. “But I maintain food doesn’t have to be fussy to be good, especially when it’s free. Leave it to Mum. I’ll make plenty of fishpaste sandwiches, and we can buy lots of bags of crisps.”
I rushed to Ben’s side. “That would be lovely, Magdalene, but I do think we owe it to Freddy to give him the chance to prove he can cope in a crisis.”
“Ellie’s right, Mum.” Ben leaned weakly back on the pillows. “We don’t have any other choice.” His voice was grim.
8:00 A.M. I summoned Freddy to the kitchen and broke the news that he was the understudy about to assume the starring role.
“Ellie, believe me, I sincerely wish I could do this for you, but-not to steal Ben’s thunder-I have been on the brink of the great abyss myself.”
I set Ben’s breakfast tray down and began unloading into the sink. “Dr. Melrose assured you, in my presence, that your injury is ninety-nine point nine percent mental.”
Freddy didn’t look at me; he leaned against the table brandishing a broom at Tobias, who kept leaping to attack. “Old Doc is right. This wound will eventually heal.” He tapped a finger to his chest. “But in a far more important way, I am a man scarred for life. I may never play darts again.”
“Don’t be stupid!”
“I have decided to sue Sid Fowler for physical and emotional anguish.” He gave the broom another flick.
“Know what I think?” I dropped, and broke, a cup for emphasis. “I think you are afraid to tackle preparing the food for this party. You’re nothing but a coward.”
Freddy watched Tobias pounce on the broom. “As you please, Ellie, but I owe it to Jill to turn my injury into a comfortable living.”
Grabbing the broom away from him, I pondered whacking sense into him. “You owe it to Ben to get cracking with your little paring knife and start fluting mushrooms for tomorrow evening. If you don’t, I’ll flute you.”
Freddy took the broom back, tossed it into a corner, and sank into the rocking chair. “This hurts me, Ellie, more than it does you. Sid’s assault has left me, at least for the present, unfit for work. So I will tell the court, and you wouldn’t want me to look like a liar, would you? Can you imagine the unfavourable impact of upward of a hundred witnesses streaming into the dock, all ready to swear on holy writ that they had partaken of a banquet prepared by yours truly within days of the alleged assault?”
I trod down on one of the chair’s rockers. “Why don’t you telephone Mr. Lionel Wiseman and ask his professional opinion?”
“That man! I wouldn’t let him represent me. I hear the bugger always inclines to the woman’s point of view.”
“There is no woman involved in this case, Freddy.”
“Yes there is, cousin. His wife Busty-sorry, Bunty-is a chum of yours.”
“Enough of this nonsense, Freddy. Either you get to work now or lose the perks that go with the job.”
Freddy’s yawn swallowed his whole face. “You’d try and kick me out of the cottage? Sorry, old sock, you’d have to sue me.”